The Curse of Fogsham Farm

by Jennifer Gray

  PUFF!

  The thorn bushes evaporated.

  The chickens regarded him with awe. ‘I wish I’d thought of that!’ Ruth said.

  ‘There it is!’ Amy nudged her friends. She pointed to a fresh mound of earth.

  The grave looked as if it had recently been dug and refilled. There were chicken footprints in it where the soil had been hastily trodden down.

  Ichabod! thought Amy.

  The chickens put down their equipment and approached the gravestone cautiously. With one wing Amy traced the letters carved into the stone. She might not be a good reader, but she could manage this.

  She withdrew her wing, shivering. The stone was ice cold to the touch.

  ‘Wait, there’s more!’ Ruth brushed away some soil from the base of the gravestone.

  Amy read the words slowly, repeating them to herself until she understood them.

  TO ET-ERN-IT-Y AND BE-YOND!

  ‘Not if we’ve got anything to do with it!’ she muttered.

  ‘Not if I’ve got anything to do with it, you mean,’ James Pond corrected her. ‘Let’s get to work.’ He sat down.

  Amy regarded him with dislike. ‘What are you waiting for?’ she said impatiently.

  ‘We’ve got to dig her up,’ James Pond retorted. ‘Or rather, you three do.’

  ‘What?’ the chickens squawked.

  ‘I’m in charge of this operation,’ James Pond snapped. ‘I give the orders around here.’

  ‘Don’t you have a gadget to dig her up with?’ Ruth asked hopefully.

  ‘Only these.’ James Pond reached into his holster and handed the chickens three teaspoons.

  Amy snatched hers crossly. ‘What if we refuse?’ she demanded.

  ‘Then I’ll tell Professor Rooster you asked me to complete the mission,’ James Pond said lightly. ‘Don’t think I haven’t worked out you hens didn’t really want to do it.’

  The three chickens looked at one another guiltily.

  ‘You can’t tell him,’ retorted Amy. ‘We don’t have the laptop.’

  ‘I don’t need the laptop,’ James Pond boasted, ‘I’m Poultry Patrol, remember? I’m one of the few birds who knows where Professor Rooster’s secret hideout is.’

  Amy glowered at him.

  James Pond gave his tail feathers a scratch. ‘And if I do tell Professor Rooster, I reckon he’ll ask me to hang around a bit longer as team leader to help you hens out, which I wouldn’t mind doing.’ He shrugged. ‘Your choice.’

  Boo and Ruth looked at Amy uncertainly.

  ‘Team talk,’ Amy said.

  The chickens went into a huddle.

  ‘We could slay Fangula ourselves,’ Amy said defiantly. ‘And tell Pond to push off.’

  ‘We’ve been through this, Amy,’ Boo sighed. ‘None of us want to do it.’

  Ruth nodded. ‘I’d rather dig her up and leave it to Pond,’ she said.

  Amy felt cross: not with Boo and Ruth but with herself. She knew they didn’t blame her for not being as brave as James Pond, but that didn’t stop her blaming herself. ‘Oh, all right,’ she said eventually.

  The chickens set to work. Luckily chickens are good at digging. It wasn’t long before they had dug a deep hole.

  DWANG! Amy’s teaspoon struck something hard. ‘That’s it! The iron coffin!’

  The chickens swept the remaining soil off with their wings.

  ‘Stand aside, ladies.’ James Pond jumped down beside them. He wedged a stout stick under the coffin lid and tried to lever it open. The coffin lid remained firmly shut. He tried again. Nothing happened.

  Amy brightened a little. Now was her chance to show James Pond she was better at something than he was! ‘Here, let me,’ she seized the stick and shoved him out of the way. Gripping the stick in both wings, she pushed down with all her strength. There was a grinding sound as the lock broke.

  ‘Good job, Amy!’ Boo and Ruth congratulated her.

  ‘I must have loosened it,’ James Pond growled. Quickly he assembled Vladimir’s Vampire Slayer. ‘Lift the lid up.’

  The three chickens did as they were told. Even Amy could see now wasn’t the time for a squabble. She placed the tips of her wings between the coffin and its lid and heaved.

  ‘Put your backs into it!’ James Pond hissed.

  CCCCRRREEEEAAAAKKKK! The lid inched open on its rusty hinges until it reached the top of its arc. It fell back against the wall of earth.

  The chickens peered in. Amy felt a shiver of fear ruffle her feathers.

  Inside the coffin was the body of the Countess Stella von Fangula.

  ‘She’s not breathing!’ Boo whispered.

  The vampire mink lay snugly on the coffin’s red velvet lining in a blood red cloak, her eyes tightly closed.

  ‘That’s because she’s dead,’ Amy reminded her.

  ‘No she’s not,’ Ruth objected. ‘Technically she’s undead. That’s why we need to kill her.’

  Amy felt confused.

  ‘So far, so good,’ James Pond’s voice cut in. ‘All I have to do now is drive the stake through her heart.’ He squinted at the countess’s body. ‘I need to get the right angle. I’m too close here.’

  The chickens clambered out of the grave after James Pond. To Amy’s surprise he was rummaging in the Emergency Chicken Pack. He pulled out some overalls and a pair of rubber boots. ‘In case it gets messy,’ he said, putting them on.

  Amy shot a quick glance at her friends. Boo’s face was green. She looked as if she was about to be sick. Even Ruth’s feathers were definitely whiter than normal. ‘Er … you don’t mind if we have a break, do you?’ Amy asked. ‘That digging was hard work.’

  ‘Haven’t got the stomach for it?’ James Pond guessed. ‘Don’t worry. You hens don’t need to watch. I’ll be done in a minute.’ He pulled on the overalls and leaned over the grave.

  The chickens retreated to the long grass.

  ‘La la la la la!’ Amy covered her ears with her wings.

  ‘Do be do be do!’ Boo did the same.

  ‘Once twelve is twelve, twice twelve is twenty-four, three twelves are thirty-six …’ So did Ruth.

  BAM!

  The chickens stopped singing and chanting. They hugged one another with relief.

  ‘Phew!’ Ruth said. ‘I’m glad that’s over.’

  ‘Me too!’ Boo took a deep breath.

  ‘Now we can go back to Chicken HQ and wait for the next mission,’ Amy said. ‘Hooray!’

  They hopped out of the long grass.

  ‘Er, where’s James Pond?’ Ruth asked.

  Three pairs of chicken eyes scanned the ground in vain: there was no sign of James Pond. Instead a four-legged object occupied his spot beside the grave. It looked like a stool without the seat.

  ‘Oh no!’ Amy groaned. ‘It’s Granny Wishbone’s Zimmer frame!’

  ‘She must have been practising for the championships!’ Boo cried in horror.

  ‘She’s whacked Pond again!’ Ruth shrieked. ‘She’s knocked him in!’

  Amy, Boo and Ruth scuttled towards the grave and peered over the edge.

  James Pond lay face down in the coffin on top of the Countess von Fangula. Beside him was Vladimir’s Vampire Slayer. It was still loaded with the sharpened pencil.

  He never got to fire it, Amy realised. The noise they’d heard was the sound of Granny Wishbone’s Zimmer frame cracking James Pond on the head.

  ‘He’s unconscious!’ Boo squealed.

  ‘Which means Fangula’s still alive!’ squawked Amy. ‘I mean undead. Well, whatever.’ She gasped. A drop of blood oozed from a gash above James Pond’s right eye where the Zimmer frame had hit him. It slid towards Countess von Fangula’s lips.

  ‘Let’s be scientific about this,’ Ruth said in a trembling voice. ‘Pond’s a duck, not a chicken. Maybe vampire minks don’t like duck blood.’

  ‘But Professor Rooster said Fangula would kill any bird!’ Boo howled. ‘And she killed the pheasants in 1887. Why not a duck?’


  ‘Hmm …’ Ruth scratched her head. ‘Well then, it’s daylight. She can’t rise from the grave in daylight.’

  Just then there was a flash of lightning followed by a huge clap of thunder.

  Amy glanced fearfully at the sky. It was getting dark, really dark. Dense black clouds rolled across the moor, completely blotting out the light. Very soon it was pitch black.

  ‘Got any other ideas, Ruth?’ Amy swallowed.

  Ruth shook her head. ‘Nope. I think Pond’s had it.’

  ‘We’ve got to get him out of there!’ Boo screamed.

  ‘I’ll do it!’ Amy jumped into the coffin. She grabbed James Pond round the middle and lifted him up.

  DRIP! The drop of blood fell from James Pond’s head and trickled between Countess von Fangula’s lips. Her snout began to twitch.

  ‘She’s waking up!’ screamed Boo. ‘Quick, Amy!’

  Amy bent her knees and hurled James Pond out of the grave. She started to clamber out. Suddenly she felt something grip her round the ankle. She glanced down. It was the Countess von Fangula’s paw! ‘Help!’ she screeched.

  ‘Get the garlic blaster, Ruth!’ Boo cried. ‘I’ll help Amy.’ She leaned over the edge of the grave, took hold of Amy’s wings with hers and tried to tug her out.

  The countess’s grip tightened. Amy felt her leg being tugged in the other direction: towards the countess’s mouth.

  ‘Oh no you don’t!’ Boo hauled on her wings.

  ‘Ow!’ Amy cried. She was being stretched!

  ‘Hang on, Amy!’ Boo shouted.

  Amy felt a glimmer of hope. Boo was strong from all her gymnastics practice. And even though Boo was terrified, Amy knew she wouldn’t let her be eaten by a vampire mink without putting up a fight. That’s why Boo’s special skill was perseverance: you could rely on her in a chicken crisis not to let you down.

  CRASH! BANG! Amy could hear Ruth going through the Emergency Chicken Pack. ‘The garlic blaster’s not in here!’ Ruth wailed. ‘I left it in The Bloodless Hen!’

  ‘There must be something else!’ Boo insisted.

  The countess’s mouth opened. She raised her head towards Amy’s foot. Amy kicked and struggled. The paw gripped harder. It closed round her ankle like a steel trap.

  ‘I’ve found something.’ Ruth appeared at the grave opening next to Boo. She was bearing a small metal can in one wing.

  Amy squinted at it.

  MITE BLASTER GREASE

  ‘It will make your leg slippery, Amy.’ Ruth reached into the grave and squirted some towards Fangula’s paw.

  Amy felt the greasy spray on her leg.

  ‘Pull, Boo!’ Ruth shouted.

  Boo braced herself and gave Amy’s wing a strong tug.

  POP! Amy shot out of the grave on top of Boo. The mite blaster grease had worked!

  ‘Let’s get out of here!’ Amy picked up James Pond and threw him over her shoulder. Boo and Ruth gathered up the equipment and raced after her.

  The chickens stumbled towards the rusty iron gates of Bloodsucker Hall.

  The storm was still raging. The sky was black.

  Just then Granny Wishbone limped past them through the grass in the opposite direction.

  ‘He-he!’ she cried, spying the Zimmer frame. ‘Another world record throw!’ She hobbled towards it.

  ‘No!’ Amy yelled.

  ‘Don’t!’ Boo begged.

  ‘There’s a vampire mink on the loose!’ Ruth warned her.

  ‘Don’t be daft.’ Granny Wishbone made her way in the direction of the grave.

  The chickens watched in horror. A paw appeared over the side, followed by another. The Countess von Fangula had risen from her coffin.

  ‘Ichabod!’ she called. ‘Where are you, darling? We have chickens to kill.’

  ‘Yes, m’lady.’ From out of the darkness came the zombie rooster. Amy stared at him in dismay. Most of his feathers had fallen off and goo dripped from his beak. He walked stiffly to meet Granny Wishbone.

  ‘Get out of my way!’ Granny Wishbone walloped him. More feathers fell off.

  ‘I like a feisty chicken,’ the countess laughed. She crept towards Granny Wishbone. ‘How would you like to be the leader of my new zombie army?’ She pounced.

  Just then a crack appeared in the clouds. A ray of sunshine lit up Bloodsucker Hall.

  ‘Aaarrrgggh!’ the countess screamed. She dragged Granny Wishbone back into the grave.

  THUNK! The coffin lid closed.

  Ichabod Comb vanished into the mist.

  All that remained was the Zimmer frame.

  Down in a dungeon in the ruins of Bloodsucker Hall, Thaddeus E. Fox drew back his chair and stood up. It was time to address the meeting.

  He banged his silver-topped cane on the table.

  ‘Friends,’ he said, ‘welcome to this emergency session of the MOST WANTED Club.’

  He surveyed the group with some annoyance. Tiny Tony Tiddles was looking insufferably smug. The cat had ‘I told you so’ written all over his face. Kebab Claude seemed anxious. The poodle kept casting his eyes nervously at the door as if he was expecting someone to charge in and blast him with mites at any moment. And the Pigeon-Poo Gang had retreated to the ledge again after a close shave with the newest recruit to the countess’s zombie army – Granny Wishbone.

  Only the Countess von Fangula remained unruffled. She drew her cloak around her shoulders and smiled at him.

  Thaddeus smiled back. He relaxed a little. There were villains, he thought, and there were super villains. He and the countess both fell into the second category.

  ‘There are four items on the agenda this evening,’ Thaddeus said. He handed round some bits of paper.

  ‘Let’s start with item four. Countess, describe what happened this morning before you turned Granny Wishbone into a zombie. I want every last detail.’

  The countess leaned forward. She spoke in a throaty whisper. ‘I was fast asleep, darling, when I heard a noise. I think it was someone opening my coffin lid. Then a little while later I sensed the delicious taste of duck blood on my lips …’

  ‘Duck blood?’ Tiny Tony repeated. ‘You sure about that?’

  ‘Darling Teeny Tiny Tony,’ the countess said mildly, ‘I have drunk enough blood in my time to recognise which bird it is from. May I continue?’

  ‘Please,’ said Thaddeus.

  ‘Then it went dark because of the storm,’ said the countess, ‘and I woke up to find that there was a chicken in my coffin …’

  The countess told the rest of her story.

  ‘So there were three chickens in all?’ Tiny Tony said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Can you remember what they looked like, Countess?’ Thaddeus asked. He needed to be sure if it really was Professor Rooster’s squad before he decided what to do.

  The countess thought for a moment. ‘The one in the coffin was small with red cheeks and a fluffy tummy. The one who pulled her out had honey-coloured boots. And the third one – the one with the grease squirt – she was definitely wearing specs.’

  ‘Professor Rooster’s elite chicken squad,’ Tiny Tony said triumphantly. He curled his lip. ‘I told you so, Fox. I knew Rooster would send them to Fogsham Farm. I said so, didn’t I?’

  ‘Shut up,’ Thaddeus growled.

  Tiny Tony was not to be silenced. ‘Did you get a look at the duck, Countess?’ he asked.

  ‘It was a mallard,’ the Countess said. ‘It had a bow tie.’

  ‘James Pond,’ Tiny Tony spat, ‘the dude from Poultry Patrol. That’s all we need!’

  ‘Poultry Patrol?’ the countess raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t think they had that in 1887.’

  ‘They’re bird agents,’ Tiny Tony explained. ‘They go round helping poultry defeat their enemies. In this case that means you, Countess. Sounds like you had a lucky escape, no thanks to your pal Thaddeus here.’ He turned to Thaddeus. ‘Satisfied now, Fox? Turns out you were wrong about everything. Rooster sent his chicken squad and James Pond to protect
the Fogsham Farm roost.’

  ‘Good,’ Thaddeus E. Fox said. A brilliantly evil plot was forming in his mind. It was so brilliantly evil, it was his turn to be smug. Pond was from Poultry Patrol. He could lead them to Rooster. It was just a simple matter of persuading him to help …

  ‘GOOD?’ Tiny Tony Tiddles spat back. ‘How is it good? You’ve screwed up, Fox. You promised us chicken and now we’ve got another fight with Rooster and co on our paws. I wanna know what you’re gonna do about it!’

  Thaddeus turned his cunning yellow eyes on the cat. It was time to show Tiny Tony who was boss. ‘I’ll fix Pond,’ he said. ‘And the chickens, and Professor Rooster.’ He paused, then added menacingly, ‘And if you don’t back down, Tiddles, I’ll fix you too.’ He eyed Tiny Tony coldly. ‘I’ve always wanted a black and white fur hat to go with my red coat.’

  Tiny Tony gulped. ‘Okay, okay,’ he said. ‘Keep your brush on.’

  Thaddeus beckoned the Pigeon-Poo Gang down from the ledge. They fluttered reluctantly to the table.

  ‘Pond’s injured,’ he said. ‘Find out where the chickens are keeping him at the farm.’

  ‘What about our grain?’ the leader of the Pigeon-Poo Gang demanded.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ Thaddeus said firmly. ‘I promise.’ He opened the door of the dungeon for the Pigeon-Poo Gang. The pigeons sidled out and flew away along the corridor.

  There was a horrible squawking from outside.

  ‘Leave them alone, Ichabod!’ the countess shouted. ‘I’ve told you before, the poo pigeons are our guests!’

  ‘Yes, m’lady,’ Ichabod’s voice echoed back.

  The squawking got louder.

  ‘And that goes for you too, Granny Wishbone!’

  ‘Yeeeesssss, m’laaadyyyyyy!’ Granny Wishbone’s terrible screech had all four remaining villains holding their paws over their ears.

  ‘She’s really feisty, that one!’ the countess said when the squawking stopped. She wrinkled her snout. ‘Not much blood, though. Very scrawny.’

  Thaddeus E. Fox leaned forward. ‘I congratulate you on your excellent taste in zombies, Countess,’ he said. ‘With your permission I propose to use them in my brilliantly evil plan.’