The ghost boy turned his head towards her, just a little, so that his pale blue eyes peeked out from beneath his straggly fringe. His hands lay in his lap, edging out of his coat sleeves. The outline of bones could be seen though his ashen skin.
‘If you’d like us to, that is.’
The ghost lifted a finger and pressed down on the keys of the piano, releasing a series of simple, haunting notes.
But still he stayed silent.
‘I know what it’s like to have a problem you don’t know how to fix. You feel like you can’t share it with anyone, and that can make it seem bigger than it really is.’
The ghost kept playing.
Gloom hobbled down the corridor and snuck a look into the room from behind Edgar and Dylan. ‘She’s inside,’ he whispered. ‘Good girl.’
Angeline took one more slow, steady step.
‘I’ve always wanted to visit this castle.’ She looked around. ‘It’s very beautiful. You must love living here.’
The boy stopped playing.
‘I know many people feel the same and that Mr Griswold is keen to –’
The ghost slammed his hands onto the piano keys. He shot her a vengeful look and flew into the air. A huge blast of wind burst into the room, sending a pile of papers into a frantic spin. When it reached Angeline, it lifted her off her feet and sent her flying into the wall. She fell to the ground in a crumpled heap.
‘Angeline!’ Dylan kicked open the door and ran towards the ghost while Edgar hurried over to his sister.
While still running, Dylan pulled the Spectrovac from his satchel, flung the strap over his neck, grabbed hold of the funnel and switched it on. The force of the suction jolted him backwards. He grabbed the funnel with both hands, dug his boots in and kept his aim steady. A translucent rush of shimmering air swirled, tornado-like, around the ghost, holding him in its grip and dragging him down towards the machine.
The ghost’s eyes were ablaze as he struggled to resist the Spectrovac’s pull.
‘That’s the way, Master Dylan!’ Gloom yelled over the noise. ‘Now you’re having fun!’
Dylan gritted his teeth and continued to hold firm.
The ghost arched his back, trying to pull away, trying to flee, but the energy force had him in its grasp. Dragged ever closer to Dylan, he let loose a loud, angry cry. Dylan’s arms were aching and his boots began to slide across the floorboards.
The ghost let out another long howl and Dylan’s boots slipped forward even further. He could feel his muscles tighten, his shoulders sting and his fingers throb.
Then he felt two arms around his waist.
‘Let’s finish this, shall we?’ It was Gloom.
The two dug their feet in, pulled back hard and the ghost began to drift towards them again. Dylan’s legs cramped and his arms felt as if they were being stretched.
‘We’re nearly there, Master Dylan! Hold on! Yee haa!’
With his ears ringing from Gloom’s cry, Dylan watched as the ghost edged closer, flailing his legs and arms, trying his hardest to pull away from the forceful suction.
Dylan wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold on. His muscles were burning, his back ached and now both he and Gloom began to lose ground, with the ghost inching away from them.
It was then that he caught sight of Angeline in her brother’s arms. Still slumped over, eyes closed.
Dylan took a deep breath and let out his own yee haa. In one resounding slurp, the ghost was sucked into the Spectrovac, and he and Gloom were thrown backward to the ground.
‘You got him!’ Gloom cried out from beneath a stunned Dylan.
With the Spectrovac clutched in his arms, Dylan struggled to his feet. Gloom hobbled upright soon after and slapped him on the back, almost sending the ghost-catching device flying from his grasp. ‘I knew you could do it.’
Dylan was still trying to work out what had happened. ‘Yeah, we . . . Ooph!’
A kick from the bag struck him in the face.
‘Sorry, I should have warned you to be careful of that,’ Gloom said. ‘The feisty ones never like being captured.’
Dylan struggled to hold the Spectrovac firmly as it bulged and wriggled with its captive. His cheek smarted from the kick and his mouth filled with the taste of iron from his bloody upper lip. Then his eyes widened. ‘Angeline!’ He turned to see her standing beside him. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I was knocked out for a few seconds there, but it was just a small bump.’ She rubbed her head. ‘Remind me to ask Grandma Rose to order some Ghost Helmets. And you?’
Dylan continued to wrestle with the bag. ‘I think my heart may have stopped, but apart from that I’m fine.’
Angeline’s face lifted into a broad smile. ‘You did it – you caught your first ghost. And you’re not hyperventilating!’
‘No,’ he realised. ‘I’m not.’ Her smile took away the pain he’d been feeling in his cheek and cut lip.
‘And it was a great catch,’ Edgar said. ‘This case will be read about for a long time.’
‘It was a magnificent catch, my boy!’ Gloom clapped Dylan on the back. ‘I thought he had you there for a minute, but you refused to be beaten. That’s the mark of a true ghost catcher. In fact, that deserves a poem. I think I’ll recite the one where –’
‘Shouldn’t we get back to the Ghost Club?’ Dylan asked, his arms aching from grappling with the Spectrovac.
‘He’s right,’ Angeline said. ‘Grandma Rose and Endora will be keen to have the ghost analysed as soon as possible.’
‘Yes, indeed.’ Gloom nodded. ‘In fact, it’ll be better if I recite the poem in the car. We can save time that way.’ He grabbed Dylan’s shoulders for a hug. ‘Not only is he strong, but he’s efficient and smart-thinking, too – perfect qualities for a very fine ghost catcher.’
‘Whoa, he’s a strong one!’
Grandma Rose connected the funnel of the Spectrovac to a large glass box that was welded to a bench in a small, darkened room of the Spectorium. ‘Let’s get him inside quick smart.’
Dylan and Edgar strained to hold the bag as the ghost struggled against his imprisonment.
‘Is it nearly done?’ Dylan asked.
‘Almost.’ Grandma Rose, wearing goggles and gloves, continued to work. ‘If the connection isn’t secure, the ghost will be able to escape during transfer. With the mood this one’s in, it’s best to be doubly certain it’s going to hold.’
‘They can escape?’ Dylan gasped as the ghost kicked him in the stomach.
‘It’s very rare,’ Angeline said.
Gloom leant close to Dylan’s ear, his voice a low, rumbling whisper. ‘Last time it happened, it caused a terrible mess. Nearly lost one of our catchers. He was in hospital for weeks. Still has nightmares about it.’
Dylan turned the shade of old newspaper.
He flinched as Grandma Rose clipped a metal clasp to secure the two pieces of equipment. ‘This will fasten them tightly enough. The gauge at the front of the Spectretron shows the progress of the transferral, much like a thermometer. When the red line reaches the top, the process is complete. Here we go.’
She pressed a button on the front panel and the glass box immediately began to hum and vibrate, and the edges of the machine lit up with a slight glow.
‘The energy particles inside are now being electrified to such a level as to create a force field that ghosts can’t pass through,’ Grandma Rose explained. ‘Whereas normally they can walk through walls and doors, against the Spectretron they are powerless. It also reveals the true image of the ghost in every detail.’
She reached for a lever above a sign that read ‘Transferral’.
The humming and vibrating increased, accompanied by a churning sound. The gauge slowly started to rise.
‘It’s
begun.’ Gloom could barely contain his delight.
Dylan and Edgar held onto the bag tightly as it twitched and jerked.
‘How long does it take?’ Dylan wheezed.
‘Not long.’ Grandma Rose looked at her watch. ‘I think it should be done just about . . .’ There was a final clunk before the Spectrovac deflated and the glass box filled with the floating image of a boy. ‘. . . Now.’
The ghost eyed Dylan with a deathly stare. He flew towards him and slammed both fists into the glass.
Dylan jumped back. ‘How strong is the Spectretron? Will he be able to get out?’
‘Of this?’ Grandma laughed. ‘No way. I bought this at a ghost convention in Moscow a few years back. To test its strength, it’s been thrown out of planes and lowered into volcanoes and it didn’t even get a scratch. It’s completely unbreakable by anything known to humans.’
‘And all those things not known to humans?’
‘Oh, you can never guarantee that.’ Gloom shook his head.
The Spectretron shook again as the ghost let fly with a series of kicks.
‘The important thing is,’ Grandma Rose said, ‘it’s never failed yet. Let’s give him time to calm down.’
Outside was an observation room with a one-way mirror, where the Ghost Club members could see in but the ghost couldn’t see out. Once again, his fists blasted against the glass walls.
‘He sure has one anger management problem,’ Dylan said.
Angeline studied the ghost’s face. ‘I think he looks sad.’
‘Sad?’ Dylan asked.
‘I don’t think I’ve seen a ghost look so sad,’ Edgar agreed.
Dylan looked at the ghost and back at his new friends. ‘Sad?’
Endora entered the room juggling a series of files. She changed her glasses and squinted through the mirror. ‘So, this is our Castle Koszmar ghost.’ She sighed. ‘He looks so sad.’
‘Sad?’ Dylan asked again.
‘Sometimes when people are sad but don’t know how to express their feelings it can manifest as anger,’ Edgar explained. ‘Do you have any new information for us, Endora?’
‘I agree with your conclusion that the ghost isn’t Wilfred or Wesley. After searching through the local parish records, I have discovered the ages of each of our ghostly suspects when they died, and now that I can see who it is, I believe our search has been narrowed down to one person. Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to Bartholomew Carpenter, aged twelve. Stablehand and general helper around the castle grounds. His father was Percy Carpenter, who reached age thirty-two. His fellow stablehand was Peter Fletcher, nineteen at time of death.’
‘Now we just need to find out why he’s so sad,’ Edgar said.
‘Again with the sad,’ Dylan said. ‘Why am I the only one who can see angry, even a little murderous, but not sad?’
At that moment, the ghost pounded the glass of the Spectretron and shook it with great force before he slumped to the floor with his knees to his chest.
‘Time to go in,’ Angeline said.
‘Go in!’ Dylan cried. ‘Isn’t that dangerous?’
‘I’ll be fine. Everyone has a limit to their anger, and I think he’s over the worst.’
Angeline left the room.
‘Isn’t anyone going to stop her?’
‘She’s very good at this kind of thing,’ Edgar said.
‘One of the best.’ Grandma Rose nodded.
‘It’s true,’ Gloom and Endora said together.
When Angeline entered the room with the Spectretron, the ghost sat still, his hair falling over his face, elbows resting on his knees, chin nestled in his hands.
‘Where am I?’ he growled softly. ‘What ’ave you done t’me?’
‘You’re in the Ghost Club, in a device called the Spectretron. You’re very safe,’ Angeline promised.
‘You’ve locked me up!’ He kicked the glass with a hard thud and turned his back to her.
‘I’m sorry about that – it won’t be for long. We just wanted to talk –’ she paused before adding – ‘Bartholomew Carpenter.’
He spun around to face her. ‘How do you know my name?’
‘We did a bit of research.’
‘Snoopin’ where you’re not welcome.’
‘We wanted to know who you are and what was troubling you, and to see if there was some way we could help.’
He frowned. ‘Why should I believe anythin’ you say?’
‘Because for over one hundred and fifty years the Ghost Club has made it their business to help ghosts who haven’t been able to leave the earthly world peacefully.’
‘Maybe I don’t wanna leave it peacefully. Maybe I’m ’appy causin’ trouble.’
‘Maybe, but I don’t think so. We know that you worked in the stables with your dad, Peter Carpenter, and were well taken care of by the household staff and owners of Castle Koszmar. It seems they even took a shine to you, and that the Griswolds –’
Bartholomew’s eyes flew open. ‘I don’t wanna talk about ’em!’
Angeline paused. ‘Did they do something to hurt you?’
Bartholomew said nothing.
She tried another approach. ‘I have to say, after almost being trampled by you twice now, you’re an expert rider.’
‘I was one of the best at the castle,’ he muttered.
‘I’ve tried to ride, but horses scare me.’
‘There’s nothin’ to be afraid of.’ Bartholemew looked her in the eye. ‘You just have to show ’em you isn’t scared, but you ’ave to respect ’em too.’
‘Did your dad teach you to ride?’
Bartholomew looked down. ‘He didn’t teach me nothin’.’
‘But he worked with you in the stables. He must have shown you –’
Bartholomew mumbled something Angeline didn’t quite understand.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Peter Carpenter wasn’t me father.’ He had tears in his eyes. ‘He was a good man, and he always treated me like his own, but he wasn’t me father.’
Grandma Rose and Edgar looked at each other. Endora’s eyes widened. ‘I knew there was something about the parish records that didn’t seem quite right, but I couldn’t work out what.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Angeline said. ‘I thought Peter –’
‘Lord Marley was me father, but me ma was just the scullery maid. Something that was too embarrassin’ to the Griswold family name. They sent me ma away as soon as I was born, but they wanted to keep me close, so they gave me to Peter Carpenter to raise as ’is own.’
‘So you’re Wilfred’s brother?’
‘Half brother – but not enough of a brother to ’ave what he ’ad. Wilfred got everythin’.’ Bartholomew hugged his knees tighter. ‘As little kids, we were friends. We used to play together and go ridin’ and pretend we were great hunters, but when we got older and I wanted to go to the schoolroom and learn like he did, Wilfred said that I was lower class, and wouldn’t be smart enough. I’d walk past the schoolroom and try to catch Wilfred’s eye, but he’d look the other way, as if I wasn’t there. The schoolmaster would shoo me off.’
Tears welled and fell down Bartholomew’s pale cheeks. ‘All I wanted was to learn, and instead I watched the other kids go to school while I swept up horse manure and chopped piles of wood for their cosy family nights by the fire.’
‘I bet you would have made a brilliant student,’ Angeline said.
Bartholomew gave her a half-smile. ‘I liked learnin’ things.’
‘How did you find out about your real dad?’
Bartholomew stared at his tangled fingers.
‘On Wilfred’s birthday for turnin’ twelve, he ’ad a party. I asked if I could go but he laughed, like I’d just said
somethin’ simple. There were lots o’ people – and this girl called Bethany from another village. She found her way to the stables because she liked horses. When Wilfred came lookin’ for her, he found us talkin’ and laughin’ by the pond. He was so angry he pushed me, yelled I wasn’t good enough to talk to her, that no one wanted to be with someone low like me.’ He paused and took a deep breath. ‘Not even my father, Lord Griswold.’
Bartholomew sniffed. ‘I asked what he meant – said that me pa was Peter Carpenter. He laughed and told me everythin’. Includin’ ma bein’ sent away for bein’ no good.’ He shook his head. ‘I was sorry I did it, but I hit him. He gave me a great shove that knocked me against Bethany, and she fell into the pond. She was wavin’ her arms and cryin’ out that she couldn’t swim. I dived in and swam out to her. She’d fainted and was sinkin’, but I pulled ’er up and swam ’er back to shore. When I got out, Wilfred tripped me over. I gashed my head and was knocked out.’ He paused. ‘When I woke up, he was the hero who’d saved the girl and I was the boy whose father didn’t want him.’
‘And when Wilfred became the latest vision to be seen at Castle Koszmar, you decided to visit.’
Bartholomew looked at Angeline with wet, sparkling eyes. ‘He got all the glory when he was alive, and he’s gettin’ it now he’s dead, when he deserved none of it.’
‘What if I told you we can help? Would you let us?’
Bartholomew let out a small laugh. ‘You’d be wastin’ your time.’
‘If I am, you’ve got nothing to lose.’ Angeline had on one of her big-idea smiles. ‘Will you let me at least tell you my plan?’
Bartholomew’s eyes narrowed. ‘Okay.’
‘Great!’ She pressed the stop button on the Spectretron. The humming machine was silenced and the glow around the edges faded away. ‘But first, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
‘What do you think?’
Mr Reginald Griswold, it was fair to say, was not convinced. ‘You want me to meet the ghost who has been terrorising my castle and hacking axes into my door?’
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