The Prankster and the Ghost

by R. L. Stedman

  Tayla’s favourite joke was to hang suspended in midair in the corridor area. Always, smash! someone would walk through him. At first, this had been a bit gross, and he’d felt like a shower curtain. But it was a pretty good trick, because the nurses kept complaining that the area was ‘damp’. Eventually, Angela got builders in to have a look. Three men in blue overalls crawled about in the roof space, checking out the air conditioning and the windows, shaking their heads when they couldn’t find anything.

  ‘There must be something,’ said Doctor Margaret. Tayla had been trying to pull her card off its clip when she’d turned suddenly and walked right through him. ‘Have another look.’

  ‘There’s nothing.’ The builder packed up his tools. ‘Must be your imagination.’

  ‘Imagination,’ said Doctor Margaret crisply, ‘has no place in the Intensive Care Unit.’

  The builder snorted. Tayla was careful not to get in his way, so he wouldn’t feel the cold wetness of Tayla’s pale body.

  * * *

  Next day, a woman arrived at Intensive Care. She pressed the buzzer for a long time, so Sharon was not happy when she answered the door. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m the inspector,’ said the woman. Her voice had a slight accent, a bit like the people on Coronation Street. She carried a clipboard, and a pair of glasses hung around her neck.

  ‘Do you have an appointment?’

  ‘Appointment? Of course not. I’m an inspector,’ said the visitor. ‘What would be the point in being an inspector if an appointment was required? The inspection would be useless, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘Um,’ said Sharon. ‘Well.’

  ‘I’m here to see your manager,’ said the woman.

  Sharon opened the door.

  Tayla hid behind a roof beam. The inspector had bright little eyes and a nose like a beak and stared around her in a very curious way. As though she was looking for something. Or someone.

  Sharon knocked on the charge nurse’s door. ‘An inspector,’ she said.

  ‘Inspector?’ Angela bounced out of her office.

  ‘Good morning,’ said the inspector and put out her hand.

  ‘Good morning.’

  The two women glared at each other like miniature sumo wrestlers. Angela spoke first. ‘What are you inspecting?’

  The inspector swivelled her head from side to side, the bright strip lighting of intensive care glinting off her narrow, hooked nose. ‘You seem very busy, Mrs …’

  ‘I am,’ said Angela. She folded her hands across her chest. ‘I’m the charge nurse. Angela Helving.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you,’ said the inspector. ‘I understand you’ve been having some problems. With the damp.’

  The inspector looked like Mrs Simmons, a teacher at Tayla’s school. You couldn’t be stupid in Mrs Simmons’ class; one glare from her bright, angry little eyes froze you to your seat.

  Tayla sat up in the rafters and tried to think soft thoughts: cobwebs and fog and steam. Thoughts that allowed him to fade into the background, thoughts that turned him nearly invisible.

  When the inspector had arrived, Tayla had been pretty sure he was nearly transparent. So why did he now have the feeling he was lit up like a neon sign, with another neon arrow pointing at him?

  Stop that! Think soft thoughts, gentle music. Easy listening music, rainbows and fluffy animals. Mist, rising from peaceful streams.

  But the gentle images were being pushed aside by flashing lights and highlighter pens and bright reflective vests.

  The inspector stopped right underneath him. ‘And this is where you felt it?’ she asked.

  Angela nodded. ‘We thought it was the air conditioning. But the builders tell us everything’s fine.’

  ‘Hmm,’ said the inspector, and made a note on her clipboard. ‘Any other strange things happening? Unexplained movements, sudden bangs, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Oh no.’

  ‘Hmm.’ The inspector made another note. ‘Clocks turning backwards? Writing on a mirror? Things being thrown across a room for no apparent reason?’

  Angela stared at her. ‘Of course not.’

  Tayla peered down at the inspector’s clipboard, trying to see the writing. In the movies there was always a close-up on what the hero was trying to look at. No such luck now, though. This was rotten real life and the page was covered by the inspector’s fat belly.

  Angela and the inspector walked to the other end of the ward, towards Mum’s room.

  ‘And you sometimes have the same damp feeling here?’ The inspector asked.

  Angela nodded. ‘It’s like walking through a shower curtain.’

  ‘And the builders?’

  ‘They say it’s our imagination.’

  ‘Any patients mention anything unusual?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘For example: they see transparent figures, or complain of sudden heat or cold, or strange pain.’

  Angela looked amused. ‘This is Intensive Care. Our patients don’t talk a lot. Mostly they’re in induced comas. Like this lady, for example.’ She pointed through the glass window at Mum, lying peacefully on her bed, eyes closed, breathing in and out.

  ‘Hmm,’ said the inspector. ‘Well. Thank you for your time.’ She looked down the ward again, over the top of her glasses, her beady eyes shining in the bright lights. ‘Yes. Most interesting.’

  ‘What do you think it is?’ said Angela. ‘Really, it’s most inconvenient, this problem with the air conditioning.’

  ‘I can imagine it is,’ said the inspector. ‘But it could be worse.’

  ‘Worse? How could it be worse?’

  The inspector paused. ‘You could have a poltergeist.’ She winked, and Angela smiled doubtfully. ‘I’ve just got a few calls to make. Don't worry, I’ll be back.’

  Arms swinging, the inspector marched her way down the hallway, like a small, podgy soldier. She had a knack of clearing the corridor; people took one look at her coming and jumped aside. Even Doctor Margaret, who never gave way to anyone, was startled enough to spill coffee on her dress.

  ‘Who was that?’ said Doctor Margaret, pushing the swing doors open with her elbow. ‘Anyone got a tissue?’

  She took off her ID tag to wipe her dress.

  The swipe card. It’s mine!

  Slowly, slowly, while the doctor was wiping her dress and complaining to Sharon about the rudeness of modern visitors, who didn’t even notice doctors any more, Tayla pushed the card to the edge of the desk. The clatter it made when it fell to the floor was covered neatly by the noise of the door opening.

  Nearly got it! Nearly there …

  He was so busy concentrating on the swipe card that that he forgot about the inspector. Which, he realised later, was a mistake.

  II

  Jamie

  4

  Jamie is Bored

  ‘Stop it!’ Hayley ran into the lounge. ‘Mum. Muuum! Make him stop!’

  Mum, kneeling on the floor with the newspaper spread out in front of her, blinked. ‘Hm?’

  ‘Mum!’ Hayley yelled. ‘Jamie’s being annoying.’

  Mum looked up at Hayley’s face and the foam bullet sticking to her forehead.

  ‘Jamie?’ she called.

  ‘What?’ Jamie put the gun behind his back.

  ‘Don’t shoot your sister.’

  Jamie shot the cat instead. It meowed at him, racing across the newspaper for the cat flap.

  ‘Jamie!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Jamie sighed. ‘It’s just …’ He stopped, hearing the whine in his voice, and knowing Mum would finish the sentence in her head.

  ‘If you’re bored,’ said Mum, ‘I’ll give you a job to do.’

  ‘I’m okay.’

  Mum sniffed and returned to her paper.

  ‘Mum,’ asked Hayley. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine. It’s just –’ Mum rubbed her eyes. ‘There’s a very sad story in the paper.’

  ‘Can I see it?’ said Jamie and Hayley,
together.

  ‘Muum!’ Bernice shrieked from the shower.

  Mum sighed. ‘What?’

  ‘Help!’

  ‘Not a moment’s peace in this house,’ muttered Mum. ‘I cannot wait to get to the office.’

  Bernice’s screams grew louder and louder, until she sounded like a smoke alarm.

  ‘All right!’ Mum got to her feet. ‘I’m coming.’

  ‘Bet Bernice saw a bug,’ Hayley muttered.

  Jamie tried not to grin, but his mouth just kept turning upwards. He put his hand over his face.

  Hayley stared at him. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘Me?’ He shouldn’t have pitched his voice so high. He sounded like a girl.

  Bernice came into the lounge at a run and slammed into him, pushing him over. ‘You! You!’

  ‘Me? What have I done?’ said Jamie, his voice muffled by the carpet.

  ‘You’re a maggot,’ Bernice shrieked.

  ‘Och, you shouldn’t give him so much to work with, Bernice.’ Mum threw the brown fake spider at Jamie. He’d carefully and thoughtfully arranged it in the shower, so Bernice would see it just as she was washing her hair.

  ‘You pulled a leg off it,’ said Jamie.

  Bernice hit him. ‘You’re an idiot,’ she hissed. ‘I hope you get bullied at school. I hope they’re really mean to you.’

  ‘Bernice!’ said Mum.

  ‘Well! He deserves it!’ She flounced off to her room.

  ‘How long were you in the shower for?’ Jamie called. ‘Two hours?’

  ‘At least I wash,’ Bernice said, ‘which is more than I can say for you.’

  ‘Stop it!’ said Mum. ‘If you’re going to fight, do it outside.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Jamie, crouched over the newspaper. ‘I’m reading the news.’

  A Tragic Accident.

  “Bystanders who attempted to help at a car accident described the scene as “tragic”. A restored Mark IV Zephyr with three occupants collided with a campervan just outside Kurow yesterday. The male driver of the car died at the scene. Two passengers, a woman in her thirties and a boy aged twelve, were airlifted to Dunsford Hospital. Their condition is described as “stable”. It is thought the campervan, driven by a Swiss tourist, crossed the median strip and hit the Zephyr head-on.

  The driver and passenger of the campervan, both males in their mid-forties, were unharmed, but shaken by the accident.

  Local resident Mr White, who spoke to the driver of the car earlier that day, described it as “Tragic. A lovely family. They’d done a beautiful job on the car.” Police have issued a reminder to tourists to always drive on the left-hand side. Names will be released once next of kin have been informed.”

  ‘Jim went to that accident.’ Mum sounded sad.

  Hayley leant on Jamie’s shoulder, so he shrugged her off.

  ‘Jamie!’ shrieked Hayley.

  Mum looked at them both. ‘That’s enough! I’m sick of the two of you. Go outside.’

  Putting his hand into his pocket, Jamie slipped his buzzer onto his finger. It looked like a ring. Stuart and Rob had given it to him as a goodbye present when he left Edinburgh. Mum didn’t know about it – yet. As a trial, he pushed Hayley with his buzzer-hand.

  ZZsst!

  Hayley fell over and landed on the newspaper. ‘Jamie!’

  Mum glared at him. ‘Outside, Jamie!’

  ‘Why do I have to go and she doesn’t?’

  ‘Because you,’ Hayley said, ‘are a lot more annoying.’ She stuck out her tongue.

  * * *

  Jamie clambered onto the wooden fence, hooked a leg around a rail, and threw sticks to Skivver. He hated this place. It was the school holidays and he didn’t know any kids yet. The internet connection was pathetic, so he couldn’t play online games or message his friends.

  Even the outdoors felt different. Instead of the tiny, tight alleys of Edinburgh, great for running and hiding in, Jamie saw only grassy fields full of sheep. Everyone knew that sheep were dumb.

  Mum and Dad, both doctors, had decided to move to New Zealand. ‘We want to simplify our lives,’ Mum said. ‘We want to have more time with you. You’re growing up so quickly.’

  Jamie wasn’t sure he liked that. Babysitters were easier to manage than parents. And “simplify” sounded like no iPods or holidays abroad.

  * * *

  Skivver picked up the ball in his slobbering mouth, wagged his tail at Jamie and whined. Even the dog was bored. Jamie sighed. —

  The school had wooden verandahs and a big tree beside the front gate. When Jamie stood on the verandah, he could see the sea. There were only three classrooms. How could you have a school with only three classes? But the playground was grand. A wooden fort, three storeys high, built around an old tree, so its trunk went up the centre. A fireman’s pole was attached to the top tower. There were swings and slides and a bark track that led down the hill towards some bushes.

  Jamie threw the ball to Skivver, who barked happily and ran off to chase it while Jamie climbed up the fort and snapped a couple of selfies. He would email the pictures to Stuart and Rob when the computer was finally working. On the screen he looked different; browner and skinnier.

  Next week was the start of term. What would this place be like then? There would be rules to learn, like who went first on the play equipment, and which kids were clever and which were mean. And there would be teachers, some nice, some not. He’d have to figure out which was which.

  Would people understand him? The fish and chip shop had been bad enough. Four times he’d said, ‘Three chips, four cod,’ getting redder and redder each time, until finally the lady behind the counter sighed and handed him a piece of paper and a pen. Everyone waiting had laughed. Jamie had felt as though a big arrow with flashing lights on it was hovering over his head, pointing him out as a stranger.

  From down the path, Skivver whined.

  ‘Skivver! Skivver! Come on, boy.’realised

  But the dog was silent.

  ‘Skivver?’

  Jamie ran down the track. Skivver’s tail, stuck out from a bush. Jamie crawled under the leaves to the dog. The ball had rolled down a rabbit hole.

  Jamie pulled it out. ‘Gross!’ The ball was dripping wet, probably because it had been in Skivver’s mouth. He dropped it and it rolled further under the bushes.

  Skivver whined.

  ‘Get the ball! Go on, boy!’

  But the dog wouldn’t move; he tucked his tail between his legs and stayed put. Jamie crawled after the ball, and came out on the other side of the bushes.

  What was that, in front of him? For a moment, it looked like grey smoke, but then the sun appeared from behind a cloud and he blinked and realised: it was a house, with grey stone walls, all tumbled down. An old ruin! How could you have a ruin in a schoolyard? Jamie got slowly to his feet.

  Where the windows had been were two empty holes that looked like eyes, staring at him. If he stood on tiptoes he could just see through them. Inside were blocks of grey stone, fallen from the broken walls. It looked like an old kirk, the sort of church he’d seen in the Scottish highlands.

  No. — Look, there was space for a bell. Weird.

  He pulled out his phone and took a couple of photos of the half-hidden, tumbledown building. He’d tell Rob and Stuart that this was a typical New Zealand school.

  Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, Jamie saw something run across the clearing. A mouse? A rat? Above, a bird, large and black, croaked and fluttered dark wings. Something flapped across the tumbled ruin. Behind him, dead leaves rustled. Or was it feet, trampling through the undergrowth?

  A branch brushed against him and he jumped, because, just for a moment, it had felt as though cold fingers had stroked his face. Jamie felt his breathing was too loud. His heart was racing; thump-thud, thump-thud. He shivered. I’d better get back.

  5

  The Caretaker

  Skivver bounded towards the playground as if he’d been released from a tr
ap. Jamie shivered and followed the dog up the hill.

  A girl stood on the verandah. She had a big hat on her head that shaded her face and made her look like a tall, skinny mushroom. With her long plaits she looked a bit like a grown-up Pippi Longstocking. She wore a water bottle belted to her waist, and rested one hand on it as if it was a gun.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she asked Jamie.

  ‘Exploring.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘There’s nothing else to do.’

  She looked down at him for a moment, then sat on the edge of the verandah and dangled her feet. She held out her hand. ‘I’m Becky.’

  ‘Jamie.’ He shook her hand.

  ZZsst!

  ‘Ouch!’ She snatched her hand away. ‘What was that?’

  ‘Sorry!’ Jamie pulled the buzzer off his finger, quickly, hoping she wouldn’t notice.

  But Becky grabbed it off him. ‘My brother had one of those.’ She put it on her own finger and squeezed his hand. Her grip was strong, for a girl, and her palm was rough.

  ‘Hey!’

  ‘Serve you right,’ she grinned and zapped him again. ‘You’re the new doctor’s boy, aren’t you?’

  Jamie nodded.

  Becky took off her hat and ruffled her hair. Carefully, she handed the buzzer back to him, holding it like it might go off. Jamie slipped his finger into the loop and pushed the battery case back into position.

  ‘Mum told me you’d been in, getting fish and chips.’

  ‘Your mum?’

  ‘She runs the fish and chip shop. She knows everyone in Longridge,’ said Becky.

  Imagine, owning your own chip shop! Wouldn’t that be grand?

  ‘You’re from Scotland, aren’t you?’

  Jamie nodded. He didn’t want to say much. She might think his accent was funny.