Ghost Club 1 Read online

  About the book

  Angeline and Edgar might be kids, but they’re also two of Ghost Club’s youngest ghost-catchers. Got a problem with a ghost, poltergeist or goul? Can’t sleep because of all the rattling chains and cackling laughter? Angeline and Edgar are the experts to call.

  So it’s entirely logical that when new kid Dylan joins Ghost Club, Angeline and Edgar are the perfect candidates to introduce him to everything he needs to know, from which ghost-catching gadget will do the trick to when to run like crazy to avoid being splattered with ectoplasm.

  The trouble is, Dylan’s not quite sure he wants to be a ghost-catcher…

  Contents

  Chapter 1 How to Catch a Ghost

  Chapter 2 A Terrifying Prospect!

  Chapter 3 Tea, Cupcakes and a Moonlit Feast

  Chapter 4 The Newest Ghost Catcher

  Chapter 5 A Gloomy Ending

  Chapter 6 Inside the Depository

  Chapter 7 A Visit to the Spectorium

  Chapter 8 Grandpa Huffman

  Chapter 9 The Hunting of Castle Koszmar

  Chapter 10 Ghost Hunting

  Chapter 11 A Close Encounter

  Chapter 12 Mrs Snitch

  Chapter 13 An Interesting Revelation

  Chapter 14 A Few Suspects from the Past

  Chapter 15 A Ghostly Menace

  Chapter 16 Another Warning

  Chapter 17 A Deadly Fall

  Chapter 18 Showdown!

  Chapter 19 A Sad Tale

  Chapter 20 A Cunning Plan

  Chapter 21 A Few Last-Minute Nerves

  Chapter 22 A Rather Posh Party

  Chapter 23 The True Haunting of Castle Koszmar

  About the Author

  Copyright

  More at Random House Australia

  For two very special girls, Ruby and Luciana Pozzi Harris

  ‘An idea, like a ghost, must be spoken to a little before it will explain itself.’

  Charles Dickens

  ‘There he is!’

  Angeline sprang over the chesterfield lounge and raced down the murky corridor with Edgar close behind.

  Their boots pounded on the floorboards. Their long, hooded coats flapped behind them as they ran through multicoloured beams of moonlight pouring in through stained-glass windows. Just ahead, a loud, deep moaning burst into the night – followed by an ancient Chinese vase.

  Angeline and Edgar ducked as it smashed against the wall in front of them, sending a plume of debris into the air and scattering across the floor.

  ‘He appears to be angry,’ Edgar puffed.

  ‘Not as angry as I’m going to be if he doesn’t stop throwing pottery at us.’

  ‘Expensive pottery, too.’ Edgar studied a small broken piece. ‘This is an ancient vase from the Ming Dynasty. The owners won’t be happy.’

  At the end of the corridor, a trail of mist drifted around the corner.

  ‘You’re not getting away that easily.’ Angeline took off.

  ‘Be careful, Angeline, he might . . .’

  Her brother’s words were cut off as she reached the corner and was faced with a flying suit of armour. Angeline dropped to the floor and only just missed being struck by the airborne metal figure and decapitated by the shield that followed shortly after.

  Edgar hurried to her side. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I will be as soon as we finish this one off.’

  ‘That was a priceless medieval artefact he just destroyed.’ Edgar looked over his shoulder at the crumpled metal heap. ‘It seems he’s not willing to play nicely.’

  ‘He’s not the only one done with playing nicely.’

  Angeline scrambled to her feet just as a long, wavering stream of green slime slurped their way. It ploughed into them with a thwack, plastering itself all over their faces and coats in an oozing, dripping mess.

  ‘Ectoplasm!’ Angeline cried. ‘And I thought he couldn’t get more annoying.’

  ‘He’s quite the marksman.’ Edgar inspected the globs of slime splattering his coat when a thunderous clattering echoed down the corridor. ‘Sounds like he’s in the kitchen.’

  ‘I guess you build up an appetite demolishing houses.’ Angeline pushed a clump of green fringe from her face.

  They crept to the door. A stream of pots and pans flew from the kitchen, crashing into the wall opposite and clanging to the ground like a badly tuned orchestra.

  ‘He’s an untidy one,’ Edgar said.

  ‘Who needs to be taught to respect other people’s things,’ Angeline added.

  After another batch of baking dishes and saucepans flew past, Edgar used the lull in flying kitchenware to scoot to the other side of the doorway.

  Angeline rummaged through a satchel strung across her chest and took out a retractable telescopic mirror. She extended it and carefully inched it through the doorway, rotating it to and fro, slowly scanning each part of the kitchen. There were overturned shelves, explosions of flour and smashed crockery.

  ‘I can’t see him.’ Her face lifted into an eager smile. ‘Looks like we’re going in.’

  They delved into their satchels and dug out small, metallic devices that looked like silver water pistols. They got into position, boots slightly apart, fingers firmly on the triggers.

  ‘He’s gone very quiet,’ Edgar whispered.

  ‘He’s probably working out what to throw at us next.’

  The corridor was silent except for their breathing.

  ‘Maybe he’s gone,’ Edgar suggested.

  ‘You really think so?’

  ‘No, I’m just getting hungry.’

  ‘We’ll be finished with him soon,’ Angeline said. ‘Ready?’

  ‘Is it impossible to sneeze with your eyes open?’

  Angeline smiled. ‘It most certainly is.’ She readjusted her grip on the trigger. ‘One, two, three.’

  They sprang through the doorway, arms outstretched, aiming at every corner of the room.

  ‘He has gone,’ Angeline sighed. ‘And this one deserved a good atomising. He was getting to be a giant pain in the –’

  ‘Angeline?’ Edgar stared at a drop of yellow liquid that had fallen on his shoulder. He looked upwards. ‘I think I might know where he is.’

  Angeline followed her brother’s gaze to the two large mixing bowls hovering above their heads – bowls that flipped over and poured a thick, yellowish mixture all over them. It knocked off their hoods, drizzled down their already green-splattered faces, slithered along their necks and dripped onto their boots.

  Edgar licked his lips. ‘Banana custard. My favourite.’

  A deep laugh resonated around the room.

  ‘That’s it!’ Angeline took a small cotton pouch from the satchel, untied the string at the top and swung her arm in a wide arc. A spray of silvery powder flew from the pouch, filling the air and slowly sprinkling to the floor – except for the bits that stuck to the shimmering, wavering impression of a ghost.

  Little by little, an older man appeared hovering before them with greyish features, wild electrified hair and fluffy eyebrows, wearing a long dinner coat.

  Angeline smiled. ‘Mr Reginald Baskerville, I presume. I’m Angeline Usher, this is my brother, Edgar, and these are our Atomisers.’ The two siblings raised their arms in unison. ‘Sorry we won’t have time to get to know each other better.’

  Two bright streams of light discharged at the figure, brightening the room like fireworks. Angeline and Edgar held th
eir arms steady as their bodies vibrated with the force of the energy field crackling and pouring from their devices – until a flash of white light and an explosion of smoke left small, floating particles of twinkling dust all around them.

  Angeline lowered her weapon. ‘I thought he’d never leave.’

  ‘Some spectral entities are more stubborn than others.’

  ‘That should be the last time he messes with someone with an Atomiser.’ Angeline tucked the device into her bag.

  The kitchen was a mess – a war zone of smashed plates, collapsed shelves and cupboard doors hanging by their hinges – all lying under a blanket of gooey custard.

  Muffled music came from Angeline’s pocket.

  ‘It’s the Tracker.’ She pulled out a red phone-like device and activated the screen with the touch of her finger.

  ‘I hope it’s not another call-out.’ Edgar rubbed his stomach. ‘I really am getting hungry.’

  ‘It’s Mum. She wants us home now.’ Angeline slowly read out the next part of the message with a hint of terror creeping into her voice. ‘Dinner is ready.’

  Edgar’s eyes widened and his face turned ashen under its banana-flavoured mask. ‘It’s not Dad’s turn to cook, is it?’

  Angeline shook her head and answered with barely a whisper: ‘It doesn’t say.’

  Angeline and Edgar took off their boots and left them in a neat row on the front veranda of their home. The custard had started to harden, leaving a yellow crust all over them.

  ‘You go in first,’ Edgar said.

  ‘Why me?’

  ‘Because you’re the oldest.’

  ‘By eight minutes.’

  He put on his best little brother look. ‘But you’re supposed to protect me.’

  ‘And who’s going to protect me?’

  Angeline heard the schick schick sound of digging nearby. A bent figure in a wide sunhat was in the yard next door, bobbing in and out of view between the fence posts. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Snitch.’ When Angeline lifted her arm to wave, clumps of dried custard fell to the ground.

  The figure kept bobbing and digging without saying a word.

  ‘You’ll never do it, you know.’ Edgar shook his head. ‘She’s never once said hello to you in the eleven years we’ve lived here.’

  ‘There was that time when I was nine.’

  ‘Yelling at you for dropping your bike on her roses doesn’t count.’

  ‘I’ll do it one day, just you wait.’ A muffle of laughter and raised voices came from inside the house. ‘We better go in.’

  Angeline reluctantly turned the doorhandle. In the hallway they unpinned their Ghost Club badges from their lapels before dropping their custard- and ectoplasm-smeared coats in a washing basket by the door. They tiptoed down the corridor in their slightly soggy socks towards the kitchen.

  ‘Ready?’ Angeline asked.

  ‘Are there any alternatives?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Okay then, but I want it known here and now that I’m too young to die.’

  Angeline entered the kitchen where the whole Usher family was seated at the table, their eager faces looking up: Grandma Rose, their mum Lily, Aunt Flora and Houdini, their scrappy white terrier, who ran to their feet and did his usual dance. Their dad, Arthur Usher, stood at the oven. He had a ‘World’s Best Chef’ apron slung from his neck and lime-green splodges were plastered on his head and arms, all over the bench, the floor and even the ceiling.

  ‘Ah, there they are. I’ve just finished the final touches and, I don’t want to brag, but I think they’re my best yet.’ Beside him was a tray of bright green cupcakes shaped as overweight ghosts. He held out a wooden spoon dripping with green icing. ‘Want to lick the leftovers?’

  Houdini whined and snuck behind Edgar’s leg.

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’ Angeline struggled to look sincere. ‘That’s sweet, but we better not spoil dinner.’

  This time both Houdini and Edgar whined at the mention of dinner.

  Aunt Flora, whose perfectly lipsticked red mouth had hung open from the moment they walked in, finally managed to speak. ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘You know . . .’ Angeline pushed a crusty clump of hair behind her ear. ‘Just . . . Ghost Club work.’

  ‘You look like you’ve been dunked in a swamp.’

  ‘Custard, actually.’

  ‘Mission accomplished?’ Lily Usher kissed both her children on the forehead, weaving between them as she set the table.

  ‘Baskerville was a little stubborn,’ Angeline said, ‘but we got him in the end.’

  Edgar hadn’t moved since stepping into the kitchen, focusing all his attention on the dish that was baking in the murky depths of the oven.

  ‘Stubborn, eh?’ Arthur Usher laid out salad and bread rolls. ‘Endora’s research suggested he might be. How’s the house?’

  ‘The owners aren’t going to be happy,’ Angeline said. ‘He trashed the place.’

  ‘Can’t be helped sometimes.’ Grandma Rose shook her head. ‘Especially if the ghosts don’t want to go quietly, but that’s better than what the owners were putting up with. There’s only so much chain-dragging and mournful moaning one can take before it makes you doolally. Did you get everything on camera?’

  Angeline held out her badge and picked off a bit of dried gunk. ‘The last part might be a bit blurry because of the custard, but it should all be there.’

  ‘You too, Edgar?’

  Edgar was lost in his own swirl of thoughts, which is where he spent a lot of his spare time.

  Angeline smiled at her brother. ‘He did. We’ll download the vision and write up our report straight after dinner.’

  ‘That’s my girl,’ Grandma said proudly.

  Aunt Flora stood up and held the arm of her glasses as she examined the green, shiny coating on Angeline’s fringe and face. ‘And what’s this?’

  ‘Ectoplasm. Some of them just love the stuff.’

  ‘Ectoplasm? You make it sound like it’s mud, or chewing gum, or something else earthly and normal when in actual fact –’

  ‘It looks a little disgusting but it’s perfectly harmless,’ Angeline said.

  Grandma Rose stood up and held Angeline’s chin. ‘He did get you a beauty, though, didn’t he?’ She reached into a cupboard beneath the sink and pulled out a black bar of soap. ‘This will fix it.’

  Angeline turned on the tap and rubbed her hands into a frothy lather while Aunt Flora’s delicately blushed cheeks became even redder. ‘And what else happened out there that was perfectly harmless?’

  Angeline wished she was able to lie in situations like this, but she found it impossible. She wiped her hands and winced. ‘There was the suit of armour he threw at us.’

  Aunt Flora was easily driven to horror, and Angeline’s answers were doing nothing to ease her fears. ‘Someone threw a suit of armour at you?’

  ‘Not someone exactly, more like . . .’

  The ping of the oven timer rang out and Arthur announced with a flourish, ‘Dinner is ready!’

  ‘Great.’ Edgar didn’t sound like he thought it was great at all. He gulped as his dad placed the steaming dish in the centre of the table.

  Lily gently laid her hands on her son’s shoulders. ‘But neither of you were hurt, were you?’

  Edgar’s eyes were on the servings of lasagne his dad was heaping on the plates. ‘No. We’re fine.’

  ‘You see, Sis, they’re fine,’ Lily said. ‘So there’s nothing to worry about.’

  Aunt Flora’s eyes blazed as she pointed at the children’s soiled and dishevelled appearance. ‘You call this fine?’

  ‘It’s only custard.’

  ‘And ectoplasm!’ Flora’s cheeks reddened even more.

  ‘What kid
doesn’t get dirty once in a while?’ Arthur scooped the last of the lasagne onto his own plate. ‘Now wash up, Edgar, because we’re in for a real treat.’

  Edgar dragged his feet to the sink, while his aunt continued to bluster.

  ‘It’s not the being dirty I’m worried about. It’s the dangers they face in getting dirty.’

  Arthur Usher took his seat and flicked out his napkin before laying it on his lap. ‘I hear you, Flora, but the only danger my kids are in now is going hungry, so let’s eat.’

  Edgar made his way back to the table where he and his sister slowly picked up their knives and forks and shot each other a wary look.

  A look caught by their mum. ‘As lovely as it is to see Aunt Flora, it is twice as lovely when she brings her famous lasagne.’

  Edgar’s head shot round to look at his mum. ‘Aunt Flora made this?’

  Lily nodded and smiled. ‘The same recipe you’ve loved since you were little.’

  ‘Thank you, Aunt Flora.’ Edgar gave his aunt a hug that almost squeezed the breath from her chest.

  ‘You’re . . . most welcome,’ Flora said, checking her dress for any stray bits of custard or ectoplasm. ‘But that still doesn’t make this whole business right.’

  ‘It’s very important work our kids do.’ Arthur took some salad before passing it on. ‘You should be proud of them.’

  ‘I’ve always been proud of them,’ Aunt Flora said. ‘Since the day they were born! I just don’t think it’s right that children tear around chasing ghouls, ghosts and all sorts of paranormal hoo-ha when they should be doing what other kids are doing.’

  ‘And what are other kids doing?’ Lily asked.

  ‘Reading, playing soccer, doing their homework . . .’

  ‘But I love reading,’ Edgar said. He reached for a bread roll – now that his life wasn’t in danger from his father’s wayward cooking, his appetite was in full swing.

  ‘And we do our homework every night,’ Angeline added. ‘I won this term’s class award for always handing my homework in on time.’

  ‘And I scored the winning soccer goal on the weekend against the best team in the comp,’ Edgar argued.