I looked around the room. And then a delighted gasp began to ripple out of me.
‘I’ve just realised,’ I shouted gleefully, ‘the flaw to all of this.’ And I began to laugh.
Within a minute or two, the other ghosts around me were giggling too, uncertain of the joke but swept up in my bleak amusement.
Isolde’s mud-smeared face broke into a smile and she clapped her hand on my back so hard that I nearly slipped out of the ghost train, which made us all laugh even more.
‘Ha ha,’ I gasped. ‘Heeee hee.’
‘Ho ho,’ went the others. ‘Teee hee.’
Even the little Girl With No Name stopped crying and began to gurgle happily.
From the front, Scanlon watched the six of us laughing with a look of yearning and loneliness. Once or twice his lips even stretched away from his teeth, before snapping back into place.
‘What’s happening?’ snapped Crawler, as if aware we had become distracted.
‘The ghosts – well, they’re laughing.’
‘Laughing?’ said Crawler. ‘Why?’
Theo and Obediah and Vanessa shrugged and promptly fell about in hysterics again.
I crowed, spluttering through my laughter: ‘Because he’s got worms for brains.’
Scanlon hesitated. ‘Frankie says you haven’t thought this through.’
‘And why’s that?’ Crawler said very softly.
‘Because no one will be able to see us. Who’s going to pay money to visit a haunted house if they can’t see the ghosts?’ I jumped up and down on the spot again, thrilled to have got one over on the odious Crawler at last.
After a moment, Isolde began to jump on the spot too, shouting unintelligible words, giving me respectful glances as if she thought I was enacting some kind of war dance.
‘All of this …’ I swept my arms around, ‘has been a colossal waste of time. His plan is flawed. It’s cracked. It’s doomed to fail.’
Scanlon turned to his father, and repeated what I’d said.
‘Ah,’ said Crawler, but to my surprise, he grinned. ‘Yes. There is that.’ He smiled approvingly. ‘Well spotted.’
Everyone’s chuckles died down, and they shot confused looks between me and Crawler.
From somewhere within the deep caverns of the ramshackle building, there came a loud, booming thud.
‘Right on time,’ Crawler said conspiratorially, checking his watch. ‘You’re going to love this bit.’
He raised his voice. ‘Door’s open,’ he shouted out into the corridor. ‘Do come in.’
THE MAN THAT put his head round the door had bloodshot eyes and greasy stubble. ‘Found you,’ he said fondly to Crawler. ‘What is this place?’
He weaved towards us as uncertainly as if he was an apprentice sailor.
‘He’s been at the Geneva,’ whispered Obediah, miming putting something to his lips and gulping from it.
Crawler unfolded himself from the front seat and walked over to the stranger, who stood in the gloom swaying, with a sleepy smile on his face. With a smooth, practised movement, Crawler reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small glass bottle.
‘Taxi drive comfortable for you, Will?’ Crawler asked, as he began to shake the phial in his hands.
‘Tenty tenty,’ said the man. ‘Why am I here again?’
Crawler clamped his arm around the man’s shoulder as if to steady him, although his grip was so tight the man almost winced. ‘You agreed to take part in a demonstration for me.’
‘Did I?’ asked the man.
Crawler nodded.
‘What’s that then?’
‘All I want you to do, dear man, is some counting. I want you to count, then take a sip of something, then count again. Think you can handle that?’
The man’s rubbery face contorted with silent laughter as if Crawler had said the funniest thing in the world.
‘Well, I reckon I’ll be pretty good at the middle part,’ he said eventually. ‘And as long as the numbers aren’t too high, I ’spect I can manage the counting as well.’
Holding him firmly by the shoulders, Crawler spun the man slowly around the room.
‘Look carefully,’ he said. ‘Don’t rush it. How many people can you see?’
The man called Will laughed again, then made a great show of counting on his fingers. ‘Well, there’s me. One. Then you. Two. Plus your son on a funny little train over there – all right, lad – three.’ Will beamed stupidly up into Crawler’s face. ‘Three people.’
‘Very good,’ said Crawler. ‘Clever chap.’
‘Is it the drinking part now?’ asked Will eagerly.
‘Of course,’ said Crawler lightly, almost as if he’d forgotten. ‘No flies on you, are there?’ And he casually dropped the glass bottle into the man’s outstretched hand. ‘There it is.’
Will held the bottle up to his face with shaking fingers. His voice stumbled as he read the words aloud. ‘Proparanol, hemlock, ricin. What’s all that then, mate? Some type of special brew?’ he said, licking his lips.
‘Just a little cocktail I’ve dreamt up,’ replied Crawler lightly.
‘Moonshine, eh?’ said Will, unscrewing the top with deftly hands.
‘I call it Ghoul Aid,’ said Crawler. ‘It allows you to see all sorts of fascinating things. Tailor-made. Years of research. Down the hatch now, there’s a good man.’
‘It would be an honour.’ With a practised flick of his wrist, Will took a huge gulp in one swift movement.
Me and the other ghosts gave each other a look.
‘Whoo-hooo!’ Will shrieked, gasping for air and panting quickly. ‘Yeee-hah! That will put hairs on your chest, and no mistake! Wow, Crawler, what on earth is in that?’
‘Three types of poison.’
‘Tent udder!’ shouted Will, slapping his thighs. ‘I should say so! Only the best! Poison!’ He laughed again, then tipped the rest of the bottle down his mouth before going through the whole gasping and panting thing again.
All the while, Crawler watched him very intently, like a cat observing a wounded bird. Soon, Will began to rub his chest, before hitting it gently with his hand, as if to dislodge a pain that had started there.
His foolish grin became less sure, and a furrow of worry appeared between his eyebrows. ‘Seriously,
