pretty amazing stories from people I trust, level-headed people who don’t lie about things like that.’
‘How did you get involved in PRISM?’ Ray wanted to know.
Richard told him that, about a year before, he had stumbled onto PRISM’s website and had decided to join. This was only his second investigation. The first had been a case of faulty electrical wiring.
‘Your case looks much more interesting,’ he said. ‘Especially if we can get something on film.’
‘Can kids join PRISM?’ Bethan inquired from the door. To my horror, I saw that he was with his friends Matthew and Jonah. So that’s what he’s been doing since he left, I thought: rounding up the neighbourhood!
Richard knitted his brows. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know of any kids who are members. But that’s not to say it’s against the rules.’
‘Do you get paid?’ asked Matthew, and Richard laughed again.
‘No. It’s a non-profit organisation.’
‘If I was a ghost-buster, I’d ask them to pay me,’ Matthew declared, squinting down the barrel of his plastic gun. Then he roared off, taking the other two boys with him.
They came back, however, several times. They seemed fascinated by Richard Boyer – though not by the ghostly writing. If it had been up to them, our ghost would have been performing more impressive tricks. Walking around headless, maybe, or making the walls bleed. They were a bit bored by endless lines of small, neat script.
Even so, they brought some of their friends to have a look. By the end of the day, we’d had seven kids through the house, wanting to see the ‘haunted room’ with their own eyes. Matthew and Jonah brought their friends Thomas and Gabriel. Michelle brought her cousin Dommy. And a little kid named Jostein from across the street knocked on the door after lunch to ask if he could please meet ‘Caspar the friendly ghost’. Don’t ask me how he heard about Eglantine. Obviously the news was spreading like wildfire.
No wonder our local newspaper got hold of the story.
CHAPTER # seven
Actually, we didn’t hear from the local paper until Wednesday – and several things happened before that.
First of all, Richard Boyer spent Saturday night in Bethan’s room. Sylvia tried to do the same thing, but was driven out very quickly by the paint fumes, which gave her a headache. Though Ray had left the window open after finishing the second coat, the fumes were still pretty bad; Richard looked pale and sick the next morning. I found him in the kitchen, drinking coffee, when I came down to breakfast.
Mum was already wide awake, eating her homemade muesli.
‘So how did it go?’ I asked, and Richard blinked at me. Then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
‘Oh – ah – pretty good,’ he said.
‘Is there any new writing?’
Suddenly he perked up. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Yes, there is. I counted ten new lines.’
‘Great!’ I opened the fridge. ‘Did you see who wrote it?’
‘No.’ Richard sounded crestfallen. ‘I mean, I probably got it on film – certainly the talcum powder wasn’t disturbed . . .’
‘He fell asleep,’ Mum supplied.
‘Even if I’d been awake, I probably wouldn’t have seen anything,’ said Richard, a little defensively. ‘It was too dark. That’s why we had the infra-red set up.’
‘Then why did you have to stay in there at all?’
I wanted to know, dumping the milk on the table.
‘Oh, I had to do that. I had to.’ Richard straightened, and his voice became more breathless than ever. ‘I dreamed that dream, for one thing. I dreamed that I was choking.’
Mum and I exchanged glances.
‘It was incredible,’ Richard continued, furiously scratching his scalp with both hands. ‘Exactly like Bethan said. Not asthma – nothing like asthma. Not a pressure on the windpipe, either. It was as if something was being forced down my throat.’
‘What?’ asked Mum.
‘I don’t know. It was all dark. Of course,’ he added
‘How did you get involved in PRISM?’ Ray wanted to know.
Richard told him that, about a year before, he had stumbled onto PRISM’s website and had decided to join. This was only his second investigation. The first had been a case of faulty electrical wiring.
‘Your case looks much more interesting,’ he said. ‘Especially if we can get something on film.’
‘Can kids join PRISM?’ Bethan inquired from the door. To my horror, I saw that he was with his friends Matthew and Jonah. So that’s what he’s been doing since he left, I thought: rounding up the neighbourhood!
Richard knitted his brows. ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘I don’t know of any kids who are members. But that’s not to say it’s against the rules.’
‘Do you get paid?’ asked Matthew, and Richard laughed again.
‘No. It’s a non-profit organisation.’
‘If I was a ghost-buster, I’d ask them to pay me,’ Matthew declared, squinting down the barrel of his plastic gun. Then he roared off, taking the other two boys with him.
They came back, however, several times. They seemed fascinated by Richard Boyer – though not by the ghostly writing. If it had been up to them, our ghost would have been performing more impressive tricks. Walking around headless, maybe, or making the walls bleed. They were a bit bored by endless lines of small, neat script.
Even so, they brought some of their friends to have a look. By the end of the day, we’d had seven kids through the house, wanting to see the ‘haunted room’ with their own eyes. Matthew and Jonah brought their friends Thomas and Gabriel. Michelle brought her cousin Dommy. And a little kid named Jostein from across the street knocked on the door after lunch to ask if he could please meet ‘Caspar the friendly ghost’. Don’t ask me how he heard about Eglantine. Obviously the news was spreading like wildfire.
No wonder our local newspaper got hold of the story.
CHAPTER # seven
Actually, we didn’t hear from the local paper until Wednesday – and several things happened before that.
First of all, Richard Boyer spent Saturday night in Bethan’s room. Sylvia tried to do the same thing, but was driven out very quickly by the paint fumes, which gave her a headache. Though Ray had left the window open after finishing the second coat, the fumes were still pretty bad; Richard looked pale and sick the next morning. I found him in the kitchen, drinking coffee, when I came down to breakfast.
Mum was already wide awake, eating her homemade muesli.
‘So how did it go?’ I asked, and Richard blinked at me. Then he took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes.
‘Oh – ah – pretty good,’ he said.
‘Is there any new writing?’
Suddenly he perked up. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Yes, there is. I counted ten new lines.’
‘Great!’ I opened the fridge. ‘Did you see who wrote it?’
‘No.’ Richard sounded crestfallen. ‘I mean, I probably got it on film – certainly the talcum powder wasn’t disturbed . . .’
‘He fell asleep,’ Mum supplied.
‘Even if I’d been awake, I probably wouldn’t have seen anything,’ said Richard, a little defensively. ‘It was too dark. That’s why we had the infra-red set up.’
‘Then why did you have to stay in there at all?’
I wanted to know, dumping the milk on the table.
‘Oh, I had to do that. I had to.’ Richard straightened, and his voice became more breathless than ever. ‘I dreamed that dream, for one thing. I dreamed that I was choking.’
Mum and I exchanged glances.
‘It was incredible,’ Richard continued, furiously scratching his scalp with both hands. ‘Exactly like Bethan said. Not asthma – nothing like asthma. Not a pressure on the windpipe, either. It was as if something was being forced down my throat.’
‘What?’ asked Mum.
‘I don’t know. It was all dark. Of course,’ he added
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