Milo and One Dead Angry Druid

by Mary Arrigan

  Mister Lewis frowned. ‘What do you mean?’ he asked crossly. ‘Nothing has changed, except that I’m no longer alive. I’ve always looked like this.’

  ‘Oops, sorry!’ I muttered. ‘Maybe it’s the hat.’

  ‘Come along, young man,’ went on Mister Lewis, leaving a slight breeze as he wafted through the long grass. ‘And bring that stone with you,’ he added, pointing to the takeaway bag I’d hidden behind the pile of stones the night before. ‘I need to be absolutely sure the two pieces fit together.’

  With a sigh, I shoved the stone inside my jacket and zipped up. I could feel it tingling against my ribs.

  There weren’t many people about on the street. I kept well back from Mister Lewis in case they’d think I was with a freaky guy. Until I realised they couldn’t see him.

  ‘How come …?’ I began.

  ‘That nobody else can see me except you?’ Mister Lewis smiled and tapped his nose. ‘It goes with the job,’ he said. ‘When I want to, I can be invisible. Though you caught me by surprise when you came to the stony place. Still, that’s all for the good, now that you’re helping.’

  Not for my good, I thought.

  Even with its big red door and the word ‘Museum’ in fancy writing over it, the building still had a creepy, empty look.

  ‘How are we supposed to get in there?’ I whispered.

  Mister Lewis took off his hat and then straightened an ear that had come loose. He looked over the railings into the basement. Apart from a litter of Tayto crisp bags and squashed coke cans, there were just boarded-up windows.

  ‘Let’s try Chapel Lane,’ said Mister Lewis, putting on his hat again.

  This is too, too weird, I thought. I was still trying to get my head around the fact that I was following a dead man down a dark lane late at night to break into a museum. Hold that image and think how I felt.

  Mister Lewis stopped in front of a small window high up.

  ‘That will do, I think,’ he said. ‘That will be our way in.’

  ‘Huh?’ I said. ‘How do I get up there?’

  Mister Lewis tut-tutted, and shook his head.

  ‘Do you have to be so negative, Milo, my boy?’ He pointed to a wheelybin. ‘Tarra, as you say yourself. Pull it over here and you can climb up. All you’ll have to do then is smash that window. Easy.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ALARM BELLS

  I looked at the small window. I had never broken a window before. Well, yes I had, but not on purpose, you understand.

  ‘For heaven’s sake, get a move on,’ hissed Mister Lewis, looking around nervously.

  ‘It’s OK,’ I retorted. ‘Nobody uses this laneway. It only leads to the river and nobody will be using it at this time of night.’

  ‘It’s not people I’m worried about,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘It’s the time.’ He looked around again as the town-hall clock chimed the half hour. ‘We only have until midnight.’

  ‘Oh blast!’ I swore. I looked at the window again and unzipped my jacket.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Mister Lewis.

  ‘Putting this to good use,’ I said, taking the stone out and wrapping it in the jacket.

  ‘Just don’t damage it,’ warned Mister Lewis.

  He was right. If the stone was broken some more, then this Amergin guy would certainly lose his cool. But in a freaky situation like this, you have to take chances.

  I dragged the wheelybin over to the wall and climbed up on to the roof of the built-on annexe beneath the museum window. With a ‘stand clear’, I swung the stone and smashed it against the window. The first blow just bounced. I swung the jacket again. This time there was a loud tinkling of glass as the window shattered. Without waiting to find out if we’d been heard, I used the stone in the jacket to clear away the sharp bits that were left. The stone shuddered for just a moment, but it stayed intact.

  What was I thinking? I really wanted to go home and lie down. Mister Lewis puffed and panted as he climbed up after me, making me wonder again about ghostly lungs. Then he squeezed through the narrow window and jumped down beside me into the dark museum.

  ‘I thought you’d be able to waft through,’ I whispered as I put on my jacket again, and noticed, in the light from the street light outside, that Bart Simpson’s face was hanging off. But I had greater things to worry about. I stuffed the stone inside and zipped up. ‘What sort of a spook are you if you can’t go through walls?’

  ‘Don’t be difficult, Milo, my man,’ said Mister Lewis. ‘It’s not all wafting and floating, you know. Besides, I’m only a half-ghost.’

  ‘Sshh,’ I hissed.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’m listening for a burglar alarm.’

  ‘Pardon me?’

  ‘Burglar alarm.’ I said. ‘It sets off bells. Computer alarm,’ I added, to let him know how advanced the world had become since his day, hoping he wouldn’t ask me how it worked.

  But there were no alarm bells. Anyway, I thought, who’d want to steal anything from here?

  ‘Come on,’ I whispered, switching on my torch and leading the way to the showcase where the other half of the stone was displayed.

  Mister Lewis’s face lit up, as much as a ghostly face can; it went from being white, putty coloured, to a pale beige like my granny’s stockings.

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ he breathed. ‘There it is, just as I presented it.’

  ‘You should have left it in the ground,’ I muttered.

  ‘I know, I know,’ said Mister Lewis sadly, making me sorry for him. After all, even half-ghosts have feelings too.

  ‘Never mind, Mister Lewis,’ I went on. ‘We’ll have that back with its other half in seconds.’

  ‘Before you do anything, Master Milo Ferdinand,’ said Mister Lewis, grandly. ‘Would you mind wiping the dust off that sign there?’

  ‘Sure.’ I took a used tissue from my pocket and rubbed the sign. The dust lifted from the placard and Mister Lewis bent down and peered at the words. ‘My, my,’ he said. ‘So that’s how I died! I had no idea. You never really remember your death, you know. Not that I’m fully dead,’ he added ruefully.

  I looked over his shoulder at the words on the bottom of the sign.

  ‘“Tragically and mysteriously killed by a falling stone that struck him on the head”,’ I read. ‘Did Amergin do that?’ I asked nervously. ‘Clobbered you with one of his ancient stones?’

  Mister Lewis sighed. ‘I stirred up things with a stone, so it seems right I should die by a stone. Didn’t see it coming, though.’

  I swallowed hard. So, was that the fate that was in store for me and Shane and Big Ella? Knocked on the head by a Celtic druid with a hunk of stone? I shivered.

  ‘Let’s get on with this,’ I said. I kicked the glass case. It shattered quite easily. And that’s when the bells started clanging.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  MISTER LEWIS FINDS A NEW TALENT

  ‘What’s that? What’s happening?’ shouted Mister Lewis, his ghostly hands pressed over his ears.

  ‘It’s the alarm!’ I cried. ‘Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.’

  I reached in and grabbed the half stone from the shattered showcase, zipped it inside my jacket along with the other half. We ran between the other showcases, the two stones rattling together against my chest. When we reached the high window that we’d come through I stopped. There was a face at the broken window. And a voice I recognised. ‘Sergeant Johnson!’ I whispered, ducking under a showcase. Too late, he’d seen me.

  ‘You, boy,’ he shouted angrily, flashing his torch around. ‘What do you think you’re doing? I can see your legs. No point in hiding, the place is surrounded. You might as well give yourself up.’

  ‘Surrounded?’ muttered Mister Lewis. ‘Oh dear.’

  ‘Surrounded by him,’ I whispered. ‘There’s always only one Garda on night duty. I should know − my dad is a Garda and he’s on night duty every third week.’

  Still, we’d have to risk going out thr
ough the museum door. But as we edged along the wall towards it, I was horrified to hear a key in the lock and bolts being pulled back. We were trapped! I frantically looked around the moonlit room for a hiding place. There was a Famine display of a life-size group of people sitting at a fake fire. I crept over and nicked a bit of sacking from a donkey cart and put it around my shoulders to look raggy. Then I sat beside a model of a boy whose paint-chipped hand was stretched towards the fire. I ducked lower when a beam from a torch flashed around. It was only a matter of moments before I’d be seen.

  ‘Who’s there?’ came an angry shout. I can never understand why people ask that question at a time like this. Like, someone who’s broken in is going to stand up and give his name, address and mobile number and say ‘take me away’? Anyway, I gasped when I recognised Mister Conway’s voice. I’d forgotten he lived upstairs. He’d heard us!

  ‘Do something,’ I hissed at Mister Lewis, who was sitting across from me, his tall hat askew, making him look like a worn-out scarecrow.

  ‘Do what?’ he hissed back.

  ‘Something ghostly. I’ll be in no end of trouble if I’m caught.’

  If I did get caught, then I wouldn’t get to replace the two bits of stone, and Shane and Big Ella would be found dead in the morning. And me − found dead in a prison cell because Amergin, being a full spook, could just walk through the wall and clobber me. And my dad would be kicked out of the Gardaí and jailed for – I dunno – for having a criminal son, maybe. And Mum would have to leave the country in disgrace with a wig and a false passport. Such worries!

  The beam of the torch was coming closer. I shut my eyes and held my breath as it stopped and then passed over me. Then there was a sound that startled me.

  ‘OOooo.’

  I blinked. Mister Lewis was now standing beside a model of an old woman who was stirring something in a pot. His head was raised and he was uttering this ghastly wail. The beam of torchlight stopped, then focused on the display.

  ‘OoooooOO,’ went Mister Lewis, now in full cry.

  ‘Help!’ bawled Mister Conway. ‘Help!’ He stood frozen to the spot. With a clatter, the door burst open and Sergeant Johnson barged in.

  ‘Mister Conway!’ he exclaimed. ‘Have you caught the hooligans?’

  ‘Sergeant,’ said Mister Conway nervously. ‘There’s something …’

  ‘What, man, what? Are they armed and dangerous?’

  ‘Over there,’ whispered Mister Johnson. ‘That old woman …’

  Sergeant Johnson shone his torch on the group. I sucked in my cheeks and hoped I looked hungry enough to be a Famine kid.

  ‘They’re models, man,’ he said, ‘just Famine models.’

  ‘She ooohhhed at me,’ whispered Mister Conway.

  ‘Huh? Don’t be ridiculous,’ began Sergeant Johnson.

  Mister Lewis launched into another wail.

  Sergeant Johnson jumped. ‘What the blazes?’ he shouted, clutching Mister Conway’s arm, even though Mister Conway was already hanging on to Sergeant Johnson’s collar.

  ‘OOOOooo,’ went Mister Lewis again. Then he changed position and slipped behind a hairy model of a donkey. ‘EEEEHAAAWW,’ he went.

  Sergeant Johnson shone his torch in the direction of the donkey.

  ‘EEEHAAAWWW!’

  ‘See?’ shouted Mister Conway in panic. ‘It’s haunted!’

  I could see the glee in Mister Lewis’s face as he wafted towards the two men. He turned and winked at me. He was visible to me and invisible to them. Neat trick. Then he shrieked louder than ever into their ears. That did it. The two men ran, tripping over one another. Mister Lewis followed them, screeching all the time. The door slammed and I could hear the clatter of panicky footsteps running into the street. Mister Lewis wafted back to me. He was laughing loudly as he wiped ghostly tears from his eyes with his sleeve and stuck back an eyebrow.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ he said. ‘Best fun I’ve ever had in my life. Eh, I mean death,’ he added. ‘I didn’t know I could shriek like that. Think of the fun I could have had all those years I’ve spent as a half-ghost. Come on, Milo. Let’s chase those two and maybe a few more passers-by for a laugh, eh?’

  ‘No way!’ I said. ‘Have you forgotten why we’re doing all this? Come on, we’ve got to get out of here before they come back with back-up.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Mister Lewis, suddenly ghostly serious again. ‘It must be nearly midnight.’

  That made me panic again. Luckily I hadn’t had dinner. I’d have thrown up right there on the museum floor – and if the cops didn’t get me, then forensics would. I’ve seen those guys on the telly – nailing a thug from just a splash of sneezed snot on a doorhandle.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AN UNFORTUNATE ENCOUNTER

  Keeping well in the shadows, I slipped along Main Street, the two stones rattling against my ribs. So far so OK. But when I looked around there was no sign of Mister Lewis! Had he deserted me? Had Amergin come early and swept him away? It was all too much. I couldn’t call out. I just wanted to lie down and cover my head, but I knew I totally had to keep going to try to sort out Big Ella and Shane by myself. At any moment, I expected to feel Amergin’s icy fingers around my neck, or else hear the wee-waa sound of the cop car. It was tempting to go back and give myself up – after all, cops are human. But then I thought of Shane and Big Ella and I kept on going. I got as far as the Bella Patata chip shop.

  A couple of guys were hassling Alberto, the owner, who was trying to close up for the night. There was nobody else on the street at this late hour to help him. You’ve probably guessed who they were. Yep, none other than Wedge and Crunch! Now I really wished I’d been caught and was locked up safely in a cell. Even Amergin wafting through the cell bars to finish me off would be better than being caught by those two. Then they spotted me.

  ‘Well, if it isn’t Nerdy Milo,’ one of them laughed. The two of them switched their attention to me. I tried to ignore them and kept walking, but I should have known better. They got in front of me and crowded me so that I couldn’t pass.

  ‘Out so late?’ sneered Crunch.

  ‘Does your mummy know you’re out on the street?’ asked Wedge, pushing his face right up to mine.

  ‘Don’t hassle me,’ I said, backing away. Like, I needed this confrontation right now? Time was so scarce!

  ‘Or you’ll put manners on us?’ laughed Crunch.

  ‘No,’ I said, thinking so fast my brain was amazed. ‘Because I’m psychic. I have dead friends who’ll come and get you.’

  The two bullies laughed. I pressed my arms tighter around the stones in my jacket, hoping they wouldn’t notice the bulge and dump the stones in the river.

  ‘You little liar,’ snarled Crunch. ‘Let’s see what you’re hiding there.’ He put out his hand to open the zip. That was as far as he got. To my great relief, I heard a familiar sound coming from just beside Wedge’s ear.

  ‘OooOOOOOOOoo!’

  Mister Lewis! I’d have hugged him if I could have seen where he was.

  ‘I’m coming for you, boy. Back from the dead. Mend your wicked ways. OooOOOOoo!’

  With a wail, Wedge raced away. Crunch stopped trying to open my jacket and looked at me. ‘How did you do that, you little worm …?’

  With a swoop, Mister Lewis was at his side.

  ‘OooOOOOoo,’ he wailed into Crunch’s ear. ‘Bad, bad boy. You must come with meee. I have a nice burial chamber just for yooouu.’

  Nice burial chamber? Cool! I had to laugh.

  Crunch looked at me, his face ghastly white in the street light.

  ‘Told you,’ I said. ‘You want to watch it, you creep. That’s my dead pal. With fangs,’ I added as an extra.

  That was enough for Crunch; he was off like a rabbit from a greyhound. Mister Lewis laughed. ‘I’ve never had such fun,’ he said as he loomed into sight again.

  ‘Right,’ I grunted. ‘But it’s held us back! Where were you?’

  ‘I, er, wen
t back to give another little scare to those two men,’ he confessed. ‘Just a little bit of fun … I’ve never had fun. Ever.’

  ‘Yeah, well this is not the time for being jolly. I was the one who was scared,’ I muttered. ‘Come on. Some friend you are!’

  ‘Friend, Milo? You call me friend?’

  I looked up at him as we ran. His face looked like a warmed-up omelette, and he was smiling.

  ‘Yeah. My best spook friend. Now, come on, we’ve work to do.’

  As we made our way up the street, there was another wail. This time it really was the wail of a police car speeding by.

  ‘Sergeant Johnson must have phoned the next town for back-up,’ I laughed. With a quick glance behind, I was pleased to see it chasing after Crunch and Wedge as they raced past the museum. They’d be spending the rest of the night answering questions about the break-in. Good. That meant that the Gardaí wouldn’t be searching the streets for a while.

  The two stones rattled under my torn jacket as I ran. The streets became a blur. It was such a lonely, frightening feeling. As we got near to our road, I was so tempted to head for my own house, tear upstairs and throw myself into my parents’ room and beg for protection.

  ‘Mum, Dad!’ I’d shout as I leapt on their bed with the rattling stones. ‘Me and a dead man are being chased by druids who have Shane and Big Ella prisoners. Help!’

  Nah. I brushed that image from my worn-out mind. Dad would grunt and mutter, and Mum would offer to get me a nice cup of drinking chocolate to soothe my nightmare.

  And then the Town Hall clock began to chime. Midnight!

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE MIDNIGHT RUSH

  The scary hour had come! Now I really did want to turn back, but forced myself to run even faster towards Shane and Big Ella’s house, Mister Lewis wafting beside me, urging me to hurry.