Witch Twins and the Ghost of Glenn Bly (3 page)

“Why?” asked Claire. “We just got here!”

“Plus, we haven’t done anything wrong,” said Luna.

“Ye must depart, nitwits, because the castle is guarded and protected by me,” said Percival, his voice cracking. “Haven’t ye heard my warning?” He lifted the silver amulet that hung around his neck and shook it.

Jingle-jingle. Clinkity-clink.

Luna scoffed. “But that’s hardly a haunt at all! I could haunt this castle with my eyes closed and one hand tied behind my back!”

To prove it, she shut her eyes, stuck a hand behind her back, and cast the one ghost-ish spell she knew, the Chain Chant. It went like this:

My ghostie haunts the attic; my ghoulie haunts the eaves.

They’ll drag their chains and spread their gloom,

They’ll chase my friends from room to room.

’Til everybody leaves!

As soon as Luna finished, a terrible clanking and scraping sounded over their heads.

“Horrors! ’Tis the sound of iron chains dragged across the floor. Stop it at once!” Sir Percival hunched his shoulders to his ears.

Luna smirked. She was very good at the Chain Chant spell. The last time she had used it was at Frieda Gunderson’s sleepover party, and everyone had been so scared that they had voted to keep the bathroom light on all night.

Claire was laughing. “You outspooked our ghost, Loon!”

Luna snapped her fingers to stop the spell. She didn’t want to wake up anybody.

Boom!

Thunder! All three of them jumped. Sir Percival jumped highest.

“I guess you didn’t conjure up this thunderstorm, did you?” asked Luna.

“Conjure a storm? Me? Why, I am not a spell-casting witch!” protested Sir Percival. A thoughtful expression crossed his face. “Ach, but ye maidens are, aren’t ye? Ye see and hear me with special, witch-y senses.”

“That’s right. Claire and I are one-point-five-star witches. Good detectiving, Sir Percival,” said Luna. She wanted to give the knight a compliment, since his haunting had been so pitiful.

“Percival, why do you smell like a strawberry patch?” asked Claire.

“’Tis a long tale,” replied Sir Percival. “To begin at the beginning, which would be some time in the eleventh century; good folk used to grow—”

But just then, a tiny object whistled past Luna’s ear and landed on the carpet.

“What is that?” cried the frightened young knight. He leaned down to look. “How odd. A moonlike sphere, no larger than a wee sparrow’s skull.”

“It’s a golf ball,” said Luna.

Now footsteps pattered down the corridor.

“Who goes there?” hissed Claire.

“Fred Bramblewine, your grandfather, goes here!” Grampy dressed in his pajamas, came tiptoeing down the hall. He was holding a golf club. “I thought I had this area to myself.” Grampy blinked. “Anyone seen my golf ball?” He looked right past Percival.

“The doddering old-timer does not possess the witch-sense to observe me,” said Percival.

“Don’t call Grampy a doddering old-timer. He’s very good at golf,” whispered Luna.

“Aha!” said Grampy, picking up the ball, which was right next to Percival’s toe. “Found ya!”

“Grampy!” Claire exclaimed. “Why are you up so late?”

“I’m practicing my putt,” Grampy explained sheepishly. “Tomorrow is the first round of the golf tournament. I want to impress your grandmother.” He put a finger to his lips. “But I don’t think she needs to know about any of our late-night shenanigans. I won’t tell if you won’t. Let’s go, girls. Back to bed.”

Then Grampy placed one hand on each twin’s shoulder, and steered Luna and Claire down the hallway.

When Luna turned around to check on their ghost, Sir Percival Quilty had disappeared.

“But he’ll be back,” Luna predicted after Grampy had dropped them off at Elderberry Chamber.

Claire yawned. “Listen, the rain is only a sprinkle now.”

The twins jumped into their soft ocean of a feather bed and smoothed the covers evenly so they wouldn’t fight over them later. “I can’t wait to tell Grandy that we found Percy, the not-very-spooky, strawberry-smelling ghost.” Claire sighed. “That was an easy mystery to solve.”

“Nothing’s solved yet, Clairsie,” said Luna. “I don’t mean to be a doomsday prophet, but my witch-hunch says it doesn’t add up.” She plumped her pillow and smoothed the ruffles of her nightgown. “We found a friendly ghost, not a fierce one. Crumbs, Sir Percival can hardly haunt. But what if there are some other, real baddies around this castle? And what if Grandy wants us to pop them?” Luna shivered. “Aren’t you a teensy little bit scared, Clairsie? Clairsie?”

From the other side of the bed came the sound of a snore.

Obviously, Claire was not too scared. Luna’s twin had fallen fast asleep.

T
HE NEXT MORNING, CLAIRE WOKE
to sunshine filtering though the windows of Elderberry Chamber. Good, no more rain. But then she saw an empty pocket of space under the quilt where Luna had been.

“Haggis and hailstones, I must’ve overslept!”

She decided to skip showering. When she raced downstairs to the kitchen, she found that everyone had already enjoyed breakfast. Mac, Luna, and Daphne were now doing after-breakfast chores. Mac was sweeping the floor, Luna was stacking the dishes, and Daphne was polishing the silverware.

A bed-and-breakfast castle was a lot of work, thought Claire. She was glad her own home back in Philadelphia did not double as a hotel.

“Hullo, Claire!” greeted Mac when he saw her. “Your grandparents told me to tell you that they’ll be playing golf all day. However, Daphne and Luna will wait for you. Get a bite to eat, and after we finish up the morning chores, Daphne said she’d show you the grounds.”

“Okay” said Claire. Crumbs! she thought. If Grandy was off at golf, that meant she and Luna would have to wait all day before they could tell her about Sir Percival.

Meanwhile, it looked as if there was no escaping morning chores, or spending the day with Miss Daphne Bly.

Claire took a long time eating her bowl of something called muesli, cereal that tasted sort of like Oatie-oats, but better. Then she got to work helping Mac, angling the dustpan in those hard-to-sweep places.

“Thanks, Claire,” said Mac when they were done. “I’m stepping out to tend the stables now, so come ’round later if you want to exercise the horses. Think that might be fun?”

“Aye!” Claire had never been horseback riding, but she hoped she could make her horse go faster than Daphne’s.

“As long as my horse doesn’t go too fast,” said Luna.

That’s when Claire noticed that her twin looked terrified.

And Miss Daphne Bly was looking very mischievous, indeed.

What was that pesky lass up to?

Once Mac left, Claire found out.

“Oh, Claire! All morning, Daphne has been telling me such terrible things about the history of Glenn Bly!” Luna wailed. “So many wars and tortures. Tell her, Daphne. Tell Claire some of your stories.”

“Just the usual rot,” said Daphne as she eyed Claire. “Battles, bloodshed, and beheadings.”

Claire shrugged. She did not scare as easily as her twin. “All castles have gory ancient histories.
^-
”

“True enough, American Claire,” Daphne admitted, “but I’ve saved the worst for last.”

“Daphne says Glenn Bly is haunted by a fierce and evil ogre,” Luna gasped. “I knew it! I knew there was a
real
baddie lurking.”

“Yeah, yeah. I heard about the ogre yesterday. But what I want to know is, where is he now?” Claire asked.

“Oh, everywhere and anywhere,” Daphne answered.

“Ever seen him?”

“Yes, but not recently.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Hunchback, slimy, bit of a purplish gash on his eyeball.”

“What does he eat?”

“Wild mushrooms and little dogs.”

“What’s his name?”

“Bloatus.”

“How’d you know his name?” Claire asked. “Did he tell you? Have you spoken to him?”

At so many questions, Daphne clammed up.

“Or maybe...your Bloatus is bogus,” Claire accused.

“I’m not a liar!” Daphne retorted, her cheeks flaming pink. “Bloatus is real, and he’s dreadful! He watches over my grandfather and me, but he despises everyone else. I’m quite surprised he hasn’t tried to scare you by now!” She quirked an eyebrow. “Are you sure you didn’t hear Bloatus last night, jangling and clinking his bloody spiked chain?”

Claire exchanged a look with her twin. Yes, they had heard a jangling, all right. But it had turned out to be the not-at-all spooky jingle-jangling of puny Percival Quilty.

“I’ve got an idea. Let’s go horseback riding and see if we can find Bloatus anywhere. Then Luna and I’ll decide if we’re scared of him or not,” challenged Claire.

Daphne looked startled. Then firm. “Very well. I’ll go put on my riding clothes,” she said, and she flounced out of the kitchen.

Once the twins were alone, Claire noticed that over her jeans, Luna was wearing a long, white, lacy something-or-other.

“Loon! What nutty outfit have you got on now?”

“Don’t tell Mom,” answered Luna, “but it’s her special holiday tablecloth. I thought it would be pretty as a skirt. Sort of romantic and olden days-ish.”

Claire shook her head at her sister. “I won’t tell, if you lend me some of your clothes. I forgot to pack some stuff.”

“I knew it!” Now it was Luna’s turn to shake her head at her sister.

After a quick shower and a change back into her same clothes from yesterday (with fresh socks and underwear that she borrowed from Luna) Claire was ready for riding.

Mac and Daphne were already at the stables waiting for them. Daphne was dressed in full riding gear, in special riding pants and long boots.

Show-off, thought Claire.

Mac had saddled up the horses.

“Daphne has the most riding experience, so shell take T.J.,” Mac decided. “Claire, I think you ought to try Dooley. He’s frisky, but he responds well to your command. And for you Luna, here is Paloma. She’s gentle as a dove.”

Claire hoisted herself up onto chestnut-brown, sturdy Dooley. Her witch-smarts clicked instantly with the horse. (Most witches have a pretty good understanding of animal moods.)

T.J. was a black pony with white markings and a hot temper, but Daphne swung up as if she had been riding him for years.

Claire glanced over at Luna. She seemed glad to be on sleepy Paloma, a mare that did not look as if she would be moving faster than a tricycle.

Daphne high-stepped T.J. in a circle, showing off. She was the only Scottish lass Claire had ever met, but she certainly was irritating.

But Claire knew how to irritate, too.

“We’re off to see the ogre,” Claire sang under her breath, just loud enough for Daphne to hear. “The wonderful ogre of Bly.”

“Don’t go too far or fast.” Mac gave his granddaughter a meaningful look. “Daphne, I’m trusting you to keep pace with Paloma.”

“Shall do!” Daphne clicked the reins. She signaled for the twins to follow her.

In the morning cold, the fog was as thick as chowder, but the fields were open and flat, perfect for a leisurely ride.

“Let’s head for the hills,” Claire suggested.

“Let’s go around the orchard,” suggested Daphne.

They both looked at Luna to be the tiebreaker.

“Orchard,” said Luna.

Daphne smirked.

Claire scowled. Her twin’s politeness always got in the way of fun.

“Before the Battle of Sodden Field destroyed them, wild strawberry patches grew all along these meadows,” explained Daphne with a sweep of her hand. “Glenn Bly was famous for its strawberries. People served them in everything. Strawberry salad, strawberry mashed potatoes, strawberry sauce on strawberry shepherd’s pie. In fact, the Bly coat of arms is a giant strawberry.”

“Your family has its own coat of arms?” asked Luna.

“Of course,” said Daphne airily. “Doesn’t everybody?”

Claire gritted her teeth.

They trotted through the orchard and over a low bridge that crossed a brook. “I’m fairly sure that this is where Bloatus lives,” said Daphne as she stopped T.J. on the bridge and peered down into the water’s dark depths. “He might not show himself this morning, but you soon will feel his presence. I just hope you don’t feel his awful, angry wrath! Let me try to summon him.”

Her face pinched in concentration.

Soon came the faint sound of
jingle-clink.

“Aha! Hear that? That is Bloatus’s war call!” said Daphne. She frowned as she looked at the twins. “Aren’t you even a wee bit scared?”

“That depends on who’s scaring us.” Claire sniffed the telltale scent of strawberries. She had a hunch that whoever was on the other end of the
jingle-clink
was not too scary. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” she sang.

From behind a cypress tree, Sir Percival Quilty appeared on his silver steed. Although he seemed less scrawny now that he was saddled on his ghostly horse, Percival did not fit the description of an awful ogre. As he approached the bridge, Claire saw that he held his amulet between his fingers, and was jingling it so hard that his tongue was sticking out from the effort.

Daphne was still looking down at the water. She could hear the jingle-clink, but she could not see Sir Percival. “Yes,” she said, pointing down, “the noise is coming from under the bridge.”

Claire popped open her eyes and pretended to chatter her teeth, making a fake scared expression for Luna, who laughed. Percival saw Claire’s phony frightened face, too.

“Do not insult me, ye doubting twins,” snapped Percival. “’Tis plenty scarier if ye cannot see me or hear my voice! Then ye have to use your imagination, like the damsel Daphne.”

From the look on her face, Daphne seemed to be using a huge amount of imagination. And Claire could bet that Daphne had imagined something far worse than Sir Percival.

When Percival reached up and snapped a few twigs off the tree, Daphne gasped.

“Did you hear the crackle of breaking bones?” Her eyes rounded. “It’s said that the ogre Bloatus slaughtered fifty men in a single day. Aren’t you scared?”

“Oh, yes, I’m scared,” said Luna politely.