“But…what about that icy draft?” Lady Shrillingbird shivered.
“That,” said Lord Shrillingbird, “is the faulty heating.”
“I think you should investigate,” squeaked Lady Shrillingbird, poking her husband in the ribs. “What if it’s a ghost?”
“Bah! A ghost! You’ve lost your last marble, my lady. I’m staying put,” said Lord Shrillingbird. Though he looked as scared as his wife, Lord Shrillingbird was so used to arguing with her that he didn’t know how to take her side, even at this crucial moment.
On Sir Percival’s signal, some of the more playful knights began pulling on the curtains. A few others used all of their phantom might to rattle the windowpanes. And one daring young foot soldier started jumping on the edge of the Shrillingbirds’ bed, causing the springs to squeak slightly.
“Wow. This is even better than the Chain Chant spell,” Claire whispered to Luna. “These ghost guys are professionals!”
“Better than an ogre!” Luna whispered back.
By now, both Shrillingbirds looked terrified.
“I’m frightened!” peeped Lady Shrillingbird.
“I’m not!” But Lord Shrillingbird pulled up the covers and pressed his hands over his ears.
“Fool, you’re only saying that to be stubborn!” hissed Lady Shrillingbird. “I know a haunt when I hear it, and this castle’s got ghosts!” She hopped out of bed and began nervously running back and forth. “We’d better dash. Oh, how dreadful! Well never even be able to sell it, not with a ghost ruining its market value. Hurry, my lord. Time to bolt!”
“I’m not scared, and I don’t feel like dashing or bolting,” said Lord Shrillingbird disagreeably. Then he pretended to be relaxed by stretching his hands behind his head and wriggling his toes.
When the goat caught sight of all those delicious-looking, wriggling toes—almost as good as a slipper—he took hold of one and gave it a gentle nibble.
“Argh!” Lord Shrillingbird jumped out of bed and flung himself into Lady Shrillingbird’s arms. “The ghost just bit me!”
“Dimwit! Ghosts don’t bite!” said Lady Shrillingbird, smirking.
“Sometimes they do!”
“Do not!”
“Do so—argh!” Lord Shrillingbird yelped as the goat nipped for a taste of his ankle. “I think I might, actually…agree with you, my lady. Perhaps we ought to get out of here!”
So Lady Shrillingbird grabbed her purse, then hoisted Lord Shrillingbird up and over her shoulder like a sack of grain. Then she ran for it, speeding down the hall and taking the stairs three at a time.
“Whoa. Lady Shrill sure can move,” whispered Claire. “She’d win relays at Tower Hill Middle, easy.”
Grandy the twins, the ghosts, and the goat followed hard on the Shrillingbirds’ heels. They tailed them through Glenn Bly’s iron-hinged doors and all the way down the lawn, to where the Rolls-Royce was parked.
“We’re safe, we’re free!” squealed Lady Shrillingbird. “Safe and free!” She swung open the car door and tossed her husband in the back.
“Step on it!” yelped Lord Shrillingbird.
Lady Shrillingbird hopped in the driver’s seat and revved the engine. With a screech of tires, the Shrillingbirds’ car plowed across the lawn and disappeared down the hill and into the darkness.
“Adios, creeps!” called Claire.
The goat bleated agreement. Lord Shrillingbird’s toes had left a terrible, crumbled-cheese aftertaste.
“They’re better off in the city, anyway,” declared Luna. “There’s more stuff to complain about in cities.”
Grandy yawned. “Twins, you’ll catch cold if you stay outside too long. It’s your life, but I’d get back to bed. And thank you, Sir Percival,” she added, with a nod to the knight, “for a job well done.”
Then she snapped her fingers and vanished into the mist.
“A three-star spell,” murmured Claire. “Crumbs, I wish I knew how to do it. Well, maybe next year.”
“What a lovely night,” said Sir Percival.
Claire looked up. The knight was right. It was cold and beautiful. A full moon hung in the navy blue sky. The silvery moonlight and the silvery light of the ghostly knights shone softly over the meadow.
But something strange was happening.
“Look around, Clairsie,” said Luna. “The ghosts are fading.”
Sure enough, right before Claire’s eyes, the ghosts were beginning to curl up along their edges. The faint popping as each departed—plip blip plip—sounded like a thousand bath bubbles were escaping into the air.
“Where are they going?” wondered Claire.
“Off to haunt another needy castle?” suggested Luna.
Together, the twins watched the misty veil that sparkled in the air after the ghost knights were gone. Now the night was rich with a faint but sweet and lingering scent. Claire sniffed, then inhaled deeply. What was that delicious smell?
Then she knew.
Strawberries.
And then all at once, a heavy mass of clouds swept across the clear sky, hiding the moon and stars.
“Oh, no, not again!” wailed Luna. “Here comes the rain!”
9
Strawberry Birthday Surprise
WHEN LUNA WOKE UP the next morning, she could feel the difference immediately. Maybe it was on account of her witch-smarts, or maybe it was because she was a light sleeper. But something about Glenn Bly seemed a little bit less creaky and a little bit more cheery.
She leaped out of bed and ran directly to the window. What she saw outside made her smile with delight.
Instead of a brown and wintry lawn, her eyes were dazzled by a field of blazing green.
“Claire!” she cried. “Come look!”
“Wha...?” Her sister rolled out from under the quilts and crept up sleepily behind her to see. “Thickets and thistledown! It’s like summertime in November!” exclaimed Claire. “Now, here’s the Scotland I always wanted!”
“Clairsie, I think what we’re looking at is a giant strawberry patch,” speculated Luna. “It’s right at the exact same place where all the ghosts popped.” She put her hands to her heart. “How romantic. The brave knights gave us something to remember them by.”
“Well, I’m remembering that I’m hungry. Let’s go get some strawberries for breakfast!” said Claire, pulling on her rainbow-sleeves jacket.
Together, the twins flew out into the cold morning, which was filled with summertime smells. They plomped right down in the middle of the strawberry patch, and soon were feasting on the biggest, juiciest, most divine wild straw berries they’d ever tasted in their lives.
“Mmm-mmm. Even if we didn’t end up with half-stars for driving out the Shrillingbirds, these strawberries were worth the effort,” said Claire, sitting back to wipe her strawberry-stained hands on the grass.
“Hey, here comes Daphne.” Luna pointed just as Daphne rode up on a shiny blue bicycle with a straw handlebar basket.
When Daphne saw the strawberries, she nearly fell off her seat. “We have to tell Grandpop!” she exclaimed. “Or better yet, let’s show him. Hurry, help me fill this basket!”
Quickly, they picked strawberries until Daphne’s basket was full. When they called Mac down to the kitchen and presented the basket, then pointed out toward the field, his eyes filled with wonder.
“I don’t believe it. Strawberries haven’t grown on this field since the terrible Battle of Sodden Field,” he said. “But I don’t understand. How could a field of strawberries just grow up overnight?”
Luna shrugged. “Mysterious things happen a lot in Scotland,” she said.
Mac pronged a berry between his thumb and finger. “With all-season strawberries, I suppose we’ll have plenty of visitors wanting to spend a weekend at our bed-and-breakfast. And that means perhaps well be able to purchase Glenn Bly back from the Shrillingbirds,” he said. His eyes glowed with future plans and prospects. “And then we’ll turn some of this land into a public park, for pe
ople to visit. Would you like that, Daphne?”
“Like it?” Daphne jumped up and down. “I couldn’t think of a better birthday present!”
Then everyone felt terrible, because in all the excitement they had forgotten that today was Daphne’s birthday. Everyone, that is, except for Mac, who had given her the new blue bicycle earlier that morning.
“Crumbs, we don’t even have any gifts for her,” Luna whispered behind her hand to her twin.
Luckily, when Grandy and Grampy came home later (after placing second-to-last in the golf tournament) they were able to wrap up a couple of items from the Silver Loch Pro Shop that they had been planning to give Justin.
“Not that a golf umbrella and three pairs of athletic socks are the greatest gift, but I guess they’re better than nothing,” said Luna.
“Yeah, and thank goodness for those strawberries,” said Claire, “otherwise Daphne wouldn’t have had a very good birthday from us, gifts-wise.”
It didn’t take long for the word of the magical strawberries to spread. By afternoon, the people who lived on the surrounding farms and towns had come to witness the magical straw berry field. While some onlookers clicked pictures, others sampled the berries.
Afterward, Mac invited everyone into the castle kitchen, where he blew the dust off an ancient Glenn Bly cookbook, Four Score and Twenty Recipes for Strawberries, and made a giant, gooey, gorgeous strawberry birthday cake.
“By the way, where are the Shrillingbirds?” asked Grampy
“They might be halfway to Baja by now,” said Grandy. “And Mac, I don’t think you’ll have a problem buying back your castle. I have a hunch those two won’t be visiting here anytime soon.”
“And why do I have a feeling your special charms did the trick, Arianna?” asked Mac with a warm wink. “You are one of my favorite problem solvers.”
Grandy smiled back. “I do what I can,” she said, batting her eyelashes.
“Oh, I can’t wait to be old and have old flames,” said Luna.
“Harrumph. I can’t wait to be old and hog all the credit for stuff,” said Claire.
When the twins went looking for Sir Percival, they found him in his usual place, behind the clock on the landing.
“I knew it!” exclaimed Luna. “I knew you wouldn’t stay popped for long.”
“Not a chance. I’m this castle’s guardian ghost,” he explained. “I’m here to protect Glenn Bly forever.” He jingled his amulet proudly. He looked a little bit bolder after last night’s stunning victory over the Shrillingbirds.
“If you ever need help guarding,” said Claire, “you can call on us.”
The final night at Glenn Bly was the best yet. In honor of Daphne’s birthday, the Bundkins, Blys, and Bramblewines stayed up late playing five-card poker and charades. Afterward, Mac taught them a Scottish reel.
“The best things about the Shrillingbirds being vamoosed is that we get our beds back,” said Claire when the twins went upstairs to bed. “Humdrum Chamber was the pits.”
But as they settled into bed, thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Storm number four!” Claire’s eyes widened.
“I guess the rain helps the strawberries grow,” yawned Luna.
The goat, who had moved into Elderberry Chamber on account of its tasty armchair cushions, bleated in agreement.
The next morning, it was time to bid good-bye to Glenn Bly, and everyone was slightly sad, except for Grampy, who had not warmed to old flame Mac, and had not enjoyed being humiliated on the golf course.
On the other hand, Daphne seemed saddest of all.
“You’ll come back in the summer, right?” asked Daphne. “In the summer, it never gets dark here. It stays twilight all through the night.” She turned to Claire. “Did you know that, American Claire?”
“Nope,” said Claire. “But did you know that crepuscular is another word for twilight?”
“Nope,” said Daphne. “I wonder, which of us has the most interesting fact?”
They both looked at Luna to be tiebreaker.
“Daphne,” said Luna, decisively. And though she hoped to visit Daphne Bly again, she was glad she would be able to stop breaking ties for a while.
With only a few minutes until their plane landed in Philadelphia, the twins shook Luna’s spy globe to see what was happening in other parts of their world. The colors of the globe swirled like a sunlit summer stream as they passed it back and forth.
“Show us Glenn Bly,” commanded Luna.
Inside the globe, a picture of the castle focused. Mac and Daphne were both in the stable, feeding the horses.
“And not a Shrillingbird in sight,” Luna noted contentedly.
“Show us our family,” said Claire, fogging the glass.
Now an image of their mom, Steve, Justin, their dad, Fluffy and baby Bert appeared. They were all sitting together in the airport, waiting for the plane to get in. (Well, Justin wasn’t sitting. He was playing Hacky Sack.)
“Crumbs, our family keeps getting bigger and bigger!” said Luna.
“And better and better,” added Claire. “Hey, Loon, what were your favorite parts of our visit to Glenn Bly?”
“Tea in the drawing room, exploring the castle with Daphne, and learning how to make strawberry scones and cake,” Luna answered promptly. “What were yours?”
“Riding Dooley, chasing out the Shrillingbirds, and sneaking into the Charter Room early this morning to write my name in the Book of All Records,” said Claire.
The twins grinned at each other. Opposites forever.
“What about me?” their grandmother called softly across the aisle so that she didn’t wake up Grampy. “Aren’t you going to ask me my favorite part of the trip?”
“What were your favorite parts?” the twins asked Grandy together.
“That’s easy.” Grandy smiled. “Playing golf with Fred and listening to those terrific thunderstorms as I fell asleep!”
Then she tossed a honey-roasted peanut in the air and caught it in her mouth.
“Crumbs, those thunderstorms kept me awake, Grandy,” said Luna.
“Yeah, I thought they were totally spooky,” said Claire.
“Nonsense. Nothing says Scotland to me better than a good loud rain. It really sets the mood.”
“Wait a minute, Grandy. Were you the one casting spells to make all that stormy weather?” Luna leaned forward, indignant, to catch her grandmother’s eye.
“Of course I was. To me, a good thunderstorm is like a little lullaby.” Grandy answered, settling back in her seat and adjusting the mini pillow at her neck. “And as the saying goes, ‘Into every life, a noisy storm must thunder.’”
And although Luna had a feeling this was not quite the right saying, it sounded perfectly true when Grandy said it. Which was always the case.
A Personal History by Adele Griffin
I was born in 1970 in my mother’s hometown of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. I was the oldest of three children, and spent my early childhood as a “military brat,” moving between bases in North Carolina, California, Panama, and Rhode Island. I returned to Pennsylvania for high school, and then attended college at the University of Pennsylvania. After earning a bachelor of arts and sciences degree in 1993, I eagerly answered a “help wanted” ad in the New York Times and an “apartment rentals” ad in the Village Voice. That same week, I secured both my first job and my first apartment. I began working for Macmillan Children’s Books as an editorial assistant; living two blocks away from the office ensured that I didn’t get lost on my commute.
While balancing days working in the editorial department with nights writing fiction, I discovered my abiding love of New York City, and knew that I would want to live there for the long haul. At Macmillan, and later Hyperion Books for Children, I read old favorites and new favorite fiction for younger readers, and in doing so rediscovered classic stories that had been so riveting in my youth. I was particularly enthralled to connect with Robert Cormier, an author whose wo
rk I idolized when I was a child—years later, I got to spend a day with him at Simmons College. It wasn’t long before I completed my first novel, Rainy Season (1996), which was accepted by Houghton Mifflin & Co. A semi-autobiographical account of family life on an army base in Panama, the book was recommended by Publishers Weekly as a “Flying Start” notable debut. My second book, Split Just Right (1997), told the story of a bohemian single mother raising her daughter. My third book, Sons of Liberty, a drama set in New England that addressed child abuse, was nominated for the National Book Award in 1997. I followed this novel with a contemporary supernatural story, The Other Shepards (1998), and then Dive (1999), a novel that grappled with the real-life unexpected death of my stepbrother, Jason.
Turning to more lighthearted fare, I created a middle-grade series, Witch Twins, about identical twins living in Philadelphia (based on my nieces) who work to become “five-star” witches—with some help from their eccentric, spell-casting grandmother. The four-book series includes Witch Twins, Witch Twins at Camp Bliss, Witch Twins and Melody Malady, and Witch Twins and the Ghost of Glenn Bly. I also completed Amandine (2001), a novel loosely based on Lillian Hellman’s chilling play The Children’s Hour. Themes of friendship, deceit, and betrayal surfaced again in my next book, Overnight (2003), about a sleepover that goes horribly wrong.
In Hannah, Divided (2002), I tried my hand at historical fiction, crafting a story of a young math prodigy living in 1930s rural Pennsylvania, who then wins a scholarship to study in Philadelphia. In 2010, I returned to the genre with Picture the Dead, collaborating with my friend Lisa Brown, an author and illustrator, on an illustrated novel about Spiritualist photographers in the Civil War era.
In 2005, I received another National Book Award nomination for Where I Want to Be, a family-centered psychological drama with paranormal elements. The following year, I published a light, young adult romance titled My Almost Epic Summer. I also launched another middle grade series; this one, Vampire Island Stories, is about a family of vegan vampires living in New York City.
Family plays an important role in my fiction, and while I don’t consider myself a fantasy writer, I do enjoy adding a measure of the supernatural to otherwise realistic fiction. This blend runs through a number of my books, namely The Other Shepards, Where I Want to Be, Picture the Dead, and Tighter. I write stories that emphasize our lasting connections to those we have lost, and how our families—past and present—inform our everyday life in ways that can be both startling and steadfast.
Witch Twins and the Ghost of Glenn Bly Page 6