and he decided to use it. Aunt Matilda glanced over one shoulder.
“Here, Maud, the little perisher is getting out of the window." The descent for a ten-year-old was simple. The ivy was tough, well rooted into the mortar, and Lionel had used this natural ladder before. Once on the ground he looked and decided Aunt Matilda was foolhardy to attempt the same feat. She was not built for it, but what with the shifting wardrobe and the appeasement morsel on the road to freedom, she really had not much alternative. The ivy parted company with the wall, and Aunt Matilda came down with a sickening thud. She lay quite still, but possibly she was not dead, only Mother settled the matter beyond doubt by climbing out on to the window sill and jumping down on to Aunt Matilda’s back. Lionel distinctly heard the spine snap, and wondered idly of Aunt’s head would wobble should it be possible for her to stand up.
“See what you’ve done now,” Mother complained, clambering to her feet. “Look at poor Matilda." She bent down and shook and unresponsive shoulder. “You all right, Matilda?”
Aunt Matilda did not, indeed could not, answer, but a voice from the bedroom window did its best.
“...Glug...glug...”
The Ghoul was leaning out of the window; its green luminous face gleamed like an over-ripe melon. Mother grabbed Lionel by the scruff of the neck and pushed him forward, while at the same time doing her best to lift him upwards, but the Ghoul was looking down at Aunt Matilda’s immense sprawling figure. He pointed with one chalk white finger.
“...Glug...glug...”
“Oh!” Mother relaxed her grip and Lionel twisted like an eel to break free. “Yes, of course. Never thought of that.” She looked up at the Ghoul who was drooling with anticipation. “You get up them stairs and stay there, and we’ll let you have her when it’s right and respectable.”
“Glug," the Ghoul pointed again.
“Don’t be so greedy,” Mother admonished. “It isn’t as though you haven’t anything to go on with. I mean to say, normally you would have had to wait a very long time for Matilda.”
The marble eyes moved slowly, then stopped when Lionel came within their vision, but Mother was fearless now she had, so to speak, a generous amount of ammunition to hand.
“No you don’t. You’ve had me father, and you’ll have me sister, but you’ll have to wait for me son. So get back up them stairs or I’ll throw a crooked cross at yer,” This threat seemed to disturb the Ghoul for it jerked back from the window sill, and roared like a wolk.
“A crooked cross,” Mother repeated. “Now up with yer.”
The Ghoul withdrew, but with reluctance, for the luminous face peeped round the window frame twice, and the white eyes glared down at Lionel, while a black tongue licked grey lips.
“Crooked crosses.” Some of Mother’s new-found confidence was seeping away, and her voice squeaked.
The Ghoul went; they could hear his feet slouching up the stairs, then the attic door slammed, and Mother gave a vast sigh of relief.
“That was a near thing, and it was all your fault. Look what’s happened to poor Matilda, and she not ready to take the steep path. Thank your dark stars she fell out of that window all the same. There’s enough to keep the Old One busy for a long time, to say nothing of that remains of poor Grandfather.”
“What’s a crooked cross?” asked Lionel. “A cross that’s crooked,” Mother explained, “’E don’t like ’em," she shuddered, “neither do I. But they’s poison to a Ghoul.
“Now," she squared her shoulders, “you must go and fetch Uncle Arthur."
“Where does he live?”
“I’m going to tell you, ain’t I? Go down through the village and you reach the cross roads where yer Great-Aunt Bridget is buried, you’ll see a sign post which says, TO DEVIL’S WOOD. Follow the footpath till you come to DEAD MAN’S bridge; cross, and two hundred yards further on you’ll find HANGMAN’S
“Here, Maud, the little perisher is getting out of the window." The descent for a ten-year-old was simple. The ivy was tough, well rooted into the mortar, and Lionel had used this natural ladder before. Once on the ground he looked and decided Aunt Matilda was foolhardy to attempt the same feat. She was not built for it, but what with the shifting wardrobe and the appeasement morsel on the road to freedom, she really had not much alternative. The ivy parted company with the wall, and Aunt Matilda came down with a sickening thud. She lay quite still, but possibly she was not dead, only Mother settled the matter beyond doubt by climbing out on to the window sill and jumping down on to Aunt Matilda’s back. Lionel distinctly heard the spine snap, and wondered idly of Aunt’s head would wobble should it be possible for her to stand up.
“See what you’ve done now,” Mother complained, clambering to her feet. “Look at poor Matilda." She bent down and shook and unresponsive shoulder. “You all right, Matilda?”
Aunt Matilda did not, indeed could not, answer, but a voice from the bedroom window did its best.
“...Glug...glug...”
The Ghoul was leaning out of the window; its green luminous face gleamed like an over-ripe melon. Mother grabbed Lionel by the scruff of the neck and pushed him forward, while at the same time doing her best to lift him upwards, but the Ghoul was looking down at Aunt Matilda’s immense sprawling figure. He pointed with one chalk white finger.
“...Glug...glug...”
“Oh!” Mother relaxed her grip and Lionel twisted like an eel to break free. “Yes, of course. Never thought of that.” She looked up at the Ghoul who was drooling with anticipation. “You get up them stairs and stay there, and we’ll let you have her when it’s right and respectable.”
“Glug," the Ghoul pointed again.
“Don’t be so greedy,” Mother admonished. “It isn’t as though you haven’t anything to go on with. I mean to say, normally you would have had to wait a very long time for Matilda.”
The marble eyes moved slowly, then stopped when Lionel came within their vision, but Mother was fearless now she had, so to speak, a generous amount of ammunition to hand.
“No you don’t. You’ve had me father, and you’ll have me sister, but you’ll have to wait for me son. So get back up them stairs or I’ll throw a crooked cross at yer,” This threat seemed to disturb the Ghoul for it jerked back from the window sill, and roared like a wolk.
“A crooked cross,” Mother repeated. “Now up with yer.”
The Ghoul withdrew, but with reluctance, for the luminous face peeped round the window frame twice, and the white eyes glared down at Lionel, while a black tongue licked grey lips.
“Crooked crosses.” Some of Mother’s new-found confidence was seeping away, and her voice squeaked.
The Ghoul went; they could hear his feet slouching up the stairs, then the attic door slammed, and Mother gave a vast sigh of relief.
“That was a near thing, and it was all your fault. Look what’s happened to poor Matilda, and she not ready to take the steep path. Thank your dark stars she fell out of that window all the same. There’s enough to keep the Old One busy for a long time, to say nothing of that remains of poor Grandfather.”
“What’s a crooked cross?” asked Lionel. “A cross that’s crooked,” Mother explained, “’E don’t like ’em," she shuddered, “neither do I. But they’s poison to a Ghoul.
“Now," she squared her shoulders, “you must go and fetch Uncle Arthur."
“Where does he live?”
“I’m going to tell you, ain’t I? Go down through the village and you reach the cross roads where yer Great-Aunt Bridget is buried, you’ll see a sign post which says, TO DEVIL’S WOOD. Follow the footpath till you come to DEAD MAN’S bridge; cross, and two hundred yards further on you’ll find HANGMAN’S
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