Kate had butterflies in her stomach. Tonight was the nativity play; everything they'd rehearsed for the last month. Kate knew her lines and her song. She was fine with that. The problem was, they ... [+]
E J Delaney lives in Brisbane, Australia, and writes fiction for children of all ages (including teens and adults!). https://www.ejdelaney.com/ "The Great Ghost Commotion" is in Short Circuit #14, Short Édition's quarterly review.
Kensington Sands had big plans for Halloween.
She was nine years old now, and bored with dressing up. She wanted proper thrills and frights.
"Grandpa Jonas, can you come over tonight? I've cancelled trick-or-treating but only because I've got an even better idea. Something truly scary. You'll see!"
"Tonsil-wobbling terror? I'll be there!" Grandpa Jonas promised.
Kensington spent that afternoon making ham-and-pea soup. When it was done, she took up the old polaroid camera she'd been given for her birthday. "Hold still now," she told Arantxa, her Spanish Water Dog. "Look!"
Kensington pushed the button and a squarish photo card slid out the front. Colour appeared on its misty white surface. A picture emerged of Arantxa's shaggy muzzle and panting tongue.
"You see, girl? Instant proof. We're going ghost hunting!"
* * *
They met Grandpa Jonas at the front door. Kensington handed him the soup dish then raised the camera from its neck strap.
"Say cheese, Grandpa!"
"Mimolette!"
Grandpa Jonas was wearing Ugg boots, denim shorts and a "Hollywood Scream Queen" tank top. Kensington shook out the picture and nodded her approval.
"Here's the plan, Grandpa Jonas: we're going to take this soup to old Mrs Elias at the top of the hill. Once she lets us inside, I'll sneak upstairs and find a ghost to photograph."
"Mrs Elias has ghosts?"
"Almost definitely! Ghosts are drawn to anyone who was alive when they were; and Mrs Elias is really old. She was a fashion designer back in the 1980s, mum says. Plus, she lives in a spooky old house. Come on!"
They made their way out into the night, Arantxa snuffling at Kensington's skeleton-bone pyjama bottoms. When they were halfway up the slope, the moon disappeared behind sinister grey clouds. A keening breeze raked the passageways between houses.
Kensington shivered.
"Ghosts are just memories trying to take form. We'll ask Mrs Elias to show us her photo albums—that should stir them up. And this camera is old. Digital photography wouldn't work, I don't think, but mine uses dyes and chemicals and stuff. Look, here we are!"
They'd reached the cul-de-sac at the top of the hill. Three regular houses stood clustered around it like witches at a cauldron. Looming even further up, accessed by a steep driveway, was a rickety three-storey mansion.
"Creepy, right?" Kensington led them up the drive. She pulled back the wrought iron doorknocker and rapped three times. "Hello?"
The woman who answered was tall and bony, her kindly eyes belying a puckered-lemon expression. Her skin hung loose in some places but was stretched tight in others.
"Happy Halloween!" Kensington sang out. "We've brought you some soup, Mrs Elias, and we'd like to sit down and look at all your old pictures, possibly for hours. We're very interested in the past," she added.
"Well what a lovely thurprise," Mrs Elias cooed. "Fanthy that! Come in, gearies. Come in!"
With a happy little bark, Arantxa scampered through the doorway. Grandpa Jonas hesitated, but Kensington grabbed his arm and pulled him inside. Her mum had warned her about this. Mrs Elias wore false teeth and they were always slipping loose. It made her hard to understand!
"This way, Grandpa Jonas. Memories, remember? We'll just—"
The house gave an ominous creak. The walls groaned and Kensington felt the floorboards shift. From upstairs there came an eerie whistling sound!
"...sit down together and talk about the old days!"
For a time, that is what they did. Mrs Elias cut dark fruit cake and got out her photo albums. There were pictures of her as a much younger woman, and lots of famous people that Kensington didn't know. Grandpa Jonas did, though. He clapped his hands in excitement!
Just as Kensington was wondering how she could slip away, the ghoulish whistling returned, louder than ever. Arantxa sprang to her feet, yapping.
And bounded upstairs!
"Oh, um, bad girl," Kensington suggested. "I'd, ah, better go after her. Is that okay, Mrs Elias?"
"Of course, gear. Gnuthing up there but old ghosths."
A thrill ran down Kensington's spine. Ghosts!
Leaving Grandpa Jonas to thrill at the 1980s, she tiptoed up the staircase. Each step squeaked underfoot, like giant out-of-tune piano keys.
She reached the first landing. Just then, the whistling came again. Kensington froze! Just to catch my breath, she told herself. Not because I'm scared at all.
Though she was starting to wish Grandpa Jonas had come with her!
The next flight of stairs lay covered in dust. Squaring her shoulders, Kensington took a step forward. She left shaky footprints as she followed Arantxa's paw marks up to the third level. The landing here was gloomy and cold. The only light came from a single bulb one level down.
Kensington crept forward. A sudden gust of wind blew hard under the attic door. Then another! It felt as if some wild poltergeist must be loose inside.
Kensington touched one hand to her camera. Reaching with trembling fingers, she pushed the door open.
Arantxa darted through.
"Arantxa!" Kensington hissed.
The little Spanish Water Dog began barking furiously. She leapt at something in the darkness then ran back over to Kensington, jaws clenched tight around—
Kensington stared, bug-eyed. Was that—? Was that a human arm?
Holy house of horrors!
Shadowy figures pressed all around her. They whipped this way and that, seeming to grab at her. Footsteps clattered. Wind howled through a half-open sash window. Arantxa darted back and forth, growling through clenched teeth.
"It's okay," Kensington told herself. "Ghosts can't hurt you. Not really. They—"
A hand clutched her shoulder. Kensington couldn't help herself. She shrieked, letting loose like a banshee! Then whoever had grabbed her shrieked too, as if she had frightened them!
It sounded like Grandpa Jonas—like that time they'd watched Corpse Bride together and a huntsman spider had fallen on him.
"Kay-bug?"
It was Grandpa Jonas! It must have been his footsteps she'd heard, running up the stairs.
"Kay-bug, are you all right?"
"No. Yes. I don't know! Arantxa's found something. Quick, Grandpa. Your torch!"
Grandpa Jonas flicked his torch on. Holding each other tight, they peered into the attic. Wherever the beam touched, there were—
* * *
"Coats," Grandpa Jonas observed.
The way he said it made Kensington think of Mrs Elias's false teeth. Some coats dangled from hangers on wheeled racks. Others were modelled by department store dummies—one of which had given up an arm to a feisty Spanish Water Dog! There were fur coats; velvety coats; brightly coloured pop-video coats with enormous shoulder pads.
Heart still thumping, Kensington raised her camera. The flash went off and a picture rolled briskly out the front. It showed an unbuttoned greatcoat swinging on its hanger, its long arms empty. Kensington blew on the card. She stared thoughtfully for a moment, then a triumphant smile spread across her face.
"Did you find what you were thurching for, geary?" Mrs Elias asked when they tramped back downstairs.
"Yes, Mrs Elias, I'm pretty sure we did. All those coats... they're the perfect resting place for ghosts!"