Ghosts on Board Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also By Fleur Hitchcock

  Book Plate

  Map Of Bywater-By-Sea

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Epilogue

  The Story Adventurers

  Copyright

  ALSO BY FLEUR HITCHCOCK

  SHRUNK!

  SHRUNK! Mayhem and Meteorites

  The Trouble with Mummies

  The Yoghurt Plot

  Book plate created by Fancyfootball(FruityBookw’ms5NW) on www.thestoryadventure.com

  Prologue

  ‘Welcome, everyone,’ called the tall woman. ‘Welcome to Marigold’s Island Tours.’

  The crowd on the Trusty Mermaid murmured to each other and licked their ice creams. Only one of them glanced across to the bank of cloud that they were approaching, a look of doubt crossing her face. The rest soaked up the glassy blue sea to the south, the warm sunshine dancing across the water, and threw the complimentary floppy hot dogs to the seagulls that played in the wake of the boat.

  ‘We’ll moor for a very few minutes on Mystery Smoke Island –’

  ‘Why’s it called Mystery Smoke, Miss?’ piped up a small girl clutching a plastic pony.

  The tour guide ignored her. ‘– which was the scene of the tragic shipwreck in 1859, when the Golden Unicorn was bound for Lisbon, and instead –’

  ‘Did everybody die, Miss? Was it horrible?’ asked the girl with the pony.

  ‘Yes. I believe –’

  ‘Was it horrible, Miss? Was there lots of screaming and tragedy, Miss?’

  ‘I don’t –’

  ‘Was it because of a sea monster, Miss? Or did a hole open up –’

  ‘Shhh,’ said the girl’s father, and stuffed a lollypop in her mouth.

  ‘Yes, well,’ said the tour guide as sweetly as she could manage. ‘D’you know? No one’s been for years – this is the first trip within living memory. I’ve certainly never been.’

  ‘But, Miss –’ sputtered the girl with the pony.

  ‘Shall we dock, Captain?’ interrupted the tour guide.

  The seagulls fled as the boat drifted towards a crumbling jetty that loomed out of the mist. A crewman threw a rope around an ancient rusty bollard and pulled them alongside.

  The day trippers hesitated. It was sunny out at sea. Here it was colourless and chill.

  ‘Anyone up for a spot of exploration?’ asked the tour guide.

  A handful of people teetered along the gangplank and stepped onto the island. Inside the fog, Mystery Smoke Island was even greyer. Everything on it was grey, worn and bony, from the empty bell tower to the gravestones spread along the shore, to the rabbit’s skull picked clean by the salt and the wind. Even the thorn bush embedded in the black sand was grey.

  ‘It’s ever so cold here,’ said a woman, rubbing her bare arms.

  ‘Maybe we should get back on the boat?’ said another, hanging her handbag on the wing of a stone eagle that stuck out from one of the graves. She put on her cardigan.

  ‘I … ’ said the guide and paused. She glanced around at everyone as if there was something wrong. ‘Does anyone else feel watched?’ she muttered.

  ‘What’s that?’ said a man, pointing towards the mist on the far side of the island. Something swirled in the whiteness, something dark. The mist parted, as if an invisible person was running through it. As if more than one invisible person was running towards them.

  As they stared, an icy wind blew across the island. It cut a path right through the dried grasses in the graveyard, and whisked the fallen leaves into the air. It caught the bag hanging from the eagle’s wing and twisted and tossed it. It whipped the island fog and wrapped it around the boat, cutting them off thickly from the blue sea they had just left.

  Everything fell deathly silent and very cold.

  No one spoke, but the few that had ventured onto the island crowded to get back on the boat, their footsteps muffled and hollow on the wooden gangplank.

  Unasked, the crewman slipped the rope from the bollard and leapt back on deck. The captain revved the engine and swung the boat out towards the open sea, out of the fog.

  Everyone leaned forward, hoping they would break out of the cloud any second.

  Everyone strained for the sunlight.

  But they couldn’t reach it.

  For an hour they headed west, distant sparkles catching on distant waves, but the fog stayed with them and no matter how the captain steered, the boat remained cold, dark and grey.

  ‘It’s as if we picked something up on that island,’ said the woman with the bare arms.

  ‘Yes,’ said her friend. ‘Call me silly, but it’s as if we’ve taken on a spirit.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ said the other.

  The boat ploughed on in silence for another hour.

  Somewhere at the back someone laughed. It was a long, delighted laugh, a wicked laugh.

  They all turned to look.

  But there was no one there.

  No one, but the fog.

  Chapter 1

  ‘That,’ says Jacob, beside me, ‘is the best idea anyone’s had in absolutely ages.’

  Eric leans forward and reads out the notice pinned to the telegraph pole. ‘Town meeting to discuss the plans for redevelopment of North Beach Nature Reserve and surrounding area. Agenda to include the siting of proposed theme park and Whizzo Builder Corp’s commitment to renovation of the seawater baths at South Beach. Plans can be viewed in the library … What?! That’s not a good idea at all – it’s terrible.’

  ‘Why?’ asks Jacob, stuffing one end of a jelly lace between his lips and sucking. ‘A theme park would be awesome … megatastic … amaze balls!’ Jacob heaves himself around in a circle, rising and dropping. I think he’s trying to be a roller coaster.

  ‘It’s where they want to build it – the North Beach Nature Reserve – they can’t possibly build a theme park there,’ says Eric.

  ‘Whyever not? It’s just a load of birds and some mangy scrub. The only people who are going to miss it are twisters, witchers … whatever.’

  ‘Twitchers, actually,’ says Eric. A single wild curl of his ginger hair bounces furiously on his forehead. ‘We’re twitchers, and birds are important. Birds are a crucial part of the ecosystem. They enrich our lives and they’ve as much right to this planet as we have. Theme parks are utterly frivolous, noisy, pointless things.’

  ‘Oooo – ooh,’ says Jacob, raising his eyebrows. ‘So now, Snot Face is a greeny earth-warrior killjoy as well as a nerd. Well, you can spend your holidays twitching with a load of stinky birds – some of us like having FUN!’ He races off squealing with his arms out.

  ‘Rat-tat-tat-tat, rat-tat-tat-tat,’ he shouts. Somehow he resembles a winged gobstopper, but in his mind, he’s probably some sort of aeroplane firing on innocent aliens.

  ‘Jacob,’ Eric shouts at his back. ‘If all you can do is insult me, I’m not going to bother arguing with you. Just accept it this time, you’re wrong.’

  I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Eric so cross.

  Jacob dances ahead of us, swooping and rat-tatting. We walk on down the hill in silence. The thing is, I sort of agree with Jacob. North Beach is cold,
dismal and covered in bird poo. It’s a miserable place. I can’t actually see that turning it into a theme park would be any loss at all. It would mean there was actually something to do here. As Jacob says, something fun. But I don’t like to see Eric so miserable.

  I glance back at him. He’s wrapped the kite string around his hand so tightly that the tips of his fingers are bright pink. His face is red too.

  We stop by the end of the pier. A line of day trippers skitter along the jetty, towards the shore.

  ‘They don’t look like they’ve had much fun,’ I say, feeling a sudden shiver down my spine as the last of them passes.

  Eric doesn’t answer. He rubs his arms and looks angry.

  We clamber down to the beach, and Eric holds out the kite as if it might leap from his hands into the sky.

  There’s absolutely no wind. In fact there’s a slight fog, but I can’t bear the look on Eric’s face so I rush backwards with the string, passing through a strange cold patch of air and step ankle deep into the waves.

  The kite stays flat on the pebbles.

  ‘Kites are for babies,’ announces Jacob, strolling back towards the pier. ‘Tell me when you’ve had enough running around. I’m going to act my age and go and look at the plans for the theme park in the library – I bet they’ll have a Wall of Death.’ He crunches over the sand and struggles up onto the sea wall. ‘See you.’

  I watch his back until he disappears amid the tourists.

  Behind me, Eric sighs.

  The kite’s still lying dead on the beach. I pull the string again, but it refuses to fly.

  ‘It’s no good,’ he says, sadly, wiping the corner of his eye. Since he and Jacob developed strange powers, I can’t tell if he’s crying or if he’s spouting the spontaneous water that his hands and feet now generate, but just now, I suspect tears. ‘It’s not going to work.’ He sits on the sand, lies back and points at the sky.

  A seagull wheels and swoops over the pier. ‘A Little Tern,’ he says. ‘They wouldn’t have anywhere to live if North Beach was redeveloped.’

  ‘Oh,’ I say, ‘surely there’s a rock or something?’

  ‘No – they like the shingle ground, so that they can dig out their nests. If they can’t have North Beach, the lucky ones will skip up the coast to Bywater Regis and cram in on the tiny bird reserve there. The rest won’t bother to come here at all. They’ll migrate to somewhere else – or die.’

  I glance around for anything that might take his mind off it. A patch of concentrated fog lingers at the end of the beach and, above the cry of the Tern, I can hear some singing. ‘Where is it? Where is meeeeee?’ comes a thin, flat girl’s voice.

  But there’s no girl, just the captain of the Marigold Tours boat and an anxious-looking tour guide talking to each other and a group of boys licking ice creams.

  ‘Can you hear that?’ I say.

  ‘No,’ says Eric. ‘What?’

  I point towards the flickering mist.

  ‘That singing over there.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Eric, still watching the seagull. ‘It’s probably nothing.’

  But as I stare into the small patch of whiteness, I see the shape of a top hat, and underneath it, a pair of eyes glinting.

  I peer into the mist, expecting it to fade. But it doesn’t. I see the eyes and the eyes see me and even though Eric’s almost always right, I’m pretty sure they aren’t nothing.

  Chapter 2

  I can tell which way Jacob walked by the trail of destruction along the high street. Despite the fact that his mouth burns when he uses his powers, he doesn’t seem to be able to control them. Outside the fish and chip shop there used to be a huge plastic ice-cream cone. Now it’s sagging on one side, and the sign reads ish and hips. We catch up with him on the steps of the library. He’s enjoying himself, setting fire to things with his fingertips.

  ‘Did we have a nice time flying our kite and talking to the birdies?’ he says. He sends a sheet of flame at a postbox door, instantly melting the lock and causing the door to swing open, spewing letters over the tarmac. He clutches his mouth immediately afterwards. I know his tongue will hurt, but even so a broad grin spreads over his face.

  ‘Jacob, you idiot,’ says Eric, shooting a flood of water from his palms across the road.

  I try and peel escaped letters and postcards from the ground, but they’re mostly ruined. ‘You need to be more careful.’

  ‘Oh do shut up. It’s fun and I’m bored. If they build a theme park I wouldn’t be bored, and I wouldn’t have to set fire to things. Anyway – why can’t I do it?’ He releases sparks into the air and pops a passing child’s helium balloon. The child bursts into tears, screaming madly at his parents. The younger sister’s eyes open wide and she too races away from us down the street, wailing and shouting.

  ‘Because you’re upsetting people, and because someone will notice,’ I say, pointing at the melted postbox.

  ‘And? What if they do? I can have the recognition I deserve – can’t I? I’m a superhero.’

  ‘Superheros don’t pop little kids’ balloons,’ I say.

  Jacob swings into the library, ignoring us, and we follow him through the bookcases to stop by the large table in the middle of the room. A man and a woman in matching suits stand by a huge model of a fun fair. There are little roller coasters and bungee jumps and everything you’d expect, perfectly made in white architect-y cardboard with tiny people and tiny trees.

  ‘Gosh – young people! You’re just who we need to talk to.’ She looks as if she actually wants to eat us, she’s so delighted. ‘Welcome to the new Bywater-by-Sea theme park design. This is a small version of the real thing, of course,’ she says, addressing us as four-year-olds.

  Jacob walks around the model. He doesn’t look happy and I really hope he’s not about to release a shower of sparks over the cardboard.

  ‘So, hang on, is this what you want to build on North Beach?’ Eric looks appalled.

  ‘Oh yes,’ says the woman. ‘More fun than stinky old birds – eh?’

  Eric doesn’t answer. He turns away quickly, a mass of hair flopping over his face, and leaves the library. I see him wipe his nose on his sleeve. No one else notices him go.

  ‘So this will be the Bunny Hop café,’ says the woman, pointing at a pair of ears sticking out of the model.

  ‘Bunnies?’ Jacob curls up his top lip. ‘Why bunnies?’

  ‘I think you’ll find this goes down very well with the littlies. We’ve built three of these theme parks before, you know – bunnies, squirrels and chipmunks – all frightfully popular.’

  I notice that Jacob’s feet have burned two footprints into the nylon library carpet. ‘C’mon Jacob,’ I say. ‘We’ve seen it now. Let’s find Eric.’

  Jacob ignores me. ‘But where’s the fun in bunnies?’ he says. ‘They’re all soft.’

  The woman glances anxiously at the man, raising her eyebrows and looking uncomfortably at Jacob, who has begun to send up curls of smoke from his hair.

  ‘Well, young man,’ says the man in the suit, coming over. ‘We just … ’

  This time I grab Jacob by the arm and drag him out of the library, and a chunk of nylon carpet comes with us. We find Eric sitting on the wall outside, mopping his eyes with the corner of his shirt cuff.

  ‘Well, I don’t think much of that,’ says Jacob. ‘Theme park, yes. Bunny theme park – NO.’

  ‘Any theme park is bad,’ says Eric, sniffing. ‘But that one’s particularly horrible.’

  ‘Agreed,’ says Jacob, to my surprise. ‘We’ll have to make them change it, of course,’ says Jacob. ‘We can’t have the town filled with little kids in rabbit suits.’ He shudders and then, recovering from the shock of fluffy things, begins to skip, shedding sparks all the way along the pavement.

  Eric gets to his feet and we wander up towards the model village, passing Jacob’s earlier areas of destruction and entering a new zone of unburned things.

  ‘Seeing that model of the theme park has
left me feeling quite unwell,’ says Eric.

  ‘You know what your problem is?’ says Jacob, swinging round. ‘You’ve no spirit of adventure. You’re like an old man, Snot Face. Things just need to liven up a bit around here.’

  He stamps his foot as if to demonstrate. His eyes flash red and the bag of sweets in his hand flares briefly and melts. ‘Ow!’ he shouts, throwing them towards a tiny wooden shed in the model village. The shed, doused in burning sugar, lights in a tall column of flame which leaps across to one of Grandma’s precious bonsai fir trees.

  We all watch as the tree crackles and burns, leaving behind a sad smoking stick of charcoal and a circle of burned grass.

  ‘Like that, you mean?’ says Eric.

  Tiny balls of whirling smoke whizz up into the sky, exactly like burning icing sugar from a toasted marshmallow. In the smoke I see a green flame, a flickering shape, but I can’t quite make out what it is. ‘Look,’ I say, pointing. ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Maybe it’s like the fog down by the pier,’ says Eric. ‘Strange atmospheric conditions today.’

  ‘You’re seeing things, Model Village,’ says Jacob. ‘First sign of madness.’

  ‘I don’t think … ’ I start, but a voice sounds in my ear, really close, as if it’s in my ear itself.

  ‘We should get away from here,’ it says.