I’m Right Here

A short story from The Hauntings Of Livingstone Hall

Ebony McKenna

Copyright © 2018 Ebony McKenna

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This short story originally appeared in the anthology The Hauntings Of Livingstone Hall

1

Paradise Compton-Barr winced with embarrassment as the ceremony began. Her mother, Summer Tourmaline, lit the final candle and took her seat at the head of the table. ‘Let’s join hands and call upon those spirits present to make themselves known.’

Reaching her bejewelled fingers to those either side of her, Summer took her friends’ hands in hers. Collectively, their silver-streaked hair tangled in their beads and hooped earrings as they swayed their heads and hummed, trying to catch each other’s tunes . . . and missing.

They were getting into the vibe of the thing; making an effort.

Paradise said, ‘Please, Mum.’

Summer said, ‘I need absolute quiet.’

The women stopped humming. Even the candles behaved themselves and stopped spitting.

‘Spirits, near and far,’ Summer began, ‘we have come to listen, to share in your wisdom. We are your friends, you are welcome.’

They started humming again, a little more in synch this time. If they practised a little more, they might even find a tune. Maybe start a choir. That’s what parents of a certain age did, didn’t they? Or they knitted. Or they organised things for the community. Or they somethinged.

Beverley shivered. ‘Oooh, Edith, I feel a chill.’

‘I don’t answer to that name any more,’ Summer corrected.

‘You’re not at the ashram any more either,’ Paradise said.

Beverly said, ‘Sorry E- I mean, Summer.’

‘Focus, ladies,’ Summer said.

2

Slipping away from her mother, formerly known as Edith Compton-Barr, Paradise set about exploring what remained of grand old Livingstone Hall. Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as she came to the foot of the elegant staircase. Even in the low light, the decades of neglect were evident. Worn timbers, rotten wood, missing balustrades and a weird smell. Seasons of rain and damp were taking their toll on this forgotten corner of Gloucestershire.

Merely looking at those stairs filled Paradise with dread, so she darted past them to get to the ballroom.

A thrill stole through her as she walked through the paint-flaked archway, which opened out to the magnificent space. There was something so magical about a house being big enough and grand enough to hold balls. The people who must have danced here in a sumptuous time gone by.

The new moon shone no extra light; probably for the best as the signs of dilapidation broke Paradise’s heart.

She slipped back down the hall and peered through a gap in the door to check on her mother and friends. They were doling out tarot cards now, turning them over one by one. Ah well, they weren’t harming anyone, were they?

* * *

Leaving the women to their clairvoyant playdate, Paradise backed away and found herself at the foot of the stairs again.

‘Maybe I can do this?’ Tempting fate, she touched the first step with her left foot. Chills spread through her and she instantly pulled back and began walking the other way. The kitchen was where she needed to be anyway, at the other end of Livingstone Hall.

Careful to avoid the holes in the floor, she stepped in a zig-zag fashion. The damage looked worse here. The weather caused holes, allowing animals in, which continued the cycle of decay.

A familiar tapping came from a nearby window, sending a thrill of delight through her. It was a scullery, or dairy, or some kind of room used by servants. Paradise had never really understood what all the rooms were originally for. Now they were home to squatters and tramps in summer and miserably cold animals in winter.

Paradise turned to the window and looked into the face of a young gentleman. With a whisper of delight she said, ‘Freddy, you’re here!’ Then she lifted the window sash to let him in.

‘It’s the new moon, isn’t it?’ He climbed through and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’

His heavily starched shirtfront puckered under the onslaught of their embrace. Fibres from Paradise’s green mohair sweater tangled with his buttons as they snuggled.

The ruins of the old house floated away in her imagination as delicious, vibrant kisses filled Paradise with joy. Absorbed in her own little universe, she luxuriated in the perfect bubble made for just the two of them. It may have been cold and dark, but Freddy always brought dazzling warmth and light into her life.

Once they’d thoroughly completed their greeting, they set about exploring the dark old building.

‘My dear, I do believe I hear music,’ Freddy said, ‘It would be most remiss if I did not beg of you one dance.’

‘Then let’s hit the disco.’

* * *

As they entered the ballroom, the decay of neglect fell away, replaced with imagined grandeur. A quartet played in the corner, a chandelier sparkled above, beautifully turned out couples waltzed around the room in perfect symmetry. Gentlemen in vintage suits and white ties; ladies in graceful gowns, tiaras and pearls.

It was so easy to pretend, now she had Freddy by her side, that she wore an elegant ballgown of the finest . . . well, whatever material they made ball gowns from. Something a lot more flowy than her orange corduroy skirt, heavy boots and long-sleeved green sweater. Her pretend dress floated diaphanously about her legs as Freddy led her through the turns. A little more imagination and he too changed from his footman attire into a form-fitting tuxedo and shiny black shoes.

When their lovely dance finished, the chandelier dimmed, the other dancers melted away and she and Freddy held each other. More kisses followed, because although dancing with Freddy was utterly wonderful, their time together was limited. When her mother and her friends packed up, he’d leave her.

3

As they left the ballroom, they checked on Paradise’s mother’s progress.

‘She has new hair, I see?’ Freddy said.

‘It’s called a lavender rinse.’

‘Suits her.’

‘You’re so sweet.’ Paradise said. ‘I should give it a try myself.’

‘Your hair is perfect,’ Freddy said, twirling a long tress in his fingers. ‘Don’t ever change it.’

Paradise could have swooned, but she’d already seen what stage her mother and her friends were up to. ‘We only have a little time left, they’re on the teacups already.’

The women were pouring tea from an insulated flask, eight cups for the four of them.

‘Just one cup, dear,’ Miranda said. ‘I don’t seem to be able to hold on as long as I used to.’

‘But Miranda, the first cup is for the present and the second is the future,’ her mother protested.

‘Then somebody better see some decent plumbing getting installed here in the very near future.’

‘I use the bushes,’ Christine said.

* * *

Definitely time to leave them to it, Paradise thought, as she took Freddy’s hand and drew him into the library. The bookshelves were empty, just like the rest of the house, but their imagination soon filled it with books from floor to ceiling. Plump, leather-bound sofas appeared near the fireplace. Then the mantle repaired, the peeling wallpaper renewed and the windows were dressed with curtains and sashes.

‘And a nice cosy fire for us to snuggle,’ Freddy said. They sat before its glow. ‘I do so look forward to our time together,’ Freddy said.

‘Me too,’ Paradise said. ‘But it’s always so short.’

‘True, although we do manage to achieve a great deal. Dancing, redecorating, not to mention the frequent stops for beautiful kisses.’

‘Like this?’ She turned her face towards him and pressed her lips to his.

A little while later he said, ‘Oh yes.’

* * *

More beautiful kisses ensued, just the way Paradise liked them.

Suddenly Freddy pulled away. ‘Something’s wrong.’

‘What’s happening?’ Hope drained from Paradise like water down a plughole as Freddy dissolved in front of her eyes. ‘Don’t go!’

He cried, ‘She’s sending me back!’ as he vanished.

‘It’s too early!’ Paradise cried to the now empty room. A few minutes ago, they were surrounded with sumptuous furnishings and a warm fire. Now she sat alone, on the warped floorboards of a faded room. The fireplace lay cold and unused for decades. The previous crackling of firewood replaced with the sound of women packing up in the room next door.

4

Paradise charged in and screamed at her mother, ‘Why did you send him away?’

Ignoring her daughter, Summer slid the cards into their box and sighed. ‘I guess a part of me always thought it would work one day.’

‘It was working,’ Paradise protested. ‘It was working great! You really are psychic, Mum, you can really do this!’

‘If it softens the blow, I have enjoyed our visits,’ Miranda said, then crossed one leg in front of the other as she held back a sneeze. ‘Just, y’know, not the lack of facilities.’

‘Mum, please, listen. You really are good at this. You just don’t know it!’ But her mother continued to pack up.

Christine returned with the empty thermos and offered it to Miranda. ‘You can go in here if you’re desperate.’

‘I’ll hold on.’

‘Suit yourself.’

Paradise stamped her foot but they took no notice. ‘You’re impossible! The lot of you! The one tiny bit of fun I get to have and you’re ruining it.’ Frustration roared through her at the thought of her mother giving up entirely. No more psychic fun meant no more visits to Livingstone Hall and no more Freddy.

No way!

* * *

Charging from the room, Paradise ran to the staircase. Coldness poured through her; the stairs repelled her. She clenched her hands, gritted her teeth and charged up the steps.

The third step creaked woefully, but she had no time to examine it. Part of the way up, she opened her eyes just to make sure that she’d really done it. Then she tripped on the landing with a crashing thud.

‘Did anyone hear that?’ Christine asked from below.

‘What dear?’

Paradise stomped her feet to make as much noise as possible. She’d congratulate herself on conquering her fear of the stairs later; she had a bigger fear to contend with – never seeing Freddy again.

She reached the upstairs bedroom, the one directly above where her mother and friends were packing up. Paradise stomped about, imitating a herd of angry elephants. Anything to make her mother believe she’d made contact with the other side. Then she flattened herself to the floor, listening for voices from below.

Beverley said, ‘There it is again.’

Christine asked, ‘What?’

Beverley again, ‘I thought I heard something?’

Paradise bashed her fists on the boards to make a ruckus.

‘Nobody move,’ her mother said. ‘Beverley stop for a moment, I want everyone to be completely still. Is there anybody else here in the house?’

Paradise bashed the floor twice.

From below, Miranda called out, ‘One tap for no, two taps for yes.’

Paradise contemplated bashing the floor just once, but this was no time for jokes. If she didn’t convince the women they’d made contact, they’d never come back. She bashed the floor twice.

‘Quick, Ed-I mean Summer, set the board up.’ Beverley said.

5

Paradise charged out of the room and made for the stairs. Terror turned her body to ice. Something about these stairs turned her guts to water. No time for fear, she had to make it down and join the women at the ouija board. She took a deep breath, grabbed what was left of the handrail and charged. Her hand slipped straight off the wood – the long mohair sleeve offering no purchase. She staggered and grabbed for anything to stop her fall as her legs gave way. Her bottom landed with a heavy thud on the step, then she kept falling, boom, boom, boom, boom all the way to the third last step, which creaked and groaned under her weight. It should have been incredibly painful, but there wasn’t time for that. Pulling herself together, she crept back into the front room where the women had re-lit several candles and had the board set up.

The women each had a finger on the token. Paradise snuck between her mother and Beverley, squished her finger into place and pushed the token towards the word ‘yes’ in the top corner.

‘Who moved that?’ Summer demanded.

Paradise kept her face calm and shook her head. Nobody spoke.

Slowly, Paradise moved the token around the board. She managed to spell out, ‘Fred’. It would have been ‘Freddy’ but this was taking longer than she thought.

Everyone took their hands away, so Paradise followed suit.

Beverley demanded, ‘Who did that?’

Christine said, ‘I swear I didn’t do it.’

All eyes turned to Christine.

Summer said, ‘Fred as in Fred your first husband?’

Damn. Frederick was one of Christine’s husbands. Stupid common name.

The women put their fingers on the token again and called for Christine’s late husband to make himself known.

* * *

Paradise walked out of the room. The chance of ever seeing her Freddy again slipping through her fingers.

‘Bravo!’ A familiar voice said.

‘Freddy!’ There he was standing at the bottom of the stairs. She ran and embraced him, as if this might be her very last chance. ‘I thought I’d ruined it all, that they’d called the wrong person, but I got it right!’

‘Yes and no,’ he said as they walked arm in arm towards the gap in the door to check on the women. ‘It doesn’t really matter who they called, it’s more the vibe of the thing, as your mother says.’

Paradise squeezed him extra hard with love. ‘They’ll still pack up at some point tonight.’ She sighed.

‘That is inevitable. But you did brilliantly. Now they’ve had a taste of success, I’m sure they’ll be back on a regular basis.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘Quite sure.’

Paradise wrinkled her nose. ‘How do you know?’

Freddy smiled, ‘Because I’m psychic, don’t you know?’ Then he kissed her again, properly this time.

* * *

Nearly an hour later, as the night closed in, Summer Tourmaline and her friends packed up their belongings. Miranda came in from outside with a much more relaxed expression and helped stack things into baskets.

‘This is our best visit yet,’ Summer declared as she wrapped the board in an old pillowslip. ‘I can’t believe I came so close to giving up.’

Paradise sighed. ‘You did good, Mum.’

‘Same time next month?’ Beverley asked.

‘Definitely,’ Christine said with a giggle. ‘I’ll bring a photo of Frederick next time. Might help us make better contact.’

‘Good idea,’ Summer said.

‘We should all bring pictures next time,’ Beverley said.

‘What if we get really good at having a séance and they all turn up?’ Christine asked.

‘That’s a worry,’ Beverley said, ‘You have outlived so many husbands.’

‘I’d hardly call three ‘so many’,’ Christine said.

Miranda turned to Summer, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Just a little sad, that’s all.’ Summer sniffed and blinked rapidly. ‘The pictures at home are covered in dust. I can’t bear to touch them.’

Uh, oh, Paradise knew that look. The stoic one her mother borrowed for such occasions.

‘We’ll get there,’ Beverley gave Summer a warm hug. ‘We had a breakthrough this time.’

‘If it helps, I think you did really well too,’ Paradise said.

‘Thanks,’ Mum said. ‘It just gets so hard to keep going sometimes.’

‘We’ll get there,’ Beverley repeated as they merged into a four-way hug.

Paradise stepped back to allow the women their moment. She wiped her cheek, but there was nothing on her finger when she pulled it away, just an echo of tears that used to come.

Summer stepped out of the hug and wiped away a very real tear on her face. ‘I should be happy that we made progress, so why do I feel so sad?’

‘Bittersweet memories,’ Miranda said.

‘We’ll always be here for you,’ Christine said, speaking for everyone.

Paradise said. ‘I’ll always be here too, Mum. You know I’m right here.’

* * *

It took only a few minutes for the four women to remove the last traces of their activities from Livingstone Hall.

From the window, Paradise waved them off. ‘See you next month,’ she said to the car’s tail lights. ‘I’ll be right here, waiting.’ A deep sigh rolled through her. Twenty-nine days of solitude until she could see Freddy again, and her mother, and her hippy dippy friends.

She’d cope. She’d manage somehow.

Turning, Paradise beamed with delight. There was Freddy, waiting for her. He was standing beside new people. No, wait, they weren’t people, they only used to be people.

Now they were ghosts, just like her.

After she and Freddy embraced again, she looked to the others. ‘Where did you two come from?’

There was a short skinny boy, who looked like he could be Oliver Twist in a village play. Beside him was a tall older man, wearing a butler’s suit from around Freddy’s era.

He made a polite bow. ‘I am Hector, at your service Miss . . . ?’

‘Compton-Barr,’ she held out her hand to shake his, ‘Paradise Compton-Barr.’

‘That explains it,’ he shook her hand in greeting. ‘Your form is strong, because of your connection to the family.’

Paradise shrugged. ‘I guess so. How many more of you are there? I can hear faint voices. And . . . this is going to sound rather odd, but is it possible there’s a horse galloping about in the attic?’

* * *

I hope you’ve had a lovely time getting to know Freddy and Paradise. I wrote their story with a goofy grin on my face the whole time. If you’d like to read more about the goings on at Livingstone Hall, check out The Hauntings of Livingstone Hall, available now at your favourite store.

About the Author

Ebony McKenna is the author of many short stories and seven young adult novels, including the four-part Ondine series about a teen girl whose pet ferret begins talking with a Scottish accent.

In reading order they are:

The Summer of Shambles

The Autumn Palace

The Winter of Magic

The Spring Revolution

Her stand-alone novels are:

1916-ish

Robyn and the Hoodettes

The Girl and The Ghost - winner 2018 RWAustralia Romantic Book of the Year.

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The Summer of Shambles: Ondine Book 1

Chapter 1

This is a great story, and like a good many great stories before it, it begins with a teenage girl. Her name is Ondine de Groot and she is fifteen. She has long dark hair past her shoulders, which is neat for about five minutes before it gets messy and stringy. Her eyes are dark brown and pretty, except when she’s rolling them. She also adores small animals, of which you will hear more in a moment.

Ondine’s story began exactly twelve years ago today, in a place called Brugel. 1 It’s a pretty country in Eastern Europe, which is well known for its old buildings. 2.

On the day this story began, Ondine was nearing the end of her time at Psychic Summercamp. As the name suggests, Psychic Summercamp was a place for students to spend their summer holidays developing their psychic and other extra-sensory skills. In some countries, students spend their holidays at adventure camp, fat camp or mathletics. In Brugel, they do things differently.

Back to Ondine. She was in a dormitory with three other girls (who were asleep on account of it being so early in the morning) and she awoke with a jolt.

“Saturn’s rings! It’s six o’clock! I’ve slept through the astral projection exam.” Ondine sat up and pushed the covers away. The bed’s throw blanket fell to the floor, smothering the furry black ferret that lay curled up beneath.

“Melody, wake up,” she said, nudging the sleeping girl in the bunk above her. “What happened in the astral exam?”

It took Melody a few more nudges to wake up. Yawning, she swiped her mousy-blonde hair from her face, rubbed the sleep from her eyes and inspected it, then stopped as she realized she had an audience.

“Ah, sorry.” Melody looked embarrassed as she blinked herself awake. “What’s going on, what time is it? The sun isn’t even up.” The psychic lessons didn’t seem to have worked very well on her either.

“Shh, you’ll wake the others,” Ondine said. “Now, quick, what happened in the astral?”

“I . . . I don’t know. I must have slept through it!” Melody’s face crumpled and she made ready to cry. “I’m going to fail, aren’t I?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fail more than you.” As Ondine looked around the room, she spotted the handle of her suitcase poking out from under her bed. It gave her an idea. “This entire thing is a waste of time, and a waste of our summer holidays. We’re supposed to be having fun with boys and falling in love, not studying. I’m going to run away to home.”

A great many girls of Ondine’s age would love to run away from home, but Ondine was the other way around. She’d had it up to here (hold your hand at eyebrow level) with the whole psychic thing and knew it was time to quit.

And another thing, how was she supposed to have fun and meet cute boys if she spent her school holidays in another kind of school?

While Melody watched the door for teachers, Ondine packed up her clothes and her gimgaws and doohickie whatsits and zipped the case closed. 3.

“Shouldn’t you tell Mrs Howser you’re leaving?” Melody asked.

“Pfft. She’s the psychic one, why should I bother?” Ondine looked at the sleeping forms of her remaining roommates. “You can tell the other two when they wake up.”

“How will you get home?” Melody asked.

Valid question. Psychic Summercamp was located on the outskirts of Brugel’s capital city, Venzelemma, and Ondine’s family lived right over on the other side.

“There’s a bus stop down the end of the street, so I’ll take that to central station. Then I’ll get the train the rest of the way home.” Ondine sounded pleased with her plan as she lifted the faux-fur-throw off the ferret and folded it into a messy rectangle-ish shape on the end of her bed.

The throw, not the animal. Ferrets don’t fold so well.

“What about Shambles?” Melody asked, looking at the sleeping animal on the ground.

Oh dear. Ondine hadn’t given much thought to the ferret, because she didn’t think the creature should be coming with her. Ondine was more your fluffy kitten-y type of girl, so she hadn’t given much attention that morning to the long and skinny bundle of black. Turning up at home, unannounced, before Summercamp finished would give her family enough of a fright. Turning up unannounced with a weasel in her hands might finish her mother right off.

“He’s a sweet thing, and he’s really taken to you.” Melody’s eyes were bright with possibilities.

“You’re right,” Ondine agreed.

During the weeks at camp, Ondine and Shambles the ferret had become unlikely buddies. He’d turned up one day and made himself at home, following Ondine about. 4. He’d even come to classes with her. The thought of abandoning the little fella to the craziness of Summercamp and Mrs Howser made something twist in her tummy. Probably guilt. A bit of hunger too.

Then Shambles the ferret woke up, spun around a few times and stood up on his hind legs, looking like an elongated, begging puppy. If puppies had pointy noses, long whiskers and sharp teeth.

“And nobody else got a pet while they were here,” Melody said. “You were really lucky.”

Hmmm, what to do? It didn’t sit right with her conscience to leave him.

“I’ll take him with me and find him a good home,” Ondine said, scooping up the creature and tucking him into the crook of her arm. “Shambles, you’re going to have to behave yourself or I’ll leave you on the bus.” It was her way of trying to sound stroppy. The little fella was pretty cute once you got to know him.

* * *

So that’s how Ondine came to leave Psychic Summercamp on that warm summer’s morning, with a ferret wrapped around her neck like a scarf and the scent of geraniums and lavender in her nostrils as she walked along the flower-studded footpath to the bus stop. 5.

The wind blew her hair in wild directions, whipping at her lips and eyes. There was nothing she could do to prevent it; she needed both hands to carry her heavy case. Not even a spare hand for Shambles – he hung on to her collar.

It wasn’t until Ondine got off the bus and reached Venzelemma’s crowded central train station that the ferret spoke.

“Thank gooniss for tha–, I’m all bumpy and broke,” Shambles said with a deep Scottish accent, then climbed on to her head to get a better view. “Progress! The train’ll be here in a minute. When we get tae yer hoose we can eet, I’m fair starven.”

Ondine gasped and dropped her case on the platform in shock. Because, make no mistake about it, there was definitely a man’s voice coming from the ferret. Sure, summer was all about having fun and meeting boys, but not this kind!

Quickly, she found a place to sit down, then hauled Shambles into her hands to have a good look at him, all the time wondering if she’d gone a bit . . . funny.

-Interlude-

What and where is Brugel?

(Source: Brugelwiki.org.bu)

BRUGEL (pron. Broo-gl) Officially: The Serene Duchy of Brugel. Brugel is a small country in Eastern Europe. It is the only country in the world with a hexagonal flag.

It has a single house of parliament, the Dentate (the place with teeth).

The First Minister is the head of government. The Duke of Brugel is the head of state.

Brugel is at the crossroads of old and new Europe. Previously part of the USSR, Brugel declared independence in 1991 and shares its northern and eastern borders with Slaegal, its western and southern borders with Craviç and holds on with its fingertips to an acreage of beach along The Black Sea. The capital and largest city is Venzelemma.

The Brugel language is derived from an earlier form of English. This came about after many Jutes, Angles and Saxons took a wrong turn in the fifth century and found themselves at the Black Sea. [Citation needed]

Brugel has survived through many hardships, having been annexed into the Constantine, Austro-Hungarian, Prussian and Holy Roman empires at various – and mercifully short – times in history. In the 1950s Soviet tanks often rumbled through the main streets of Venzelemma – on their way to somewhere else.

Any rumours you may have heard about Brugel are probably true. All psychics and mediums can trace their DNA to the foothills of Brugel. The countryside is the birthplace of gypsy folklore, and fairy tales and talking animals are interwoven in daily life. This is a country where the strange and unusual are not only tolerated, they are encouraged.

-End interlude-

“I’ve lost my mind,” Ondine said. A furtive look around told her nobody else was paying them any attention. The station was full of grey-looking people heading off to work for the day, completely unaware of the teenage girl with scruffy brown hair holding a black ferret.

“Nae ye havnae, but ye can hear me,” Shambles added in his thick brogue. “Looks like somethin’ rubbed off at Summercamp.”

Ondine rolled her eyes. “Ma will be so pleased. All that gypsy blood in my veins and all I can do is talk to rodents.”

“I’m nae rodent, ye bampot, I’m a ferret. Completely different. Right then, hae comes the loco. Let me at yer neck.” 6.

“But . . . but!” Ondine’s brain turned to slurry as she tried to make sense of this talking animal. All the while heated embarrassment roared up her neck and face.

“No backing out now, lassie. I’m coming with ye. Now grab the case and on we get. And upon my honour, I promise to behave.”

What could she do? It was still such a shock that her new furry friend could talk. And why could she only hear him now? At that moment the train pulled in and Ondine had no more time for prevaricating. 7.

It was a tense ride home on the train, what with the uncomfortable wooden seats, a talking ferret wriggling about her neck and passengers giving her very strange looks. As soon as the engine arrived at her home station, Ondine grabbed Shambles away from her throat and put him on her shoulder.

His little paws reached up to the top of her head. He stretched and had a good look around.

“Oh, so ye live in this part of town, how very la-de-dah! No wonder yer parents have money tae pish away on psychic dafties.”

By this point you may have formed the opinion that Shambles was not your run-of-the-mill ferret, and you’d be right. You may have also formed the opinion

that he’s saucy and cheeky, and you’d be right there too. But if you think he’s nothing but trouble, you’re wrong, although he does give that impression.

As keen as she was to race home, Ondine waited for the train to clear the station before she stepped off the end of the platform to walk across the tracks, looking both ways to make sure no other trains were coming. The pedestrian overpass would have been safer, but it was closed to the public until the official opening.

“Pinch me, I’m dreaming,” Shambles said as he noted the direction Ondine was taking him. “The girl lives in a pub!”

The ferret spoke the truth. Ondine’s parents ran a hotel and public bar on the main road in a pretty swanky part of Venzelemma. Three floors tall and painted bright blue and white, the hotel towered over the neighbourhood. Even the newer buildings looked like old buildings to help them blend in.

The Station Hotel prided itself on being a family business, where everyone pitched in and helped. Not yet old enough to serve alcohol in the bar, Ondine worked in the dining room and helped out behind the scenes. A lot.

Most people think if your parents run a restaurant, you eat delicious five-course meals every night.

You don’t.

Ask anyone what it’s really like and they’ll tell you it’s nothing but work. Washing dishes, ironing tablecloths, cleaning the floors, chopping wood for the fire, keeping the fire going all night, preparing food. Look, the list just goes on and on.

But for Ondine, working at home with her parents appealed more than howling at the moon or looking for omens in tea leaves or reading palms or any other great wastes of time that sucked away her precious summer holidays.

“Wait up, we cannae just walk in. Yer mother will fair faint,” Shambles said, holding on to Ondine’s shoulder.

That made Ondine stop for a moment and think about her plan of action.

“She’ll be glad to see me,” she said. “Although I don’t know what she’ll make of you. She’s not the pet kind.”

“I’m nobody’s pet!” Shambles clenched his paws on his hips in frustration. “And dinnae tell no one about finding a new home for me, either. Yer the first person who’s heard me in scores of years, mebbe more. I’ve lost count. I need ye tae stick around and help me, because I think I’m losing my social skills.” 8.

Laughter caught in Ondine’s throat. It had been a trying morning to say the least, and she wasn’t used to lugging heavy things for long distances. Plates piled high with food were fine, because they only needed carrying from the kitchen to the dining-room tables. Heavy suitcases were another matter entirely.

“Are all ferrets like you? I mean, how come you can talk?”

“Because I’m nawt a real ferret. I’m Hamish McPhee, but I offended a witch and she turned me thus. I’ve bin like this for years. Powerful magic it was and all. Haven’t a gray hair on me. Thank gooniss she used a staying spell.”

Ondine’s eyes widened in surprise. “You offended a witch? Wow!”

“Aye. She took it badly.”

“You must have done something really awful to her.” Her mind reeled as she wondered what sort of offensive thing might make a witch turn a regular man into a weasel. A regular man! Ondine’s memory leapt back to her time in Summercamp, when she’d allowed Shambles to sleep in her dorm. Well, that was before she’d known what he really was. Now that she did know, there’d be no more of that!

“Aye, and I’m deeply ashamed,” Shambles admitted.

“What did you do then? And is this witch about to descend on me and demand the return of her familiar?” 9.

“I’m no familiar! They’re silly animals turned into fat-belly pets. I’ll have ye remember I’m a regular man living in reduced circumstances.”

“You’re stalling. What did you do?”

“Aw, I was a right neep. 10. I was supposed tae partner her at a debutante ball. Ye know the ones, where the girls get all dolled up and look like brides? And then they get presented to some fancy-pants man, like a mayor or a duke.”

“It must have been a while ago. Hardly anyone does a deb any more.”

“This girl took it real serious-like. And I didnae. I wasnae yer ideal partner, on account of the fact I had ma first taste of plütz that night.” 11

His tone told Ondine he felt truly sorry for his actions, and she started to feel a bit sorry for him in return.

By now they’d reached the back door. Ondine fished around in her pockets for her key and made ready to let them in. The smell of fried breakfast foods wafted from the kitchen windows, making her tummy rumble.

“Aw, breakfast. I could murder some big fatty sausage,” Shambles said, his tongue licking the fur around his mouth in anticipation.

“You’re stalling,” Ondine said. “Tell me what happened, and then we’ll have food.”

“Ooooh, listen to ye! All grown up and sophisticated, like,” Shambles teased, then Ondine stared daggers at him and his voice dropped to a sombre tone. “I didn’t know she was a real witch, otherwise I wouldnae called her one. But she was getting snippy with me, so I ducked off and had some more plütz. It’s like peaches and rocket fuel that stuff, and I’ve nawt touched it since. Then she got really pished with me when I stepped on her feet and fell over. I ripped the lacy bit at the bottom of her skirt and then she got really mad. She called me pond scum. I called her a witch. She looked like her head might explode. She said, ‘You’re damn right I’m a witch. And you’re nothing better than a low-down weasel,’ and then she said I could stay like that.”

“Wow. And she turned you into a ferret, right there in front of everyone?”

“Naw, she turned me into a donkey! Of course she turned me into a ferret! She was fair affronted.”

Ondine gaped at him.

“Ferrets are smaller than weasels, but we’re the same family, so maybe I am a low-down weasel after all. But between us, I prefer ferret.”

Ondine giggled. “I think she did the right thing. Debutante balls take a lot of organizing, and a lot of rehearsals. I think you should apologize to this poor girl as soon as possible. Then you might be yourself again.” The thought of Shambles becoming himself made her wonder what he might look like if he were a real man again? His accent alone made her grin.

Opening the back door, the pungent odour of fried meats and old beer greeted them.

“Aww, that’s the good stuff.” Shambles took a noisy sniff.

“Ondine! What are you doing home?” her mother called out from the hallway.

“Hi, Ma, you look great. Have you lost weight? I love your hair.” Her mother looked as plump as ever, but her new burgundy-brown hairdo skimmed her face and made her look thinner. Flattery ought to put her in a good mood. Just to be on the safe side, Ondine adopted what she hoped was a pleading look on her face. “I . . . I got homesick so I came back.”

Ma stopped mid-stride, mouth open, when she saw the ferret on her daughter’s shoulder. “Heavens above! What is that?” She pointed to the ferret with one hand, while the other patted the ample bosom above her heart, as if the beating organ might leap from her chest.

It called for quick thinking on Ondine’s part, because her mother could be either furious or happy about the situation.

“He’s really tame. Please, Ma, let me keep him?”

But Shambles was having none of it. “That’s the one!” he cried out, finally finding his voice. He scurried down the back of Ondine’s vest. “That’s the witch!”

Footnotes:

1: One of the dozens of former Eastern Bloc countries, Brugel is mostly famous for three things. It has the only hexagonal flag in the world. Its main export is plütz, which is a tasty yet highly volatile vodka made from peaches. It has also never won the Eurovision Song Contest.

2: From a strategic point of view, Brugel was so insignificant during World War Two that neither the Allies nor the Axis bothered to bomb it. This is why so many of its old buildings are still standing.

3: This was during the enormous gimgaw craze, so everyone had them. You won’t find them now though.

4: She’d found him face-deep in her secret stash of Brugelwürst sausage, a local delicacy.

5: The flowers did their best to mask the smell of the ferret, but the ferret easily overpowered them.

6: Bampot is a silly person. A Daftie. Gets low grades at school and later in life rarely earns more than minimum wage.

7: Venzelemma is home to one of the oldest elektrichka train fleets in Europe. Their sparse interiors and spine-jarring wooden bench seats evoke equal amounts of old world nostalgia and sciatica. Most physiotherapists in Brugel are located within hobbling distance of train stations.

8: Pure denial. Shambles lost his social skills years ago.

9: A familiar is an animal form of supernatural spirit, who aids a witch in performing magic. Sometimes they’re helpful, but in most cases they’re useless. Have you ever seen a cat fetch the morning newspaper? Vacuum the floor? Make breakfast? Exactly.

10: Neep. Short for turnip.

11: Plütz is Brugel’s number one alcoholic export. It is made from fermented peaches, is 32 per cent proof and is the main ingredient in divorce proceedings.

* * *

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