Is There Anybody There? Read online

  The library? Mo? Still, I’d looked everywhere else, so I headed for the library. A short cut took me through the skate park.

  Lee had the place to himself that day. Maybe one look at him had scared the others off. He looked like something left over from Halloween.

  One broken nose, two black eyes and an arm in plaster, and he was still pulling kickflips and fakies. All the time I was talking to him, he never stopped.

  “Seen Mo?” I said.

  “Maybe,” said Lee, sliding past me. “Is it about the other night?” he asked.

  “No,” I said. “Maybe. Why?”

  “You still think she set it up,” he said as he slid back the other way.

  “Don’t you?” I said.

  “I don’t see how she could have done,” he said. “Bomber pilot was my idea. So how did this mate of hers get hold of the right outfit in time?”

  “Maybe she texted him while we weren’t looking.”

  “I could have said a fireman, or an ambulance driver,” Lee said.

  “Come on, Lee! Mo knows you love war movies.”

  Backwards and forwards he slid. Up to the top of the ramp, then down again. I was starting to feel seasick just watching.

  “He’d have needed a whole rack of clothes standing by,” said Lee. “I know what I saw. I saw a ghost.”

  “How can you have seen him? We made him up!” I said.

  “Maybe we picked up on something that really happened. Mo thinks that’s our best bet. She’s in the library now, checking it out.”

  “Mo’s in the library?” I asked. “Cheers! That’s all I wanted to know.”

  I found her in the basement. That’s where they keep the old local papers on microfilm. Mo was scrolling through them, page by page.

  “Any luck?” I said.

  She shook her head, scowling. “This thing is, like, out of the Stone Age! No index – no nothing. It’s doing my head in!”

  She switched off the machine and pushed back her chair.

  “I’m just going to have to fake it,” she said. “After all, who’s going to check?”

  “Check what? Fake what?” I said.

  “The story,” she said. “About Tom? The bomber pilot who gave his life to save the town? For my history project?”

  “You’re going to make this your history project?” I said. “I thought we were supposed to be doing Life on the Home Front?”

  “What – write about ration books and air-raid shelters? Boring!” she said. “What about the true story of the bomber plane that almost wiped out half the town? That’s totally Life on the Home Front!”

  “Not if it didn’t happen,” I said.

  “It could have done. I’ll say I’ve been talking to the old people,” she said. “I’ll say I met this old lady. She had this friend who was in love with a bomber pilot. The friend worked in the RAF control room, but she wasn’t on duty the night the pilot died.”

  “So?” I said.

  “So the pilot never got to say goodbye. That’s why his ghost can’t rest. Is that worth an A star, or what?”

  “No, because you just made it up,” I said.

  “Tom wants to live!” she said. “So I’m giving him a life. The place where Lee saw him was just open fields in those days. That could be the place where the plane came down.”

  I gave it one last shot. “But it never happened. Tom’s not real! We made him up. Remember?”

  Mo didn’t answer. She just got up and walked out of the library.

  I followed her out onto the street. It was past four in the afternoon, and already dark.

  I realised I’d forgotten to tell her about Jaz. The pictures. The dreams.

  I called after her, “Mo! Wait! You’ve got to talk to Jaz!”

  I think she heard me. But she didn’t look back.

  I watched her walk away, her shadow changing shape as she moved from one street lamp to the next.

  The odd thing was, she seemed to have not one shadow, but two. Like there was somebody walking beside her, but all I could see was his shadow.

  I told myself it was a trick of the light.

  Then one of the shadows stopped.

  Mo walked on, along with her own shadow. The other shadow stood very still. Slowly it turned its head towards me. I felt it looking at me, checking me out.

  Then it began to move.

  I didn’t wait to see any more. I ran.

  * * *

  Safe in my room, I tried to get my head round what just happened. What was it I saw?

  A shadow? Yes.

  No!

  That thing I saw was more than a shadow. That thing had a mind of its own.

  A ghost, then? What ghost? The ghost of Tom, the bomber pilot?

  How could it be? We made him up.

  But maybe that’s what ghosts are. If enough people believe hard enough – there’s your ghost. It could be a mad monk, or a black dog, or a queen with her head tucked under her arm.

  Together we’d created our very own ghost. He had nearly killed Lee. Now he was haunting Jaz and stalking Mo.

  What about me?

  I’d got away this time. Maybe all I had to do now was stay away from shadows. But on Monday I’d be back at school, walking home in the dark. Walking home in a world full of shadows.

  Chapter 7

  Bonfire Night

  I didn’t see the others again till Bonfire Night. Bonfire Night on the estate is always on Friday so as not to clash with the big fireworks show in town on the Saturday.

  There’s a patch of waste ground down the end where they were going to build more houses. Then they didn’t. So that’s where we have the bonfire and the fireworks. There’s live music and dancing too. And hamburgers and hot dogs and baked potatoes and candyfloss. A beer tent for the dads and a roundabout for the little kids.

  It’s good. I mean, really good.

  I went round with Lee in the morning, collecting stuff for the bonfire. I had to push the cart because of Lee’s arm being in plaster but I didn’t mind. It was great seeing the bonfire pile up – and up – and up. We were going to make this one the biggest ever.

  It was dark by the time we finished. All the helpers got a free Coke. As we were leaving, Lee said, “Have you seen the guy?”

  Every year there’s a competition for the best guy. The winning guy gets to be burnt on the bonfire, which I think is a pretty rubbish prize.

  “Come on,” said Lee. “Come and look!”

  So I came and I looked.

  “It’s him, isn’t it?” I said.

  The guy was wearing a flying jacket and helmet. It even had a little moustache pencilled on the face.

  I said, “Was this your idea?”

  “A bit,” said Lee. “My little brother and his mates did all the work. What do you think?”

  “I think it looks evil,” I said.

  There was something about the black button eyes. The lipstick smile.

  I said, “Just don’t let Mo see it.”

  “You don’t think she’ll like it?” asked Lee.

  “Trust me,” I said. “She won’t.”

  “Wanna bet?” said Lee. “Hey, girls! Take a look at this.”

  They came. They looked. “What is that?” said Mo.

  “I told you she wouldn’t like it,” I muttered. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Lee didn’t hear me. He crouched down beside the guy, lifted one of its arms, and flapped it up and down.

  “Say hello to your boyfriend, Mo! Say hello to Tom! Hello, Mo!” he said in a squeaky voice.

  “My boyfriend?” Mo swung round. “What have you been telling him, Jaz?” she demanded.

  Jaz shook her head. “Nothing. I swear!”

  Mo turned back to Lee. “That thing is supposed to be Tom?” she said.

  “I think it looks evil,” I said.

  Mo took another long, hard look.

  “I don’t,” she said. “I think he looks cute.”

  Lee nudged me. “What did I
say?” he muttered. “She fancies him.”

  When I looked back at Mo, she had her eyes fixed on the guy like the rest of us weren’t even there.

  “Come on, Jaz,” I said. “I’ll buy you a hot dog.”

  While we were waiting in the queue, I said, “Did you talk to Mo? About the pictures?”

  Jaz nodded. “We’re working together on the project now. It’s going to be like a graphic novel. She’s doing the story. I’m doing the pictures.”

  “You’re OK with that?” I asked.

  “I’m OK,” said Jaz. “It’s like all the stuff I was dreaming about was all mixed up. Mo’s helped me sort it out.”

  “Why was Mo mad at you when Lee said Tom was her boyfriend?”

  Jaz shook her head and bit into her hot dog. “I think Mo is a bit in love with Tom. But I didn’t tell Lee!”

  “And you’re sure you’re OK?”

  “I’m OK,” she said. “I told you.”

  I saw they’d placed the guy on top of the bonfire. Flames were already licking at it. Mo was standing where we’d left her, close to the bonfire, looking up at the guy. There was an odd look on her face. Like the look girls get when their favourite pop star is on the TV.

  Then it happened.

  You know that game where you take it in turns to build a tower until someone puts a bit on wrong and the whole lot comes tumbling down?

  That’s what was happening to the bonfire now.

  I saw the guy begin to topple.

  I saw Mo standing there, looking up, as the burning guy tumbled towards her with its arms outspread.

  “Mo!” I yelled. “Get out of the way!”

  She didn’t move. Maybe there was too much noise. Maybe she just didn’t hear.

  I threw away my hot dog and started running.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw the guy slowly falling.

  I felt the heat of the flames on my cheek.

  I crashed into Mo so hard we landed several yards away.

  Mo pushed me off. “Why did you do that?” she snarled. Then she saw the guy on fire in the place where she’d been standing.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  “Didn’t you see it, Mo?” I asked her. “Why didn’t you move?”

  Mo shook her head. “I don’t know. He was looking at me and I was looking at him leaning towards me. Then – wham! – bam! That was you, thumping into me.”

  The bonfire was scattered all over the place. People were shouting and running and putting out small fires. Mo went over to where the guy lay with little flames licking round its face and hands. She gave it a good, hard kick.

  “You are so dead!” she said. “Dead! Dead! Dead!” Each time she said it, she gave the guy another kick.

  The guy just lay there, slowly burning, and smiling that evil smile.

  Chapter 8

  Nobody There

  All four of us met at Jaz’s house the next morning.

  The walls were still covered in pictures, but now they were telling a story.

  There wasn’t much about the plane crash. This was more of a love story. The girl looked like Mo.

  “I can’t draw people out of my head,” said Jaz. “I have to have a real person to copy.”

  “What about Tom?” I said.

  “Tom was different. That’s what scared me.”

  “He’s evil,” I said. I told them about the shadow that chased me home from the library. “You saw what happened last night, with the guy and the bonfire. We have to get rid of him, before one of us gets hurt.”

  “How do we do that?” said Lee.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I said.

  I’d been thinking about it all night long. I still wasn’t sure if it would work.

  I said, “Before it all started, we all agreed we didn’t believe in ghosts. So when Mo said, ‘Is there anybody there?’ the answer we got was no. Right? Then we made up a ghost. Suddenly, he’s there. I was the last one to see him. I think that’s because I was the last one to believe in him.”

  “I think I see,” Lee said slowly.

  Jaz said, “You mean all we have to do is stop believing – and he’ll go away?”

  “It’s worth a try,” said Mo. “Maybe if we did it in the same place, with the cards and everything.”

  “No problem,” I said. “My mum’s on duty again this evening. We’ll have the house to ourselves.”

  Mo began pulling the pictures off the walls. “We can start by getting rid of these,” she said.

  “What shall we do with them?” said Jaz. “Burn them?”

  “We’ll shred them,” said Mo. “My dad’s got a shredder.”

  I said, “What about your history project, Mo?”

  “What do you think?” she said. “After last night? I’ve deleted it.”

  “There goes your A star,” I said.

  “I was never going to get an A star.”

  “So what are you going to do now?” I asked.

  Mo shrugged. “Pull something off the internet, I suppose. Same as usual.”

  I said, “You’ve still got all day Sunday. My gran lent me three shoe boxes of stuff about the Home Front. There’s masses of it I’m not going to use. Come round if you like.”

  “I might,” she said. “Thanks, anyway.”

  Mo’s not so bad when you get to know her.

  * * *

  So, anyway, there we sat in my house that Saturday evening, just as we’d sat on Halloween. We’d turned out the lights, except for the lamp in the corner. Mo had laid out the cards in a circle on the table.

  Jaz whispered to me, “Do you think he knows what we’re doing?”

  I said, “Who are you talking about?”

  Jaz bit her lip. “Sorry,” she said. “No-one.”

  “We’re just having a bit of fun,” said Mo. “Like we did the other evening. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “Who believes in ghosts? Not me!” said Lee.

  “Ghosts?” I said. “Not in this house.”

  Jaz shivered. “I’m cold,” she said.

  “Let’s get started,” said Mo. “Fingers on the glass, everyone.”

  So we sat, each with one finger resting on the glass until the glass began to move. “Do we believe in ghosts?” said Mo.

  As soon as it started heading for the YES card, Lee stood up. “Any Coke in the fridge, Scott?”

  “Help yourself,” I said.

  Lee went to the kitchen, came back with a can, and we all settled down again.

  That’s how we played it. Mo kept asking the same question. “Do we believe in ghosts?” Every time we looked like getting the answer YES, one of us would chip in.

  I thought Tom would fight back. I thought it would be like you see in the movies. Things flying through the air. Mirrors shattering. One of us talking in a funny voice. Maybe even a small fire.

  Instead – nothing.

  Maybe that’s why, in the end, we really did give up believing.

  “Do we believe in ghosts?” said Mo.

  The glass slid to NO. And stayed there.

  After a bit, Jaz said, “I can smell burning.”

  But it was only because I’d put the oven on to warm up.

  “Anyone for pizza?” I said.

  Chapter 9

  All the Time

  On Sunday I got out all the stuff Gran had lent me for my history project. There were three shoe boxes full. I put the one with the photos in on one side.

  The others were full of all sorts of stuff. There were ration books and pages of old newspapers, and Gran’s ID from the day she was born, and a letter from the King to her dad to thank him for being in the Home Guard.

  The cookery books were what I was after. And the handy hints her mum had cut out of the papers and magazines. I was going to do Food in Wartime.

  Something fell out. I picked it up.

  It was a photo of a man in a flying jacket. He had this really old-fashioned haircut and a dinky little moustache. I knew who it was before I turned
it over and saw what was written on the back.

  Tom. July 1943.

  “Ghosts?” I’d said. “Not in this house.”

  But he’d been here all the time.

  So why don’t I destroy it? Burn it. Shred it. Chuck it in the bin. Then there’d be nothing left.

  I just can’t do it.

  “What do you want?” Mo had asked him. And he said: TO LIVE.

  That’s not much to ask.

  I don’t think he meant Lee to get knocked off his bike by a car. I don’t think he meant to frighten Jaz by creeping into her dreams.

  Mo was trying to give him what he wanted.

  She was giving him a life, even if it was made up. She got Jaz to draw her over and over again as his girlfriend. Maybe in the end he thought she was his girlfriend. When he brought the bonfire tumbling down I don’t think he meant to hurt her. Maybe he just wanted to say goodbye.

  I was the one who said he was evil. I was the one who said we had to get rid of him. That’s why I’m scared now.

  Scared of the footsteps on the landing. Scared of the shadow creeping under my bedroom door. Scared of being alone.

  Scared that I’m not alone.

  First published 2011 by

  A & C Black

  Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP

  www.acblack.com

  Copyright © 2011 Maggie Pearson Illustrations copyright © 2011 Nelson Evergreen

  This electronic edition published in February 2012 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  The rights of Maggie Pearson and Nelson Evergreen to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work have been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.