Ghosthunters and the Totally Moldy Baroness!

  Ghosthunters

  and the

  Totally

  Moldy

  Baroness!

  by CORNELIA FUNKE

  Chicken House

  For

  Elmar

  and

  Gitta

  CONTENTS

  Cover

  Title Page

  1. A Cry for Help

  2. A Ghostly Warning

  3. Mint Toothpaste and First Discoveries

  4. A Whole Net of Ghosts

  5. The Totally Moldy Baroness

  6. Ghost with a Dark Past

  7. The Crypt of the Gloomstones

  8. At the Last Minute

  9. Hugo Makes His Entrance

  10. Duel on the Drawbridge

  11. Ready for a Vacation

  In Case of an Encounter

  Indispensable Alphabetical Appendix of Assorted Ghosts

  Miscellaneous Listing of NECESSITOUS EQUIPMENT and NOTEWORTHY ORGANIZATIONS

  Preview

  Also By Cornelia Funke

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Let me introduce three of the most successful ghosthunters of our time.

  Here (from right to left) are Hetty Hyssop, Hugo the ASG, and Tom.

  You might not be able to tell by looking at them, but they are one of the best ghosthunting teams in the entire world.

  Hetty Hyssop has under her belt more than fifty years’ professional experience in the field.

  Tom, her human assistant, is just about to take his SGHD (Second GhostHunting Diploma).

  And Hugo the ASG — well, his help is, of course, quite invaluable, because as an ASG (Averagely Spooky Ghost) he has extensive insider knowledge at his disposal.

  But enough of this introductory talk! Read on for an adventure in which only the desperate courage of our ghosthunters can save them! For this time, Hyssop & Co. have to deal with one of the most terrible — not to mention terribly moldy! — inhabitants of the ghost world.…

  1

  One February afternoon, the fax machine of the famous ghosthunter Hetty Hyssop spat out the following message:

  My dear Mrs. Hyssop,

  My name is Theodore Worm and neither I nor my dear wife, Amelia, are easily scared…. Over the last few days, however, we have both experienced incidents that have devastated both our nerves and our health. A week ago my wife and I took over the management of Gloomsburg Castle, an estate belonging to the von Gloomstones. When we arrived, we heard rumors that a ghost had been up to mischief at the castle for years. Our employers never mentioned it, though, and so we initially ignored the gossip. After all, we ARE living in the twenty-first century!

  Since our arrival, however, we have witnessed such a number of puzzling and deeply disturbing incidents that we are gradually starting to doubt our sanity. Your company, Hyssop & Co., was recommended to us by OFFCOCAG (the OFFice for COmbating CAstle Ghosts). Please help us! We are desperate!

  Yours sincerely (and deeply distraught),

  Theodore and Amelia Worm

  It wasn’t much to go on, but the three ghosthunters at Hyssop & Co. were well used to such a lack of detail in the calls for help from their terrified clients. After several failed attempts to speak to the Worms on the phone, the trio loaded their car with their basic ghosthunting equipment, added a couple of special devices for fighting off historical ghosts, and packed Tom’s brand-new computer, which enabled him to tap into the extensive data bank of RICOG (the Research Institute for COmbating Ghosts). Then they set off for Gloomsburg Castle without further delay.

  It was a cold, gray winter’s day and the rain was pelting down on the pavement as Hetty Hyssop drove her old station wagon into the little village of Gloomstone.

  “Well, I can’t see any castle,” said Tom, pressing his nose against the steamed-up car window. “Just a church, two banks, and a takeout place. Not even a sign saying ‘this way to the castle’ or anything.”

  “Right,” said Hetty Hyssop, stopping by the curb. “Then we’ll just have to ask. Hugo, make yourself scarce.”

  “OOOOOOK,” breathed Hugo, and disappeared underneath the backseat, while Hetty Hyssop wound down her window.

  “Excuse me!” she called out to a man rushing past with a sopping-wet dachshund on a leash. “We’re looking for Baron von Gloomstone’s castle.”

  The man almost trod on his dachshund in horror. He swallowed, looked around, leaned closer to Hetty Hyssop, and whispered, “What do you want with that place?”

  “Oh, I’ve got some business there,” Hetty Hyssop answered.

  “Jeepers creepers, have you got a death wish?” hissed the man. “Turn around and drive straight back home while you still have all your marbles intact!”

  “Thanks very much for your advice,” said Hetty Hyssop, “but you needn’t worry about my marbles. I’d just like to know the way. So can you help me?”

  The man shrugged his shoulders and pointed down the road.

  “First right, second left, then straight on until…”

  He stared past Hetty Hyssop, his mouth open.

  “Straight on until?” asked Hetty Hyssop. “Until where?”

  “There!” breathed the man, pointing at the white fingers gently lifting Hetty’s hat up into the air. His dachshund threw back its head and howled.

  “That? Oh, that’s nothing!” Hetty Hyssop gave Hugo’s wobbly fingers an irritated slap. “Straight on until where, then?”

  But the man couldn’t utter another single sound. He stood there with his mouth open whilst his dog wound its leash around his legs.

  “Until whhhhhhere?” breathed Hugo, blowing his moldy breath into the poor man’s face. “Come on, spit it ooooout, or Iiiiii’ll tickle yoooooou, got it?”

  “S — s — straight a — a — ahead u — u — until you get to the bu — bu — bus stop, then t — t — take the track across the field,” the dachshund owner burst out.

  “Thanks,” said Hetty Hyssop. Then she hastily wound up the window and put her foot down on the gas pedal.

  The poor man was left standing in the rain staring after them, completely befuddled.

  “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” howled Hugo, waving through the back window. “Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha, just looook at him!”

  “Hey, have you gone nuts?” Tom snapped. “Can’t you give these stupid ghostly jokes a rest for once?”

  “Fog,” said Hetty Hyssop. She rounded the next corner, tires squealing. “That ASG has a head full of fog. First right, second left. Tom, can you see the bus stop anywhere?”

  “Ungraaaaateful,” grumbled Hugo. “Yooooooou’re soooo ungraaaaateful.”

  “Oh, be quiet, you’re getting on my nerves,” said Tom. “I just hope you don’t act like that once we’re in the castle. There!” He wiped the misted-up window with his sleeve. “The bus stop’s over there — and here’s the trail, where that broken signpost is.”

  Hetty Hyssop’s car bumped its way down the muddy trail, with Hugo wobbling around on the backseat like a bright green bowl of jelly.

  “I feeeeeeel sick!” he moaned. “I feeeeel sooo sick!”

  “Serves you right,” said Tom, and caught his breath. “Oh my goodness!” he murmured.

  Gloomsburg Castle lay before them.

  It squatted there, large and gray, surrounded by a black moat that reflected the ivy-covered walls.

  “Oh my goodness!” Tom said again.

  Hetty Hyssop brought her car to a lurching halt in front of the drawbridge.

  The rain dripped down from the gargoyles baring their teeth above the castle door.

  “I like it,” breathed Hugo. “Iiiii’m not jooook
ing, I think it reeeeeeally is very niiiiice.”

  “ ‘Nice’ isn’t exactly the word I’d use!” Tom fished out his backpack from the backseat, pulled his hood over his head, and opened the car door. Rain lashed him in the face and the wind tore at his jacket. Blinking, Tom threw his head back and looked up at the castle’s towers. Their tips were fortified with iron, and they thrust their way into the sky like lances.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” Hetty Hyssop fetched their bags of equipment out of the trunk and shoved Tom’s computer into his hands. “Come on,” she said, and set off decisively for the drawbridge. “We’ll fetch the rest of our stuff later.”

  Tom nodded and looked around for Hugo. But the only trace of the ASG was some shimmering slime on Tom’s backpack.

  “Hey, Hugo!” Tom shouted, banging on the backpack. “Come out at once. Go sliming around somewhere else, got it?”

  “Yoooooou’re a meeeeeanie,” breathed Hugo, wobbling into broad daylight. “It’s toooooo light, much tooooo light! And what abooooout this dreadful wind? It will blow meeeeee to pieeeeeeces.”

  Tom ignored him. The drawbridge was wet from the rain, and he almost slipped on the well-worn planks as he made a grab for the guardrails before following Hetty Hyssop. Hugo wobbled up behind his shoulders and pointed with one icy finger into the black water that filled the castle moat.

  “Iiiii can smell ghoooooosts!” he whispered. “Water Ghosts, Marsh Ghosts, Ancient Ghosts. Yooohooooo!” Giggling with delight, he disappeared through the dark archway in the castle wall.

  Tom tore himself away from the sight of the dark water and hastily stumbled after him, past the gargoyles and the holes that had once been used to pour hot pitch onto the heads of unwanted visitors. As he crossed the castle courtyard he suddenly had the feeling of being watched by ancient eyes. Angry eyes, full of hatred and spite.

  But when he looked around, there was nothing to be seen.

  Hetty Hyssop was already standing with Hugo on the wide staircase that led up to the castle’s main entrance. Sopping wet and freezing cold, Tom joined them. Next to the door was a big notice:

  GLOOMSBURG CASTLE

  Open to the public weekdays from 10 A.M. – 12 P.M.,

  Sundays 10 A.M. – 4 P.M.

  Guided tours by prior arrangement only.

  “Hugo,” said Hetty Hyssop, “if you behave with the Worms as you did with the poor dachshund owner, I’ll personally throw raw eggs at you. Is that clear?”

  “Ooooooh my,” moaned Hugo, slumping down into himself. “Not eeeeeeven a little joke or twooooo?”

  “Well, you can certainly try,” Hetty Hyssop replied, “but for each joke, as I said, there’ll be at least one nice dripping raw egg.”

  Then she pulled the chain that was dangling down next to the huge wooden door, and a bell clanged somewhere within the depths of the castle.…

  2

  “Who’s there?” whispered a scared voice from behind the big door.

  “It’s Hyssop and Company,” answered Hetty. “The ghosthunters.”

  “Oh!” The door opened a crack, and a man and a woman peered out anxiously.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Worm?” asked Tom. “Hello, may we come in?”

  “Helloooooooo!” breathed Hugo, giving them a friendly wave with his white fingers.

  Bang! The door was slammed in their faces.

  Hetty Hyssop sighed — and pulled the chain once more.

  “That’s just my assistant, Hugo the ASG!” cried Hetty. “There’s no need to worry; just open the door again.”

  Animated whispering started up behind the door. Then it opened again.

  “Come in,” whispered a small, fat woman with a red ribbon nestled in her gray hair.

  “Yes, come in,” whispered the man. “You must excuse us, but your assistant — um — yes, well, he looks a bit strange.”

  “He’s a ghost,” said Tom. “But a perfectly harmless one.”

  “Hey, Iiiii’m not perfectly harmless,” breathed Hugo. “Iiiiii’d say…” But he piped down when he saw Hetty Hyssop’s stern look.

  It wasn’t much warmer inside the castle than outside. The high, gloomy entrance hall was lit only by a couple of candles flickering in iron holders attached to the soot-blackened walls.

  “Oh, we are so glad you’ve come,” whispered Mrs. Worm, her voice trembling. “My saucepans all went flying through the air again today. Flying through the air, I tell you!” She gave a small sob and straightened her ribbon.

  “Aha!” Hetty Hyssop nodded and looked around. “Well, I suggest we move as quickly as possible into a well-heated room — because very few ghosts like that — where you can tell us exactly, and without any ghostly interruptions, what’s been going on.”

  “Oh, then we’re probably best off in the old armory. My husband’s set up a little workshop there,” whispered Mrs. Worm. “Come on.”

  With short, rapid steps she hurried toward a huge stone staircase. The two suits of armor standing at the foot of it had no arms, and one was missing a leg.

  “As you can see, everything’s in a dreadful state,” said Mr. Worm. “Since we’ve been here, I’ve been busy with restorations. But I’ve barely finished something when whoosh! It flies through the air, or the most disgusting spots of mud appear on it all of a sudden. It’s terrible.”

  “Mud?” Tom cast a glance at the shimmering trail Hugo had left on the stony floor. “You’re sure it’s not slime?”

  “Slime?” Mrs. Worm shook her head. “Oh, no. It is mud. But, as I said, quite disgusting as well.”

  Tom exchanged an inquiring look with Hetty Hyssop.

  “This way, please!” Mrs. Worm led them from the staircase into a corridor. Between the narrow windows, vast numbers of lances, spiked maces, swords, and other murderous tools hung from the walls.

  “That’s the Baron’s famous weapon collection,” whispered Mrs. Worm. “Those lances have already flown past our ears several times. One even followed me to the kitchen! It really is a miracle we’ve not been skewered yet.”

  “Very interesting,” said Hetty Hyssop. “Oh, and by the way, you don’t need to whisper. Most ghosts can’t hear particularly well. They smell their victims, which is a highly reliable method in and of itself, unfortunately enough.”

  “Truuuuue. And…” Hugo turned a bluish color. “…Iiiii can smell sssssomething now. Sooooomething old and spitefuuuul!”

  Disconcerted, he wobbled a couple of feet backward.

  Tom quickly rummaged through his backpack and pulled out a large spray bottle filled with seawater.

  “Quick!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “Against the wall!”

  Mr. Worm obeyed, but Mrs. Worm stood as if rooted to the spot, staring upward. High on the wall, a gigantic spear was moving against the iron hoops that held it to the wall. Its wooden handle thrashed to and fro like a wooden snake. Tom squirted a full load of salt water onto it and the lance went as limp as a piece of rope, but then two maces freed themselves, flew through the air, and bored their way into the floor. Soon sabers, spears, and lances were all raining down — and, right in the middle of them, Mrs. Worm began to giggle.

  It was a quite repellent giggle, hoarse and hollow.

  And then Mrs. Worm’s head started to light up like a Halloween jack-o'-lantern. Her face became blurred, as if it were made of liquid. Her eyebrows thickened, green slime dripped from her hair, and her mouth twisted itself into a revolting smile.

  “The Baroness!” cried Mr. Worm in horror. “That totally moldy Baroness!”

  “A body-nabber!” cried Hetty Hyssop. “Quick, Tom, bite your tongue! You, too, Mr. Worm!”

  “Thiiiiis iiiiis my castle!” hissed Mrs. Worm in the spookiest voice Tom had ever heard. “Go awaaaaay!”

  “The salt water, Tom!” cried Hetty. “Squirt some on her feet!”

  Tom held the spray bottle right up and squirted all the remaining salt water onto Mrs. Worm’s feet.

  “Eeeeeeeurgh!” wailed the Baroness. Mrs. Worm ho
pped up and down like crazy as a greenish gray muddy puddle grew all around her.

  “Iiiii’ll beeee baaaack!” howled the vile voice. Mrs. Worm’s face turned blurry again, her head stopped glowing, her hair turned back to gray — and the ghost was gone.

  “My darling!” Worried, Mr. Worm rushed over to his wife.

  “She was — hic — inside — hic — me!” sobbed Mrs. Worm. “Oh, it was so — hic — dreadful, absolutely dreadful.”

  Her husband took her in his arms to comfort her.

  “And now — hic — I’ve — hic — got hiccups as well!” cried Mrs. Worm despairingly.

  “Don’t worry!” said Hetty Hyssop. “It’ll pass after about twenty-four hours. That’s a typical consequence of a body-nabber attack.”

  “Twenty — hic — four — hic — hours!” cried Mrs. Worm, and was overcome by such a violent attack of hiccups that she couldn’t utter another word.

  “Hugo!” cried Tom. “Hugo, for goodness’ sake, where have you been?”

  “Here!” Grinning, Hugo wobbled out of a suit of armor. “Hey, that was quiiiiite sooooomething, eh? A reeeeal ghoooostly artist. Impressssssive. Reeeeally impressssssive, don’t you agreeeee?”

  “Well, I think I can resist the attraction!” said Tom. “Can you still smell something?”

  Hugo sniffed, and shook his head. “Gone!” he said disconsolately. “Miiiiiiles away!”

  Hetty Hyssop nodded. “Yes, it’s still light, and most ghosts can’t manage much haunting when it’s light. Let’s make the most of it! I hope it’s not much farther to the armory.”

  Mr. Worm shook his head.

  “OK, then let’s go.”

  The Worms, their legs trembling, obeyed, and led the ghosthunters farther through the dark castle.

  “My dear Tom,” whispered Hetty as they followed the couple, “that’s one powerful opponent. Powerful and malicious. I fear we’ve got an uncomfortable night ahead of us. What do you think?”