Eglantine by Catherine Jinks

Author:Catherine Jinks
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: JUV000000
ISBN: 9781741156171
Publisher: Allen & Unwin Pty Ltd
Published: 2006-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER # eight

For the next few days, our house was like a hotel, with people in and out of it all the time.

Firstly (as I mentioned before) a journalist from the local newspaper called us, and asked if she could come over the next day, and take some photos. Having heard that our house was haunted, she wanted to write a story. She seemed particularly interested in the fact that PRISM was involved.

It turned out that she’d been told about us while collecting information for a story about the local under-twelves soccer team (from one of the Bracco brothers, probably). Mum agreed to an interview – I don’t know why. Possibly she liked the journalist, and couldn’t say no. Certainly the poor journalist was very young and timid, and hard to turn down. Her name was Claire Hickey. She had a shy little voice, and lank blond hair, and she looked a bit like a white rabbit. Mum let her take a photograph of Bethan’s room – with Bethan in it – and Bethan, needless to say, was thrilled. He’s a real publicity hound.

After Claire had gone, I pointed out that newspaper stories about haunted houses were always stupid ones, poking fun at the whole idea of ghosts.

‘Claire’s not like that,’ said Mum. ‘She’s a very polite, serious girl. She doesn’t think we’re silly.’

‘She doesn’t?’

‘No. Not at all. She told me that her grandmother once saw a ghost. And she promised not to give out our address.’ Mum hesitated, perhaps as she realised that journalists don’t always keep their promises. ‘Anyway,’ she declared, ‘this is her first job, poor little thing. Her wages are woeful. And she’s so keen. I had to help her out.’

Claire visited us on Thursday afternoon. On Friday evening, the PRISM investigators returned. Richard had called Mum on Wednesday, to inform her that the result of Saturday night’s investigation had been ‘inconclusive’. His aperture settings had been wrong.

‘Infra-red’s a tricky thing,’ he apologised, ‘and falling asleep didn’t help. I’m really sorry. I’ve worked it all out now, though. I’ve been practising. Would you mind very much if we came one more time? Just once more, I promise. Because I really think you’ve got something, there.’

With a sigh, Mum said ‘yes’. So on Friday evening we welcomed Richard and Sylvia into the house again, pointing out as we did so that Bethan’s bedroom walls were already pretty well covered with text.

‘That’s all right,’ said Sylvia. ‘We’ll manage. We’ve brought several cameras, so we’ll focus each one on a different stretch of white space. Did you bring the coffee, Richard?’

‘Yes. I brought the coffee.’ Richard flashed Mum a grin. ‘I’m not going to fall asleep this time,’ he assured her.

‘From what Richard tells me,’ Sylvia continued, ‘there does seem to be something very odd happening in that room. Hopefully, we’ll find out what it is tonight. Oh!’ She began to search through one of her bags. ‘Here’s that old book you gave me. According to Richard, taking it away didn’t make any difference – is that right?’

‘No,’ said Ray.

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