Freaks Out! by Jean Ure

hoping, I’d see the shape of a piece of furniture, or Skye’s garden, and I’d know that was where the pencil was to be found. Only there wasn’t any mist, there weren’t any shapes, there wasn’t anything!
    Rags gave an impatient yelp. He is always very interested in what is going on, but he does expect a bit of action. So do I!
    I was just beginning to despair when I had this bright idea, thus showing that I do sometimes pay attention in science classes whatever Mrs Monteith might say to the contrary. If I put some boiling water in the mixing bowl and covered the bowl with the shawl, the water would condense and form a mist. Yay! There is always a solution to every problem if you just come at it the right way.
    I boiled the kettle and very carefully poured the water up to the halfway mark. Then I put the candle in as well, standing it on an upturneddish. I reckoned the candle would keep the water heated up and help the mists to form, as well as creating a suitable atmosphere. I felt the spirits would appreciate a bit of sandalwood. I mean, it is quite an exotic sort of scent. I am not sure where it comes from. India, maybe. Somewhere mysterious, at any rate.
    I slid back under the shawl and made a tent over the bowl. It was rather hot under there, what with the candle and the boiling water, and the smell was a bit overpowering, but sometimes, in a good cause, you have to be prepared to suffer. I wondered if there was some special spirit language you were supposed to use, or whether you could ask questions in ordinary English, except that ordinary English was all I knew so I didn’t really have much choice. I began to chant, very low:
    â€œWhere is the pencil, I’m looking for the pencil… spirits, speak! Where is the pencil?”
    Rags woofed hopefully. At last! Something was happening!
    I wasn’t actually sure that it was, but I kept on with my chanting.
    â€œWhere is the pencil… spirits, speak!”
    Suddenly, from somewhere behind me, came a ghostly wail: “Whooooo aaaaaah! The spirits speak!”
    I sprang round, sending the mixing bowl crashing to the floor.
    â€œ Tom! You idiot !”
    I screamed it at him. He stood there, grinning.
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œNothing’s going on!” Since when did Tom take any interest in other people’s activities? “I’m unblocking my sinuses, if you must know.”
    It’s what Dad does when he gets stuffed up. He says his sinuses are blocked and he has to inhale over hot water.
    Tom seemed to find it funny. He said, “So what’s all this about spirits?”
    I glared at him. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to eavesdrop?”
    â€œI wasn’t eavesdropping! I didn’t know you were down here. Is that Angel’s shawl you’re wearing?”
    â€œI’m putting it straight back,” I said. “I haven’t done anything to it!”
    â€œJust touching it’d be enough,” said Tom.
    â€œNot if she doesn’t know.”
    â€œShe’ll find out. She always does. Then you’ll be for it!”
    â€œSo don’t tell her!”
    â€œWon’t have to. She’ll just know. And you’ve broken Mum’s bowl.”
    I turned to look at it.
    â€œ And the floor’s all wet.”
    â€œWell, and whose fault is that?” I said crossly. “Coming down here making spooky noises! What are you doing down here, anyway? I thought you were upstairs?”
    â€œI was,” said Tom. “Now I’ve come down here. I suppose I can move about if I want?”
    Well, he could, but it wasn’t what he normallydid. He normally stayed in his room for hours on end. Why today ?
    â€œYou’d better mop that floor,” he said. “You know what happened last time… Mum nearly broke her neck.”
    He helped himself to something out of the fridge and went off, eating. Rags gazed wistfully