Frightfully Friendly Ghosties by Daren King Page B

hand.

4
    Agatha Draft

    â€œWe’re not out of the woods yet,” I said.
    â€œNo,” said Charlie. “And Pamela Fraidy is still not out of the attic. She’s probably been eaten by the leggy spider.”
    â€œSpiders don’t eat ghosties,” said Wither. “Spiders are mean, but they’re not
that
mean. I will float upstairs and ask how she is.” And off he wisped.
    â€œWe need to move the key along the hallway and up the stairs, Charlie,” I said.
    â€œIf we wait long enough, Tabitha, perhaps a still-alive will walk down the hall and kick the key to the foot of the staircase.”
    I shook my haunted head. “The still-alive is just as likely to hide the key in his pocket.”
    â€œCan’t you jiggle it across the floor?”
    â€œI haven’t the skills. What if I jiggle it wrong, and it floats out through the letterbox and jangles off up the street? Ah, here’s Wither.”
    â€œThat was quick,” said Charlie.
    â€œI bumped into Headless Lesley on the staircase,” said Wither. “He’d just been up to the attic and held his head to the keyhole. It was too dark to see much, he said, but she seemed to be in good spirits.”
    â€œPerhaps we should ask Agatha Draft,” said Charlie, toying with the brim of his trilby hat. “She could create an eerie breeze and blow the key all the way to the foot of the staircase.”
    â€œPoor Aggie,” said Wither. “The still-alives are so mean to her. Have you seen the way they hunch their shoulders when she floats past?”
    â€œWhen I last saw her,” I said, “she was in the dining room. Let’s float in and say hello.”
    And off we wisped.
    The dining room door was open, so we floated straight in.
    Three still-alives were sitting shivering at the dining table. Agatha Draft was floating behind their heads, blowing their hair without a care. When she saw us ghosties, she billowed the curtains for a bit and then wisped over to say hello.
    â€œTabitha Tumbly, Wither, how the devil are you? Charlie, how lovely to see you.”
    â€œThis is no time for pleasantries,” said Charlie. “Pamela Fraidy is locked in the attic with a leggy spider.”
    â€œPoor Pamela!” gasped Agatha. “What can we do-woo-whooo?”
    On hearing Agatha’s concerned cry, the still-alives leapt from their chairs and ran about. The two half-sized still-alives hid beneath the table, playing a game I suppose, and the still-alive with the high heels began to scream.
    â€œNever mind them,” said Wither. “They’re just mean.”
    â€œIt’s frightfully rude,” said Charlie as the four of us floated out to the hall. “Agatha, will you help?”
    â€œYou could create a draft,” I said, “and blow the key down the hall to the foot of the staircase.”
    â€œWe saw the way you billowed those curtains,” said Charlie. “Awfully impressive.”
    â€œYou must think I’m the most ghastly show-off.”
    â€œNot at all,” we all said together. Then I apologized for talking over Charlie, and Charlie apologized for talking over me, and then Wither apologized for talking over us both.
    â€œHad I known you were watching,” said Agatha, clutching her pearls modestly, “I would have billowed with a little more discretion.”
    We floated up the hall to the front door, to where the key lay on the tiles.
    â€œThis is frightfully embarrassing,” said Agatha.
    â€œWe’re not watching,” I said, and the three of us turned to face the front door.
    A moment later we heard a clatter, and when we turned around, Agatha was blushing bright white and the key was at the far end of the hall, at the foot of the staircase.
    Wither, Charlie, and I clapped our haunted hands.
    â€œIt is a very
small
key,” said Agatha.

5
    Gertrude Goo

    â€œAll we have to do now,” said Charlie Vapor,