Wail of the Banshee Read online

  She was massive, easily twice the size of the others, and her beating wings sounded like the revving engine of a motorbike as she flew over to inspect me. She paused for a moment in front of my ghostly face, anti-honey dripping from her antennae – and then she buzzed right inside me. It felt as though my whole inner self was shaking with her rage.

  “Have you got enough?” I yelled, beginning to feel dizzy.

  “Yes!” cried Luke. “Let’s go!”

  As he, Resus and Cleo ran for the garden gate, I allowed my silver rope to pull me away from the queen zom-bee and back inside my body. Seconds later, I joined my new friends on the pavement outside. We all sank to the ground, panting.

  “It worked!” said Cleo triumphantly, examining the gloopy anti-honey inside the jar.

  “Just as well, really,” grinned Resus. “We didn’t have a plan bee!”

  Chapter Seven

  “This,” announced Luke, “is Twinkle.”

  This time, I really did stare. When Cleo had said that she knew a fairy who might own a griffin, I’d expected something like the tiny creatures my sister watched in cartoons.

  Instead, standing before us now at over six feet tall, was a large, hairy man covered in tattoos. He wore a pink tutu and a sparkling tiara, and wings that were no bigger than his ears stuck out from the middle of his back.

  “What do you lot want?” he grunted.

  “Cleo thinks you might own a griffin,” said Resus.

  Twinkle sniffed. “Ownin’ griffins is against the law.”

  “We know that,” said Cleo. “But I just thought…”

  “Well, you fought wrong, dintcha!”

  Luke sighed. “Never mind then. Sorry to bother you, Twinkle.”

  “Ain’t no bovver. I like visitors.”

  We turned to leave the strange fairy’s house, when another agonized wail rang out across the street.

  “AAAYYYOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

  “Wot is that?” demanded Twinkle, clamping his hands over his ears. “It’s been goin’ on all mornin’!”

  “It’s Favel,” Resus explained. “She’s got a bad tooth, and we’re trying to get some griffin sweat so that Dr Skully can take it out.”

  Twinkle paused, his eyes and lips moving as he thought this through. “You mean if you get some griffin sweat, that noise will stop?”

  “Yep,” said Cleo. “We’re collecting ingredients to make an anaesthetic, and griffin sweat is one of them.”

  The fairy glanced around to make sure no one else was within earshot. “Follow me!” he said in a whisper.

  Twinkle led us to a room at the back of his house where we discovered two of the most amazing animals I have ever seen. Each had the body of a lion, with powerful paws and sharp talons, but the head of an eagle. Golden feathers merged with thick, orange fur – and each of the beasts had a pair of wings folded over its strong back.

  “They are beautiful!” sighed Cleo as one of the griffins padded over to her and rubbed its beak against the back of her hand. “And so docile.”

  “And illegal!” added Resus.

  “I trusts you not to tell anyone,” grunted the fairy.

  “We won’t,” Luke promised. “We just need to know how to get their sweat…”

  “This is not quite what I had in mind!” Luke exclaimed as Resus swooped past him on the back of one of the griffins and gave a whoop.

  Luke sat on the back of the other one and the pair soared through the air over a deserted side street. The creatures’ wings beat strongly, and the boys were forced to cling on tightly to the griffins’ manes – a task made even harder by the fact that each of them held a long lance.

  “Griffin jousting?” I said to myself incredulously – and for the third time. But it still didn’t sound right. “Are you sure this is the only way to make them sweat?”

  Luke and Resus looked like medieval knights lining up to do battle for a princess’s hand in marriage – only flying on mystical creatures, and with a few drops of perspiration as the prize.

  “’S’right,” said Twinkle. “Griffins need some serious exercise if you wants ‘em to sweat.”

  “But why do Resus and Luke have to try and knock each other off?” I asked him.

  Twinkle shrugged. “Wouldn’t be joustin’ otherwise, would it?”

  So, there was nothing that Cleo and I could do but watch as the griffins took up their positions at each end of the street. The boys gripped the handles of their lances tightly – Luke’s was striped yellow and blue, while Resus’s was a deep, blood red.

  Then they were off!

  The griffins flew towards each other at top speed, covering the distance between them in seconds. The points of the lances wobbled as Luke and Resus approached one another … and then they struck! Luke clipped Resus on the shoulder, almost throwing him off balance – but the vampire curled his fingers around his griffin’s mane and managed to hang on. Meanwhile, Resus had knocked one of Luke’s trainers off, and it landed right in front of Cleo and me, causing the mummy to yelp.

  We looked back up just in time to see the griffins charging towards each other for a second time – and now both Luke and Resus were holding their lances more firmly, both frowning in concentration. My heart was in my mouth. How were they going to get out of this?

  They hit each other at the exact same moment, each unseating their rival and tumbling from the back of their beast.

  Cleo buried her face in my shoulder as the pair plummeted towards the ground … only to be caught, one in each hand, by Twinkle.

  “I didn’t hear the splat!” said Cleo, her face muffled by my jumper. “Where was the splat?”

  “There wasn’t a splat!” I cried, as Twinkle lowered Resus and Luke gently to the ground. “But I’m not sure which one of them won?”

  “As long as the griffins are sweating, we’re all winners,” said Luke, slipping his trainer back on as the graceful beasts came in to land. Twinkle produced a handkerchief from his pink bag and wiped it across the backs of his precious griffins until it was soaking wet.

  “Perfect!” said Resus, pulling a clear sandwich bag out from the depths of his incredible cloak and allowing Twinkle to drop the wet rag inside. “Now we just need a drop of sap from the cleaver tree and we’ll have all three ingredients.”

  Twinkle jumped at his words. “Cleaver tree?!” he demanded. “I wouldn’t go near one of them things! Its leaves are as sharp as scythes!”

  “We don’t have a choice,” said Luke. “Do you know if there are any around here?”

  “There’s only one,” said Twinkle. “And it grows in the garden of the old lady who lives at number 42 – the very last house in Scream Street.”

  “The one with the black walls that always has dark clouds hovering above it?” asked Cleo.

  “That’s the one,” said Twinkle.

  “What’s so special about it?” I asked, intrigued by Twinkle’s reaction. “Who lives there?”

  The fairy swallowed hard, as though he could barely get the words out. “Death’s own grandmother,” he said finally. “The Gran Reaper!”

  Chapter Eight

  Lightning flashed and thunder rolled as we peered through the bars of the wrought-iron gate at the end of the path leading up to number 42. It made me shiver – especially as the weather in the rest of Scream Street was quite pleasant. The storm clouds only seemed to gather above this dark, forbidding house.

  “There’s the cleaver tree,” said Luke, looking from the only thing growing in the garden to a picture he had found in Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street.

  “Yep,” said Resus, nervously. “There it is.” He held a penknife in his hand, but didn’t move.

  “Then, what are we waiting for?” I asked. “According to Mr Skipstone, we just have to go in there, cut the tree bark and collect a single drop of its sap.”
/>   “Yep,” said Resus again. “That’s what we’ve got to do.”

  Cleo sighed and snatched the penknife from the vampire. “Why am I always surrounded by wimps?” She pushed open the gate just as another clap of thunder sounded overhead.

  “We’ll wait here for you,” hissed Luke.

  “Yep,” said Resus a third time, his face paler than ever. “Here’s where we’ll be.”

  With a roll of her eyes, Cleo crept towards the tree while we watched the house. The windows were dark, and it looked like there was no one at home. At least, that’s what we hoped.

  As Cleo approached the tree, she raised the penknife, then slowly brought the blade down towards the bark…

  “Aaah!” The mummy gave a piercing scream as the razor-sharp leaves of the cleaver tree started to bend in towards her!

  “Get out of there!” Luke yelled. But Cleo couldn’t move; she was hemmed in on all sides.

  “I’m going in to help her,” I declared. Before Luke or Resus could protest, I closed my eyes and Walked out of my body. I’d only been here a few hours, but I already knew I’d do anything to help my new friends.

  “Be careful!” said Luke.

  “It’ll be fine,” I promised. “I’ll just distract the leaves the way I did with the zom-bees.”

  Cautiously, I entered the garden and made my way to the tree. My silver rope tugged at me, as though it didn’t want me to Walk any further, but I had to get to Cleo. The sharp-edged leaves surrounded her like the bars of a deadly cage.

  As I got close to the tree, the leaves began to bend and twist in my direction, away from the mummy. “It’s working!” I cried. “Cleo – get the sap!”

  I stood, surrounded by hundreds of sharp, green leaf tips, as Cleo cut a small slit in the bark of the tree and allowed a little of the sap inside to dribble into a glass vial she held in her other hand. “Got it!” she grinned. “Let’s go!”

  We turned, Cleo marching ahead and sticking out her tongue at Luke and Resus where they waited outside the gate. I could see my body standing beside them. All I had to do was Walk through the gate and back inside.

  And then my rope caught on one of the leaves.

  This time, it didn’t just tug and pull me back. The shimmering silver cord slid along the razor-like edge of the leaf and was neatly cut in two.

  I stared at the snipped cord in terror. No! This couldn’t be happening! Grabbing the two ends, I tried frantically to press them back together – but it was no good. They wouldn’t stick.

  I turned and ran back to my waiting body, stopping just inches away from it. Luke, Resus and Cleo watched nervously as I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and stepped forward … only to pass right through my own body and out the other side. It was all over. I was dead!

  Cleo began to cry, the bandages covering her face soaking up the tears. “I-I-” she began, but said no more. Resus simply stared at the ground.

  “I’m so sorry,” said Luke, trying to rest a comforting hand on my shoulder but, of course, it just passed right through.

  “What am I going to do?” I croaked. “My mum and dad will be waking up soon. And my little sister…”

  Suddenly, there was another, louder clap of thunder and a figure we had not seen until now was lit up by the accompanying burst of lightning. A figure in a hooded cowl. Slowly, twisted, gnarled hands emerged from the cloak and pulled back the hood to reveal the gaunt face of an impossibly old woman. Wispy grey hair poked out from pale leathery skin, and her teeth were stained yellow.

  But her eyes were the worst. Two sunken holes that seemed to suck the light in. The old hag licked her cracked lips with a snake-like tongue.

  “Can I help you, dearies?” she asked.

  “It’s our Walker friend,” said Luke, clearly fighting the urge to turn and run. “I’m afraid we had to cut your tree, and the silver rope, or whatever it’s called, got caught on one of the leaves.”

  “We were only trying to help a neighbour,” put in Cleo. “She’s in a lot of pain, you see…”

  No one spoke for a moment. Then thunder exploded above us, breaking the silence. The old woman reached into her cowl and produced two miniature scythes. Their tiny blades caught the sudden glare of the lightning.

  “Oh no,” breathed Resus. “This is it! She’s going to kill us!”

  “Kill you, dearie?” wheezed The Gran Reaper. “Why on earth would I want to do that?” Then she bent down, plucked up the two severed ends of my silver rope, and began to knit them back together with the scythes.

  “This can be a tricky job, if you don’t know what you’re doing,” she told us as she worked. “My Nigel was always asking me to repair these things when he first started out. Often went to the wrong address, or got one person mixed up with another in the early days.”

  “Nigel?” Luke asked, recovering himself.

  “Nigel Death,” smiled the old woman. “My grandson. He’s a busy man. Doesn’t have time to visit very often but, when he does, I always bake him a batch of his favourite cookies.” She smiled at us through her few remaining teeth. “You youngsters should come round one day and taste them.”

  “We will,” said Cleo with a wan smile. “Thank you – and sorry about hurting your tree.”

  “Oh, don’t you worry!” said The Gran Reaper. “Nasty old thing it is – always cutting down my washing line.” She finished her knitting with a flourish. “There!”

  I felt a familiar jerk as the rope, now repaired, dragged me towards my outer self. I allowed myself to be pulled back into my body where I suddenly felt a rush of heat. I was back!

  “It worked!” exclaimed Resus.

  I grinned in relief and gave the old woman a big hug. “Thank you!”

  “AAAYYYOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWWW!”

  The banshee’s wail brought us all back down to earth again. “Favel sounds in more pain than ever,” said Cleo. “We’d better get back to her.”

  And so, waving goodbye to The Gran Reaper, we raced back across the central square to the waiting patient.

  Chapter Nine

  Dr Skully clamped his spare pair of pliers around Favel’s infected tooth and pulled. It had taken us less than twenty minutes to follow Samuel Skipstone’s instructions and mix the Calm Balm. Then, with the hissing anaesthetic bubbling away in a bowl, we had hurried next door where the skeleton had smeared it all over Favel’s gums.

  The tooth came out with a pop!

  Cautiously, the banshee sat up in bed and touched at the spot in her mouth that had been causing her so much pain. It was amazing; if anyone else had been given the Calm Balm they’d be asleep for weeks, but Favel looked as bright as a button. “That feels so much better!” she sighed.

  “WHAT?!”

  Favel grinned at her gran. “I SAID, IT FEELS BETTER!” she screeched.

  We took our hands from our ears and smiled. “Did you catch the infection in time?” Cleo asked Dr Skully.

  The teacher nodded. “I think so,” he said, dropping the offending tooth into a nearby bin. “Young Favel certainly isn’t showing any of the symptoms of toxic poisoning.”

  I peered into the bin at the discarded tooth. “Don’t you want to keep that?” I asked Favel. “You could put it under your pillow for the tooth fairy…”

  Resus quickly put his hand over my mouth. “Quiet!” he hissed. “We don’t want her back again!”

  Luke laughed. “We’ll tell you all about it later,” he said.

  Then I heard a familiar voice coming from outside the room. “Hello? What’s going on here?”

  I spun round to find my parents and little sister standing in the doorway to the banshee’s bedroom. “Mum! Dad! Susie!” I cried, rushing over to them.

  “We woke up in a strange room,” said my mum, perplexed. “And we found a note saying you’d be next door.”

  “Is he a real
skeleton?” said Susie, pointing at Dr Skully.

  “I most certainly am,” replied the teacher, bowing slightly. “And I’m most delighted to make your acquaintance, young lady.”

  Susie giggled. “He talks funny!”

  “Come on,” I said to my parents. “Let’s go back to our house for a cup of tea and I’ll explain everything.”

  “Our house?’ asked my Dad.

  I paused to wink at Luke, Resus and Cleo. “Trust me,” I said. “You’re going to love it in Scream Street!”

  Tommy Donbavand was born and brought up in Liverpool and has worked at numerous jobs, including clown (called Wobblebottom!), actor, drama teacher, theatre director and pantomime producer.

  As a writer, Tommy has penned articles for magazines such as Junior Education and Creative Steps and written dozens of stage plays, including Hey Diddle Diddle and Humpty Dumpty and the Incredibly Daring Rescue of the Alien Princess in Deep Space. He then turned his hand to children’s books, and in addition to Scream Street he has written five adventures in the Too Ghoul for School series, several books of boredom-busting games and activities for children, and three short novels: Zombie!, Wolf and The Uniform, the last of which won the 2011 Hackney Short Novel Award.

  Tommy has loved writing the popular Scream Street series, the thirteenth and final instalment of which you now hold in your hands. He hopes that his next series will be as much fun to write – and to read! Watch this space…

  www.tommydonbavand.com

  www.screamstreet.co.uk

  Other Scream Street titles

  1: Fang of the Vampire

  2: Blood of the Witch

  3: Heart of the Mummy

  4: Flesh of the Zombie

  5: Skull of the Skeleton

  6: Claw of the Werewolf

  7: Invasion of the Normals

  8: Attack of the Trolls

  9: Terror of the Nightwatchman

  10: Rampage of the Goblins

  11: Hunger of the Yeti