Vicky Spong and the Ghost Museum: Chapter One - A late night visitor

It was after midnight, but Vicky was still awake. "I can't sleep," she texted into her mobile, though if her father had been with her he'd have pointed out that you can't get to sleep without lying with your head on the pillow and closing your eyes.

Luckily her father wasn't around, he was very sensibly asleep in the next room. Vicky shivered slightly as she selected David's name from her Favourites menu and pressed send.

Vicky was so wrapped up in her text message that she didn’t notice a sudden chill descend upon the room, nor the tiny faint hairs on the back of her neck prick up. She didn’t even notice herself give an involuntary shiver. To be honest, she was so engrossed in her phone that Vicky had simply no idea that a ghost had just entered her room.

The ghost had walked through the back wall of her bedroom and continued walking, straight towards her. It was the ghost of a soldier, dressed in a uniform from the Second World War. If you were looking at a ghost for the first time (and most people have never seen a ghost, most people never will) you’d be surprised by how real he looked. His body was almost solid; you could make out the dark green colour of the uniform and even the ghostly sparkle of the buttons. True, you could see through to the wall behind him, but only if you really strained your eyes and concentrated (and who ever looks that closely at a ghost).

The soldier was tall, smartly uniformed, slim and muscular. You could make out all his features in detail; a young man, with a boyish face. His smile (yes ghosts can smile) was full of mischief, and even though he was a ghost you could just make out something like a twinkle in the deep, dark canyons of his eyes.

The ghost tip-toed towards her, even though being a ghost he had no need to tip-toe at all. He made no noise whatsoever, and he was soon close enough to touch her. All this time she did nothing, so engrossed as she was in her phone, waiting impatiently for a reply, even though it was far too late for David to be awake, let alone checking his messages. The ghost stood silently behind her for a while, watching her, then, as if bored by the lack of reaction, he reached out his arms towards her.

At that moment Vicky finally turned and saw the ghost. Having nothing else to hand she hit out at it with her phone, which passed straight through the ghost’s arms with a swoosh, followed by a loud thump and crack as it slipped out of her hand and hit against the wall.

Now I don’t know you’d react at the sight of the ghostly figure of a soldier creeping up behind you, I know I’d be terrified. But Vicky was more angry than frightened, as if she saw ghosts every day and was fed up with their interruptions. “Oh for goodness sake, if you’ve made me break my phone I’ll make you pay for it.”

The truth is, of course, that Vicky did see ghosts every day. For Vicky lived in a very unusual house. In fact it wasn’t used as a house now, she and her father, Patrick, lived in just five rooms of it, the rest had been turned into a museum. And it wasn’t just any boring old museum. It was a Ghost Museum.

When I say Ghost Museum I don’t mean that the ghosts were laid out in glass cases and labelled ‘a Headless Horseman’ or ‘Ghost of a First World War Soldier’. No, I call it a ghost museum because ghosts live (if that’s the right word) there.

The house that Vicky lives in is one of the most haunted places in the whole country (based on the standard ‘ghosts per square mile’ formula developed by Sir Roger Totting). As a result Vicky sees ghosts every day and far from being frightened of them finds them much more interesting company than her father. And Ridley, the ghostly soldier, was used to being ignored by her, she always had much better things to do with her time these days.

Vicky continued telling the ghost off, though her voice was never raised above a whisper, as she knew that she’d get in trouble if she woke her dad, and would have to explain who she was talking to.

“What are you doing creeping up on me anyway Ridley? You weren’t going to tickle me were you?”

Ridley smiled, trying to look innocent, which is a difficult look to pull off if you’re a ghost. “I wasn’t going to tickle you” he protested, sounding almost hurt by the accusation.

“Then why did you have your arms stretched out towards me?”

“I wasn’t going to tickle you. I was just doing my exercises.” So saying Ridgly started pushing his arms out as if doing aerobics (or as he called it “PT”).

“I don’t believe you. Ghosts don’t have to do exercises, you were going to tickle me. And what have you done to my phone? If you’ve broken it I’ll make you pay for a new one.” So saying she climbed of the desk and crept across the room to pick up the phone, walking straight through Ridley, who refused to move out of the way.

Vicky closed her eyes as she passed through him, walking through ghosts is an unpleasant experience. It’s not that you actually see the ghost's internal organs the way you would if you were a ghost passing through a human, after all a ghost doesn’t have a heart, or lungs, or the four miles of tubing that are somehow crammed into you tummy. No, all there is to see as you pass through a ghost is shadows. But some VERY unpleasant shadows. Best to be like Vicky and close your eyes next time you walk through a ghost, there are some shadows that are darker than your worst nightmares.

Vicky rescued the phone from the floor and was pleased to see that the light was on. “You’re lucky” she whispered “it doesn’t seem to be broken.”

As she spoke there was the familiar ping of a new message arriving. It was David's reply. "Me neither. Want to meet up tomorrow?" Vicky read it, trying to ignore Ridley, who was now floating above her, not so much reading over her shoulder as trying to read over her head.

“Oh for goodness sake Ridley, leave me alone."

The last sentence was hissed rather more loudly than Vicky had intended, as she saw Ridley moving his arms forward as if to tickle her again.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see Ridley. After all she couldn't sleep and was bored, so any company was preferable to lying listening to the rain rattling the window. It was just that she really didn’t like being tickled by a ghost. A ghost tickle is horrible feeling, a tingly ice-cold sensation slowly creeping through her sides, and into her body. It made her flesh creep and her whole body shiver. And worst of all it REALLY, REALLY tickled and she’d just scream with laughter for minutes afterwards. This was particularly embarrassing if she was in company, as she appeared to be laughing for no reason.

Vicky went back to her bed, this time climbing over it to avoid walking through him. “Go away Ridley. I can’t talk to you, it’s after midnight, if Patrick hears I’ll get in to trouble. He might even work that out I can see ghosts, and stop us seeing each other.”

“I’m sorry” Ridley replied without sounding it. “I was just passing through and noticed you were up. But I see that you’ve got someone more interesting to talk to, even if he’s not in the room with you. You carry on with your texting. I’ll just stand here and keep out of your way.”

Vicky turned her back on Ridley and stared at her phone, trying to think how best to reply. Ridley, unable to win Vicky’s attention, amused himself by shaking the curtains in a ghostly manner and making woooo woooo noises, but it just made Vicky text even more vigorously. It was hard for Ridley. All the other ghosts in the house were hundreds of years old and all they ever wanted to do was march up and down corridors wailing. It wasn’t until Vicky moved in that he’d had a playmate, and even this was difficult as she spent most of the day at school, asleep or with company. And today he had really exciting news to share with her and she wasn’t even listening to him, as she preferred to send short, badly-written messages to her friend David instead.

Eventually Ridley to restrain himself no longer. “I know something you don’t” he said, creeping out from behind the curtain.

“Ridley go away, leave me alone” she said, quietly this time.

”You wouldn’t want me to go away if you knew my news” he said.

Vicky pretended she hadn’t heard him and Ridley realised there was only one way to get her attention. He disappeared for a second under the bedside table, remained hidden from view for a while and then suddenly appeared, stepping straight out of the phone Vicky was holding.

“Ridley you’re a complete pain in the bum” Vicky, though she was laughing as she said it.

Ridley looked through his legs at the phone he’d just appeared from. “Your spelling’s awful. What are you trying to say?”

Though Ridley was a ghost, and walked through walls, cupboards and even mobile phones, he could, with effort, pick up solid objects for a brief period, which is what he did, lifting the mobile phone from Vicky’s hands and floating off with it up to the ceiling. Vicky could glare at him angrily, not daring to shout lest she wake her father. With enormous concentration Ridley managed to solidify his hands briefly, type in few words into the phone, and press send, before he lost concentration and the phone slipped through his hand and banged on the floor.

“Isn’t it exciting” he said, “just like morse code.”

Many would have applauded such wonderful control over physical objects by a ghost, it really was a remarkable achievement, no ghost has ever been known to send a text message before or since, but Vicky just snarled angrily as she inspected the phone for damage again.

Having gone to all this effort just to get Vicky’s attention he spoke to her again, hoping she’d reply this time. “I know something you don’t.”

“Oh, good, I’m glad you’re a floating, wailing, library of knowledge. What have you just texted my friend?”

“I won’t tell you my secret if you’re not interested” Ridley said, but he sat down next to her anyway. There wasn’t a chair, Ridley sat on thin air as he usually did, even though he knew it annoyed Vicky. He leant forward excitedly and looked into Vicky’s eyes.

“We’ve got a visitor.”

“A visitor?” Vicky was sure her father would have mentioned if anyone had called round, as they hardly ever had any guests at their house. “At this time of night?”

“Not that sort of visitor. A new ghost!” Just to emphasise the point Ridley covered himself with a sheet off the bed and started making “woo woo” noises.

Vicky pulled a face towards Ridley’s silliness, as if to show him that she didn’t believe him and didn’t care anyway. She tried to sound nonchalant, but couldn’t hold back her questions.

“A new ghost, since when? Where is he now? What does he look like?”

“What a lot of questions. It’ll take me all night to tell you all that and you’ve got to get your beauty sleep. Vicky said nothing, but looked at him with her pleading face that always worked with her father, though only occasionally with Ridley.

“Well all right, but only if you promise to go to bed as soon as I’ve finished telling you.” Vicky nodded obediently and Ridley sat down again, letting the sheet fall to the floor. (Ridley never tidies things away when he’s finished playing with them).

“Well I don’t know when he arrived, or where he is now, but I saw him wandering around this afternoon. Getting to know the place I expect.”

“So what does he look like? What’s he doing here?"

“Let’s just say that you’ll recognise him when you see him.” Ridley laughed at this without explaining why.

"Oh, you're hopeless, there can't be a new ghost if you can't describe him."

“Well if you don’t believe me there’s no point my telling you.”

“OK, OK I do believe you. Please tell. Who is the ghost?”

“I’ll give you a clue.” So saying Ridley started to float up towards the ceiling, flapping his arms as if to help him fly.

“Is that the clue?” Vicky asked incredulously “what is this ghost, a bird?”

At that moment the phone pinged again.

“I’ll tell you later” he said “I can see you’re busy at the moment.”

With that he lowered himself down from the ceiling and onto his non-existent chair.

The text was from David. It just said "What badger?"

Looking up from the text Vicky glanced out of the window, as if she'd heard something. Outside the rain rattled and blatted and she couldn't see far, but at the very bottom of the hill, Vicky could just make out the first dot of a figure appear. Seconds passed, the clouds hardly moving, but the figure was growing nearer and larger. Indeed the figure was clearly running, she could hear the footsteps now.

As the figure grew nearer Vicky could tell from the light of a streetlamp that the man wasn’t wearing a coat, just a light shirt and trousers. What a silly man she thought, getting caught out in the rain like that, no wonder he’s running. She wondered where he was running to, there were only two or three other houses on the hill itself, so most likely he was heading for the new housing estate on the other side of the hill. That was over a mile away, where the old wood used to be,

As she was thinking this however she was proved wrong. The man didn’t run past her house. He turned into their drive, not ceasing in his sprint and ran straight to their front door, upon which he began banging furiously.

Vicky instinctively sensed adventure. She quickly threw herself into her dressing gown, crept out of her room and ran downstairs, forgetting all about Ridley and his new ghost. She was keen to reach the door before her father, who she could hear frantically crashing and banging around his bedroom, as if unable to find his way out.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs she could see the front door literally shaking form the blows inflicted upon it, to the extent that she was afraid it would be beaten off its hinges before she could get to it.

As her hand neared the handle she hesitated. For the first time she stopped to wonder who the man was. What if it was a madman, a murderer, who’d come to kill them both? She brushed these thoughts aside though, she knew that murderers were supposed to sneak into houses and murder people in their beds, not run down the street and hammer on their doors, waking up the whole neighbourhood as they did so.

Vicky’s hand trembled as she grabbed the handle, not through fear but because the handle was actually shaking with the pounding. She tentatively pulled the door open. She was pushed against the wall as the man charged into the house. He stood gasping for breath, steam rising to the ceiling and the rest of the water dripping to the floor, forming a puddle around him.

Still panting and dripping the man pulled away the hair that had matted onto his face and looked around him with mad staring eyes. Vicky remained stock still against the wall where she’d been pushed, not daring to move. Finally between gasps for breath the man finally spoke.

“Where’s Patrick” he gasped “I must see Patrick.”