Seven Strange and Ghostly Tales

Next day the insurance firm R.S.B. Limited stepped up its activities. Jonathan had to attend behind the sports hut at morning break, lunchtime and afternoon break. When he arrived there that afternoon Kate was singing in a mournful little voice:

“To save us all from Satan’s power

When we have gone astray,

O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,

O tidings of comfort and joy.”

Bingo flicked her cigarette away.

“Very good, caroler, I prefer that one to ‘Good King Wenceslas.’ You can do it again in the morning.”

Robbins interrupted.

“Unless you’d rather pay, let me see. Two school weeks and two days, that’s six pounds.”

Kate’s face was straight, her voice expressionless. “I’d rather sing.”

Smith dismissed her with a nod. “Coalman, you’re next.”

Kate stepped to one side as Jonathan stood in front of the trio. Smith accentuated each word by tapping Jonathan’s nose.

“Bet you haven’t brought any money with you today, eh?”

Jonathan shook his head dumbly. Robbins scuffed up dirt with his shoe. “Come on then, mucky face time again.”

Wordlessly Jonathan placed his palms in the loose damp soil and began dabbing it on his cheeks. He made a point of not looking at anyone while he was doing it, telling himself in his mind that this was not happening to him, but to someone else. He looked over Kate’s shoulder at the corner of the hut. The boy was there, poking his head around the corner, unseen by the others. He was smearing mud on his own face, shaking with silent laughter as if it were all some huge joke. Jonathan could not help it—he started laughing too, pantomiming his friend, smearing the mud in exactly the same way.

Robbins looked uneasy. “What’s up with him, has he flipped his lid?”

The boy stuck out his tongue, waggling it. Jonathan roared with glee and imitated him. Bingo stood up, shaking her head.

“Come on, there’s the buzzer. Let’s get away from this nutcase.”

When they had gone, Kate shook him by the sleeve.

“Jonathan, what on earth’s the matter with you?”

Tears of laughter ran down his cheeks. He held his side with one hand as he pointed with the other.

“Oh hahaha! It’s my friend, can’t you see him, Kate!”

Kate gazed at the corner of the hut. “Where? I can’t see anyone.”

The boy had vanished again.

When Jonathan had his laughter under control, he tried explaining. Kate shook her head in disbelief as they walked back across the field. Nothing he said could convince her. She was becoming angry.

“All right then, describe him. What did he look like?”

“Oh, about my height, I suppose, dark brown hair, brown eyes, school uniform—looked a bit like me, I suppose.”

Kate snorted. “Fibber! I’ve never seen anyone in school like that, ‘cept you. You’re just trying to make me look as big a fool as you.”

“Kate, no, honestly, he was there—”

“I’ve got to go, I’m late for class already. You’d better clean that stuff off your face and get to class, too.”

Jonathan watched her go, then something made him look upward. There was the boy again, still with mud on his face, looking out of the principal’s office on the upper floor. He pressed his face flat against the window and blew out his cheeks. Jonathan roared anew with merriment and waved to him. “Be careful you’re not caught.”

The boy pulled in his chin, pointing to himself as if to say, “Me, get caught, don’t be silly!”

Jonathan ran into the washroom laughing heartily.

Next morning Jonathan had a slight temperature. Nothing to worry about, Aunt Helen said, but he would be better staying in bed that day. He slept through the morning and by lunchtime was feeling much better. Aunt Helen allowed him to come downstairs and they lunched together in the kitchenette. She decided that he still looked a bit pale and should stay away from school until next day.

Jonathan messed about in the garden that afternoon; it was a fine sunny day. Finally he grew restless. There had been no sign of his friend all afternoon, though he had expected him to show up at any moment. Perhaps he could have cut classes and sneaked over to see him. He seemed the type who would do that for a friend. Maybe he would still come. Jonathan hoped he would.

Jonathan swung to and fro upon the gate, looking up and down the avenue; he even scrambled into the low branches of the beech tree to keep watch. But the strange boy never came that afternoon.

Kate had seen Jonathan several times at school that day, but she had not spoken to him for trying to take her for a fool the previous afternoon. He smiled as they passed on the corridor, looking as if he might try to stop and talk to her, but Kate held herself aloof, sweeping grandly past with her nose in the air. Jonathan did not turn up for his sessions with Robbo, Smudger and Bingo. They never said anything, though it was plain to Kate that they were working themselves up into a nasty mood. This meant trouble for them both. Silently disliking Jonathan for his silly behavior, she carried bravely on with her singing at the afternoon inquisition.

“To save us all from Satan’s power When we have gone astray… .”

“Go on, beat it, caroler. Get back to your class.” Bingo dismissed Kate and sat drumming her heels against the upturned garbage can. She was in a foul humor. Robbins and Smith waited instructions.

“Listen, you two, I want to see our little coalman, right after the last buzzer this afternoon. Don’t let him sneak off, I’m going to teach him a lesson in manners he won’t forget. Fancy missing three full sessions, the nerve of the cheeky beast!”

It was nearly 4.30 p.m. Every pupil had left the school, all of the staff too. Kate watched from behind the park gates where she could not be seen. Robbo, Smudger and Bingo had both exits from the school covered: Robbo and Smudger at the small gate, Bingo at the main one. Finally Jonathan came sauntering out.

Kate held her breath, trying desperately to control the butterflies that fluttered about inside her. Jonathan halted at the main gate, right in front of Bingo. He began talking coolly. Kate did not hear what went on, it was all a bit of an anticlimax. Bingo drew herself to her full height, eyes narrowed, jaw set. She stared down her nose at Jonathan, who did not seem at all impressed. He exchanged some brief words with her, passed her something, then went on his way.

Kate breathed a sigh of relief; at least he was safe and unharmed. Come to think of it he had acted rather boldly; there had been no trace of the humble coalman about him. Jonathan caught sight of her and waved cheerily, then he dodged behind a tree. In spite of her former mood Kate smiled and waved back. She dashed to the tree, but he was gone. He popped from behind another tree, then another, leading her along. Kate ran after him calling, “Stop, Jonathan, stop. Come out, I know you’re there!”

But he was not. Jonathan was behind the park gatepost, then he was hiding in the bushes, next he was waving from the bridge. Kate began to lose her happy mood; the chase was irritating her. “Jonathan, stop right there. I have to talk to you!”

Gone again? She could stand it no longer. Standing on the bridge she watched him on the bandstand conducting an imaginary band. Why wouldn’t he speak to her? Why didn’t he stop in one place until she caught up with him? Look at him, waggling his arms about with that idiotic grin on his face. Her hands gripped the stone lintel of the bridge tightly as she shouted aloud, “You’re stupid, Jonathan Coleman, stupid and silly, d’you hear me? I never want to speak to you again. Think you’re clever, don’t you! Go on, laugh, but Robbo, Smudger and Bingo will have the last laugh, and you needn’t come crying to me. So there!”

She flounced angrily off across the park, her cheeks bright red.

Smith and Robbins leaned over Bingham’s shoulder as she read the note Jonathan had passed to her.

“I’ll give you ten pounds for the coalman and another ten for the caroler if you promise to leave us alone. Be at the back of the hut on the sports field tomorrow night at eleven.

Jonathan Coleman”

Robbins whistled through his teeth. “What d’you make of that?”

Smith sniggered. Bingham silenced him with a glare.

“It means that our coalman has got money from somewhere, quite a bit of it too. He’s trying to buy insurance for himself and the little caroler. Do you know what that means?”

“He’s in love!”

Bingham looked down her nose at Robbins.

“It means that if he can get his hands on that much money, there’s bound to be more. He can pay up again and again, if we play this right.”

“Suppose it’s some kind of trap?”

Bingham folded the note pensively.

“No, I don’t think so. He’s too innocent for something like that. But you could be right, I suppose. We’d better take out some insurance to cover ourselves in that case. Tomorrow night, you two get up on top of the sports hut, that way you’ll get a good view all around. If any parents, teachers or police are with him, we can beat it, long before they ever get to the hut. Guess who’ll look foolish then, telling stories to get others in trouble and wasting other people’s time at dead of night on a wild goose chase.”

Robbins began giggling again; so did Smith. She joined them.

It was a perfect plan.

Next morning Jonathan walked through the school gates unhindered—the three bullies were not waiting there. Kate swept regally past him, ignoring his cheerful hello. As he went into school something made him glance backwards. His strange friend was standing on the roof of the sports hut, laughing and holding both thumbs up. Jonathan smiled and gave a thumbs-up in return before going into assembly. At break time he went to the session behind the hut. Kate was there but their tormentors were not. Jonathan looked around.

“Where is everybody today?”

Kate bit her quivering lip. “Prob’ly hiding like you were yesterday.”

“Hiding? I wasn’t hiding anywhere. I was sick!”

She stamped her foot angrily. “You’re sick, all right! Jonathan the vanishing boy, Jonathan the grinning idiot, why don’t you run off and hide somewhere now? I’m going in, there’s the buzzer.”

Kate stormed off, leaving Jonathan sad and perplexed.

At lunchtime he stayed alone in the canteen; nobody bothered him. Kate avoided the canteen and went out onto the field for lunch. As she passed the hut Bingham darted out and caught her by the back of her neck.

“Come on, caroler, behind here. The old firm wants a word with you!”

Robbins and Smith were there, perched on the upturned garbage cans. Kate looked hopefully at them.

“I came this morning but you weren’t here. Do you want me to sing?”

Bingham thrust the note under Kate’s nose. “What’s this all about?”

Kate read it, her eyes wide with disbelief. “I don’t know, honest.”

Smith drummed his heels against the garbage can. “Oho, I’ll bet you don’t.”

Bingham’s eyes were dangerously cruel. She pulled Kate’s ponytail, waggling her head back and forth.

“Listen, you. That money better get here on the dot tonight. Tell your friend that if he tries any fancy tricks we’ll make an example of you both that this school will never forget. Now beat it quick!”

Kate ran off with hot tears welling in her eyes, wishing that she had never met Jonathan. Running off, grinning, hiding, playing tricks then acting the innocent, and now this. She saw him watching her from the science room window; he was smiling and nodding to her. Tight lipped, Kate stopped to gather a handful of gravel from the path. Before she could raise her arm to throw it at the window he was gone. It was all too much. She broke down and cried, rubbing her eyes with dusty hands until her face became grubby and tearstained.

A chilly night breeze had sprung up, it chased a page of yesterday’s newspaper across the dry turf of the sports field. Robbins strained his eyes against the darkness.

“Something’s moving out there. Maybe it’s him!”

Bingham pulled out a cigarette, watching the deserted field carefully.

“It’s only a piece of paper. Stop yelling all over the place, will you! Anyone got a light?”

Smith produced matches. He tried lighting the cigarette for her but the wind blew the match out. He giggled nervously. Bingham gave him a cold stare. “Will you two stop acting like a pair of little kids, sniggering and getting excited over bits of paper.”

Robbins slumped moodily against the hut.

“We’re only keeping a lookout. It’s pitch black out there, you know.”

Bingham took the matches and lit the cigarette herself.

“Well of course it is, genius. It is nighttime, after all. Wait a sec, what was that?”

“What was what?”

Bingham’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Over there in the doorway.”

Robbins laughed scornfully.

“Now who’s acting like a little kid, eh! It’s only some newspaper; the wind’s blown it into the passage doorway. Look!”

He ran off toward the school building, glad to have something to do other than stand about. Diving into the darkened doorway recess he caught the windblown paper and waved it aloft.

“See, I told you, yesterday’s Daily Mail.” He let it flutter from his grasp to be carried away on the breeze. “Whooo! Look, a ghost!”

Smith watched the paper lifting above the school building. He gave a small whimper and went rigid. Robbins arrived back panting.

“Whew! It’s hard running after ghosts. What’s up with him?”

Bingham turned to Smith. He stood ashen and shaking, his finger pointing. “Th … th … there, first-floor staff-room window. He was there!”

She grabbed him by his blazer collar. “Who was?”

“Him! The coalman. He was watching us, laughing.”

Bingham threw the cigarette down and ground it savagely with her heel.

“Right, that’s it! Frightened to death by a piece of paper blowing past a windowpane. It was only a reflection, you dimwit. And you, Robbins, you’re as bad, prancing about like a two-year-old. ‘Whooo! Look, a ghost!’ Listen, if we want to make twenty pounds tonight and more in the future you two had better stop acting soft. Now get up on the roof of that hut and keep watch.”

Cowed by the big girl’s temper the pair climbed on the garbage cans and hauled themselves up to the flat roof of the hut. Smith was about to remind her that it was she who started the panic by sighting the newspaper in the doorway, when a heavy gust of wind caused him to drop on all fours. He complained unhappily.

“Hey, this wind’s getting up to gale force. We could be blown off.”

Bingham was in no mood for complaints.

“Shut up whining, Smith. Keep your eyes open and let me know the moment you see the kid coming, or anyone at all. We might have to hoppit quick if he’s snitched to the teachers or the police.”

The minutes ticked by and Bingham began to grow uneasy. Maybe the little rat would bring some adult help. But they were committed now, the prospect of twenty pounds for a bit of bullying was too good to pass up. Eight for her and six pounds apiece for the other two. She drew her collar up against the keening wind and waited. Robbins’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

“Here he comes. He’s just stepped out of the bushes on the far side.”

“Good, is he alone?”

“Wait, let him get out on to the field a bit.”

“If you see anyone with him get down off there right away, you two.”

“No, it’s okay. He’s all on his own. Haha, come to us, little coalman.”

“Cut the comedy and keep your eyes peeled. They could come in from either side to trap us.”

“Ha, no chance. Apart from this wind there’s only us and him. He’s as cold as us; he looks very pale and chilled.”

Now Bingham could see Jonathan clearly. “No wonder, he’s only got his school uniform on. But who’s worried, as long as he’s got the money with him.”

Without warning the wind died away completely. Now the pale-faced boy stood in front of them. He was smiling, but it was not a pleasant smile. Behind Bingham the three garbage cans took off across the windless field with a nerve-jangling clatter. Then there was silence, total and complete, the gloom pressing in on the three bullies. Bingham knew without looking that the other two were utterly petrified. She tried to shrug off the feeling. Moistening her tongue and swallowing hard, she did her best to sound cool and arrogant. “Well, coalman, brought the money?”

The boy had stopped smiling. He raised a hand and the wind sprang up again with renewed fury. His appearance began changing before their astonished gaze.

He grew taller, much bigger and broader too. Lines and wrinkles creased inexplicably across his face; the eyes narrowed, burning with a terrifying intensity. No longer was he a boy in school uniform; now he was a fully grown man, tall and severe, dressed in a long-gone fashion. He wore a black frock-coated suit, and beneath his eight-buttoned waistcoat a stiff white shirt gleamed, surmounted by a black bow tie. The man’s powerful hands played idly with a gold watch fob and chain strung across the front of his waistcoat, his face a mask of forbidding authority, broad nostrils quivering fitfully over a stiff, waxed mustache.

Smith and Robbins had fallen to their knees on the roof of the hut, the wild wind chilling their bloodless faces as it tore at open mouths. The man’s dark hair was neatly combed in an old-fashioned middle parting, not a hair of it moved in the howling gale as he nodded his head solemnly at the hut. It shook and trembled, and the two boys on top fell flat on their faces. Now the hut began to rise from the ground. Up, up it travelled, ascending into the empty starless skies of the storm-filled night, high above the darkened planet. Smith and Robbins grasped the edges of the roof, too terrified even to shut their eyes as they stared out into the dim reaches of the universe. The school grounds far below were not even a dot on the map as they hovered in empty space, yet like overhead thunder they heard the voice of the man as he spoke to the girl on the ground.

“I have brought the money. Take the rewards of your cowardice!”

Bingham had fallen upon her knees. The wind whipped through her hair and stung her eyes, yet she could not take them off the apparition that stood before her, unruffled by the howling gale. Slowly the man put finger and thumb into his vest pocket and drew forth four large outdated white five-pound notes. He held them out to her, his voice booming like a cathedral bell tolling requiem.

“Vile creature! Grovelling wretch! Take the price of the misery you have caused!”

His eyes bored into her very soul as with nerveless fingers she reached out and touched the money.

A crackling flash of forked lightning ripped the night sky apart. Thunder banged overhead like the crashing of the gates of doom.

The girl’s screams were mingled with those of her two companions as the sports hut plunged earthward—they wailed like lost souls in the pits of fear. The hut hit the field, shattering into matchwood, throwing Smith and Robbins senseless in the dirt alongside Bingham. She knelt on the ground, clutching a torn piece of newspaper in one hand as she smeared dirt on her face with the other. The man had gone, but the smiling boy stood watching her for a moment before walking off into the calm windless night.

In Saint Michael’s next morning Jonathan stood next to Kate. The assembly hall was packed to the doors with silent pupils. The staff sat on stage, flanking the principal, a police superintendent and a doctor from the local hospital. Immediately after the school anthem had been sung, the principal stood up on the rostrum. He addressed the pupils in his stern morning voice.

“Certain events took place on the sports field of this school last night which you may or may not be aware of. Let me dispel any foolish tales or rumors you may have heard by telling you precisely what happened. I hope this will also serve as a warning to any would-be trespassers or vandals. What I have to tell you will be amply borne out by Superintendent Atherton and Doctor Pradesh, who attended the three pupils involved. At about 11 p.m. last night there was a shortlived, but extremely powerful freak storm. Charlotte Bingham, Geoffrey Robbins and Malcolm Smith, three sixth-graders, were in the school grounds without permission. At some point these unfortunate trespassers were playing around the school sports hut when it was struck by lightning. Fortunately none of them was killed. When the police arrived on the scene they found the hut totally demolished. Smith and Robbins were both unconscious, and although Bingham had not been injured she was in a very distressed state. Doctor Pradesh tells me that it is unlikely they will ever be able to return to Saint Michael’s again, though with proper psychiatric counselling and medical care they will return to normal life in due course.

“So let me repeat a warning that you have, no doubt, been given often by your teachers. You will not, I repeat, not, use this school as an adventure playground or meeting place when you have no business here. Once you leave school each afternoon, it’s straight home, unless told otherwise by myself or your teachers. Three children who ignored school rules are now lying in hospital—imagine the concern they have caused, to their parents, police, hospital staff, their teachers and myself. Bingham, Robbins and Smith are regretting now that they ignored warnings and school rules; let us hope that you will learn from what happened to them in their disobedience, and stay clear of unattended school grounds after hours. Do I make myself clear?”

Jonathan and Kate joined in the mass chorus of “Yes, sir!” but they were not looking at the principal. They were both gazing out the window at the smiling boy who was waving goodbye to them from the wreckage of the sports hut.

Copyright © 1991 by Brian Jacques.

All rights reserved. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced

in any form without permission in writing from the publisher.

A PaperStar Book, published in 1999 by Penguin Putnam Books

for Young Readers, 345 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

PaperStar is a registered trademark of The Putnam Berkley Group, Inc.

The PaperStar logo is a trademark of The Putnam Berkley Group, Inc.

First American edition published in 1991 by Philomel Books.

Originally published simultaneously in Great Britain

by Hutchinson Children’s Books, London.

Printed in the United States of America.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Jacques, Brian. Seven strange and ghostly tales / by Brian Jacques.

p. cm. Summary: A collection of seven creepy stories.

1. Ghost stories—English. 2. Children’s stories—English.

[1. Ghosts—Fiction. 2. Short stories.] I. Title. PZ7J15317Se

1991 fFic]—dc20 91-9889 CIP AC ISBN 0-698-11808-1

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