The Prankster and the Ghost Page 6

  Turned upside down, the handbag was shaken hard, and Tayla slipped out. Landing on his back with a soft thud, he slid slowly under a desk. The inspector and a man with red tufty hair peered down at him. The man looked annoyed.

  ‘Is this the boy?’

  The inspector nodded. ‘You can come out, Tayla.’

  Feeling wobbly, Tayla crawled slowly out from under the desk.

  ‘This is Mr Potts,’ said the inspector. ‘The principal.’

  The red-haired man was as thin as a goal post. He stared at Tayla as if he was a spider. A very poisonous spider. ‘I can’t take him. It’s hard enough keeping the others under control.’

  Tayla stood up. Were his arms still here? His legs? Maybe they’d got stuck in the inspector’s handbag, and all he had was a head and a body. Anxiously, he looked himself over. Two arms? Check. Legs? Check. Two feet, on right way round? Two hands, each with five fingers? He wiggled them to be sure. Yep. All present and correct.

  ‘When you’ve quite finished, Tayla?’ said the inspector.

  ‘Sorry.’ He tucked his hands behind his back.

  ‘I’m giving you a holiday,’ the inspector announced, as if kidnapping him in a handbag was a treat.

  The principal sniffed. ‘This isn’t a camp. This is a school. We don’t allow students to come and go as they please. We have rules.’

  The words sounded bossy, but the man’s face was nervous. What sort of principal was scared of a kid? Then Tayla realised: I’m not just any kid. To him, I’m a ghost.

  ‘Are you a ghost, too?’ he asked.

  ‘Of course not. I’m a teacher.’

  ‘The principal is always able to see the ghosts,’ said the inspector. ‘Mr Potts is one of the most talented principals we’ve had.’

  Tayla wasn’t interested in the principal’s talents. ‘Do I have to stay here?’

  The inspector looked at him over her ray-gun glasses. ‘But where else would you go?’

  * * *

  ‘We have to be careful.’ Mr Potts led Tayla across the playground. There wasn’t much to the school; only three classrooms, each opening onto a verandah. One classroom had all its windows and doors open. As Mr Potts walked past the slide, children’s faces appeared at the windows. For a moment Tayla felt embarrassed by all this attention – until he remembered he was invisible.

  Mr Potts wiped his palm on his trousers. ‘There’s terrible stinging nettle down in the gully, you must watch out for it. Stung me badly, the other week.’ He pointed at a narrow path.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Tayla looked at the school buildings and all the faces in the windows. ‘Isn’t the school back there?’

  Mr Potts looked surprised. ‘Goodness, no. You won’t use those classes. You’ll be in the special school.’

  ‘Like reading recovery?’

  Mr Potts shook his head. ‘No. Not really. Not at all.’

  They trudged down the path. It was a fine day, and the soft clouds looked like cotton wool balls against a blue sea of sky.

  Now I’m a ghost, could I sit on a cloud, and not fall through?

  It should have been a happy thought but it wasn’t, not really, because he was miles away from Mum.

  Tayla looked longingly at the buildings behind him, at the normal kids and teachers. An older girl stood behind the classrooms. She seemed to be yelling at someone, a boy about his age. As if feeling Tayla watching her, she turned and stared at them. Quickly, he put his hands in his pockets and tried to make himself invisible. Next time he looked, she wasn’t watching any more, but the boy was squinting at him, as though unsure of what he was seeing.

  ‘Ah, a new recruit!’ A young man in a flat-topped hat strode up the hill towards them. He had a moustache and wore a waistcoat with a silver chain that hung from his pocket to his button, like a Christmas decoration. He looked young – younger than Mr Potts, anyway – and enthusiastic. Like a terrier, when it sees a ball. Tayla half-expected him to start panting.

  ‘This is Tayla Johnson,’ said Mr Potts. ‘With us for a short time, I’ve been told.’

  ‘Excellent! Excellent!’ The man pumped Tayla’s hand up and down as though it was a bit of machinery. ‘Good to have some new blood. Not that blood’s the right word, eh Tayla? Um, a short time, you said?’

  ‘So I’ve been told,’ said Mr Potts mournfully.

  The younger man scratched his head. His moustache was so thin it looked as if it had been drawn on his upper lip with a felt pen. ‘Well, that’s a bit unusual, isn’t it?’

  Mr Potts shrugged. ‘It’s against the rules, I know. I told her, “We’re not a holiday camp.” I mean, this is a serious institution. You know what she said then?’

  Teacher-talk. Tayla rolled his eyes. They always spoke like that; fast, with voices lowered. And if you interrupted, or commented on what they said, they got cross and told you not to listen to private conversations. As if you had a choice, when they’re talking just above your head. So he stared down the gully, at the wire of the fence and the hills behind it. In the distance was a dark blue line. The sea.

  ‘Well, Tayla,’ said the terrier-like man, ‘I guess you’re stuck with us. If the inspector’s left you here, then here you are, I suppose.’ Tayla pushed his hand behind his back in case it got grabbed and shaken again. ‘And it occurs to me, I have not introduced myself.’ He took off his hat and bowed. ‘Arnold Anderson, at your service.’

  Was he supposed to bow, too? ‘Um, hello.’

  ‘But,’ the young man added, ‘to you, I will be known as Mr Anderson. For the duration of your stay, anyway. As long as that may be. I am the teacher of this most happy band of students. Children, come and meet Tayla.’

  Mr Potts backed away quickly. ‘I’ll be off, then,’ he said. ‘Let me know if you need anything, Arnold.’ He turned and headed back up the hill, walking fast as if he couldn’t wait to get away.

  ‘He don’t like us,’ said a small voice. ‘Who are you, anyway?’ A little girl, not much taller than his waist, glared at him.

  ‘Um, I’m Tayla.’

  ‘I’m Millicent,’ she said. ‘But don’t you call me that. ’Cos it’s a horrible name.’

  ‘What should I call you, then?’

  ‘Milly.’ She wore a long dress down to her ankles, and an untied ribbon in her long hair. She brushed her fringe from her eyes and scowled at him. ‘Why are you called Tayla? Do you sew?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Tailor. That’s what a man who sews is called, ain’t it? Ma took me into town once, and we see’d a shop with Gentlemen’s Tailors written on the door and Ma tole me they was people what sewed.’

  ‘I’m called Tayla,’ said Tayla, ‘because that’s my name.’

  She sniffed. ‘Stupid name, if you ask me.’

  ‘Millicent! That’s not a nice way to talk to someone, especially not on his first day.’ Mr Anderson patted her on the shoulder. She shook him off as though he was a fly.

  ‘He’s in trouble,’ she said.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Not you, stupid,’ she said. ‘Him.’ She pointed up the hill, towards the school. The boy still stood behind the building. His shoulders drooped, as if he was unhappy.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘’Cos he stinks,’ said Milly, putting a piece of hair in her mouth and sucking it.

  ‘Oh.’ She’s stark raving bonkers. How long do I have to stay here? Tayla glanced around, looking for escape.

  Mr Anderson took him by the arm. ‘Come down to our schoolhouse, Tayla. You too, Millicent. We’ll introduce you to the others.’

  Oh great, thought Tayla. There’s more of them?

  ‘I ain’t Millicent,’ hissed the girl, ‘I’m Milly.’

  Either Mr Anderson didn’t care, or he was deaf, because he didn’t reply. Instead he walked down the hill, towards the dark bushes that grew in a scraggly row by the fence. Although perhaps walking wasn’t the right word. It was more like floating.

  Milly didn’t float; she zoomed around them, just like
a mosquito. She buzzed like one, too, an annoying little whine of ‘Not Millicent, it’s Milly. Milly. Milly. That’s my name.’

  As if in a dream, Tayla followed. What was he doing here? Mr Anderson and Millicent/Milly were ghosts. Proper ghosts. Dead ghosts. And there were more of them, waiting to meet him.

  How long do I have to stay? He gazed longingly behind him, up at the other classrooms where the kids were normal and breathing. The boy was standing up now, staring down at him, so Tayla waved. The boy flicked his hand as if wondering if he should wave back.

  ‘Silly,’ whispered the little girl. ‘They can’t see you. They’re stupid. Stupid and stinky.’

  But Tayla waved again, just in case. Help! he thought. I’ve been taken prisoner.

  ‘This is Kahu Parata,’ said Mr Anderson, nodding to a sad-looking brown-skinned boy. He looked older than Tayla, about thirteen.

  ‘Hello,’ said Tayla.

  The boy said nothing, just nodded.

  ‘He don’t talk much,’ whispered Milly loudly. ‘But don’t worry, he can hear all right. CAN’T YOU KAHU?’

  The boy stared at her, shook his head slightly. A thin Chinese girl stood next to him. She tucked her hands into her sleeves and looked solemnly at Tayla. She seemed older than Milly.

  ‘She’s Chinese. She don’t speak much English,’ said Milly, who seemed to think she was a tour guide. ‘She’s been here for ages, haven’t you Little Song? Her name’s even worse than yours, I reckon. I mean, a sewing name you can do something with, can’t you? But who wants to be called after music?’

  The dark-haired girl stared at Milly without expression. Tayla had a feeling, though, that she understood every word.

  ‘Kahu died of the flu. I drownded,’ added Milly. ‘It was typhoid fever what did for Little Song. What happened to you?’

  ‘I was in a car accident,’ said Tayla.

  ‘Mr Anderson was in an accident,’ said Milly.

  ‘That’s enough, Milly.’ Mr Anderson stepped quickly towards the little girl. ‘I’m sure Tayla doesn’t want to hear about our deaths.’

  ‘He was squashed to bits, weren’t you Mr Anderson?’ said Milly, happily, as if telling Tayla about a new type of sweet. ‘There were pieces of him all over the road. Were you squished, too?’

  Tayla shook his head.

  ‘Millicent!’ said Mr Anderson. ‘That’s enough!’

  ‘Was your head cut off?’ said Milly. ‘We had a Brian once, his head was cut off. It was an accident, he said, but I think it was on purpose.’

  ‘How could you cut your head off on purpose?’

  ‘A big pair of scissors, maybe? Did it hurt, when your head was cut off?’

  ‘It wasn’t cut off.’

  ‘That’s enough, Millicent,’ said Mr Anderson, firmly. ‘Come on, children. Let’s show Tayla our schoolhouse.’

  Little Song and Kahu Parata turned, floating down the hill, through the bushes, towards a grey-roofed building. Milly went behind them, still whispering. ‘Well, what about your arms? Was they cut off, then?’

  Tayla shook his head.

  ‘Your legs?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, how did you get killed?’

  Tayla stopped, right in the middle of a bush, and got a branch in his nose. ‘I’m not dead,’ he said.

  Milly stopped, too. So did Kahu and Little Song and Mr Anderson.

  ‘You not dead?’ Little Song asked.

  ‘How come?’ said Kahu.

  ‘You must be dead,’ said the Chinese girl. ‘You ghost, like us.’

  Tayla shook his head again. ‘I’m not. Truly.’

  Mr Anderson coughed. ‘Is this true, Tayla?’

  Feeling guilty, Tayla nodded. ‘Ask the inspector.’

  ‘What happened?’ said Kahu.

  Tayla told them about the accident. ‘I just … don’t want to be in my body,’ he said.

  ‘That makes no sense,’ said Little Song.

  ‘If I had a body,’ said Kahu, wonderingly, ‘I’d be in it.’

  Milly started sobbing.

  ‘What’s wrong, Milly?’ said Mr Anderson.

  ‘T’ain’t fair,’ said Milly, sniffing. ‘I want my body, too.’

  Little Song put a hand on Milly’s shoulder. ‘I also.’

  ‘Me too,’ said Kahu.

  ‘Having a body isn’t all that great,’ said Tayla, remembering how much it had hurt when he’d woken up in hospital. ‘Sometimes it hurts.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Mr Anderson, rubbing his hands together. ‘Each to his own, I daresay.’ He added, as if to himself, ‘Though, I must say, I would love to eat a steak again. Ah, here we are.’

  “Here” was a grey tumbledown building. Sparrows chirped loudly, their calls echoing from stone walls. Patches of sky peeped through the broken roof. Tiles lay broken and scattered across the hard earth floor. It looked more like a haunted house than a school.

  ‘This is your classroom?’ Tayla asked.

  Milly sniffed loudly. ‘Stinky kids from the upper school, they don’t see it like it really is.’

  ‘Boo!’ Kahu’s head popped out of a wall.

  ‘You play with us?’ Little Song whispered from the darkness.

  The tiles on the roof shook and shuddered. One clattered loose and fell with a crack, spraying the ground with bits of broken stone. Tayla ducked. Help!

  ‘Stinky poo, where are you?’ Milly sang.

  Tayla spun in a circle. Where had they all gone?

  ‘Stop it, children,’ said Mr Anderson. ‘Be nice. Tayla is one of us.’

  Tayla smiled shakily. Yes. He was one of them.

  ‘Look again, Tayla,’ said Mr Anderson.

  And Tayla blinked, and saw: white walls, wooden desks, a blackboard, a firebox with a long chimney, and a leather sofa with buttons on the back.

  ‘This is our classroom,’ said Mr Anderson.

  The three kids, hovering in the row between the desks, smiled. They seemed so proud of their classroom. Like it was their home or something. But it wasn’t that amazing. It looked more like the inside of a museum than a classroom.

  Where was the mat, where you could sit and listen to a story? Where were the games that you could play while the rest of the class were doing maths, and you’d finished early? What about the projector, the whiteboard? Didn’t these ghosts realise there should be more?

  Mr Anderson smiled proudly, as if waiting for a compliment.

  ‘Where are the computers?’ said Tayla.

  Milly appeared in front of him. ‘What’s a computer?’

  11

  Stinging Nettles

  Jamie rubbed his eyes. For a moment there had seemed to be a boy on the track, waving. But no, the path leading down to the old school house was empty. Maybe he was going mad. I stunk out the classroom because I’m mad. Not a bad excuse.

  He didn’t want to go back to school. The girls would giggle. Girls always giggle; it was a rule, like gravity. They couldn’t help it. But Jayden Harris – what would he do?

  Carrying a sack and a long knife with a jagged edge, Becky walked down the hill. Leather gloves were tucked into the belt beside her water bottle.

  ‘Becky!’ whispered Jamie.

  She stopped at his call, frowned at him. ‘Shouldn’t you be at class?’

  ‘I’m sorry I told you to go away. I didn’t mean it.’

  ‘I should think so.’

  ‘What are you doing with that knife?’

  She waved it in the air. ‘This? I’m supposed to be cutting out the nettles. I told you, Mr Potts keeps going on about them. Because of you.’

  ‘Can I help?’

  She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Get you out of school early? Is that why you’re offering?’

  Jamie grinned. ‘Aye. Sort of.’

  ‘At least you’re honest. Come on then.’

  They started down the hill.

  ‘The annoying thing is, you and I know there are no nettles,’ Becky tucked the sack into her belt and took
a sip from her water bottle. ‘Just a stupid boy with a buzzer. But Mr Potts won’t be happy until I’ve looked and told him.’

  He ignored the “stupid boy” bit. ‘Told him about the buzzer?’

  ‘No. The stinging nettles.’

  Jamie’s skin prickled. Hadn’t he seen tall plants with spiky leaves? They felt like a bad dream; had they been real? ‘I think I did actually see some.’

  They stopped at the fence that marked the edge of the school grounds. On the other side grew tall green grass, and cows that mooed when Jayden threw stones at them. Jamie still couldn’t believe there were cows next to a school. Rob and Stuart would never believe this place.

  Becky stared along the wire of the fence. ‘Nettles normally grow in sunny places,’ she said doubtfully. ‘Edges of forests, near old walls. What about that old building? The school house.’

  Jamie shivered. ‘Not there.’

  But Becky had already gone, pushing her way through the bushes. ‘God, these are thick,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe how overgrown this place is. What was Mr Ferris thinking? Mind you, I think he was a bit past it.’

  ‘Past it?’

  ‘Kept babbling about nasty kids. Totally fixated on them,’ said Becky. She glared at Jamie. ‘Although, there have been times when I understand where he was coming from.’

  Shaded by the trees, the ruined school house felt cool. Slates had fallen from the roof and shattered on the ground, sounding like crisps when he walked on them. Crunch. Crunch. Startled, a bird cawed loudly, fluttering through the space like a bat.

  Becky shivered. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’ She turned in a circle, staring into the corners. ‘That roof looks dangerous. We should fence it off.’ She stepped over the low stone wall.

  Remembering the strange grey plants, Jamie turned in a circle, checking behind him. He didn’t like this place.

  What the?! One moment there was just empty air, then this thing, this man, appeared. He wore a waistcoat with a silver chain and looked like a CGI character in a movie. Kind of real, but not; like a tracing. Jamie could see right through him.