‘Good. Well then! All you have to do is to step forwards, one two three, bravely does it.’
‘I can’t.’ Jamie tried hard to keep his voice steady, but even as he tried, he could hear the whimper in his voice.
‘You’ll be all right, lad,’ said the strange man. ‘These nettles can’t sting, you know.’
Jamie stared down at the long grey stems, the thick leaves. They looked like they could do serious damage.
‘Tell you what,’ said the man patiently. ‘You shut your eyes; tell yourself they’re not there. On the count of three, you jump, as high as you can, and I’ll pull you out.’
‘You will?’
‘Promise,’ said the man and smiled at him. He had a nice smile, the lines around his eyes crinkling.
‘Okay.’
‘Well done. Now then. One, two, three.’
Squeezing his eyes closed, Jamie sprang up, up and over, landing in a roll at the man’s feet.
‘Very good, young man. Oh, very well done.’ The stranger clapped him on the shoulder. Jamie opened his eyes and looked back towards the wall. There in front of him was a clump of tall grass, waving in the sunlight.
There were no nettles anywhere. ‘What? Where have they gone?’
The man lifted his hat, tipped it to one side and clapped him on the shoulder again. ‘Pay it no mind, young man, pay it no mind.’
Jamie was so busy staring at the grass that he didn’t even notice the man go. What had happened to those tall, grey-green, vicious plants? They can’t have just disappeared!
The breeze swirled about him. Just before he scrambled back up the slope towards the playground, Jamie thought he heard a girl, laughing.
* * *
‘Where is he? Where is he?’ Hayley and Bernice had arrived home. Jamie crouched low under the bed, thinking quiet thoughts.
‘He’s gone to the school,’ said Mum.
‘Oh.’ They sounded disappointed.
‘How was your day?’
‘Okay, I guess,’ said Bernice.
Hayley wasn’t about to forget. ‘I’m going down there.’
‘The school? Why?’
‘I’m going to murder Jamie.’
‘I’ll come too,’ said Bernice.
‘Excellent,’ said Mum cheerfully, ‘Dinner’s at six.’
All was silent in the kitchen. They were trying to lull him into a false sense of security. But he, Jamie McCready, was too canny. He would lie here until tea, when Mum and Dad could provide some form of protection. Jamie pulled out his phone. Could he text Rob? Maybe, just maybe, by some miracle, there would be coverage?
No such luck. He sighed, and started running through his photo library. In the darkness under the bed the images on the screen were brighter, lighting up the dusty carpet and the wooden bed legs.
The photos showed Rob, standing in the rain. Jamie under a huge umbrella. His old class, piled on top of each other in front of the iron school gates.
He missed his old class, where he knew everyone and no one laughed at his accent.
Jamie sighed again. He was about to turn off his phone, when he stopped. There was that picture, the one he’d taken of the ruined schoolhouse two days ago. And that strange smudge, the one Becky had said looked like a person, was clearer without the sun on the screen.
There had been no one there when he’d taken the shot, he was sure of it. And yet, the picture seemed to show the outline of a man, with his hands on his hips. He wore black trousers, a black waistcoat. His face was shadowed under the rim of a hat, and at his waist there was a gleam of silver.
Jamie felt suddenly cold. This had happened to him before. Back in Scotland, when he’d gone on a school trip to Edinburgh Castle – there had been a woman in an old-fashioned dress standing by the door. Later, he'd asked who she was. But no one else had noticed her, not even Mum.
Rob had thought it hilarious. ‘Jamie saw a ghastie, oooh, Jamie saw a ghastie!’
Jamie hadn’t laughed, though. Maybe Rob had been right – perhaps he really had seen a ghost.
Staring at the cellphone’s little screen, Jamie shivered.
III
Tayla Again
7
Distraction
Tayla tried to prise the doctor’s swipe card off the floor, but all he could do was move the card around, not lift it. If only he had a pocketknife to slide underneath. Where was his knife, anyway? It should have been in his pocket when the accident happened. Would it be all ghostly and transparent now?
He was so busy wondering about the things in his pockets – the piece of string, his handkerchief, the fifty-cent piece he was saving – and hoping that a nurse hadn’t thrown them out, that he didn’t notice the figure behind him. He did notice the hand on his shoulder, though.
‘Gotcha!’ said a bossy, Coronation Street voice.
He jumped, just like a jack in a box, and looked up. It was the inspector. Seen from this angle she seemed scarier than before.
She could touch him!
‘You can see me,’ he said. Stupid thing to say. Obviously she could see him.
‘I thought there was a spirit in here.’ She seemed pleased at her discovery. ‘You hid well, I must say.’
Tayla got to his feet, but she didn’t let go. Her grip was amazingly firm. She could probably bend iron with that fist.
‘Bertie told me you were here,’ she added.
‘Who?’ asked Tayla
‘Bertie Stibbens. He’s my next-door neighbour. The man in the bed beside you.’
The old man, who had been a prisoner in the war? ‘He told you about me?’
She nodded. ‘He’s very worried about you.’
Suddenly, Tayla realised that everyone – Doctor Margaret, Angela, the nurses, Sharon – were standing dead still, just staring at the inspector.
The inspector coughed. ‘Maybe we should talk somewhere else.’
They couldn’t see him! All they’d see was this bossy lady squeezing empty air.
‘Excuse me,’ asked Angela cautiously, ‘Are you quite all right?’
The inspector glared around at the sea of faces. ‘Don’t you all have something else to do?’ she asked.
Most of her audience looked embarrassed and returned to cleaning, or filing, or filling out temperature charts. But not Doctor Margaret, still sponging coffee off her skirt, and definitely not Angela.
‘I have many things to do,’ Angela said, ‘But I think this is more important right now.’
‘If we could step into the office,’ the inspector looked at Tayla, ‘I will be happy to explain it.’
Tayla didn’t want to go into any office. It sounded way too much like being in trouble at school. ‘Me? Why?’
‘Of course you,’ said the inspector. ‘You’re the cause of all these problems.’
‘Are you talking to me?’ said Angela, turning red.
‘Oh my lord, of course not,’ said the inspector, suddenly losing her superpowers of scariness. ‘No, not at all. I was talking –’ she tapped Tayla’s shoulder, ‘to this lad here.’
For a long moment, Angela and Doctor Margaret stared at the patch of space currently occupied by Tayla.
‘There’s nothing there,’ Angela said eventually.
‘That’s not quite true,’ sighed the inspector. ‘Please. In your office?’
Angela stared at her for a moment, then at the empty air connected to the inspector’s hand, and shrugged. ‘It's going to be one of those days. I can always tell.’ She opened her office door. ‘Please.’
‘Thank you,’ said the inspector. She gestured Doctor Margaret and Angela in ahead of her, and dragged Tayla in behind.
Angela flopped into an old, battered swivel chair. ‘This had better be good.’ There was stuff everywhere. Piles of paper all over the desk, overflowing onto the floor, even on top of the computer monitor. It looked like Tayla’s bedroom. You’d think a place like intensive care would be tidy.
Doctor Margaret, obviously used to the mes
s, perched on the edge of the desk.
Angela cleared papers off a spare chair and put them on the floor. ‘Please,’ she said to the inspector. ‘Sit.’
‘I’d rather stand. In case I have to make a grab for him again.’
‘I’ll stay,’ said Tayla, feeling sulky. There was no point in running, this woman with the power of x-ray vision would be sure to find him again. Besides, there was Mum. And his body. He couldn’t leave them behind.
The inspector looked at him like her eyes came with a built-in lie detector. Then she nodded, and sat. She also let go of Tayla’s arm, which was a relief, because his hand was going numb.
‘My name,’ said the inspector to Angela, Doctor Margaret and Tayla, ‘is Mrs Myrtle Mannering. I am the Senior Inspector for the Bureau of Unexplained and Malicious Phenomena.’
Doctor Margaret snorted. ‘Never heard of it.’
Mrs Mannering smiled. ‘There are many things, Doctor, of which you have not heard. That does not mean they do not exist. We prefer the term “The Bureau”.’
‘Sounds like the FBI,’ muttered Tayla, forgetting that Mrs Mannering could hear him. She fixed him with the Glare of Silence.
‘The Government,’ she said, ‘refers to us as The BUMP.’
Angela laughed until Mrs Mannering also gave her the Glare. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘The Bureau,’ said Mrs Mannering, ‘was formed in 1850, after the haunting of Walkaway Place, Hamilton.’
‘Never heard of it,’ muttered Doctor Margaret.
The inspector nodded. ‘Naturally. The Bureau is extremely efficient. We were established to control and regulate all paranormal activities. We issue permits for exorcists and license all medium activities in New Zealand.’
Angela cleared her throat. ‘I’m sorry, but where this is going?’
‘The problem you’ve been having with the damp,’ said the inspector, ‘is nothing to do with your air conditioning.’
‘That’s exactly what maintenance told us.’ Angela waved a piece of paper at the inspector.
It passed right through Tayla, so he couldn’t help reading it. It would be really nice, he thought, if people didn’t push things through him all the time.
* * *
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
* * *
Hi Angela
As requested, all checks on your air conditioning have been completed. All appears normal, I’m happy to say.
Dave
* * *
‘Nothing on how to fix it, or what else could be wrong.’ She pushed the paper into a pile on her desk; the pile fell over, scattering more paper over the floor. ‘Normal! I’ll give them normal.’
‘I suppose, Inspector,’ said Doctor Margaret, ‘that you’re going to tell us it’s all in our imagination.’
‘Oh no. Not at all. It’s because of that larrikin, there.’ The inspector nodded at Tayla, who felt his face growing hot.
Doctor Margaret and Angela both looked confused, and then they looked annoyed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Angela stood up, ‘but I really have other things to do.’
‘He’s about ten or twelve,’ the inspector studied Tayla as if he was a slice of interesting cake, ‘and has brown hair that could do with a cut. He’s wearing blue shorts and a white T-shirt which has “Too Cool for School” written on it.’ She peered over her glasses until Tayla felt like a bug in a microscope. ‘His name is Tayla Johnson.’
‘I didn’t tell you that,’ said Tayla indignantly.
She winked. ‘I guessed.’
Doctor Margaret and Angela exchanged a look.
‘She could have read the medical records,’ said Doctor Margaret slowly. ‘Got his name from the papers.’
‘But Margaret,’ whispered Angela, ‘I think he was wearing a white T-shirt.’
‘He’s a young lad,’ said the inspector. ‘And he’s stuck. Between his body and, well, death. He doesn’t want to die, do you?’ She gave Tayla the Glare again, and he shook his head frantically. No. He didn’t want to die. He just wasn’t sure about living. ‘But he doesn’t want to go back into his body, either.’
For a moment, no one spoke.
Doctor Margaret drew a deep breath. ‘Okaaay. Right. Assuming this is true –’ she held up her hand at the inspector. ‘I’m not saying it isn’t. I’m just saying, “assuming”, that’s all. Can I ask, why doesn’t he want to go back into his body?’
‘Because it hurts,’ Tayla muttered.
Angela pushed the office door open with her foot and called out to a nurse. ‘Jessica, did you admit Tayla Johnson?’
A nurse with a ponytail turned her head. ‘Yes.’
‘What was he wearing?’
‘Um. A white T-shirt, I think. It was quite ripped; we had to cut it off him. Why? Is a relative wanting it? I think I threw it out.’
‘Did it have anything on it?’
The nurse looked anxious. ‘Should I have kept it?’
‘You did fine, Jessica. Was there writing on the T-shirt?’
‘Something about school, I think. It wasn’t a uniform, I remember that. Something about not going to school.’
Angela breathed in, slowly. ‘You think you’ve seen it all,’ she said quietly, as if talking to herself. ‘And then you realize, you really haven’t.’ She sighed. ‘All right,’ she said to the inspector. ‘How do you know what he was wearing?’
The inspector looked surprised. ‘Because it’s on him now.’
Tayla looked down. He liked this T-shirt. He always wore it on mufti days. Stupid nurse. She needn’t have thrown it out.
‘You said it hurts to be in your body,’ the inspector said to him. ‘But I’m sure the doctors can give you medicine to help.’ She turned to Doctor Margaret and Angela. ‘Can’t you?’
Doctor Margaret was staring at the inspector with her mouth open. She looked a bit like a goldfish.
‘Um, yes. I suppose so,’ said Angela. She looked at Doctor Margaret, as if asking her to say something too.
Doctor Margaret shook her head. ‘Oh yes. Most definitely.’
No you can’t, thought Tayla.
Angela spoke to the empty air beside the inspector. Her voice was loud and slow, as though Tayla was thick, or deaf. ‘We-can-make-you-comfortable.’
‘He’s on my other side,’ said the inspector.
‘Oh.’ Angela looked embarrassed.
‘Would you go back into your body,’ the inspector said to Tayla, ‘if it didn’t hurt?’
He shook his head and looked through the door, over at Mum, lying so still in her room. It wouldn’t matter what medicine they gave him. Some pains don’t get better.
‘Oh. Of course,’ said the inspector. For a moment she sounded almost human. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Can I talk to you? In private?’ Tayla whispered to her.
She seemed surprised. ‘In private? Why? They can’t hear you.’
Angela and Doctor Margaret looked seriously freaked-out. Yes, perhaps they couldn’t hear him. But it was hard to know what adults could hear and what they couldn’t. So before the inspector could grab him again, Tayla floated through the door. She frowned at him through its window.
‘Excuse me,’ the inspector said, and opened the door.
He had to admire the way she kept her dignity. Not many people could make it seem normal to talk to empty air and then walk out of an office for no reason.
She followed him into a vacant room, the one next to Mum’s. It had a big window facing the corridor. The curtain was pulled back, so Tayla could see into the Intensive Care Unit. It was like being in a fishbowl.
‘All right,’ said the inspector, ‘I’m listening. What do you want?’
Tayla sat on the bed and tried not to fall through the mattress. ‘I know what you’re trying to do.’
‘And what’s that?’
‘You want to get me into my body.’
She shook her head. ‘I’m trying to get you
to live.’
Angela and Doctor Margaret crept slowly out of Angela’s office. Now they were standing in the corridor, staring into the room, watching the inspector talk to herself. That’s a good joke, thought Tayla. An invisible friend.
‘They think you’re nuts,’ he said.
The inspector looked out the window and sighed. ‘An occupational hazard.’
‘The thing is,’ Tayla felt braver because the inspector looked stupid, ‘I don’t know if I want to live.’ He pushed his fingers into the corners of his eyes to stop the tears. ‘When I’m in my body, there’s nothing to do except think. Even if they stop it hurting, I can still think.’ He looked up at the inspector. ‘And I don’t want to think.’
He knew what he would think about. Mum. Even Doctor Margaret didn’t know if she'd get better. And Dad. He would remember that Dad was dead; that he was never coming back. And he just wasn’t ready for that yet.
‘That’s what you’re doing, aren’t you?’ the inspector said softly. ‘You’re trying to keep yourself busy.’
‘Yeah.’ Tayla looked at the floor. ‘It would be better if I was at school. I mean, at least then I would be distracted. But there’s nothing much to do here.’
The inspector took a deep breath, and looked at him as if he was a light bulb that had just turned on. ‘Not like you’re at school! Of course!’
‘What? What did I say?’
But the inspector didn’t answer. Instead she opened the door, and nearly banged into Doctor Margaret. ‘I’m leaving now,’ she said briskly, ‘but don’t worry. I’ll be back soon.’
‘Um, okay. Good.’ Doctor Margaret still seemed freaked out. ‘I think.’
8
Off to School
Much to Angela’s and Doctor Margaret’s annoyance, the inspector returned that afternoon.
She looked proud of herself, her little beaky nose all pink. ‘I’ve got just the place for you. It’s a school.’
Tayla shook his head. ‘I don’t want to go.’
The Prankster and the Ghost Page 4