Callum froze. Had the ghostly boy been standing out there all this time, waiting? Did he think Callum was likely to respond to a polite knock by opening the door again and inviting him in?
‘Go away!’ he shouted.
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ replied a muffled voice from the other side of the door. It was a girl’s voice, a human voice. It sounded apologetic and surprised, and other than that, normal.
Callum stepped closer to the door. After a moment’s hesitation he demanded, ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s Melissa. Melissa Roper, you know, from school?’
Callum’s heart sank. If it was Melissa, he couldn’t leave her standing there on the same side of the door where Jacob and his demonic dog were lurking. But what if it wasn’t Melissa? What if it was a trick? Callum bit his lip.
‘What do you want?’ The question came out more rudely than he’d intended. But he hoped her answer might give him a clue about whether it really was Melissa.
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’ve brought you my . . .’
Melissa’s voice carried on, even more muffled than before, so Callum couldn’t make out what it was saying. Carefully, he undid the lock and the bolt and opened the door a crack, wedging his body behind it so he could slam it shut if he had to. He peered through the gap.
It was Melissa all right, standing beneath the porch light. She’d changed out of her school clothes and wore a long velvet skirt and a leaf-green cape. Over her shoulder was an obviously heavy bag decorated with tiny mirrors.
‘You’ve brought me your Pictish Fiction of the Actual?’ he said dubiously.
Melissa laughed. For all her airy-fairy gear she looked solidly alive and normal. ‘British Dictionary of the Supernatural,’ she said. ‘It’s got your black dog in it. I thought you might like to have a look. And I said I’d help.’
‘How’d you know where to find me?’
‘Everybody knows where you live, Callum.’
Callum was not reassured. Melissa laughed again. ‘Your gran’s address is in the post office window, you know. Pet portraits and watercolours for sale. Can I come in, or do you really want me to go away?’
Callum scanned the garden behind her, but could see no sign of Jacob or Doom. He opened the door a bit wider so Melissa wouldn’t think he was a paranoid lunatic, and Cadbury came streaking into the house, his tail bristling like a toilet brush. Melissa giggled, and Callum felt himself relax slightly.
‘No – no. You can come in,’ said Callum, glad to have human company. He pulled the door fully open. ‘Sorry about the graffiti.’
‘Graffiti?’ Melissa replied.
Callum looked down at the door’s faded green paint. The dripping, bloody letters were gone.
‘Nothing. Forget it.’
Callum chewed his bottom lip. Maybe ghost blood was as insubstantial as a ghost itself.
Melissa stepped easily over the threshold, frowning a little. As she put her bag down on the floor with a thump, it fell open, revealing a bundle of books. She straightened up, stretching, and looked around the room as Callum shut the door behind her and double locked it.
‘Wow,’ Melissa said. ‘Bringing you a bag full of books is sort of like carrying coals to Newcastle, isn’t it!’
‘They’re Gran’s,’ said Callum.
‘What, haven’t you read any of them?’
‘Gran’s taste is pretty dire,’ Callum answered. ‘Modern romance and nineteenth-century novels. And gardening and painting.’
‘Bet you’d find something if you looked.’
‘D’you want a hot chocolate?’ Callum asked. ‘I was just getting ready to do my homework.’
‘I’m sorry. You don’t like being interrupted, do you?’ Melissa said. ‘You sounded pretty angry when you answered the door. I could come back another time.’
‘No, it’s fine. To tell you the truth -’
Callum stopped himself. He couldn’t tell her the truth.
Instead he told her something close to the truth, something believable. ‘I thought you were Ed Bolton. He’s been out for revenge since that run-in with Gower yesterday. Look, let me get the fire going and boil the kettle, and I’ll take a look at your book.’
‘You do the fire, I’ll make the hot chocolate,’ said Melissa.
‘OK.’
Callum stirred up the embers as Melissa headed into the kitchen. She was quick but very messy. She managed to get milk all over the worktop, which Cadbury gladly attempted to clean up, and left rings of chocolate everywhere. But she was finished in no time.
‘So,’ she said, thumping herself down on the hearthrug with two steaming mugs, the breeze of her skirts stirring the flames in the grate. ‘Wow, cosy. I love this place. OK. Look, this is my Dictionary of the Supernatural. Here’s the entry on the Churchyard Grim.’
Callum sat down beside her while Melissa read aloud.
‘“A Churchyard Grim is the spirit of a dog buried alive in a graveyard to act as a guardian for those laid to rest there.”’ She paused and made a face. ‘Ew, I’d forgotten about the buried alive bit. So in theory it’s not really dead, I guess – an immortal dog. But a good dog, since it’s supposed to be protecting people!’
‘Who’d expect loyalty and protection from something they’d buried alive?’ Callum replied, half laughing and half appalled.
‘Dunno,’ Melissa said, and took a gulp of hot chocolate, liberally sprinkling her long skirt with drips as she put the mug back on the hearth. ‘I don’t think the people who buried dogs in graveyards were very logical. It says that in Wales they used pigs instead of dogs!’
‘You’re really making a mess,’ Callum said as Melissa slopped yet more chocolate on herself.
‘I know. I can’t help it. Pretend it’s holy water – protection against evil spirits.’ Melissa shook her flyaway curly hair back out of her face and turned the page of the book. ‘“A Grim loves the sound of church bells and can be pacified by their ringing.” Look, there’s a picture.’
Callum peered over her shoulder. The illustration showed a seventeenth-century engraving of a shaggy black beast as big as a bear. The size was about right, he reckoned, but it didn’t look much like a dog. Callum shivered. The creature from the woods hadn’t looked much like a dog either when he’d first seen it. But at least the book proved that the monster wasn’t just a product of his own imagination. Maybe it could be helpful in other areas . . .
‘Hey,’ Callum said. ‘Does this book say anything about chime children?’
‘Chime children?’
‘Yeah. Does it say what a chime child is?’
Melissa picked up the book and propped it against her knees as she found the entry and began to read out loud.
‘“Chime child. Born beneath the light of a full moon in the ‘chime hours’ between midnight on Friday and cockcrow on Saturday. Until the age of eighteen, a chime child is gifted with unnatural luck, an uncanny ability to foresee future events, and the power to see ghosts. A chime child may also be able to sense the presence of evil spirits or of living beings of evil intent.”’ Melissa paused. ‘Wow, that could be helpful.’
‘Helpful!’ Callum echoed in disbelief. ‘Seeing ghosts could be helpful?’
‘No, knowing the future. Knowing about evil intent. Like guessing Ed Bolton’s plans for you -’
Melissa looked up at Callum suddenly, her eyes wide.
‘That’s how you knew!’
Callum shook his head. ‘Knew what?’
‘Knew that Ed was up there at the top of the stairs yesterday, even though you couldn’t see him. You knew something was going to happen to me, and you stopped it happening.’
‘I -’
Melissa wouldn’t let him interrupt. ‘And again today in science. You knew something was going to happen there, too! You jumped out of your chair for no reason, and you didn’t get hurt!’
Melissa slapped the book face down on the hearth. Her mug wobbled, cocoa splashing down the sides. Callum grabbed it before it could fall over.