Ghosthunters and the Gruesome Invincible Lightning Ghost

by Cornelia Funke

  “I see a lot of work ahead for our ASG friend,” she said. “But that’s how we will do it!”

  Tom looked around. “Hugo won’t like this at all,” he said. “By the way, where’s he gone?”

  Hetty Hyssop pointed upward. Sharp screams and Hugo’s muffled ASG howls were coming from somewhere on the first floor.

  “Let’s allow him a bit of fun,” said Hetty Hyssop. “And as for us, we need a bite to eat before we get seriously stuck in our work. Don’t you agree?”

  “Fantastic!” Tom sighed. “My stomach already sounds as if I’m trying out ventriloquism!”

  “Good.” Hetty Hyssop stood up and straightened her fire helmet. “But let’s drop in on Bigshot on the way. I’ve got a small job for him, too!”

  9

  They found Alvin Bigshot at Reception, where guest after guest was handing back keys. The poor manager was so pale that he could have been taken for a ghost himself.

  “Mr. Bigshot,” said Hetty Hyssop, standing next to him. “Presumably the hotel has a wine cellar?”

  The manager made a worried face. “Of course. Um, why? This ghost surely isn’t…”

  “No, no,” Hetty Hyssop reassured him. “Quite the reverse. As we’ve found out in the meantime, that’s the last place it’ll end up. So we’ll use the wine cellar as our meeting room and safe place. I’d like you to take all the remaining personnel and guests there, since it’s just a matter of time before the GILIG changes floors, and we can’t possibly keep an eye on all the rooms. What’s more, please make sure everyone has your express permission to use champagne and wine bottles as instruments of defense if they are attacked by the GILIG!”

  “It just gets better and better!” moaned Alvin Bigshot. “You’re seriously trying to tell me that we can chase this monstrosity away by smashing bottles on its head?”

  “Oh, don’t be silly!” said Hetty Hyssop. “According to our information, alcohol scares it off, so don’t make such a fuss. We’re relying on you. Got it?”

  Alvin Bigshot merely looked down at the ground in despair.

  “We’re going to get something to eat,” said Tom. “If Hugo comes down, could you send him to find us, please?”

  “Oh yes, and one more thing!” Hetty Hyssop lowered her voice. “There’s no reason to look so despairing, Bigshot. We’re confident that we’ll be able to solve your enormous little problem before too long.”

  “What? How? Really?” The manager immediately regained a touch of color.

  “Shh!” Hetty Hyssop put a finger to her lips. “Tell you everything later!”

  Then she and Tom disappeared into the dining room.

  They ordered a six-course meal (on the house, naturally), but even after they had eaten their way through each and every one, there was still no sign of Hugo.

  “That pleasure-mad ASG!” Hetty Hyssop looked around. “We shouldn’t have given him those tinted glasses. Without them he’d at least behave better during the day!”

  Only two other tables were occupied. At one of them sat a chubby red-haired lady named Alma Muddlebird, who considered Fire Ghosts to be an inspired vacation surprise. At the other table, Mr. and Mrs. Wadley were quarreling; they had stayed because they thought the whole thing was a complete and utter swindle. The pair of them were so brown from sunbathing that they looked like dried prunes. Every now and then they cast evil looks at the ghosthunters — not that it bothered Hetty and Tom.

  “A stroke of luck that the two chefs stayed behind,” said Tom, his mouth full.

  “You need a bit of luck every now and then!” Hetty Hyssop helped herself to her third portion of raspberry cake and poured a bit more of the quite delicious chocolate sauce over it.

  Then she suddenly sat bolt upright.

  “Can you smell something?” she asked.

  Tom sniffed. “Smells like someone’s been playing with fire!” he said worriedly.

  “Precisely. What a pain! You can’t even eat your dinner in peace!” Hetty Hyssop sprang up. “Quick!” she cried to the other guests. “Grab some bottles of champagne from the buffet — and all the sugar you can find! We’re about to have visitors!”

  Alma Muddlebird clapped excitedly and ran over to the buffet. The Wadleys, however, didn’t stir from their table.

  “Ridiculous!” declared Mr. Wadley, slurping his mineral water. “How stupid do you think we are?”

  The burning smell grew stronger.

  Tom grabbed the baster, and Hetty Hyssop put three bottles of champagne and a full sugar bowl on the table.

  “If alcohol works on the GILIG,” she whispered to Tom, “then it might work on the smaller ghosts, too, and I figure that’s what we’re about to deal with!”

  At that very moment, three empty tables rose up into the air. The tabletops turned to ashes, and five little Fire Ghosts shot out from between the burning table legs. Screeching and hissing like fireworks, they raced toward the guests.

  Mr. Wadley’s mineral water evaporated on his lips, and Mrs. Wadley’s fork melted in her hand. With flickering fingers, the Fire Ghosts grabbed both of them by the hair — knocking off Mr. Wadley’s toupee, which exploded on the floor — and blackened them from top to bottom with soot.

  “Shake the champagne and uncork it!” Hetty Hyssop cried to Alma Muddlebird, who was standing on the table with her mouth open and the bottle in her hand.

  Bang! The corks hit the ceiling, and champagne showered the Fire Ghosts’ hot bodies. Reeling, they fluttered down to the floor, as yellow as lemons and clearly much cooler.

  “Fetch us a thermos!” cried Hetty Hyssop to the bellboy who was leaning against the wall as if turned to stone. “Quickly!”

  Tom grabbed the sugar and shook it all over the stunned Fire Ghosts.

  Alma Muddlebird cast aside her empty champagne bottle, jumped up from her table ready for action, and buried the Fire Ghost who was whizzing around her table under a mountain of sugar.

  “Brilliant!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “You’re a natural!”

  Alma Muddlebird turned as red as her hair. The Wadleys, however, were cowering under their table, trembling.

  “Champagne’s a one hundred percent success!” Tom grinned. He slipped on his oven gloves and caught the two Fire Ghosts who were just about to reel through the wall. They were as warm as freshly baked bread rolls.

  “How many have you got?” asked Hetty.

  “Two!”

  “I’ve got two as well!” With the aid of a napkin, Alma Muddlebird pulled a squealing Fire Ghost out from under the ice-cream menu.

  “Yours plus mine makes five!” asserted Hetty Hyssop. “And we’ve already got Mrs. Redmond. So there’s only one missing now!” She looked around searchingly. “Where is that thermos?”

  The bellboy who was supposed to fetch it was still rooted to the spot, his lips trembling as if they were still searching for the right words to describe what he had just seen.

  “Tom, dash into the manager’s office!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “There are a couple of thermoses there that I prepared earlier. But be quick. I don’t know when these little beasts will start to heat up again!”

  With record-breaking speed, Tom whizzed through the hotel foyer, a wobbly lemon-colored ghost in each hand.

  “Can’t stop!” he panted as he swept past the baffled Alvin Bigshot. Once in the office, he stuffed his prisoners into two of the thermoses, which were neatly lined up; then he crammed three more flasks under his arm and raced back.

  He was just in time. Alma Muddlebird’s prisoners had already turned dark orange.

  As soon as the ghosts were safely in the flasks, the red-haired lady poured herself a glass of water and stuck her hot fingers in it.

  “Wow, that was exciting!” She sighed.

  “We’re most grateful for your help!” Hetty Hyssop replied, smiling at her.

  “Oh, really?” Alma Muddlebird murmured, and returned the smile shyly.

  The Wadleys, meanwhile, were still hiding under their table. Tom and
Hetty Hyssop left them there and went to take the flasks back to Mr. Bigshot’s office. Just as they were crossing the hotel foyer, Hugo came wobbling down the stairs, his fireman’s helmet in his hand and a top hat on his head.

  “You’ve timed it well again,” said Tom by way of greeting. “Where were you all that time? And where did you get that hat?”

  “Pah — none of yooooour business!” breathed Hugo, and floated into Alvin Bigshot’s office with them. “But if yooooou’re really desperate to know — it looks pretty bad on the third floor now, tooooo. Personally, I recommend skipping it. It’s all hot and stinky. Phew! I turned my back on it right away, just took the hat. Funny that. Rolled down the stairs right after me!”

  “And what about the second floor?” Hetty Hyssop put the flasks with their prisoners on Alvin Bigshot’s desk. “Is the GILIG already there, too, Hugo?”

  “Nooooo!” said Hugo, wobbling to the aquarium to frighten the fish.

  “Good!” Sighing, Hetty Hyssop sank down into Alvin Bigshot’s office chair. “Then hopefully we’ll have a bit of time. Especially you, Hugo!”

  “Meeee? Why meeee?” Hugo turned faintly pink.

  “Because we need tons of ASG slime,” said Tom with a slightly mean grin. “Whole bucketloads. So take off your shoes and get sliming!”

  10

  Hugo spent the whole afternoon wobbling around on the edge of a big bathtub. By the time darkness fell, the bath was full to the brim with glistening, sticky ASG slime, and Hugo’s feet were hurting. Grumpily, he retreated to a cupboard whilst Tom and Hetty Hyssop transferred the slime into buckets. They hauled one bucketful down to the cellar in order to paint the door with it. In the meantime, all sixteen people, including Alvin Bigshot, had made their way down there, for Alma Muddlebird and the Wadleys had described the events in the dining room so graphically that even the most hard-boiled nonbelievers no longer felt secure in their rooms. But, as Hetty Hyssop always said, you never know with ghosts. Therefore, all the cellar-dwellers were given bottles of champagne to hold — the cheapest kind, naturally — and a sugar bowl. They might be in for a very, very unpleasant night. Nobody doubted it for a minute.…

  * * *

  Four more buckets of ASG slime were stowed away behind Reception so that they could be used later for more painting. And, finally, Tom and Hetty Hyssop lugged a couple of buckets down to the beach. Hugo followed them, yawning. The sun hung red and fiery over the sea, and the waves made a faint squelching sound as they lapped the damp sand.

  “Has all the water in the hotel been turned off?” asked Hetty Hyssop. “Not that the GILIG is going to get its strength back by having a shower!”

  “No worries. It’s all off,” said Tom.

  The sun sank into the sea, sending a kind of liquid fire across the waves.

  “The tide’s coming in at the moment. The water’s still rising, so there’s no point smearing slime along the edge of the water!” Hetty Hyssop drew a line in the sand with her foot. “I’d guess the tide will come in this far, so we’ll paint the slime up to here, Hugo. The GILIG can come up to this line, and not one slobbery step farther. Empty all the buckets, and if it comes, put some fresh slime on top of the old slime, too. If the GILIG gets into the sea, we’re all goners. Got it?”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’m not stupid.” Hugo snorted, offended. “Yooooou lure it here first. I’ll take care of the rest!”

  “Or so we hope,” muttered Tom, looking up at the hotel. The windows of the fourth and third floors were illuminated red, and for a moment he thought he could see a suspicious flickering on the second floor, too. But when he looked more closely it had disappeared.

  “Go on then, you lay your trail, Hugo,” said Hetty Hyssop. “And remember not to spill any on the steps over there. It has to come this way and only this way, OK?”

  “I might run out of slime!” Hugo gave a hollow laugh.

  “Never mind your stupid jokes,” said Hetty Hyssop. “This ghost puts me right off laughing. Come on, Tom — we’ll go and take care of the foyer and the lounge!”

  But Tom stood as if rooted to the spot. He was staring up at the second floor again. “Look up there!” he whispered. “Fourth room on the left. There’s someone running around with a candle!”

  Hetty Hyssop and Hugo turned and looked up. Tom was right. Behind the fourth balcony door there was a light flickering, and a dark shadow was moving through the room.

  “That’s Mr. Zimmerman’s room!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “He was moaning in the cellar about having forgotten his false teeth. Surely he wouldn’t be stupid enough to go back up for them?”

  At that point, a light went on in Mr. Zimmerman’s room.

  “Oh yes he is stupid enough,” said Tom. “What do you think? Should Hugo and I get him out of there?”

  “Oh no. Yoooou’re on yoooooour own!” Hugo shriveled up. “I’m totally spent from all that sliming!”

  “Oh, come on, don’t make a fuss,” said Tom. “We’ll just fly up there quickly, grab hold of this Zimmerman, and send him back to the cellar. Who knows how he might otherwise get in our way later on!”

  “Ooooooh, OK!” moaned Hugo, clasping Tom under his arm and floating up to Mr. Zimmerman’s balcony.

  They weren’t quite there when the balcony door suddenly flew open and Mr. Zimmerman leaned over the rails, shrieking. He was holding a bottle of champagne in his left hand and his false teeth in his right.

  “Help!” he bellowed. “Help! The gh — gho — ghost!”

  At the same moment a fiery glow poured through the balcony door.

  “Quick, Hugo!” Tom yelled.

  The GILIG stuck its huge head out the open door, grinned, and stretched its burning fingers toward Mr. Zimmerman.

  “Get lost!” cried the old man, tugging at the champagne cork. Pop! The cork plopped into the sand below, and frothy champagne squirted onto the fiery hand.

  “Aaaaaaaarrrrggggggggggghhhhhhhhh!” howled the GILIG, licking the champagne from its fingers with its gigantic tongue. Then it emitted a threatening growl.

  The GILIG didn’t seem to notice Tom and Hugo at all. It kept on licking its hand, hissing and snarling. As for Mr. Zimmerman, his eyes almost popped out of his head with horror when he saw the inflated Hugo floating over the railings. He almost fell off the balcony in shock.

  With one leap, Tom was at his side.

  “Don’t worry!” he said. “It’s just an ASG!”

  ASG! Tom had barely spoken the word when the GILIG raised its head with a start. And once again, Tom looked into its hideous eyes. This time they were black, as black as coal. Tom’s legs started to tremble ever so slightly.

  “Hugo!” he cried. He pressed his icing baster with quaking fingers — but nothing came out. Not even the tiniest squirt. “Hugo!” Tom’s voice cracked. “Get us down, quickly!”

  “He’s gone!” whispered Mr. Zimmerman hoarsely. “Your ghost friend has gone!”

  Tom looked around disbelievingly. But it was true. No sign of Hugo. Tom’s heart began to pound.

  The GILIG continued staring at him. Now it wasn’t just licking its fingers but its lips, too. It breathed on Tom, and Tom’s face began to tingle under the special paste, as if someone were sticking thousands of red-hot needles into it.

  “Whaaaaat’s aaaaall thiiiiis aaaaabout aaaaan AAAAASG?” whispered the GILIG. Tom had never in his life heard anything more grisly than this whispering. “Wheeeeere iiiiis thiiiiis foooooliiiiish AAAAASG? I’ll vaaaaapoooooriiiiizzzzeeeee iiiiit!”

  “Oh no yoooooou won’t!” Hugo’s hand emerged from under the balcony like white smoke and he ran his slimy fingers across the railing. Quick as a flash, his hugely long and wobbly arms snaked around Tom and Mr. Zimmerman. Then Hugo simply picked them up and carried them away.

  Berserk with rage, the GILIG blazed after them, but when it stretched its fiery arms across the railings, it fell back, howling, and started scratching as if it had fleas.

  “Hahahahahahaha!” cried Hugo triumphant
ly. “Hahahahahahahahaha! Just looooook at yourself. Ha!”

  The sun sank into the sea, turning the sky red. The GILIG on the balcony, however, just went pale and then vanished, as if someone had switched off a light.

  Hugo gently deposited Tom and Mr. Zimmerman on the sand by Hetty Hyssop.

  “Mr. Zimmerman, how could you cause us so much trouble?” The ghosthunter laid right into him. “My assistants risked life and limb for you. Life and limb!”

  “But my false teeth!” cried Mr. Zimmerman, holding his dentures right under her nose. “I had to have them!”

  “Well, you certainly won’t need them once you’re a Fire Ghost!” Hetty Hyssop looked anxiously up at Mr. Zimmerman’s balcony. There was no sign of the GILIG.

  “I don’t like this,” hissed Hetty Hyssop. “It’ll be angry, very angry. Hopefully it’s not already on its way down. That’d scupper our entire plan!” She grabbed Tom’s arm. “Come on, we must spread the slime around the hotel. Hugo, you get everything ready here on the beach!”

  “OK!” said Hugo, and wobbled casually across the sand. Wherever his white feet walked, they left a glistening trail of slime.

  Tom and Hetty Hyssop hurried back to the hotel together with the remorseful Mr. Zimmerman. As they crossed the dining room, he inserted his false teeth shamefacedly.

  “Zimmerman, go down to the wine cellar and be quick about it,” said Hetty Hyssop when they entered the dark hotel foyer. “And tell the others down there that if I catch sight of any of them up here, I’ll personally turn them into Fire Ghosts!”

  Mr. Zimmerman shot off, and Tom and Hetty Hyssop were left alone in the hall. The burning smell had meanwhile become so strong that it made it hard to breathe.

  “Come on, Tom,” said Hetty Hyssop. “We’ve not got a moment to lose. I figure this GILIG will be so angry after its mishap on the balcony that it’ll come down without us having to lure it!” They retrieved the four buckets of ASG slime from behind the reception desk and, using a large paint brush, spread the contents over all the doors. The only door left unbeslimed was the one to the lounge, which led out to the veranda and the beach. Then they painted all the wainscotting, smeared the carpets and walls, and finally plunged their hands into the bucket, now practically empty.