Milrose Munce and the Den of Professional Help by Douglas Anthony Cooper

Author:Douglas Anthony Cooper
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Ghost, Humorous Stories, Humorous, Children: Young Adult (Gr. 7-9), Juvenile Fiction, Teenagers, Fiction, Horror & Ghost Stories, Ghost stories, Conspiracy, Schools, Best friends, ghosts, General, School & Education, Children's Books - Young Adult Fiction
ISBN: 9780385660808
Publisher: Random House, Inc.
Published: 2007-05-22T07:30:25.706000+00:00

CHAPTER

SEVEN

A WEEK PASSED—SEVEN SHOWERS IN TOTAL—WITH NO WORD FROM HURLED HARRY. PERCY, SURELY, WAS NOT TO BE RELIED UPON, THOUGHT MILROSE, BUT HARRY WAS A DIFFERENT ORDER OF GHOUL.

Milrose went to bed, on the seventh night, perturbed. His dreams were unpleasant. But he was awakened by the sound of a magnificent explosion. This was followed by chunks of ceiling falling around and upon him, then fine plaster dust filling his nostrils.

Of course, an explosion—especially one so very close by—was always a welcome occurrence. Moreover, it often signified, to Milrose, the proximity of a certain friend. “Dave?” he inquired.

“Greetings!” There was no mistaking that demented voice. “I’ve been experimenting with temporary explosions. So far, so good, wouldn’t you say?”

“Uh, aren’t all explosions temporary?” asked Milrose. He sneezed.

“No. Not like this. I believe I have found a way to temporarily blow something up, so that it reverts to its unblown-up state in a couple of hours. We shall see, at any rate.”

The loathsome yet welcome head of Dave was now fully visible, floating above in a cloud of plaster dust.

“That doesn’t sound entirely possible, Dave,” said Milrose, who was feeling a bit odd about having such a calm scientific discussion, given the circumstances.

“And yet it is. This is ghost chemistry, my friend. All sorts of new techniques. I’ve been researching—”

“Ah. Ghost chemistry.”

“Known to the vulgar as ‘magic.’”

“Man that’s vulgar. ‘Ghost chemistry’ is vastly preferable.”

“I in fact prefer the technical term: ectoplasmic manipulation. At any rate, yes. According to my calculations, we have a bit less than three hours of exploded ceiling, after which it goes back to being an unexploded ceiling.”

“Marvellous. Thank you!”

“A pleasure.”

“So, uh, what now?”

“An escape. Well, a temporary escape. You have to return, of course.”

“Of course. Yes.” Milrose thought for a moment. “Why?”

“Because I can get you out of here, but I can’t get you out of the place I’m taking you to. And you’d probably prefer to be in the Den.”

“Can’t wait to see this place.”

“Wish I could be more useful. But I’ve been doing a lot of research into this Help business as well—highly secretive stuff; nobody knows much about it—and it seems we dead guys are under a lot of constraints, when it comes to … interfering. Spells, counterspells … all very annoying. Now, we should get on with this, before my explosion deplodes—we’ve only got a couple of hours. Fetch the girl, and let’s move.”

Milrose climbed down the ladder until he was at Arabella’s bed, where she was still engaged in a tiny, charming, fragile snore.

“Arabella …” Milrose whispered urgently. “Arabella!”

The delicate snore turned into a delicate snort, and then a delicate cough, followed by a delicate sneeze. “Milrose?”

“Yes! Come on up and meet my friend!”

“Your friend?” she asked, sleepily.

“You’ll see. Come up to my bunk.”

Arabella sat up and rubbed her eyes. She frowned and examined Milrose, to determine whether he was playing an elaborate joke. He did look sincere. “Okay. A … friend. All right. You go up. I’ll follow.”

Milrose scrambled up the ladder, and Arabella followed far more gracefully.

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