Frightfully Friendly Ghosties Read Online Free PDF

door.
    â€œAwfully sorry,” said Agatha, clutching her pearls. “We were trying to keep out of your way.”
    â€œWe can budge over if you like,” said Charlie. “There’s plenty of room for all.”
    â€œWe’re trying to make friends with you,” I explained.
    â€œThen you will stop being mean to us,” added Wither.
    The still-alive pulled the key from his pocket so excitedly that he dropped it onto the floorboards. He leapt up and down for a moment before diving under the bed, headfirst.
    â€œHe’s trying to find the key,” I said. “We should help. That’s what friends are for.”
    We all wisped under the bed.
    â€œIt’s dark under here,” blubbed Wither. There wasn’t much room under the bed, so we had to keep wisping out and wisping back under again.
    â€œHelp! Help!” the still-alive yelled. Presumably he wanted us to help him find the key.
    â€œIt has to be here somewhere,” said Agatha, wisping in and out of the still-alive’s pajamas.
    This went on for several minutes, until finally the still-alive crawled out from under the bed, grabbed the key from where it had rolled beneath the dresser, banged the door several times with his fists, wailed at the top of his lungs, unlocked the door, and ran out.
    Not frightfully friendly, I have to say, though he did leave the bedroom door open so we could float on to the landing and say goodnight to poor Pamela.

13
    The Priest

    Gertrude Goo and I were floating by the lounge ceiling when the doorbell donged.
    â€œWho-woo-whooo could that be?” asked Gertrude, dripping glowing blue goo onto the coffee table.
    â€œDon’t ask me,” I said. “I don’t even live here. I don’t live anywhere. I’m not alive, you see.”
    We floated to the lounge door and listened. First we heard the sound of high heels as one of the still-alives walked down the hall to open the front door. We heard voices for a moment and then the footsteps again, click-click-click, together with the footsteps of the visitor, clump-clump-clump.
    â€œI hope they don’t come in here,” I said.
    Gertrude agreed. “Just look at the place. I’d better tidy up.”
    I watched as Gertrude floated about the room, tidying pictures, ornaments, the vase of flowers, and the rows and rows of books, spraying the room with glowing blue goo.
    â€œThat’s quite enough tidying for one day,” I told her.
    â€œI’ll just give the shelves a quick dusting. I’m terribly house proud, you see.”
    The door handle turned with a creak.
    â€œGertrude, there isn’t time.”
    We floated up to the ceiling and wisped into the lampshade to hide. The still-alive entered with the guest, an elderly man dressed in black.
    â€œHe’s got his shirt on back to front,” said Gertrude.
    When the two still-alives saw the goo, their jaws dropped.
    â€œI knew they’d be impressed,” said Gertrude. “Tabitha, I do believe he’s a priest.”
    â€œThere is something sinister going on,” I said. “Let’s tell the others.”
    We wisped out of the lampshade, out into the hall, and up the staircase to the landing.
    Wither was dictating a poem to Pamela through the study door. “When the other ghosties are mean to me, it makes my feelings sway like a tree.”
    The moment he saw Gertrude and me floating behind him, he blushed bright white.
    â€œThis is only the first draft. And talking of drafts, has any ghosty seen Agatha?”
    Pamela’s voice vibrated through the wood.
    â€œShe’s in the garden, floating by the clothesline. I can see her through the window.”
    â€œWe’d better fetch her,” I said. “Wither, the still-alives have brought in a priest.”
    â€œPerhaps,” said Wither, as we floated down the staircase, “the still-alives have discovered religion.”
    Charlie and Humphrey were