Goblins and Ghosties Page 2

He went on up to the house. Soon we could see, by the flickering light, that he’d lit a fire in the old fireplace. We could tell by the smell he was cooking himself a bite to eat.

  ‘Sure you won’t join me?’ he called.

  ‘No, no, we’re fine out of here,’ we shouted back – though we weren’t. Nothing but damp wood lying around, so we couldn’t get a fire to light. Nothing to eat but cold beans and stale bread. No place dry enough for us to catch a wink of sleep. The rain was soon coming down so hard, we might as well have been sitting under a waterfall for all the shelter the trees gave.

  I thought of Tubbs settling down to sleep, snug as a bug in a rug. Even thought of joining him once or twice.

  Glad I didn’t.

  Must have been around midnight, came this mighty clap of thunder. Lightning flashed, brighter than daylight.

  Soon as my eyes stopped seeing fireworks, I could see there was something there in the room with Tubbs. That thing was blacker than black, like looking into a deep, dark, bottomless hole. It loomed over Tubbs lying there on the floor. Its voice, when it spoke, fair set my insides churning.

  ‘Do you know who I am?’ it said.

  ‘Reckon you must be the spook we was told about,’ said Tubbs. ‘I’m Tubbs. Now we’re acquainted, I’d be obliged if you’ll leave me to get my beauty sleep.’ He turned over and closed his eyes.

  ‘Hey!’ said the spook. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet.’

  Tubbs opened his eyes. He stood up, very slowly, like a spring uncoiling. ‘That sounds to me like fighting talk,’ said Tubbs. He stood there, squaring up to that spook, all five foot four of him.

  ‘My money’s on Tubbs,’ said John-Henry. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I never saw him wrestle a spook before.’

  ‘He’s got to go straight for the bear hug,’ said John-Henry, ‘before that spook knows what’s hit him. Go for it, Tubbs!’

  ‘You can take him!’ I yelled.

  As soon as the fight got started, I could see old Tubbs was in trouble.

  That spook was more like smoke than solid flesh and blood. Every time Tubbs got his arms around it, the spook would just kind of dissolve into nothing, then pop up again behind him. But its fists were rock-hard solid. Time and again we saw old Tubbs go flying through the air and hit the wall, then pick himself up and come back fighting.

  John-Henry and me, we kept on yelling encouragement.

  ‘Go for him, Tubbs!’

  ‘Look out! He’s behind you.’

  I could see old Tubbs was tiring, but he wasn’t about to give up. Seemed like the spook was tiring too. Next time Tubbs got him in that bear hug, the spook didn’t turn to smoke. It hugged old Tubbs right back. Like two lovers dancing, they went waltzing round the room.

  ‘Now you’ve got him, Tubbs!’ roared John-Henry.

  ‘Hold him, Tubbs!’ I yelled. ‘Don’t let him go!’

  ‘I won’t!’ the spook roared back.

  It shot up in the air taking Tubbs with it, straight through the ceiling, so fast that we both thought we’d see them shoot through the roof any second.

  But we didn’t.

  We listened for sounds of the fight going on up above, but there was nothing. That house was silent as the grave.

  ‘You think we should go look for him?’ said John-Henry.

  ‘Let’s leave it till morning,’ I said.

  Soon as it was light, we checked out that house from top to bottom, opening cupboards, knocking on walls, calling out, ‘Tubbs! Are you there?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Looks like old Tubbs is gone for good,’ said John-Henry.

  I shook my head. ‘He’ll be back,’ I said. ‘Just as soon as he’s licked that spook.’

  That must be some fight they’re having in Spookland, though. We ain’t seen hide nor hair of old Tubbs from that day to this.

  The Grateful Dead

  Gypsy

  There was once a gypsy who’d grown tired of the travelling life and decided it was time to settle down. He’d saved enough money over the years to set himself up in business, in a small way. A shop, maybe, since buying and selling was what he’d always been good at.

  The question was, what sort of shop? And in which town or village? None of the places he’d passed through on his travels seemed exactly right, but the gypsy was a great believer in Fate. Fate would bring him to the place where he was supposed to be after all his years of travelling and he’d know it the moment he saw it. Meanwhile, he kept travelling on.

  One day, as he was passing a graveyard, he heard a man shouting at the top of his voice, ‘Give me back my money, you dirty gypsy!’

  The gypsy looked around, surprised. He’d never owed anyone money in his life.

  But it wasn’t him the man was shouting at.

  The man was kicking at a newly covered grave. ‘Come out!’ he yelled. ‘And give me my money!‘

  ‘Peace, friend,’ said the gypsy. ‘Let the dead rest in peace.’

  ‘Would you?’ said the man, ‘if you were in my shoes? This cheating gypsy borrowed money from me. If he thinks he can get out of paying me by burying himself six feet under, he’s got another think coming.’

  ‘I’ll pay his debt,’ said the gypsy. ‘How much did he owe you?’

  The sum the man said he was owed turned about to be nearly half the money the gypsy had put by, but the gypsy didn’t argue. He paid the man, then lingered a while by the grave so that he wouldn’t have to walk on into town with this odious fellow for company.

  Dusk was falling by the time he took to the road again.

  He found there was someone walking beside him, keeping pace with him, step by step. How long the man had been there was hard to say, since the sun had set and the moon was not yet risen. The stranger walked so softly, it might have been no more than the gypsy’s own shadow. The gypsy asked the stranger, ‘How far is it to the town? Do you know?’

  And the stranger answered him, ‘It’s just over this next hill. I lived there for a while, but then – you’d understand, being a travelling man yourself – sometimes the urge to move on becomes too strong.’

  ‘Still, I’m thinking it’s time I settled down,’ said the gypsy. ‘I’ve money saved and a pretty good head for business…’

  ‘Ah! That’s what I don’t have,’ said the stranger. ‘I trained as a butcher – none better, if I do say it myself – but as to the buying and selling and keeping the books straight…’

  ‘I’m a great believer in Fate,’ said the gypsy. ‘I’d say it was Fate that threw us together.’

  To cut a long story short, the two of them set up a butchery business together in that very same town. The gypsy did the buying and selling and his new partner worked behind the scenes, slaughtering, butchering, jointing, slicing and mincing, curing hams and making sausages, patés and pies. Word soon got about that this was the best butcher’s shop for miles around.

  There was just one thing that always seemed to be sold out, though the gypsy never saw the going of it. No matter how many times he was asked for liver, there was never any in the storeroom when he went to look.

  In the end he asked his partner, ‘What has happened to all the liver again?’

  The butcher said simply, ‘I ate it.’

  ‘Oh. All of it?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I need it, you see, for the blood.’

  Now the gypsy came to look at him, he did always look a bit peaky.

  ‘You should get out more,’ he said. ‘Fresh air and sunshine is what you need.’

  But he could hardly tell his partner not to eat the liver, since the man took no share of the profits they were making.

  ‘Why should I?’ he said, ‘I put no money into the business. What right have I to take money out? What do I need money for anyway? I have all I need.’

  ‘A house would be nice, though, wouldn’t it? And a few home comforts. You don’t have to sleep in that draughty old lean-to out the back.’

&nbs
p; The other man smiled. ‘Settling down is one thing. Four solid walls and a roof above me might feel a bit too much like being buried alive. But if you’ve got the money to spare, I think it’s time we took on an apprentice.’

  So a boy was found and the butcher trained him up till he declared that the boy knew everything he could teach him. ‘So now I must be on my way,’ he said.

  ‘Must you go?’ said his friend.

  ‘It’s time,’ said the butcher. ‘I’m afraid I must.’

  ‘Is it the old travelling urge?’

  ‘Something like that. Will you walk with me part of the way along the road?’

  Seeing he wasn’t about to change his mind, the gypsy fell into step beside him.

  ‘I thought we were friends,’ he said.

  ‘So we are.’

  ‘Then why are you going?’

  ‘Because I must.’

  ‘Is it my fault? Is it something I’ve done? I’ve offered you a share of the business.’

  The butcher smiled and shook his head. ‘You’ve done all that a friend can do – and more, even when we were strangers. You remember this place?’ he said, stopping at the gate of the graveyard. ‘This is where we first met.’

  ‘I remember some oaf trying to get money from a dead man.’

  ‘Let the dead rest in peace, you said. You paid my debt, though I was a stranger to you then. Now I’ve repaid you in full. And now I shall rest in peace.’

  He walked away into the gathering darkness.

  The Man of Her Dreams

  Nigeria

  Every parent thinks, in fact they know, that their baby is the prettiest baby that ever was born. And the most remarkable!

  It’s true, Ogilisa was a very pretty baby and she grew into an even prettier little girl, with big brown eyes and perfect teeth, smooth skin and a glorious mop of hair. But the only really remarkable thing about her was that she was remarkably spoilt.

  Whatever Ogilisa wanted, she got, whether it was toys to play with, dresses to wear or beads to thread in her hair. If she decided she wanted to eat nothing but ice cream for a week, ice cream was what she got.

  As for helping, just a little bit, around the house? She fell into such a tantrum when her mother suggested it, that it was never mentioned again.

  Ogilisa had better things to do, like giving her playmates merry hell when they didn’t do exactly as she wanted them to, and sitting in front of the mirror making herself even more beautiful, so she’d be ready when the man of her dreams came along.

  None of the young men in the village would do. The only use Ogilisa had for them was to make fun of them.

  Zeke had the most beautiful hair, it was true, but he was so tall and thin, he could hire himself out as a beanpole. Moses had beautiful eyes – but his ears! She’d have to peg him down whenever the wind blew to stop him being carried away. Sunny had fine long, strong legs, but his hands were like two bunches of bananas. Whereas Victor had fine, delicate hands, but his mouth was so wide – like a frog! When his children were born, they’d probably turn out to be tadpoles. Ade’s voice was divine – so long as you kept your eyes shut – for he had a face like a baboon!

  All her friends giggled along and laughed behind their hands when any of the young men happened by. Secretly, Ogilisa’s friends wouldn’t have minded if any young man had thrown one of them more than a passing glance. But the only girl that the young men ever had eyes for was Ogilisa.

  ‘So what is he like, the man of your dreams?’ the other girls wanted to know. Maybe if they could find her someone, anyone, who measured up, then she’d be out of their hair.

  ‘Well,’ said Ogilisa, thoughtfully, ‘he’s got hair like Zeke’s and eyes like Moses’. He has fine strong legs like Sunny’s, but his hands are slim and delicate like Victor’s. His voice is soft and warm, like Ade’s…’

  Be careful what you wish for! You never know who might be listening.

  A mischievous spirit heard Ogilisa, and thought it was time she was taught a lesson.

  But spirits are nothing but air and shadows. What was he to do for a body? Borrow one, that’s what. Patch it together from the bits of the young men that Ogilisa most admired.

  A little while later Moses felt strangely tired. He crawled into a patch of bushes where he fell asleep and dreamed he was wandering in the pitch dark. Meanwhile that mischievous spirit went on its way seeing the world through Moses’ borrowed eyes.

  Zeke’s mother kept calling him to come and help with the chores. It was lucky she just gave up and didn’t go into his room to wake him. What would she have said if she’d seen he’d suddenly lost all his hair?

  One by one the young men Ogilisa had named fell into a deep, deep sleep, while that mischievous spirit ran round, cherry-picking the best bits of them, until he’d put himself together in the shape of the man of Ogilisa’s dreams. Lastly he stole Ade’s voice.

  It was Ade’s voice that Ogilisa heard talking to her mother at the door. What did that baboon-face want? She hid herself behind a curtain and peeped out, but it wasn’t Ade’s face that she saw. It was the man of her dreams! Face, hair, eyes, hands, legs and all the rest. Everything about him was just perfect.

  ‘Beautiful Ogilisa!’ he said. ‘I’ve travelled from far away to see if you’re as beautiful as they say. Now, I see you are. Will you marry me? I warn you, if you say yes, it has to be this very day.’

  ‘Yes! Yes! Yes!’ cried Ogilisa. ‘Mama! Papa! Send for the priest. I’m getting married this very day.’

  The priest came, muttering that this was all most irregular, caught a steely look from the bride and decided on a quiet life.

  The whole village – almost – turned out to see Ogilisa married.

  But, as everyone else sat down for the wedding feast, the bridegroom said, ‘Now, we have to be on our way.’ The sun was going down and he knew his magic wouldn’t last beyond nightfall.

  ‘Where are we going?’ said Ogilisa.

  ‘You’ll see when we get there.’

  That wasn’t good enough for Ogilisa. But when she turned to argue, all she could find to say was, ‘What happened to your hair?’

  The spirit ran a hand over his bald head. Zeke must have woken early.

  ‘There’s no time to explain,’ he said. ‘Come on, Ogilisa. We must hurry.’

  As the sun dipped below the horizon, Moses was waking, opening his eyes, and looking about. ‘Help me, Ogilisa,’ said the spirit. ‘I can’t see the road.’

  ‘It’s there in front of us. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Just take my hand and lead me along it.’

  ‘Where is your hand? I can’t feel it.’

  ‘Ah! Victor must have woken,’ he said sadly. ‘Sunny too. I’m sorry, Ogilisa. I can’t go a step further.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Down here.’

  ‘What happened to your legs?’

  ‘Gone.’

  Wasn’t that Ade’s voice? Hadn’t it always been Ade’s voice she heard, whenever her husband spoke?

  ‘Ade? Is that you? Where are you? If this is a joke, it’s not very funny. Where is my husband?’

  ‘I’m here, Ogilisa. Right beside you.’

  ‘Where? Where?’ Ogilisa turned round and about. ‘Stop playing games! I’m frightened.’

  The spirit felt sorry for her. He would have liked to explain. But at that moment Ade, too, woke up and recovered his voice.

  And she was left all alone in the dark.

  Little Olle and The Troll

  Sweden

  Everyone was pretty sure there must be a troll lurking in the woods around the village, because so many animals had gone missing lately. A pig here, a goose there, even a cow and her calf. It all added up to one thing.

  ‘So what does he look like, this troll?’ demanded Olle. ‘How will I know him if I see him?’

  ‘You’ll know him, all right!’

  ‘But how?’

  The villagers looked at one another. What d
id a troll look like? The truth was, none of them had ever seen one, but they weren’t going to admit they didn’t know, not to little Olle.

  ‘Well, for a start, he’s big and hairy!’

  ‘He has a nose like a pig’s snout… and tusks, like a wild boar!’

  ‘His eyes are red…’

  ‘ … and his teeth are green…’

  ‘… and one of his feet has a cloven hoof, like a goat.’

  Talking of goats, the very next morning when Olle’s mother went out to milk their goat, it had gone!

  ‘Better the goat than you, Olle,’ she said. ‘For what trolls like best to eat is a nice, plump, healthy boy. So lock the door when I’ve gone and don’t open it till I come back from market.’

  The troll watched patiently till she was out of sight, then he ambled out of the forest where he’d been hiding close by. That troll was hungry. He’d got the goat hidden away for when he felt peckish later, but just at the moment what he really fancied was a nice, plump, juicy boy.

  He knocked on the door of the cottage.

  ‘Who’s that?’ called Olle.

  ‘I’m a poor, weary traveller,’ the troll called back, ‘looking for a place to rest. Can I come in, please?’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Olle. ‘I’m not allowed to open the door till Mama gets back, because of the troll.’

  ‘Do I look like a troll?’ The troll ambled round to the window so Olle could see him. He was big and hairy, but so, too, were a few of the men from the village that Olle could name. And he didn’t have red eyes or green teeth, or a nose like a pig’s, or tusks, or even a cloven hoof for a foot as far as Olle could see.

  ‘Can I come in now, please?’ said the troll.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Olle, ‘but Mama was very firm. We know the troll can’t be far away because he stole our goat last night.’

  ‘Why do trolls always get the blame?’ said the troll. ‘How do you know she hasn’t just wandered off? As a matter of fact,’ he added, ‘I saw a goat grazing all on her own as I was coming along. I don’t know if it was your goat. You’d be able to tell me. Come with me and I’ll show you the place. With any luck she’ll still be there.’