THE GHOSTLY GHASTLYS
Book 6
THE LOST REINDEER
Written by Barbara Godwin
Illustrated by Christina Boon
Copyright 2013 Barbara Godwin
For Hazelle
With my heartfelt thanks to Christina for yet again providing gorgeous illustrations, to Kelley for her in-depth editing, and to my very many writing friends whose comments over a long period of time have made this series possible.
Chapter 1. You Have Been Good, Haven’t You?
It was Christmas Eve. A log fire blazed merrily in the long room of the Ghostly Ghastly House. Princess and Branwing were decorating the whole place with holly and candles.
The little Ghastlys floated in.
“Hurry up and hang up your stockings,” said Princess, smiling at them. “Father Christmas will want to know where to put your presents.”
“We don’t have any stockings,” said Bubble.
“We don’t seem to have any legs,” said Trouble, looking down.
“Or feet,” said Puff, “but that’s okay because we float around.”
“They won’t get any presents, Princess, dear,” said Mrs Ghastly, gliding across with Mr Ghastly. “Please don’t encourage them. They will only be disappointed.”
“We’re bringing the children up to be sensible,” said Mr Ghastly. “Magic is very unreliable. It is best not to have anything to do with it.”
Princess suddenly looked very fierce, which wasn’t like her at all. “We always hung up stockings at home. All the children had lots of presents.”
“Father Christmas never leaves presents for ghost children,” explained Mr Ghastly.
“Well, he won’t if they don’t hang some stockings up,” said Princess.
Mr Ghastly shook his head. “I don’t think that’s the reason,” he said.
“We’ll see about that!” said Princess. “Now, you three, there are old clothes upstairs in the chests. Go and find some stockings.”
The little Ghastlys floated upstairs. They were puzzled by all this talk of Father Christmas. Would he really come if they hung stockings up? He had never left them presents before, so it was very difficult to believe this year would be any different.
They found three tatty stockings, patched and holey, and rather dusty. They hung them on the mantelpiece.
Mr and Mrs Ghastly looked on doubtfully.
“They waft a bit,” said Mr Ghastly, waving his hand in front of his nose.
“Doesn’t matter,” said Princess.
“It is all very odd,” said Mrs Ghastly. “Why stockings? Why not hats, or gloves or jumpers?”
“It’s always been stockings,” said Princess. “It’s magic so it’s best to keep to what has always been done.”
“What sort of presents will we get?” asked Bubble.
“The very best presents and the ones most suitable for you, of course,” said Princess.
“They aren’t our stockings,” said Trouble. “Will Father Christmas know they are for us?”
“He’ll know,” said Princess.
“How?” asked Puff.
“That’s magic too,” said Princess. Then she had another thought. “You have been good, haven’t you?” she asked, anxiously.
“Um,” said Bubble. She was thinking of how the little Ghastlys had played tricks at Alfonso’s Restaurant next door. But they had got the customers back, hadn’t they? And now they helped the waiters over there.
“Kind of,” said Trouble. He was thinking of the Ball of Balls, and how the Washing-Up-and-Odd-Job Boy had said they were cheating. But they had got Loud-Voice a cruise and everyone was happy now. That was good, surely?
“We have been enormously good,” said Puff, thinking about how they’d stopped the grey wolf from ruining Princess and Branwing’s wedding. They had been very, very good that day.
“There you are then,” said Princess, smiling. “No problem at all.”
The little Ghastlys looked at each other, big questions on their faces. Being good seemed to be part of this Father Christmas present business, but being good was something the little Ghastlys found hard to do. Maybe that was why they had never had presents before.
They didn’t say anything because they didn’t want to upset Princess.
Chapter 2. Our Bones Look Like Silver
A group of Christmas singers and musicians stood at the corner of the street, outside Alfonso’s Restaurant. The little Ghastlys flew out to see what was happening.
“Jingle bells, jingle bells,” sang the singers.
The little Ghastlys blew the sheet music off the stands. It drifted about in the snow. The musicians smiled and carried on playing.
The little Ghastlys whirled in and out of the musical instruments. Strange wavy notes drifted down the street.
The singers carried on. “Twinkle, twinkle little star,” they sang.
The little Ghastlys thumped the cymbals. The cymbals tinkled softly.
They wanted to make the instruments sound loud and scary but they couldn’t do it.
The shoppers stopped, listened, and smiled.
“We wish you a merry Christmas,” sang the singers.
“It’s this Christmas thing again,” said Bubble.
“It’s making everyone happy,” said Trouble.
“It does feel a little bit magical,” said Puff.
They drifted back to the Ghostly Ghastly House.
The Under-Under-Chef from Alfonso’s Restaurant came in with mince pies for the visitors to the house. He used to the Washing-Up-and-Odd-Job Boy but he had been promoted when Alfonso won a dishwasher – with help from the little Ghastlys.
Christmas Tea with the Skeletons was popular, with cinnamon tea and the Under-Under-Chef’s freshly-made pies and cakes. Visitors flocked in, rosy cheeked, rubbing their hands and putting their entrance money in a bowl. The old building had a warm festive feeling and smelt of wood fire, wax candles and cinnamon tea.
Mr and Mrs Ghastly sang Christmas carols instead of their usual opera songs. The visitors joined in.
The little Ghastlys sat on the mantelpiece blowing at the holey stockings, watching and wondering what would happen that night.
Would Father Christmas know that just sometimes they hadn’t been good?
Even though they had often been very good.
The afternoon grew dark and the visitors and the Under-Under-Chef went home. Branwing closed the front door. Mr Ghastly said to Mrs Ghastly, “My dear, as it’s Christmas Eve, let’s invite our ghostly fans here instead of giving a concert in the woods. I could tell ghost stories and you could sing for them.”
“Certainly,” said Mrs Ghastly. She gave a high “Tra-la-la” to show her voice was still strong and clear, even though she had been singing for the visitors all day.
The little Ghastlys made faces at each other. They didn’t like opera, and their mum’s “Tra-la-las” sounded very much like opera.
Mr Ghastly floated off and came back with a whole crowd of ghosts. They streamed in and very nearly filled up the long room of the Ghostly Ghastly House.
They admired the spiders’ webs, the dusty curtains and floated in and of the glass cases left over from when the building was a museum.
Then they settled down to listen to Mr Ghastly’s ghost stories.
The round full moon shone in through the window. Princess changed into a were-dog and curled up on the rug in front of the fire. Branwing sat next to her, with her head in his lap.
The skeletons looked out of the window. They liked the moon, especially when it was a round full moon. They got to their bony feet and hopped and waddled into the
back garden.
The garden was hushed and quiet. Moonlight shimmered through the gaps in their bones.
They held their arms and hands out. They liked the way the moon made them shine.
“Our bones look like silver,” said Bones.
“It’s magic,” said Rattle.
“Hush,” whispered Smash, putting her head to one side.
“I hear bells,” said Bones.
“Where are the bells?” asked Rattle.
“There,” said Smash, pointing one bony finger upwards.
A sleigh swooped out of the sky. It was pulled by six reindeer. It shone as silver as the skeletons’ bones.
It landed gently on the roof of the Ghostly Ghastly House.
The skeletons heard a deep laugh and a “Ho, ho, ho!” A large person with a long white beard jumped out of the sleigh.
He stood on the roof and looked around him.
He took off his hood and scratched his head.
Then he stroked his long white beard. The reindeer shuffled their feet and snorted.
He put his head to one side and said, “Hmmm.” He slowly shook his beard. “Are there children in this house?” He stroked his beard again. “Noooo, I don’t think so. My whiskers aren’t twitching and they would if there were children.”
He patted the front reindeer, waved to the skeletons, called out “Merry Christmas!” and jumped back onto the sleigh.
As the sleigh took off, a sack at the back burst open.
Presents fell out, and turned to snow as they dropped towards the ground.
Something or someone else slipped out. The something or someone else slid down the roof and landed at the skeletons’ feet. They stared down at two big round eyes, a heart-shaped nose and a pair of quivering ears.
Chapter 3. Come Back Father Christmas!
The legs of a baby reindeer spread out in four directions around his white and brown body and head.
The reindeer got himself up straight, one leg at a time.
He peered through the bones in the skeletons’ chests and arms.
“You’re funny,” he said. In a wobbly way, he trotted to the back door of the Ghostly Ghastly House. “What’s here?” he said, and pushed the door wide open. Slipping a little on the stone floor, he poked his nose into a kitchen cupboard. He hooked out a mince pie and gobbled it up. He nuzzled open another cupboard, disturbing a mouse munching on a piece of yellow soap.
The skeletons looked at each other.
“Reindeer don’t usually speak,” said Bones.
“It’s magic,” said Rattle.
“Like the moon and Father Christmas and the sleigh and the presents,” said Smash.
“I’m hungry,” said the reindeer. He snuffled round for more food. A pile of tins, pots and cups toppled over with a crash. The reindeer pushed his head into a box of icing sugar just as Princess, Branwing, the little Ghastlys and the whole crowd of ghostly fans burst into the kitchen.
“Is this our Christmas present?” cried the little Ghastlys buzzing round the reindeer’s head. His nose and face were covered in icing sugar. He looked at the ghosts and burst into tears, crying more loudly then anyone would have thought possible for such a small reindeer.
“Ghosts!” he cried. “I don’t like ghosts. I want my mummy.”
Princess, who was still a were-dog, snuffled up to him and gave a few short barks.
Branwing knew were-dog language now. He explained, “Princess says he’s not a present. He’s lost.”
The skeletons told the others how they had seen the reindeer fall from Father Christmas’s sleigh. Branwing took the baby reindeer into the long room to warm by the fire. Princess licked away his tears and cleaned his face.
“He must have got into the sack by mistake,” said Bubble.
“Wanted an adventure,” said Trouble, nodding.
“We’ll get Father Christmas to take him home to his mummy,” said Puff.
“How?” asked Mrs Ghastly. “Father Christmas doesn’t visit ghost houses.”
“You are right, as always, my dear,” said Mr Ghastly. “It will be very, very difficult to get him here.”
“That’s right. Father Christmas didn’t come in at all,” said Bubble.
“So there aren’t any presents for us,” said Trouble.
The ghostly fans all went, “Awwww!”
“That’s okay,” said Puff. “He’s never left any before so we didn’t think he would this year.”
The little Ghastlys went into a huddle. Then they turned to the others.
“Let’s go outside and call for him,” said Bubble.
“He’ll hear us if we all shout,” said Trouble.
“We’ll all call together,” said Puff, “and then he’ll come back for the reindeer.”
The ghostly fans nodded and said, “Good idea,” and “Clever little Ghastlys!” They followed them out into the street. The little Ghastlys counted, “One, two three!” and they shouted together:
“Father Christmas! Father Christmas! Come back Father Christmas!”
Windows opened up and down the street. People in pyjamas peered out.
“Keep quiet out there!”
“You’ll wake the children up.”
“It’s much too early!”
“Sorry!” said the ghosts. They drifted back into the Ghostly Ghastly House.
“Well, that didn’t work,” said Bubble.
“Let’s all go and look for him,” said Trouble.
“There’s so many of us, we’ll be able to look everywhere,” said Puff.
“Good idea!” said the ghostly fans. They blew out of the back door, the front door, the letterbox and even a crack in the window to search the skies for Father Christmas.
Princess shook her head. She gave one long bark and several short ones.
“Princess says it’s no use,” explained Branwing. “Father Christmas is magic and can’t be found like a normal person. Not even all those ghosts will find him.”
The baby reindeer jumped up and scuttled round the room, snuffling out the spiders, and sending up clouds of dust. He jumped happily at the curtains. He pulled them and they slipped off their rail and covered him up. Princess gently tugged the curtains off. He bounced about again, and skidded under the table making cups, plates and silver jiggle and slide. He only calmed down when the skeletons gave him a mince pie to munch on.
“What a terrible child!” said Mrs Ghastly.
“My dear, he must go before he wrecks our lovely home,” said Mr Ghastly.
“Princess says the ghosts won’t find Father Christmas,” said Bubble.
“I bet we can,” said Trouble.
“Where does Father Christmas live?” asked Puff.
Princess barked.
“The North Pole,” said Branwing.
“We can go to the North Pole,” said Bubble.
“We can go anywhere,” said Trouble.
“Come on Ghastlys!” cried Puff.
Princess jumped up and barked at them.
“Bye, Princess,” said Bubble.
“See you later, Mum and Dad,” said Trouble.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find Father Christmas,” said Puff.
“Wait!” cried Branwing, running after them. “Princess says Father Christmas won’t be there, not tonight…” He was too late. The little Ghastlys had whisked themselves out of the back door and up into the sky.
Chapter 4. The World Far Below
The little Ghastlys soared higher and higher. First they saw the town below, with the Town Hall in the centre, then the castle and the woods, and down to the sea. Then, as they went higher, they saw the British Isles beneath them with Ireland next to it. Patches of light glittered where the towns and cities were. The lights grew dimmer as the Ghastlys whizzed on their way.
They flew towards the moon. The world became a globe, far below.
They turned north and flew to the very top of the world. They floated down.
Snow and white ice stretc
hed in every direction, shining in moonlight. A flag was hanging from a flagstaff. It read, “North Pole.”
Father Christmas wasn’t there, nor his house, nor anything else.
“He’s still delivering presents,” said Bubble.
“There isn’t any magic here,” said Trouble.
“We might as well go home,” said Puff. She rolled up a snow ball and threw it into a hill of snow.
The hill grew.
And grew.
And burst into a cloud of snowflakes, and as they fell, the landscape shimmed and changed.
A building appeared in front on the little Ghastlys. Snow covered the roof, and icicles hung down from the window sills and door frame.
The door was much smaller than doors normally are. A sign read “Workshop.”
The little Ghastlys grinned.
“That’s real magic!” said Bubble.
“Now let’s have some fun!” shouted Trouble.
“Come on!” said Puff.
Together, they whizzed in through a crack in the door.
They were in a huge room with a high ceiling. Low wooden work benches were laid out in straight lines; bare but battered and well-used. Empty shelves went up the side walls right to the ceiling, and on the wall by the door were racks of tools, right down to the floor.
Bubble yanked a hammer from its clip.
“Weeeoh!” she shrieked as it jumped up and down and hurtled off, with her still holding it. It bashed against the work benches, the floor, and then swooped up to the rafters.
Trouble and Puff dived after her. They caught hold of her and they all bounced round the room tapping at shelves and making them jiggle. Bubble got dizzy and dropped the hammer. It bounded away, found its clip on the wall and wriggled back in.
“Wow!” cried Bubble. “That’s what you call magic!”
They floated on down the room.
A pile of broken toys were sticking out of a large tub.
“There’s a violin,” cried Trouble, diving in. He pulled it out. The violin was bent. He scraped a bow across the string. Grating rasping noise echoed down the workshop.
“I could have played that if it wasn’t bent,” he said, dropping the violin back. “Magic doesn’t get everything right.”
Bubble dragged out a twisted silver trumpet. She blew into it and it squeaked back at her. She tossed it into the tub.
Puff hauled out a drum with a hole in it. She beat it with the sticks. It made a dull flat noise that sounded horrible. She floated through the hole and banged at the drum from inside out. It sounded even duller and flatter. She dropped the drum back.