The Griffins of Castle Cary

by Heather Shumaker

  “But we don’t have a key!”

  “It’s Father Casey’s. Happen to know he always leaves the keys.” Shep tapped a junior-sized bumper sticker that said: THIS BIKE PROTECTED BY GOD. “Hop on.”

  Shep revved the engine. Will knocked back the kickstand. Meg jumped on behind Will and secured herself by hugging Will and Ariel around the middle. They were scrunched together like a giant foursome sandwich: Shep in front at the handlebars, then Ariel, Will, and Meg. Fivesome, actually. The manor ghost clung to Ariel in the midst of them, her green velvet dangling down.

  “This is going to be bumpy,” Shep said over his shoulder. “Hang on!”

  “Where are you going?” yelled Meg.

  “The shortest way!” Shep called back.

  “Cross-country!” Will said with a shout.

  Of course. Shep was a local. Officer Targent’s words came back to Will in a rush: By road it’s twenty minutes, but it’s a straight shot through the pastures; you could walk in half the time. He looked past the garden toward the back of the hospital. There was a collection of air-conditioning units, blowers venting heat with a noisy hum, a line of plastic garbage bins, and beyond that, sheep pastures.

  A hand clamped down on Will’s shoulder. He cringed and turned, expecting to see Officer Targent’s belt and the padded black vest of his uniform. Instead he saw blue jeans, a black shirt, and tennis shoes: Father Casey.

  “Just a minute, now. You can’t . . .”

  “Sorry, Casey,” Shep yelled without looking back. “Gotta go. It’s a spiritual matter!”

  Shep gunned the motor and the bike leapt forward. Will gripped Shep’s chest, squeezing Ariel between them. They tore out of the hospital grounds. Behind them, the fire alarm blared and Father Casey waved madly, yelling “Wait! Wait! Stop!” after them. Riding in a cop car with the sirens on and stealing a minister’s motorcycle? His friends would never believe this. Of course, soon the cop car sirens would be chasing after them, turning the escape even more wild.

  They squealed past the air-conditioning units as Shep’s hospital gown blew in Will’s face, its green and pink polka dots flapping wildly in the wind. For an instant, Will breathed in hot air and the stench of garbage. Then the bins zipped by. There was gravel and a skid of tires. Then a bump, the grating of a gate, and open pasture.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Stampede

  The motorcycle’s roar invaded Meg’s ears. She’d never been on a motorcycle before, but this was louder than she’d imagined. What was it Shep had said about gears? It sounded as if the motorcycle was straining. She was straining too, to hang on. It was a roomy seat, but with Shep and three kids there wasn’t much space. What would her mother think of them tearing off across muddy fields with no helmets or seat belts?

  Shep had unlatched the gate, and they were hurtling across McBurney’s first pasture. The stone fence ahead joggled into view. Just one more pasture to cross before reaching the Griffinage.

  “Blast it!” Shep yelled and twisted the handlebar grips.

  The motorcycle leapt, bumped, then made a thutt-thutt-thutt coughing noise. Their speed dropped. The engine roar sank to a hum. Then the entire motorcycle stuttered forward, Meg slammed against Will’s back, and the engine died.

  “Out of fuel,” said Shep.

  The motorcycle wheeled forward silently, wobbled, and stopped. Shep put his good foot down to steady it, and the children scrambled off, leaving Ariel draped over the leather seat. Shep glared at the motorcycle. Meg felt her body vibrating from the wild ride. It had been hard to gauge distance with so much bumping, but she could see they’d covered more than half the distance to the Griffinage. McBurney’s second west pasture was next, and it was the smaller of the two. The empty-tanked motorcycle had skidded to a halt a few steps from the stile and gate between the fields.

  “It’s up to you now,” Shep said, looking at Meg and Will. “Think you can do it?”

  “You mean run for it?” asked Will.

  Shep nodded and looked down at his foot.

  “ ’Fraid I’m stuck here. I’ll follow as I can.”

  Meg stifled a sob. It had been so comforting to have Shep back with them again. It was true he didn’t know everything about ghosts, but he was real, solid, and grown-up. She hadn’t realized how much she’d relaxed just having him with them. It was the feeling of taking off responsibility and just being a kid. A kid in a dangerous situation, but still just a kid following an adult’s leadership. Now it was up to them again.

  Will bent down with his back to the motorcycle. Shep placed Ariel on Will’s back, but when Will tried to take a step, he collapsed on the ground.

  “I can’t stand up!” he cried with surprise. “There’s something wrong with me. My legs won’t work!” He wriggled on the ground and groaned.

  Shep lifted Ariel off Will and rested her on the motorcycle seat again, his arm around her. Will struggled to his feet.

  “Let me try,” said Meg.

  For some reason, she knew she could do it. Will was good at seeing the ghosts, but she could understand them. The way she’d been able to connect with the ghost girl in the well gave her courage. The manor ghost wasn’t visible to her now, but Meg realized she could still feel her. The deep, wafting sense of loneliness she’d experienced in the well surrounded her again. There was loneliness in the manor ghost too, mixed with another deep aching, a lostness—not being lost exactly, but a loss of purpose.

  Meg marched up to the motorcycle. Will stepped aside, opened his mouth as if about to protest, then closed it again. Shep said nothing, but grabbed Ariel under her armpits and hefted her onto Meg’s back. Meg braced both arms against her thighs, her head down.

  A crushing weight made her stagger.

  She swayed but stayed upright.

  “She’s doing it,” she heard Will whisper.

  Meg felt the weight seep into her body. It was easier as it spread out more. She took a tentative step. Each time she lifted her foot, it felt as if she were fighting intense gravity. It certainly wasn’t Ariel’s weight. She’d carried Ariel piggyback plenty of times before. A far, far heavier mass was pressing her down. How could a girl and a ghost be so unearthly heavy?

  Meg wobbled forward. Ariel’s body hung limp, draped over Meg’s neck. Wedged between Ariel’s chest and Meg’s back was the hard china head of the doll. Meg felt its unyielding head dig into her backbone with every step.

  “That’s a girl, Meg,” said Shep.

  Shep opened the gate so they wouldn’t have to climb the stile. At first Meg used her hands to lift each leg forward. Her leg muscles alone weren’t strong enough. Lift, step. Lift, step. They’d never get anywhere at this pace. Besides the intense weight, she felt an ache of sadness seep into her body. It seemed to be coming from the ghost. But as the ache poured into her, Meg discovered the weight on her back became more bearable. She stumbled forward faster, each step a little more sure and steady. She was running now. She could do it. The more she opened up to accept the sadness, the faster she could go. The key wasn’t to think about carrying the body—it was to carry the feelings.

  “That heavy?” said Will. He was running easily beside her.

  “Like nothing I’ve ever carried,” said Meg. “Feels like I’m carrying a car on my back.”

  After that, she saved her breath and concentrated on running. Meg ran with her head down, counting on Will to guide her. Every now and then he’d call out a direction—more right; left now—and Meg adjusted and ran on. As she ran, she heard a new sound. A kind of murmuring. It wasn’t Ariel or Will. It sounded like a voice chanting from far away. She couldn’t tell where the voice was coming from. It seemed to surround her.

  “What’s that?” Meg asked.

  “She’s talking,” said Will. “She’s got her mouth over Ariel’s ear.”

  Meg shuddered. What a combination. She was the one who could carry the ghost’s weight, and Will was the one who could see and hear the ghost clearly.

 
“What’s she saying?”

  Will didn’t answer. “More left. Can you go faster?”

  Partway across the pasture, Meg leaned against a shade tree to rest. They’d made it across the bulk of the muddy field and the last stile was in sight. Meg’s breathing was hard and jagged. Will felt helpless running unburdened beside her. Why couldn’t he carry the ghost? He looked at Meg, then flicked his eyes away. It was too awful. The ghost’s eyes were bright silver now, her green velvet shining vividly. Those silver eyes landed on him sometimes, bringing back the terror of the night, but the manor ghost didn’t dwell on Will. Her focus was Ariel. After the wild motorcycle ride, her hair was even more untidy and tangled. She looked like a gruesome gargoyle or vulture perched in a dreadful piggyback.

  “Can you make it?”

  Meg nodded grimly. “How’s Ariel?”

  “Fine,” said Will. He didn’t meet Meg’s eyes. One glance at Ariel’s face told him the ghost was getting her way. Were they right to take her away from the hospital medicine—dopamine, or whatever it was? How much could Ariel endure? Did they even have time to get to the well? There was no way to know. They had to keep running.

  McBurney’s sheep flock had seen many strange sights. There was the time a fox had snatched a newborn lamb in broad daylight. Once a hawk had dive bombed the flock when they’d grazed too close to her new nest in the oak, and the time Mr. McBurney had bought a new tractor. But nothing had ever spooked them as much as the sight of a creature running hunched over through the pasture with two things latched onto its back. It was a triple human, three bodies stacked on top of one another. The bottom one was groaning and bent over, the middle one was deathly quiet, and the top one was the most fearsome of all. It screeched and shimmered in green light that made the sheep’s spines twitch and their ears flick. The flock shuffled nervously and stamped their front feet.

  Then they did what all sensible sheep do when faced with an unknown menace: They panicked.

  Will and Meg were two-thirds across the last pasture when they heard a low rumble.

  “What’s that?” asked Meg, unable to look from side to side because of the load she was carrying.

  “Don’t look. Keep running!” called Will.

  Will, however, turned to look. Over the crest of the hill came the rumble. It was the sound of one thousand ovine hooves pounding the pasture.

  “Sheep!” called Will.

  “What?” asked Meg. The rumble was getting louder, and she couldn’t hear properly.

  Hundreds of sheep were running at them. Will gauged the distance to the pasture fence and the stile. An easy run if he were on his own. About fifty yards—the same distance as a quick sprint from the half line to the soccer goal. He’d done it many times. But Meg couldn’t run that fast with Ariel and the ghost on her back. If she set Ariel down, Ariel would surely be trampled. No good saving her life from the ghost just to lose her here in the mud. Maybe they could make it. Will grabbed a stick from the ground.

  Will clutched Meg’s arm and dragged her toward the stile, trying to reach the edge of the field before the frenzied flock hit them. The sheep moved in one mass, like a swarm of insects, swaying as a group first left, then right, then barreling down at the children with increasing speed. Will waved his stick, trying to make them swerve.

  “Sheep stampede! Run fast!” Will shouted in Meg’s ear.

  They ran. Meg stumbled after Will. The thundering noise gained on them. Will turned and saw the clear outline of the black muzzles on the front line of ewes. The sheep didn’t seem to care about his stick. They just came charging forward. The children were still too far from the pasture’s edge. There was nowhere to hide. They would be trampled. Trampled to pieces . . . maybe to death . . . by a crazed fluffy mob.

  Meg squeezed her eyes shut. Will stared in dread as the wall of wool coats charged them. He felt a swoosh as if from a storm’s gust, and his feet vibrated from the pounding hooves, but there was no impact. At the last second, the sheep swerved and dodged around the children, leaving a teardrop-shaped hole in the flock’s middle.

  “They missed us!” he cried, his face shining.

  But as he said it, Meg’s body suddenly lurched. A new sheep had appeared, not running in terror, but charging purposefully with its head down and thick horns curled back. It was Caesar.

  Mind you look out for Caesar. Aunt Effie’s words came back to him. Will watched now as Caesar rammed the two girls. Meg hit the ground. Ariel flew off. He saw a flash of green as the girls fell directly in the path of the running sheep.

  The sheep kept pounding by. Will couldn’t move. A mass of wool backs surrounded him, flowing by like a lanolin river. He craned his neck to spot Meg and Ariel, but was forced to stay stuck in his place until the last waves of ewes drummed past. When the sheep mob released him, he scrambled over to the girls.

  Ariel lay tossed on the ground beside Meg. Her eyelids fluttered, but she didn’t cry out. The flock huddled at the far end of the pasture, panting, their lambs between their legs. Caesar stood in front of the flock, his head lowered and ears trembling.

  Meg sat up and rubbed her thigh. Good, thought Will. Meg’s all right.

  “Where is she?” were her first words. “Is the ghost still there? I don’t feel her.”

  “She’s off! She’s on the ground between you and Ariel. But stunned, I think. Almost feels like she’s dormant,” said Will. “Whew. Can you believe it? The ram flung her off! And the sheep missed us.”

  “We’re not there yet.” At the end of the pasture, the sheep stamped their feet and shifted uneasily. They looked panicked enough to charge again. Caesar stamped his foot.

  “Come on. Can you stand? I bet the manor ghost will follow us in a minute. I can take Ariel now that she’s light.”

  Together they lifted Ariel over the stile. They’d only been a few feet away from its safety when the sheep stampeded. Thank goodness we weren’t out of the pasture, thought Will. Turns out we needed Caesar. Meg scooped up Ariel and draped her over Will’s back in a fireman’s carry. The doll’s head banged against his ear. Ariel stirred and clutched his shirt collar. Was she whispering his name? “It’s me,” Will told her and patted her leg.

  Then Will charged forward. He ran with a burst of new energy buoyed by relief. The ghost was off. Not sucking Ariel’s life any longer. They had some time again. And, incredibly, they’d accomplished the first part of their impossible task.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Back to the Well

  Upstairs in the hospital, Officer Targent was pleased with himself. He’d bested his personal response time (a record-setting three minutes) by responding to the South Mendip alarm in a mere twenty-one seconds. There he found Dr. Fenster standing in a cluster of medical staff and toilet paper, brushing dog hair off her sleeve and sneezing. There was no fire. Not even a hint of smoke.

  “Someone get this devil of a dog out!” ordered Dr. Fenster. She sneezed again and the fire alarm blared. “And turn that thing off!”

  “No fire, then?” inquired the policeman. “You called emergency services because of a dog, Doctor?” The enormous Griffinage dog was padding in agitated circles, muddy paw prints covering the floor, matching the ones on the seat of Offier Targent’s car.

  The doctor glared at him. The dog stopped pacing and wagged his tail.

  “Gotcha!” said Officer Targent, making a show of grabbing Uncle Ben’s collar while the dog nuzzled him in a friendly way. Officer Targent watched as the hospital staff reset the fire alarm, then he headed downstairs with the Griffinage dog beside him. From the second-floor ward above, voices started yelling: “What do you mean she’s gone? Wasn’t anybody looking? What kind of hospital is this? Search the premises! Call the police! Call the fire brigade!”

  Officer Targent sighed. So many emergency calls were simply false alarms from people overreacting. Whoever they were looking for, she’d probably just gone to the bathroom.

  As the Griffinage garden and walnut tree came in sight,
Will slowed down. It was all well and good to escape from South Mendip hospital and run across McBurney’s fields. Up until this point, a strong idea had been driving him—the idea that they ought to get back to the well. Meg agreed, and Shep hadn’t questioned it. The well seemed right. Now that they’d arrived, Will suddenly wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of anything. Well, he knew the manor ghost was following them, he could see her drifting form, but there was no sign of the girl ghost.

  For the second time that afternoon, Will wished he had a more complete plan. A few paces away, the dark mouth of the well shaft yawned. He set Ariel down as gently as he could at the base of the walnut tree and scanned the area for ghosts. He wasn’t hiccupping, but he could feel a tingle in his neck and that whooshing sound again. The ghosts must be near.

  Ariel didn’t stir. Her face was drained, and her cheeks had zipper marks from being pressed against Will’s jacket. The doll was still clutched in her arms. Will tugged fruitlessly at the doll, but it wouldn’t budge. Not even Caesar’s ramming had shaken its uncanny grip. Suddenly, Will felt foolish. He was in over his head. What if Ariel never got better? What if she never woke up? Why had he and Meg been so sure they could help Ariel if they ran away from the hospital? All their lives, Will and Meg would have to live with the haunting thought that they had stolen Ariel’s last chance for survival. The doctors and nurses might not know about ghosts, but they knew all about human bodies. Surely they could have saved her. Shep would be ages hobbling with his foot. It was all up to them. Two kids. And Will had no idea what to do next.

  “What do we do next?”

  Will realized Meg was looking at him expectantly. He gulped.

  “Okay,” he said. “Um, next, we . . .”

  “You don’t know,” said Meg.

  “I have no idea,” admitted Will miserably.