Ghosthunters and the Muddy Monster of Doom! Read online

  “Ha! Ha-haaaaa!” Hugo rolled his garish green eyes. “Not veeery difficult, heeeeee says!”

  “You ought to let Hugo do it on his own, Tom,” said Hetty Hyssop. “The job isn’t half as dangerous for a ghost as it is for a human.”

  “Pah, it’s dangerous eeeeenooooough!” grumbled Hugo — but Hetty Hyssop gave him such a fierce look that he shut up.

  “He can’t do it on his own!” cried Tom. “He doesn’t know anything about identifying and classifying ghosts. I bet Hugo can recognize at most five percent of them!”

  “At mosssssst!” breathed Hugo, showing his agreement by smacking Tom on the back.

  Hetty Hyssop shook her head. “I don’t like this,” she said. “No. There has to be another way. After all, the Ghost of Death’s spooking around out there as well.”

  “Oh, I’ve got the protective goggles,” said Tom dismissively. “That really isn’t a problem.”

  Erwin Hornheaver hadn’t spoken thus far. But now he cleared his throat. “Leave the boy alone!” he told Hetty Hyssop, topping up her coffee mug. “He can do it. You told me yourself what a first-class ghosthunter he is.”

  Tom was thankful for this unexpected support, but Hetty Hyssop looked at him and sighed. “Well, yes, he certainly is!” she said. “He’s one of the best, one of the very best.”

  Tom turned as red as tomato juice.

  “That settles it, then,” he said, self-consciously setting his glasses straight. “Have you got any baking powder and scouring sand, Mr. Hornheaver?”

  “Erwin,” growled Erwin Hornheaver. “My name is Erwin, lad, and I think I’ve got both.”

  This was Tom’s plan: Hugo was to play with the COCOT until the trap — oops, what a shame! — released itself, whereupon he was to throw it out the window in horror. There, Tom would already be waiting with a full sprinkler and would bombard the NEPGA with baking powder and scouring sand as soon as it freed itself from the trap.

  “I just hope Hugo doesn’t mess it all up!” whispered Tom as he and Hetty Hyssop stood below in the foggy street. The white haze was so thick by now that Tom could hardly make out their bedroom window. He himself was barely visible, either. He was wearing what’s known in ghosthunting circles as a GHOSID (GHOst-SImulation Disguise): pale, moldy green overalls with a hood and gloves of the same color; and his face was covered in almost a pound of makeup that went by the name of “Ghostly Pallor.” On top of that, he was surrounded by a faint smell of cellars, as the smaller, harmless ghosts often are. Tom, unfortunately, hadn’t been able to change anything about his body temperature, but it was entirely possible for some ghosts to radiate something very similar to human warmth.

  There was just one more problem, and it worried Hetty Hyssop more than anything else: Tom needed to wear the goggles to protect himself from being looked at by the Ghost of Death — but he was supposed to be disguised as a ghost, and no real ghost would wear such a thing. Tom, however, promised to have them always on hand and to put them on as soon as he and Hugo were on their way back. Thankfully, his normal glasses wouldn’t give him away.

  Wearing glasses is not unusual in the ghostly world.

  Tom pulled the moldy green hood down even more tightly over his forehead. The village, devoid of humans, was ghostly silent; only the stones were still moaning and the mud gurgling — and Hugo’s voice resounded clearly down to them through the milky darkness.

  “Soooooo, it’s maaaaaaking yoooooou dizzzzzy, yoooooooou shaaaaady character, is it?” Tom could hear him howling. “Cooooooome on. What’s it liiiiiiike in there, my liiiiittle gooooooldfish?”

  “Ten more seconds,” whispered Hetty Hyssop, not taking her eyes off her illuminated wristwatch. “Nine, eight, seven …”

  “Yoooooou’ll loooooook great in the muuuuuuuseum for captuuuuured ghooooosts!” breathed Hugo. “A reeeeeeal jewel in oooooour coooooollection.”

  “Three!” whispered Hetty Hyssop. “Two, one, and — zero!”

  Holding their breath, they looked up at the fog-shrouded window. “Come on, Hugo!” whispered Tom, holding the full sprinkler. At that very moment, it happened.

  The COCOT flew through the air … and landed in a lake of mud.

  “Curses!” hissed Tom. “It’s sinking. What now?”

  But the NEPGA was already arising from the mud. Dripping, it raised itself from the swamp like the shadow of a dark dream.

  This was Tom’s moment. With one leap, he bounded into the street, sank up to his knees in the brown goo — and raised the sprinkler.

  “Yoooooou!” breathed the NEPGA, floating threateningly over to him. “Yooooooou dared …”

  “Not one foot farther!” cried Tom, sprinkling Erwin Hornheaver’s entire supply of baking powder and scouring sand onto its dark body. The NEPGA coughed and tried with smoky gray fingers to wipe the burning powder off, but it was completely coated. With an angry screech, the ghost flew up into the sky — and disappeared into the swirling fog.

  “Hugo, where are you?” cried Tom.

  The ASG was barely visible in the fog. With icy fingers, he lifted Tom up onto his shoulders.

  “Remember the Thirteenth Messenger, Tom,” cried Hetty Hyssop, “and don’t, whatever you do, try to fight the Zargoroth on your own!”

  But Tom and Hugo had already been swallowed up by the fog.

  9

  At first, Tom thought the NEPGA had escaped too quickly. It was nowhere to be seen; the fog wrapped them with stinking clouds. They blinded Tom and made it almost impossible to breathe. But then, all of a sudden, the dark figure of the fleeing ghost appeared out of the mist, right in front of them. It was flying as slowly as Tom had hoped, the baking powder and scouring sands acting like lead weights on its limbs. Above the church square the NEPGA lost altitude, and Tom thought for a moment that it was going to disappear back into the church. However, the ghost flew on, past the church steeple, over the vicarage roof, on and on, until the houses of Bogpool were all behind it.

  “Where’s it going?” Tom whispered to Hugo. “Do you recognize anything?”

  “Nothing!” replied Hugo, slowing down in line with the NEPGA. It seemed almost to be floating on the spot, like a starless hole in the cloudy night. Then it suddenly dropped to Earth like a stone.

  “After it, Hugo!” Tom cried in a muffled voice. “Quickly! Or we’ll lose it!”

  Hugo dropped down. A swampy meadow appeared out of the fog. Tom slipped off Hugo’s shoulders and sank up to his knees in the damp, pale yellow grass. He looked around. There was no sign of the NEPGA. Its dark figure had vanished as if it had simply dissolved. But a few feet away, gigantic stones loomed up from the grass. Each of them was at least twelve feet high.

  “Standing stones,” murmured Tom. “Hetty was right: We really are dealing with something seriously ancient.”

  The stones formed a circle, as far as Tom could tell. “Looks like a pagan shrine or something,” he whispered to Hugo. “Come on, let’s go and take a closer look.”

  Hesitantly the ASG floated behind him. “This smells like a real ghooooosts’ nest if yooooou ask meeeee,” he breathed. “Daaaark ghosts, paaaale ghosts, liiiitle ones, biiiig ones, they’re all here.”

  Tom sighed. “Just as we feared,” he murmured. “Come on, let’s get it over with.”

  The fog swirled like smoke from between the stones, and Tom could barely heave his boots out of the swamp. “Looks as if all the trouble’s been coming from here,” he whispered. “Be thankful you can fly, Hugo. If this keeps on, I’ll be up to my neck in …”

  He got no further. Hugo pressed his cold fingers against his mouth and pulled him to his chest. Two black dogs as big as calves had appeared between the stones. Their red eyes glowed like fire. They looked around inquisitively, panting and showing their long pale teeth — then disappeared into the night.

  Tom started breathing again only when Hugo put him back on his feet.

  “Ghoooost Dogs!” whispered the ASG. “Stuuuupid creeeeatures. All it takes i
s a bit of ASG odor, and they don’t smell the little people creeeeeping up tooooo their maaaaster’s house!”

  “Well, thank goodness for that!” murmured Tom, taking six deep breaths. This slowed down his heart rate, although it didn’t have any effect on his wobbly knees. “Right!” he whispered, trying to sound calm. “Now at least we know where our gray friend disappeared to. Shall I … go first?”

  “Very brave!” mocked Hugo and pushed him behind his back. “But I think yoooou’ll be a biiiit more conspiiiicuuuous in this fog than I will be — despite yooooour hilaaaaariiiioous ghostly garb. So yooou stay behind me, OK?”

  Tom nodded. He had to admit that he was glad to accept Hugo’s offer. Silently he pulled an Air Charger out of his backpack. The thing generated air vibrations that caused ghosts to tremble violently but was small enough to be hidden up his sleeve. The tiny thing had more than once helped Tom to keep all sorts of spectral opponents off his back for at least a couple of valuable seconds.

  Hugo had already disappeared between the stones. Holding his breath, Tom followed him. The ground squelched with every step he took, as if it wanted to betray him. Above them, the moon appeared through the fog. It was floating in a pool of rusty red light, and the huge stones threw spooky shadows onto the place where they were standing.

  “Hey, look at that!” whispered Tom, grabbing Hugo’s arm.

  In the middle of the stone circle, a large square chasm yawned in the mud. Fog billowed out of it like smoke. It made Tom’s eyes water and almost took his breath away. Holding his sleeve across his mouth, he cautiously stepped over to the edge of the abyss. A staircase made of roughly carved stone descended steeply into the depths. After a few steps, it disappeared into the grubby white mist and pitch-black darkness.

  “Let the fuuun begin!” Hugo breathed in Tom’s ear, and floated down the staircase, flickering. Tom followed him, trying to ignore his heart pounding in his throat. He hated being underground, but it was an unfortunate occupational hazard of ghosthunting. The steps went farther and farther down. The air was becoming ever more stale, until Tom felt it was as difficult to breathe as if an elephant were sitting on his chest. In the pale yellow light that Hugo emitted (ASGs make excellent flashlights when it’s dark), Tom could see that the walls on either side of the steps were carved with letters. He’d never been particularly good at history, but if he wasn’t much mistaken, these letters were called runes — if in fact they were letters at all. There were also pictures of gigantic bulls, painted in brown on the stone. Or maybe it wasn’t paint, but …?

  Tom preferred not to follow that train of thought.

  All of a sudden, a noise echoed up to them from the depths. It sounded like the roar of a savage beast. Tom pressed his hands against the cold stone and stood still. Come on, don’t panic. Take six deep breaths! he thought. Of course you’ll get out of here alive. No two ways about it. At that moment Hugo turned to him, put his finger to his ghostly lips, and waved.

  They had reached the bottom of the stairs. Rusty red light came through a door in the stony wall, and as Tom peeped under Hugo’s arm, he saw something that would probably have made a more inexperienced ghosthunter drop dead on the spot….

  A wide staircase led down into a vast cave. It was filled with a haze of vile-stinking mist, and through the mist Tom spotted ghostly apparitions of all kinds: musty BOSGs, HIGAs with dented helmets and bloodshot eyes, several smaller STKNOGs (who were probably responsible for the revolting stink), three White Ladies, a huge rusty-red RattleR. … Oh, it was impossible to tell them apart, never mind count them. They were all swirling and floating around a massive block of stone that loomed up in the middle of the cave like a throne. Directly in front of it — Tom could see it quite clearly — floated the NEPGA, whose dark form was still disfigured by baking powder and scouring sand. But Tom barely wasted any time looking at him. He only had eyes for what was crouching high on top of the stone block.

  At first he couldn’t see the ominous figure clearly, for two Ghost Dogs were floating around it, panting. But then their master bellowed hoarsely to shoo them away — and Tom saw who they were dealing with.

  One look was enough. “By all the planets!” he murmured, and shuddered.

  The Zargoroth shook his massive head and sniffed. He had the head of a giant bull. His huge horns shimmered as pale as moonlight. From the shoulders downward, though, the demon had a human form, apart from the fact that his clawed feet were covered in rusty-red fur.

  A minotaurean demon! Tom thought, his heart beating so violently that it seemed like his ribs would crack. So much for those beasts being long since extinct!

  The Zargoroth’s eyes were black pools, abyssal and filled with hatred. Bellowing angrily, he turned back to the NEPGA. It was the same bellowing Tom had heard on the steps.

  The NEPGA cowered and wrung its dark hands. Tom quickly pulled his Ghost-Speak Interpreter out of his pocket. Hetty Hyssop had invented it herself; it was barely any bigger than a cork. Although it was questionable whether it would work with the Zargoroth, Tom wanted at least to try. But just as he was about to shove the little silvery gray thing into his ear, something pushed him from behind. Tom whirled around and stared straight at the dripping chest of a Swamp Ghost. Quickly, he shook the Air Charger out of his sleeve, but the BOSG just pushed Tom and Hugo impatiently down the stairs and then floated past them to the Zargoroth’s throne.

  Tom looked around uneasily. Now he was right in the middle of the ghostly crowd. Hugo had maneuvered behind him. The ASG seemed to like the crush. Tom saw him looking around for the White Ladies. But Tom was living in terror of the moment when one of the ghosts would get a whiff of his human smell or be surprised by his warm breath. Then he’d be a goner.

  He tried again to push the Ghost-Speak Interpreter into his ear, and this time he managed it. As Tom had feared, the contraption didn’t work very well with the Zargoroth, but he could make out a few words amidst the general clamor.

  “Before dawn,” Tom thought he heard. “The altar … all mine …” And then:” … Thirteenth Messenger already back?” Tom looked around in horror — rememberingjust at that moment that it wasn’t exactly wise to look at a Ghost of Death. The Zargoroth was grunting on, but however desperately Tom turned and pressed it, the interpreter didn’t decipher a single word more. Tom surreptitiously pushed back a glove and looked at his watch. It was still going clockwise, although it seemed as if the hands were moving forward too slowly.

  Tom jabbed his arm into Hugo’s pale side. “Come on!” he whispered. “Let’s go. We’ve seen enough.”

  “D’yoooou thiiiink?” breathed Hugo, looking at a White Lady who smelled so strongly of jasmine, it made Tom feel faint.

  “Yes, I do!” he hissed, grabbing Hugo’s arm impatiently and making his way through the crowd.

  They had no time to lose. The GHOSID wouldn’t last forever. The scents were becoming less and less effective by the minute, and Tom had the unpleasant feeling that most of the makeup had already come off his face. A STKNOG turned around, a wary look on its face, as Tom forced his way under its arm, and one of the Ghost Dogs that had been floating around the Zargoroth’s throne sniffed as if its black nose had picked up something suspicious.

  “The scent!” Tom burst out as he and Hugo sped back to the staircase. “I don’t think it’s working anymore. We’ve got to get out of here. Quickly.”

  Before he knew what was happening, Hugo had clasped him under his arm and was floating up the steps with him.

  The steps leading upward seemed even longer to Tom than they had on the way down. He could hardly wait to tell Hetty Hyssop what he had found out — so much that he had almost forgotten to be afraid.

  “It’s a minotaur, Hugo!” he burst out as soon as Hugo was floating outside in the fresh air. “I’d never have guessed there were still any of these monsters around. Pretty dangerous creatures, definitely, but not invincible — oh no!”

  “Oh nooooo?” breathed Hugo, lifting him o
nto his back and looking anxiously around. But nothing stirred in the stone circle. The moon still swam in a red light above them, and the shadows of the stones reached for them like black fingers. The ASG raised himself up into the air, as pale as mist. As they left the stone circle behind, a shudder suddenly ran across Tom. An indeterminate fear overwhelmed him, as if something dreadful were awaiting him in the darkness.

  Oh, nonsense! Nothing but a typical reaction to ghosts, he thought, pinching both earlobes tightly. This normally put an end to such moods.

  “A real minotaur!” he said, bending right down over Hugo’s shoulder. “A hideous sight, you have to admit it. But we’ve got a chance, Hugo! At least now we know what we’re dealing with! Can’t you float any faster? I suspect he’ll take possession of the village before dawn!”

  “Noooo, I can’t goooo any faaaaaster!” Hugo breathed irritably. He flew higher and higher, until the fog was left way beneath them. “I really dooooon’t know what yoooou’re so pleased about! These demons are a barbaric buuuunch! They rip their victims up in the aaaair like torn-up sheets, and they’re partiiiicularly fond of bloooood!”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know.” Tom took a deep breath. It felt good to get some fresh air into his lungs again after all the fog and musty fug. “That blood stuff is pretty hideous, true, but they’re not that clever. What’s more, they’re terrified of fire. And there’s a sixteenth-century account of minotaurean demons …”

  “Sixteenth ceeeentury, well, well!” breathed Hugo mockingly. “Rather a looooong time ago, by my reckoning. And whaaaat does it say?”

  The spire of Bogpool Church appeared beneath them, and Hugo slowly started to descend.

  “I don’t exactly know, but I can find out!” Tom replied impatiently and took off his glasses. They were completely covered in ghostly makeup. “In any case, someone did once defeat one of these demons, and if it can happen once …”

  Tom didn’t finish his sentence. For at that moment, it happened.