Chapter Eight: The Demise-Day Get Together
Once the month of October kissed the grounds in icy, chilly mist, Madam Caduceus was kept very busy brewing healing potions for colds and sniffles amongst staff and students. Her most famous was a Chilio influenced elixir tasting of hints of spearmint and lime. When you drank it, icicles would drip and freeze right from your nostrils! Whinnie Parsley was looking very pale and sickly with the changing of the seasons so naturally, the over protective brother that was Perry Parsley badgered her into taking some. The sight of little Whinnie Parsley with dripping icicles from her button nose was as pathetic as it was amusing.
In the evenings, autumn thunderstorms would shake and tremor the castle windows for hours. The lake rose several inchest, flowers wilted and grew black and gray, but Hagish's pumpkins were now the size of many popular hatchback vehicles. The dreary and cold weather conditions did nothing to dampen Ryan Switch's bravado for all things Grilled Cheese Duelling. His training sessions were regular and abundant. On one stormy Saturday afternoon, Henry found himself back in Alpaggard Tower a few days before Spooky Day muddy and drenched from another practice.
Coupled with the fact the wind and rain outside was relentless, the whole practice session hadn't been nice in the slightest. Matt and Jack had taken it upon themselves to spy on the Ivybell team and had seen first hand just how fast the whole team was on their new Zoomsweeper Crystals.
"It's like...they're just green stupid, friggin' stupid, lame, friggin stupid GREEN streaks of friggin' stupid GREEN," Jack waved her arms in frustration at one of their reportings. "They're like bullets, guys." Henry remembered how she lowered her eyes and put a forlorn arm around Matt's waist. This wasn't going to be good.
After that particular practice, Henry squelched and squished his way along the corridor towards the porthole to Alpaggard common room. He stopped when he noticed a figure pulsating and eerie gray, translucent shape, and then fizzling to a spooky black outline. It was of course, Barely Bludgeoned Bob. He was the Alpaggard House Ghost. He looked worried, concerned, and hopeless. Henry walked slowly up to the ghost who was looking out the window at the storm outside mumbling in a low voice, "...you're not invited Bob...if that's even your real name Bob…"
"Um...hi there Mister…" Henry faltered, "Bob…?"
That wasn't the right thing to say as the ghost sighed very loudly.
"Hello, hello, Mister Puffer, good to see you as always," his smile didn't reach his eyes and his pulsating color turned to the inky black outline before Henry could make out any other expression. Did he just roll his ebony orbs at him? When his translucent but more opaque grayish hue returned, Henry saw how well dressed the fellow was. Long velvet robes, a large, ornate jeweled necklace and a form fitted turtleneck. Henry had the morbid thought that perhaps he died around this time of year hence his way of dress. "I apologize for my temperament young master," he sighed again. "Sometimes, I don't mind the nickname...other days...like today...it really bothers me." Barely Bludgeoned Bob is not the ghost's actual name. Whereas the Ivybell, Leetlefloof, and Owlenmoon House Ghosts all have names and their in life stories are documented, the Alpaggard Ghost's is...forgotten. Perhaps hidden? Either way it is a mystery even to many professors and they just shrug it off if you ask. So, the kids at the school long ago just made up a backstory for the young ghost. Well, he looked pretty young. Maybe not a teenager...not an adult. Somewhere in the middle?
"I'm sorry if I hit a nerve," Henry was about to address him by Bob again but refrained.
"That's quite alright, lad," the ghost smiled softly. "You look quite down yourself, hm?"
"Oh well…" Henry looked down at his ruined appearance. "So do you."
"Ah yes," another smile was awarded to Henry and the boy was glad the ghost took his awkwardness in stride. The ghost waved his wand airily. "I shouldn't think so highly of it. It's not that important...the cause of my angst. Joining would have been very grand...but my application didn't...fulfill all the necessary prerequisites."
What was Henry supposed to say to that?
"And yet here I am!" He exploded and the ghostly tone of his voice was amplified to the point Henry had to take a step back. Somehow, the ghost was able to pull an equally ghostly letter out of somewhere behind him. "Wasting away and wallowing in my rejection from the...MURDERED'S MURDER!" At once, the heightened emotion caused Bob to evaporate into his spooky black outline. The black holes that signify his eyes leaked with silvery, floating tears.
"Oh...no…?" Henry hoped he was supposed to react that way.
"They make fun of me, they do! Nobody wishes for their mysterious cause of death to be murder but here I am feeling in my withered, noncorpeal bones that it was but…" Barley Bludgeoned Bob was shaking the letter violently until he reanimated to his ghostly gray form and began to read angrily:
"Dearest, Bobert (I mean really?!) we regret to inform you that the members of our group are reserved to have exited this life at the hand of another. The group is for support over the trauma of ending life nonconsensually but also to celebrate living in spirit forevermore with those that can give empathy towards the situation at hand. Your demise can not be proven as anything more than a clumsy stumble upon a jagged rock, I'm afraid. With that I am afraid I will have to inform you that you do not meet your requirements though we wish you the best in your afterlife henceforth. My deepest regards, Sir David S. Babbith."
Henry was beginning to understand as he watched Bob crumple that paper and jam it back into that secret place behind his back.
"The crevice in my cranium is from no fall achieved on one's own accord, my dear sir," the ghost sighed once more. "But nobody can convince Sir Drowned Dragged and Bagged Babbith of the state of one's demise. Absolute gatekeeper, he is." With a few destressing breaths, Bob looked down at the very perturbed Henry and in a calmer voice asked, "So...what seems to be troubling you you sir? Can I help with anything?"
"I'm afraid not," Henry matched Bob's type of sigh. "Not unless you can conjure up approximately seven Zoomsweeper Crystals free of charge for our match against the Ivy…"
Henry was interrupted by a constant burst of feline meows sounding like an alarm or a siren of somewort. When he looked down he saw President Whiskers, the cat Feltch used to catch misbehaving students. Was it really getting that late? Bob noticed and frowned.
"Best to make haste back to your room, Henry," the ghost lowered his eyes to appraise the cat. "I've seen Feltch recently and he is not chipper spirits. Not only has he come down with a bloaty head, some mischievous fourth years blew up some cornish fritz blugies all over the walls on the sixth floor. The sorry bloke has been cleaning the goo all afternoon. One look at all of that mud on the floor here and…"
"Say no more," Henry agreed and began to back away. "I'm sorry our conversation was cut short, Bob. Talk to you later?" Henry kept his eyes on President Whiskers as he spoke and Bob nodded once before he materialized away. However it was too late. For whatever cosmic connection that blasted cat and Fetlch had with each other, mere seconds later said caretaker bursted from behind a random portrait gasping raggedly. His nose was red and leaky and eyes were sunken in from fatigue. He looked worse than usual.
"Arg!" He shouted as the saggy skin under his chin wiggled and waggled. With eyes almost popping out of his skull, he pointed a boney finger towards the muddy puddle that was accumulating around Henry's feet. "Filth and mess is all you can muster! I have had it up to here! Come with me, Puffer!"
Feeling sorry for himself, Henry relented with a disappointed last look at where Bob had been floating. Slowly, he followed Feltch down the stairs which made Henry think sassy thoughts that now the stupid man was going to have to clean up twice as much muddy footprints. A rugged door with chipped paint read FELTCH and Henry didn't know the caretaker had an office let alone one that was so crummy looking. It was probably a place most students didn't want to know. As Henry entered, he could see why. The room was very cramped and gloomy. There were no windows and the only light came from a single candlestick that hung by magic from the low ceiling. The smell was musty and had an air of whatever leftovers Feltch had had for dinner. Ominously, there were many different types of filing cabinets made of all sorts of woods and metal. Squinting, Henry could make out names on each file in Feltch's chicken scratch. It must contain files of every pupil at Harnocks. Matt and Jack had the largest file and Henry tried not to crack a smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw forgotten chains and handcuffs hanging from the wall directly behind Feltch's desk. In the olden days, suspensions were held in here where you were hung by your ankles or your thumbs. Feltch was notorious at the assertion to Simbledore that these practices needed to come back.
"I've had it with you other mucking kiddies and another mucking MESS! Dirt, grime, guts, boogers, snot...entrails, moldy food...I've had it! You are the straw that broke this old camel's back and I'm gonna teach you a lesson. Ah yes...HERE'S the form…!" What seemed like slow motion, Henry watched with bated breath as Feltch gathered a large roll of parchment from his drawer and stretched it taunt on his desktop. When he dipped his quill he began to read as he wrote.
"Name...Puffer...first name...Henry. Crime…"
"Sir! This is ridiculous! It was just mud!" Henry protested.
"A bit of mud to YOU is an extra trip to the washroom for ME! Fill the basin, mix the soap, climb the stairs, mop it up, not enough, down the stairs, fill the basin, mix the soap...IT NEVER ENDS!" He scribbled some more as greasy sweat dripped down his wrinkled forehead. "Crime...fouling the castle grounds...suggested...sentence…" In a woosh, he turned to appraise Henry as the thought over the sentence in his head.
Henry waited with his breath held.
Feltch lowered his quill and opened his mouth ready to read…
BANG! CLANG! BASH!
The floating candle bobbed up and down and nearly went out.
"SCEEVES YOU MENACE!" Feltch bellowed. Forgetting all about Henry in his rage, the caretaker threw his quill down in a flourish and bounded out the door with President Whiskers hot on his heels. "I'll get you for this, Sceevsy! GET OVER HERE!" The school poltergeist was very good at causing more mischief than any student at Harnocks. Pacing for a bit, Henry didn't know what to do so he just sat into a musty chair next to Feltch's desk. He knew it wasn't a good idea to walk out. No one truly liked Sceeves, but Henry was certainly glad for the perfect timing he had sometimes.
Feeling nosy, Henry leaned forward and examined some things on Feltch's desk other than the punishment decree. It was interesting to note he hadn't written anything for Henry's sentence. They looked to be shopping lists, coupons, a to do list, and...what was that? Henry cocked his head and looked at a very large envelope like what you would see a magazine subscription come in. The lettering was neon pink and curly. Intrigued, Henry glanced up at the door to make sure Feltch wasn't near and picked up the contents of the envelope to read:
Fastmagic
The Freaky Fast Lessons to Magic for Novices
Very interesting! Henry began to read more:
Are you wanting to be taken seriously in the Realm of Magic? Do you sigh and groan at the thought of performing the most easy of charms? Have you been bullied, slandered, or maimed for your magical inadequacy?
We have just the thing for you!
Caster Sal Nettle Carrier writes in:
"Lessons at Harnocks flowed out of my brain like sap from a maple. I was the laughing stock at all family get togethers! Not anymore with Fastmagic! I am now the favorite child and my mother can finally look me in the eye again!"
Castress Madam Patsy Pillyberry states:
"My husband made a mockery of my Practical Magic baking. With one month into the Fastmagic courses I was able to bake a pie with a special secret ingredient! Hee! Hee! Thanks a bunch, Fastmagic!"
Completely intrigued, Henry fingered through some more of the contents of the subscription. Why did Feltch need a Fastmagic course? He worked at a school for magic! It made Henry wonder...was Feltch even of caster plasma? I guess the thought wasn't really on his mind. Too interested to stop, Henry began to read the first lesson which began with "While holding your wand...take great care in ensuring the handle is towards you and the tip is away from you…" That was until he heard prattling footsteps outside the door which told him Feltch was near and coming back quickly. Hastily, Henry put the contents back upon the desktop as best as his memory would serve him. The final paper was turned slightly to the left for realism just as the door opened and Henry's rear made contact with the chair by the desk.
"You...stayed…" Feltch seemed surprised. "How noble. I thought your sort would have up and left." His eyes fell upon his Fastmagic materials and his jaw dropped. Henry realized too late that he must have messed up how they originally were placed.
"I...didn't read anything," Henry jumped the gun.
Feltch's knees were shaking.
"That...was...private things," he paused, "for a friend, you see."
Henry just looked at him with caution. Feltch's eye was twitching. He's never seen the caretaker this mad before and Henry knew he was in for it.
"Just...go. Go now. Don't breathe a word with what you did or didn't see. I must write up Sceeve's report and sentence." When Henry didn't move that millisecond Feltch screamed, "OUT OF MY OFFICE!" Henry sprang up and high tailed it out just as the door slammed right behind him.
Dumbfounded but amazed at his turn of luck, Henry made his way quickly back to Alpaggard common room. It was probably some sort of school feat to be released from Feltch's office without punishment. Up the stairs, Henry was getting winded from the extra weight the dried mud now added to his robes.
"Henry! Hey Henry!" Bob appeared and waved. A very heavy and very old looking shelf full of breakable trinkets was on the ground in front of the ghost. "Did it work, Henry? I wagered Sceeves wouldn't do it which naturally made him do it I…" Bob gave Henry a smirk of mirth, "I wanted to help you distract Feltch and get out of there!"
"That was you!" Henry grinned with appreciation. "It worked great, Bob! I didn't even get a single punishment! Thank you so much!" Together, the ghost and the boy walked the rest of the length of the corridor together. A few paces into the trek Henry noticed that Bob was still holding the crumpled rejection letter from Sir David.
"I wish I could repay you," Henry gestured towards the letter. "Somehow help you be able to join the group for murdered ghosts. Bob stopped and Henry accidentally walked right through him which sent an icy chill down his spine. Like stepping through a frigid waterfall. Bob turned to face Henry with a wild looking face full of excitement.
"There is something you can do, young master!" Bob was clapping with energy. "I...oh dear maybe I'm asking too much," Bob rubbed the back of his neck in reserved embarrassment.
"I'm sure it won't be! What is it, Bob?" Henry affirmed.
"Well...you see this Spooky Day is," Bob looked like a schoolboy trying to ask a girl to a dance in his nervousness, "it's...it's my fiftieth demise-day," explained Bob. With confidence, the ghost straightened and nodded down to Henry. For Henry's part, he could only stand shocked. Only being dead for fifty years was not something Henry expected. For no one to know the mystery that is Bob his fate didn't seem...that long ago.
"Um…" Henry didn't know how he could verbalize his understanding, "alright…?"
"In one of my most favorite dungeons I'm holding a get together! I have friends from all over the Realm. It would be such a treat if you would come. Master Parsley and Mistress Ghadjer would be a great welcome too but…" his eyes fell and his lost confidence caused him to shimmer out into the creepy black outline. His voice was barely a whisper, "...but I understand if you'd rather attend the school feast…" It was the longest Henry had ever seen Bob stay in his outlined state and Henry didn't like it. He decided to do the right thing.
"I...I'd love too…" Henry paused to think, "would it be rude if I also brought Matt and Jack?" This sort of thing sounded right up their ally. Bob looked absolutely elated.
"Yes! Yes! But of course! Not at all rude, dear sir! The more the drearier!" Bob phased into the most vivid rendition of his full grayish form as he beamed with happiness. It made Henry feel very light and good to help out someone even in death.
"A...demise-day get together?" Esmani sounded unsure but interested once Henry had changed from his muddy robes and joined her and Jon in the Alpaggard common room at last. "That sounds quite intriguing. I bet there are many that can't say they've attended such an affair. I bet it will be terrific!"
"Sounds downright depressing to me," Jon grumbled in frustration. He was finishing up leftover assignments for Professor Snabes' class and was not in a good mood. "Honestly," he basically whined and appraised his friends, "who would want to celebrate the day they died?"
"You'd think noBODY would be there, huh?"
All three friends turned as Jack (how does she always sneak into Alpaggard common room as an Owlenmoon?) appeared from behind one of the grand tapestries. Matt shook his head lovingly as he came down the stairs freshly showered. Slowly, he sat on the couch next to where his brother was sitting on the floor.
"Just let her get it out, she's been coming up with these for an hour," Matt smiled.
"I bet everyone's just DYING to get into that sort of party, eh?" Jack was cracking herself up. Henry was trying not to be amused by the absurd puns, Esmani was doing a better job at composing her eyerolls, and Jon was scowling. Jack continued, "I don't see the attraction...probably just a bunch of STIFFS!"
"Arrrrrg!" At that, Jon covered his ears.
"Wait, wait, one more," Jack cleared her throat, "I'm glad for the invite, Henry I mean...we'll be the LIFE of the party," a beat of a pause…"LITERALLY!"
"Enough, Jack," Jon groaned.
"Oh chin up, Jon," Jack said, sounding serious. If Henry knew better, he knew it was not going to last. He was right. "This is going to be a great party. I know it for a fact." Huh...maybe she was being sincere. "I mean...you can't spell HOST without GHOST!" Jon had had enough and whipped a pillow at her. It hit her square in the face but that just made her laugh harder.
"If you can't tell, Henry," Matt said genuinely, "she's very excited."
"Is your diet mostly sugar?" Esmani wondered.
"I promise you it's not. That's just all her," Matt shook his head.
"Matt! It's nearly lights out! We still have that song to write, that thing to build, that...other thing to do...and I forgot I need to get my Practical Magic essay done!"
"It's due tomorrow…" Esmani looked horrified.
"Due tomorrow do tomorrow," Jack shrugged, grabbed Matt's hand, and they were gone.
Just in time too because Perry clamored down the steps in his pajamas looking huffy. Even though upperclassmen technically didn't have a lights out period until much later, Perry Parsley prided himself in going to bed like an old lady.
"Lights out in thirty minutes," he barked and squinted. "Why do I always feel like I hear Jack's voice in here?" He looked at the trio as they blinked up at him as innocently as they could. With eyes rolling, he trudged back up the stairs in a huff.
Once Spooky Day arrived Henry was beginning to think twice about the demise-day get together he had agreed upon. The peer pressure of seeing all of his friends jitter and chat gleefully on the coming Spooky Day fest really filled Henry with jealousy. Maybe they could just stay for an hour? The Great Hall was decked out with live bats, Hagish's huge pumpkins that were carved and lit. Three men and a boy could sit in them comfortably. There was even a live (sort of live) band entirely comprised of mummies flown in from Egypt!
"You made a promise, Henry," Esmani reminded him. "You said you'd go so you shall."
"Going to a demise-day part-ay, hey, hey, hoor-ay...demise-da-da-DAY!" Jack was obnoxiously singing over at the Owlenmoon table which made her peers look at her like she had grown an extra head. That didn't seem to bother her and she just flailed her arms in song.
When the feast began and people were distracted by the food, Henry signaled for his company to meet him by the corridor of the dungeon Bob had told him about earlier that week. It was actually nicely lit as they followed the floating candles until the merriment in the Great Hall got quieter and quieter until it wasn't heard at all. With each step, the temperature got colder and the darker and gloomier the ambience was. All five of the group cringed as squeaking, off time, and off key thumping permeated from behind a single, wooden door.
"Is that...what they call music?" Jon asked.
"It's catchy if you really stop and don't think about it," Jack said and sure enough found some way to insert her brand of chaotic dance moves. Matt put his hand on her shoulder with a chuckle to calm her down just a bit.
Floating straight through the door, Barely Bludgeoned Bob greeted the company.
"Greetings, friendlings!" His voice was grateful but somber. "Welcome!"
Matt took initiative and opened the door as Bob kindly gestured them into the dungeon.
It was quite a site! The stone room was adorned with all sorts of black tinsel, streamers, balloons, and drapes. Even the floating candles above them had wicks of inky black and their flame had a ghoulish green hue to it. Hundreds of ghosts in all shapes and colors signifying how they died ebbed, flowed, floated, and swayed to the peculiar tunes being played from random, mismatched instruments on a raised platform. When any of the five living Sims exhaled, their breath greeted them in a plume of smoke.
"My hands are gonna be like ice but let's peep the spread!" Jack exclaimed.
"I could observe some of the surroundings," Esmani agreed.
"Just don't walk through any of them," Jon reminded.
As they walked, they tried not to pay too much attention to the color or state of dress each ghost appeared in. Flaming red ghosts that died by fire looked the worse with singed hair and melty flesh. It looked especially off putting since in death they were smiling and laughing at dripping blue ghosts that drowned in death. They were dressed in bathing costumes of many different eras. Some were bloated and speech was garbled with the forever water in their afterlife lungs. Leetlefloof's cheerful, chubby monk ghost waved and resumed conversation with a blazing yellow ghost that died of electrocution. The lightning bolts cracking and sizzling deep within the translucent body. Henry wasn't surprised but not pleased to see the Resentful Regal, Ivybell's House Ghost, covered in plasma stains and looking especially ghoulish under all of the low light. He appraised them with stern eyes.
"Oh no...anyone but her…" Esmani averted her eyes and stopped walking abruptly. "Turn back, turn way...I don't want to speak to...Whimpering Wendy…"
"Who?" Henry followed her lead and spun around to backtrack.
"Whimpering Wendy haunts...um...girl's bathrooms. She takes a special liking to this one..." Jack overheard and took over the explanation. Esmani looked relieved that she didn't have to say it.
"Just think of it like this...you sit down to drop one off and BOOM you've got a creepy girly face right up to your noise and she's sobbing at you while you're all pantless and...ugh...violating!" Jack shuddered.
"She haunts a...toilet…?" Jon looked completely gobsmacked.
"It's worse than it sounds! She's so energetic in her particular brand of haunting that she keeps having ghostly fits and flooding the place!" Esmani shook her head.
"Gross, Jack!" Jon stuck his tongue out. "Whoa...look! There's the food!"
The group picked up their pace and headed for a long table covered in black table dressings. Eagerly, they stepped forward and instantly stepped back. Jack began to gag violently.
"Nothing gets to her more than...rotten food…" Matt groaned in sympathy.
The table was stocked full of food in various states of decay. There was goopy carbonara shimmering with festering ribbons of mold, a rotting carcass of some type of meat, burnt pasties or different sizes and shapes, a fruit tray with spongy, pearly spores. The vegetable tray was slimy and the dip was curdled and bubbling and the cheese was nearly violet. In the middle, was a giant cake shaped like a skull frosted in the most hideous smelling icing.
BARELY BLUDGEONED BOB?
BORN SOMETIME AND DIED AT SOME TIME AFTER THAT
"Normally they write your birthday and demise-day," Bob sighed and floated away.
Henry watched with rapt attention as a portly ghost floated towards the table with an open mouth. Like a professional swimmer he dove head first into the rotting carcass looking dish and disappeared through it and out from the bottom of the table cloth whilst rubbing his belly.
"You can...can you even taste it…?" Henry wanted to know.
"Almost," he said in the saddest voice. He drifted away pathetically.
"I'd surmise that they let it rot away...to die if you will. It probably allows them to taste it better since they are, in fact...dead," Esmani held her nose to observe the blackish deviled eggs. Jack's gagging fits were getting closer and closer together and she was beginning to sound like a cat that was choking up a fur ball.
"Whatsit to ya sillies!" The poltergiest Sceeves materialized and made everyone jump.
When he didn't get the right reaction he straightened his vest and made a pouty face.
"I've heard what yins says about my wittle Whimpsy Wendsy. Not very nicey of yins t'all!" Esmani's face went almost as white as the ghosts around her.
"Sceeves...don't do anything mean…" She warned.
"Why would I do that! It's a party after all! She needs some company after all!" With a sinister smile, Sceeves produced a horn from thin air. TOOT TOOT! "Dear Wendsy-Poo! Live ones were talking about you!"
The girl must have been lanky in life because in death she looked like a kid that had gone through a stretcher. Her white hair gave Henry the impression it must have been very blonde when she was alive and it was put into two pigtails that fell over her shoulders and ended at her waist. She had glasses and one had a nasty crack in it. Her teeth were crooked and her face was full of acne and acne scarring.
"W-what?" Her voice was so high and gloomy Henry immediately felt somber.
"Miss Hodsy-Jarry was talking about you!" Sceeves leaned to whisper in her ear. "She was saying…"
"I was saying how amazing you look! This party is a gas!" Esmani was beginning to sweat even though the air was ice cold. Wendy eyed her with suspicion.
"I...I don't believe that. You...you were making fun of me," with that, thick silvery tears formed in her sallow eyes and fell in streams down her cheeks. When they passed her chin, they'd disappear instantly. She glared at Sceeves.
"Right, boys? I said how great she looked, huh?" Esmani jabbed both Henry and Jon in their ribs. Henry had no idea where Matt and Jack went off to.
"Yep…"
"She totally did…"
"YOU'RE LYING!" Wendy cried and the screech made Henry cover his ears. The tears the ghost produced were coming out like a faucet and flooded her face. Sceeves began to cackle with merriment at the distress he was causing. "I've been called it all, Ghadjer! Woeful, Bean Pole, Wendy!" Wendy was screaming. "That's what they say! Washed up, weathered...warthog for a face…" her sobs wracked her.
"Can't forget zitted up twit!" Sceeves cackled!
"Oh my Watcher…" Esmani said with defeat.
Wendy exploded into sobs and fled from the party. Sceeves was hot on her tail shouting more insults and pelting her with shriveled raisins that probably once had been plump grapes.
"This is awful!" Esmani spoke of the previous situation.
"I agree!" Jon said, speaking of the party altogether.
"Should we leave?" Henry asked. Maybe they could catch the end of the feast upstairs.
"Having a good time?" Bob appeared.
"Immensely!" All three lied.
"Not a bad turnout," Bob noticed. "Your brother and his lady are making the most of it," the friends turned to follow Bob's gesture and noticed that the once disgustingly rotten food was now fully restored. Matt was using Practical Magic and his hidden love for cooking to turn the carcass into what was actually roasted chicken. The pastries were peanut butter pasties, the fruit was plump and juicy, the vegetables were full of color, the dip was shimmering with herbs and spices, and the eggs were being gently dusted with paprika from Matt's wand tip. Many of the ghosts looked a bit disapproving but Matt didn't seem to mind as he tossed a peanut butter pastie he hand drizzled with dark chocolate up to Jack who was on the stage.
"This won't do! This won't do! Dude! You're playing in G Major and you're playing in some minor ass key I can't even tell what!" Mind you...she was talking to enchanted instruments. "Okay...we can make this work…" her eyes scanned the throng of random instruments while she caught the pastry without looking and took a huge, impolite bite. "You! Give me a scoot-doo-bop-da-bop!" The instrument mimicked it and replayed it rhythmically. Jack swallowed and began to basically vibrate. "Yes! Yes! Now you...give me a scootally bip-bap!" Again, the instrument obliged. "Bass dude! I need a constant bump-bump-thu-thump-bump." She commanded seven more of the instruments before she used the tip of her want to poke at the microphone collecting dust in the corner.
"A-one, a-two, a-three, four, five, six, seven, eight...HERE WE GO!" And the whole room was shrouded in some sort of rockabilly song Jack must have heard from somewhere. The girl wasn't the best singer by any means but her enthusiasm gave the ghosts quite a shock until they looked at each other in confusion, then understanding, and then...the place was jumping! Ghosts began to sway and shimmy and dance around as Jack sang her silly song. Henry was pretty sure she was just adding and making up her own verses at this point.
"Ohhhh Filthy Leslie Lee/Why'd ya have to murder me?/And you'll nevAH walk down my street that's for sure! Oh you shouldn't judge her foul, sir/You're having a major cow, sir! That filthy, grubby, bugger Leslie Lee! Ohhh she came from Riverview…"
Jack put on the thickest accent she could muster.
"Brilliant!" Esmani shouted and Matt used his magic to fly a plate of fresh food into their waiting hands. Henry was starting to have a bit of fun and not missing the Spooky Feast above them as he bit into crispy, tender chicken and fresh broccoli dipped in dressing.
Goofily, Jack tapped her throat with the tip of her wand and then tapped the microphone. Magically, the microphone was singing her voice and allowed her to jump off the stage into Matt's arms.
"Swing MUH!" She exclaimed and the couple danced like buffoons while the ghosts clapped and stomped their feet where they hovered. Barley Bludgeoned Bob looked the happiest Henry had ever seen him and it warmed him more than the green bean casserole dish Matt somehow conjured up to go with the chicken.
CRASH! FFFrrrrtttzzz...
The music was halted when a ghostly power toppled all of the instruments over breaking Jack's enchantment. Barely Bludgeoned Bob's face fell and he looked completely put out.
"I...guess you all aren't ready for that," Jack looked at the startled faces on the ghosts as the doors bursted open. "...but your descendents are gonna LOVE it…" Jack backed in closer to Matt's side.
"Oh no...not him...what's he doing here…?"
Ghostly apparitions of horses with snotty very rich looking nobels galloped aggressively into the dungeon. They circled and halted in the middle of the floor and reared with hideous screeching. The ghost in front of the group was bulbous and bright blue. It was the first time Henry saw a ghost from drowning in normal clothing instead of a bathing suit. When he waved to the crowd, they all cheered. Barley Bludgeoned Bob looked like he could strike the fellow twice dead over for how he was scowling at him.
"Bobert, dear sir!" The bloated ghost said after a stream of inky black water fell from his lips. He wiped it away with the back of his hand as he has done for centuries.
"Greetings," Bob said through clenched teeth, "David…"
"So connected to the living world you had to invite breathers, eh, Bob?" David gestured arrogantly towards Henry, Jon, Esmani, Jack, and Matt.
"They're my friends," Bob said in defense.
"FRIENDS?!" David spat out more water as he guffawed. The members in his group chuckled nastily along with him. "And here I thought you were just a sad, pathetic sprite moping around because we wouldn't let you join our group! Sir, Bob...you don't HAVE any friends! These livers will leave you in five years time like they all do! Gee man, get a GRIP!"
"I think…" Henry chanced. "You've got it all wrong, sir," David swooped right up to Henry nose to nose and appraised him. "We are friends with Mr. Bob here, sir and...well...I for one think he was murdered."
The whole crowd gasped.
"HA! I bet he PAID you to say that, little lamb!" David was all but cackling now.
"Why are you even here, David?" Bob asked. "You have rejected my application and now have crashed my party. What do you even want?"
"He's a show off, Bob!" Esmani exclaimed suddenly and stepped next to Bob.
"Yeah! Six seconds with the bloke and he's ticking me off!" Jack flared her nostrils and stood on the ghost's other side. Matt soon followed. The look on Bob's face made Henry's heart sore and he stood right up to the bully of a ghost and said very clear.
"If you want the dungeon so bad...have it! Come on, Bob! Come and party with us!"
"Yeah! This party was downright boring me to DEATH!" Jon cried.
"HA! Jon got one in," Jack excitedly clapped.
With a good and proper puffed up Barely Bludgeoned Bob, the whole group travelled back up the passageway and revelled in how the air got slightly warmer and warmer.
"There will be ham, and potatoes, and…" Jon was giving Bob the rundown for what he was about to witness in the Great Hall when Henry heard it.
"¥øuř... €¥€ş... δř€... øp€ň…"
It was no doubt that the same dark, dangerous, menacing voice he had heard in Lothario's office. Stumbling, Henry careened into a stone wall and grasped it for support. His ear strained once more to hear that voice one more time. Wildly, his eyes and head whipping around as he squinted in the dim passageway.
"Henry! What's going…?"
"Shhh, shut up, shut up...it's that voice…" Henry hoped his friends understood and didn't think he was being that rude. Esmani closed her lips and didn't look too put off so perhaps she truly did take it all in stride. Jon was not looking as complacent. Jack and Matt just looked very worried and Bob the Ghost was looking quite confused.
"ŵδŧ€ř... iş... łøṽ€... ŵδŧ€ř... iş... łif€…"
"DO YOU HEAR IT?" Henry shouted and his echo bounced off the stone walls so brazenly Esmani and Jon cringed. They too, looked to be straining upwards to try and hear. Until both of them shrugged. Henry turned wildly to Matt and Jack who just looked at each other and frowned. Henry could barely make it out now. The voice was fading away. Like it was moving. The strangest concoction of fear and excitement bubbled up into his veins. Was it some sort of sinister ghost? Something in him snapped and he had to shout to his friends.
"It's going this way, let's go!" And without warning other than that, Henry broke out into a run up the stairs, into the entrance hallway. With the cacophony of the sounds of students eating, laughing, and dancing coupled with the band from Egypt there was no way a voice like that would be heard over the din of the Spooky Day Fest. Backing up, white as a ghost, Henry turned on his heel and ran up the white staircase.
"Henry?"
"SHHHH!"
Again, Henry strained his ears. From below his feet and still growing fainter, his stomach dropped when he heard the voice: "I... ň€€đ... βøđi€ş…"
His stomach lurched further into his toes.
"It's going to murder sombody!" Henry screamed and ignored his friends' confused faces. Jack and Matt must have stayed with Bob back in the Great Hall because it was only Henry, Jon, and Esmani taking the stairs nearly two at a time. Nothing was more hard for Henry than listening to the phantom's voice over his own soles on the marble. Like a caged rat, Henry galloped along the whole second floor faintly hearing Esmani and Jon panting and gasping for breath behind him. The last turn of the last passage was where he needed to...be…
"HENRY! This is madness, mate!" Jon was red faced and raising his voice. "What's all of this about?" What's going on? I'm not hearing anything!" He wiped sweat off of his brow.
Esmani screamed.
"GUYS, LOOK!" She pointed.
Some sort of scrawling lettering was shimmering upon the wall ahead of them. Slowly, they stepped forwards to get a better glance. Six squinting eyes read the words carefully in the dim, ominous light. In perfect timing, a crack of thunder and a twisting jolt of lightning illuminated the cryptic message dripping in still wet...plasma...
THE DEBUGGING HAT IS WHAT YOU NEED
ENEMIES OF THE LINE, TAKE HEED
"What's that...m-m-moving…?" Jon had an awful quiver to his voice.
Just below the writing, deep purple liquid was oozing from the cracks in the wall. A familiar cat walked horrifyingly unnaturally. With a crack it's head looked towards them with those familiar eyes and it's mouth opened to let the tongue hang out almost as if in death. The eyes were unnaturally wide and when it stepped forward, the legs would snap and contort like a marionette puppet.
It was President Whiskers.
He was not okay.
Slowly, the friends backed up and relaxed just a bit when they realized the cat was just pacing back and forth amongst the purple liquid and didn't look as if it meant to attack. For a few seconds, they watched it in trepidation. Jon was the first to cave on the observation.
"I want to...go," he said shakily. "Let's go...please."
"Should we…" Henry didn't know what to say. "Should we try and help him?"
"As much as I am for helping animals…" Esmani began.
"Trust me," Jon supplied for her, "we shouldn't be found here with the cat like that."
It seemed as if their luck was not on their side. A rumble of movement and voice alerted the friends that the feast and party had just ended. From both ends of the corridor and up the adjacent stairs hundreds of student feet were climbing, stomping, staggering, and skipping. Voices were loud, merry, happy, and laughing. The well-fed student body was all light and airy until there came a few gasps, a smattering of squeaks, two or three screams, fifteen or so yells, and many curses from shock.
People were finally spotting the cat amble in it's terrifying way. Henry, Jon, and Esmani stood alone in the middle of that corridor with what felt like the whole of Harnocks school watching them. Many were now whispering as they read the words and observed the grisly sight of the cat in obvious but curious peril.
Then there was a shout.
"Enemies of the Line, Take Heed! HA! You'll all be next, Plasma Pusses!"
It was Kimmi Slymer. She used her lanky body to push to the front of the crowd. Henry had never seen her eyes more cold, her smile more evil, her cheeks devoid of color looked sunken and creepy. She was mad with wickedness Henry had decided. When her eyes tracked the defenseless cat whose limbs were cracking with the unnatural movements, her lips split open into a nasty grin.