They squawked at me loudly, and flapped their black and white wings in welcome. Maggie flew up onto my shoulder.
'Hello, Crystal,' she cawed, in that dry, crusty voice of hers. 'Don't bother talking to B.W. He's in one of his moods again.'
'Oh dear,' I said. 'You two haven't been arguing, have you?'
'There's not much else to do around here except argue. And B.W is so moody he takes the humph about every little thing.'
'I do not!' he croaked.
Maggie shoved her beak into my ear. It tickled. 'He's upset because I found a shiny silver bottle top yesterday, and all he found was a rusty old nail. I told him to throw it away because the nest is crowded enough as it is, but he insists on keeping the wretched thing.'
I shook my head. Maggie and B.W were always fighting about who found the best trinkets. I don't think the trinkets mattered, really. I think they just like an excuse to shout at each other.
Maggie flew down and landed right next to B.W, piercing him with a nasty glare from her beady black eyes. B.W ignored her and turned his back for a good sulk but, feeling nervous with Maggie behind him, he kept twitching his head from side to side to make sure she didn't start tugging at his tail feathers.
'So, what else have you been up to today?' I asked.
For a split second, they both stared blankly into space. 'What have we done today?' B.W forced himself to ask Maggie.
'Same as yesterday, I guess,' she replied.
'And what did we do yesterday?'
'The same as we did today.'
'Forget it,' I said.
I sat at a wooden picnic table and watched them for a while. They were funny birds. I knew they loved each other a lot, but they pretended not to. Maybe all Magpies are like that.
Maggie moaned at B.W. B.W moaned back. Maggie pecked B.W for moaning, and B.W took the humph and sulked under a tree as far away as he could get without Maggie moaning at him to stop wandering off.
Then B.W found the tip of a worm sneaking out of the ground. Maggie immediately rushed over with her wings flapping, claiming that she saw it first. Their beaks clashed as they fought over the worm, while the worm looked on in amazement.
They flew up into the branches of a tree, screaming and yelling at each other. The worm turned to me, shrugged his slimy body, and slithered off. Maggie noticed the worm escaping and blamed B.W, pecking mercilessly at his tail feathers. She chased him right up into the topmost branches, and then they continued their battle in the air, weaving and plummeting across the sky like invisible stitches.
I waited for a while, but it didn't look as if they were coming back, so I left.
Mom wasn't in the house when I got home, which was unusual. I asked Cuthbert where she'd gone.
'To see your dad,' he growled, watching Merlina tearing his blanket to pieces with her claws.
'What has she gone to see dad for?'
'Because,' Cuthbert said, 'He's been refused permission to visit us again. So your mother has gone to Sort It Out.'
I sighed and flopped into an armchair - a blotchy multi-coloured armchair by the blotchy multi-coloured fireplace.
The last time mom had gone to Sort Things Out she'd caused havoc in the Spectre Department. They tried to throw her out of the Ghost Bureau, but she dragged all the head supervisors home in her handbag. For three days, our living room had been filled with all sorts of ghostly apparitions and spooky spectres, all arguing that dad should spend more time haunting.
Dad is supposed to haunt full time, but he keeps making excuses to come home and stay with us instead. Dad doesn't like scaring people very much, and he gets lonely stuck in stately homes and castle ruins on his own.
'I don't suppose mom made me anything to eat before she left, did she?' I asked.
Cuthbert butted Merlina out of his bed, and possessively plonked his hairy body down on his blanket. 'There's something in the oven,' he barked, as Merlina sauntered up the banister rail with her tail and her nose held high, 'But don't ask me what it's supposed to be.'
I went to take a look. I couldn't identify the burnt offering either, so I made myself some toast instead.
Cuthbert, certain that his precious bed was safe from invasion for a while, padded into the kitchen.
'That cat has been driving me mad all day,' he said. 'If she's not sticking her nails into my nose, she's deliberately destroying my plastic toys. Do you know what she did this morning?' he whined. I shook my head. 'She climbed up a tree with my favourite bone, and dared me to go up and get it. I nearly broke my neck.'
'Dog's aren't supposed to climb tree's, Cuthbert.'
'Now you tell me.'
He sauntered over to his bowl and sniffed inside, not expecting to find anything inside but checking just in case.
'Have you been fed?' I asked.
'Not since last Thursday.'
'Don't exaggerate, Cuthbert. I'm sure mom wouldn't starve you on purpose.'
'She doesn't do it on purpose.' He collapsed onto the carpet - the blotchy multi-coloured carpet by the blotchy multi-coloured sink. 'She forgets, or she thinks she's already fed me. I had to make my own breakfast this morning.'
'Poor Cuthbert. What did you have?'
'Bacon and eggs. At least the cooker knows how to look after an ageing dog.'
I gave his furry body a big hug.
Mom came home quite late that night. She breezed into the living room like a tornado, and immediately turned on the television set.
'Blast!' she cried, 'I've missed Baywatch, and I wanted to get a good look at Pamela Anderson.'
'You're not going to change your face again are you, mom?' I groaned.
Mom turned round to look at me. It was then that I noticed she was wearing her own face. It's a nice face, with large green eyes, long black hair, and a pouting red mouth. I don't know why she doesn't like it, why she keeps trying to make herself look better by borrowing other people's faces. I think she's beautiful.
Except when she's angry. And she looked angry now. Her eyes were so wide I thought they might pop out of her head, and her voice echoed around the living room like the rumbling of thunder.
'What's wrong with changing my face?' she roared at me.
I was shocked. Mom never gets angry and never raises her voice at me … unless ...
'What happened with dad today?' I asked.
Mom's anger vanished. She sat down next to me on the sofa, and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. 'They've put him on overtime,' she sighed. 'They say he has to make up his haunting hours or he'll be transferred to the Lost Souls Department.'
'But dad isn't a lost soul? He belongs here, with us.'
'They say he doesn't belong to us any more because he's dead.'
'That's silly! He's my dad!'
'I know, Crystal. I know.'
Mom hugged me. I wanted to cry, but I didn't in case it made mom cry, too.
'Where's dad now?' I asked, blinking back tears.
'He's in some deserted castle in Scotland, waiting to scare the living daylights out of some unsuspecting mortal. He has to stay there for six months - '
'Six months!'
'Your father and I aren't happy about it either, Crystal.'
'But isn't there anything we can do? You've helped him escape from castles before?'
'Not this time.' Mom sighed, and frowned, and bit her bottom lip. I could tell she was trying not to cry. 'They said if I make him desert his post or kidnap him again, they'll send him to another country where we'll never be able to find him. And you know how much he hates going abroad and having to mix with all those foreign ghosts.'
I hugged her tightly. 'We'll think of something, mom. I'm sure it'll be alright.'
When I came down to breakfast the next morning, Mr Andrews from next door was sitting at the kitchen table talking to mom.
' ... and when I woke up this morning,' he was saying, his eyes wide in astonishment, 'They had doubled in size.'
Mom's mouth twitched into a satisfied smirk. She'd been up to her old tricks again, I could tell.
The trouble with my mom is she's too soft-hearted. She'll do anything for anyone, whether its against the rules or not. When Mrs Griffin from down the road complained about her noisy neighbours, mom gave them all a severe dose of tonsillitis which kept them quiet for weeks.
And when Mr Littleskin a few doors away casually mentioned that he'd like a dog as a companion but wasn't able to make it to the nearest dogs home to chose one, mom made an assortment of breeds appear in his back garden. He actually kept them all.
And whenever mom hears on the news about some catastrophe in another country, or a charity desperately needing funds, she withdraws cash from a millionaires bank account and donates it in their name. Surprisingly, not one famous film star or pop singer has ever complained. Mom says their enforced generosity is good publicity for them.
Now she'd heard about Mr Andrews being keen to enter the amateur garden festival with his pumpkins. He usually grew whoppers, but this year the weather had been bad. Last night they had been the size of tomatoes. This morning they were as big as beach balls.
I gave mom a look as I poured cornflakes into my breakfast bowl, but she continued to look innocent as Mr Andrews ranted and raved about his spectacular vegetables. He was one very happy man.
Which is more than could be said for Dayle when I went to call for her. She still had a face like a sour lemon, and it was all I could do to get her to talk.
'Cuthbert and Merlina had another big bust-up last night,' I said, watching her face for any spark of interest. 'He said she was a flea-bitten rat-catcher, and she called him a dirty ball of fluff. They caused such a rumpus I couldn't get to sleep. And mom was banging her head on the ceiling all night, too.'
I thought I detected some slight movement on Dayle's face, as if she considered smiling but couldn't be bothered. So I pounded her on the back and yelled, 'What's the matter, mate?'
She looked at me then. There was a mixture of fury and misery in her blue eyes. 'What do you think is the matter, Crystal?'
'Haig Mullins, right?'
'Right. Mom wouldn't let me have my pocket money early this week. If I don't give him fifty pence today, he's going to do terrible things to me.'
'Ignore him,' I said.
'Hard to ignore someone who is trying to strangle you with your own hair.'
Dayle didn't speak again for a while, and we continued to walk to school in silence. Then she said, 'Crystal,' and I knew, from the tone of her voice, that she was after something.
'No,' I said.
'I haven't asked you anything yet.'
'I know what you want, and the answer's No.'
'Please, Crystal, I'm begging you. Can't you do something about him? Send him to Siberia or, better still, the moon.'
'Dayle, I'd love to help you, I really would - '
'But you can't.' She rolled her eyes and tutted. 'Forget I asked.'
Haig was onto her the minute she stepped into the playground. He stomped across the tarmac, scattering pupils left right and centre, and barged into her with his broad shoulder. Dayle almost fell over.
'Where's my money, Pale Whale?' he demanded. 'I want my money.'
'I haven't got it,' she whimpered. 'Please go away and leave me alone.'
A few kids gathered around the watch the spectacle, fascinated by the prospect of a fight, and relieved it wasn't them Haig was picking on.
'If I don't get my money today,' he grinned menacingly, 'I'll write rude things all over your school books, and superglue your PE kit together.'
Dayle was struck dumb with fear. Her eyes bulged and her bottom lip quivered. I felt helpless. In my mind I imagined leaping to her rescue, punching Haig in the face and kicking him to the ground until he pleaded for mercy.
In reality, I stood there like a marble statue and did nothing.
'What are you looking at?' he spat at me.
'I'm not sure,' my big mouth said.
Haig immediately forgot all about Dayle, and shoved his broad nose into my face. It felt squashy and hairy.
'Are you trying to by funny, or what?' he grunted.
All shreds of courage vanished. 'Me? Funny? No. Never. Honest, Haig. Not me.'
'Have you got any money?'
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Because I spent it all.'
'On what?'
I closed my mouth tight, determined not to confess. Someone like Haig Mullins wouldn't understand my interested in Michael Jackson, and he certainly wouldn't be impressed by the collection of Fun Spells I buy from the Chief Magician for forty pence each.
Haig snatched the satchel from my shoulder, intent on searching inside it. Appalled, I snatched it back. Haig growled like a rabid dog. I let him have it.
The school doors opened and the bell rang out, just as Dayle and I had started picking my books, pens, PE kit, sweets and assorted comics off the playground. Haig had stomped on my maths book with his huge boots, leaving a muddy footprint across the cover - another big impression I'd make on the maths teacher.
He'd also ripped up the new Michael Jackson poster I'd brought to show my friends, and had left me with the parting words, 'If I don't get some money off you two by lunch time, I'm going to get mad, and you won't like me when I'm mad.'
We didn't like him anyway, but his threat alarmed us. I had visions of him turning into a massive monster over his runny mash and solidified gravy; his uniform splitting, his already ugly face turning an awful shade of green. Fear wound itself around my internal organs.
All morning, Dayle and I crept around school like a couple of terrified mice, trying to avoid bumping into Haig. Near the end of cookery class we glanced nervously out of the window and spotted him walking toward the physics lab. He spotted us spotting him, and laughed, shaking his fist up at us. Dayle let out a scream. I ducked behind a cooker, knocking off a saucepan which made another girl drop her perfect soufflé. The teacher made us both write out two hundred lines; I must not cause mass hysteria during school hours.
At lunch time, we saw him lingering around the jugs of cold custard in the dinner hall, just itching to get his hands around our necks.
'We can either fight him to the death,' I said, peering at him through a crack in the door, 'Or starve.'
We starved.
In the afternoon, Dayle kept bursting into tears during PE lesson, making all the apparatus wet and slippy. Gina Wallis almost broke her neck vaulting over the drenched wooden horse.
I spent the afternoon with my maths teacher, who at first tried to entice me out from beneath my desk, and then gave me detention.
By home time, we were both nervous wrecks. We sneaked out along the corridors, darting from one open classroom to the next, ready to make a run for it should the beast make a sudden appearance.
The walk down the school driveway seemed to last an eternity. Our eyes flitted around like loose marbles in our sockets, searching for any sign of those steel toecap boots, and our ears strained to catch the sound of his heavy breathing.
Finally, we reached the gates.
And there he was, leaning against the railings with his hand outstretched. 'Your money or your life,' he said.
Dayle and I looked at one another. Haig stepped closer. We stepped back.
'If I don't get fifty pence off both of you within the next ten seconds, you're history.'
I was so nervous, I began to giggle. Then my treacherous mouth uttered the words, 'Where does he get all this corny dialogue from?' before I had a chance to stop it.
Dayle didn't laugh. She looked mortified. Haig didn't look too happy either, and grabbed hold of my arm.
'Are you making fun of me?' he rasped.
I pressed my lips together, determined not to let my mouth say anything else.
'Money,' he snarled, 'I want money.'
Suddenly, Dayle screamed, 'I'm telling my mom of you,' and began to cry, great globules of tears pouring down her face.
Annoyed by Dayle's howling, Haig pounded my limp body against his brick wall of a chest. Dayle, still sobbing hysterically, reached out and tugged desperately at my one arm, whilst Haig tugged at the other. I felt like a piece of elastic in serious danger of snapping apart.
Just then, a little boy appeared from nowhere. The besotted first year sidled up to Dayle with love oozing from his eyes.
'What's up, darling?' his unbroken voice asked.
He put an arm around her waist. Dayle immediately released her grip on my arm, and I fell to the ground, bringing Haig down on top of me. Several ribs bent under his weight, and I had to make a real effort to keep breathing.
Dayle spun round to the little kid who had dared to touch her, and hissed, 'Get lost, you odious little animal!'
The first year didn't seem the least bit offended. In fact, he seemed quite chuffed that she had spoken to him at all. Looking down at Haig with a face full of innocence, he said, 'What are you picking on my girlfriend for?'
Dayle's mouth dropped. 'I'm not your girlfriend!' she shrieked.
'She owes me money,' Haig said, dragging himself off me and struggling to his feet. 'They both do. Fifty pence each.'
'I'll buy them both off you for seventy-five pence,' the first year said. 'As long as Dayle promises to go out with me.'
Dayle was bright red with fury. 'How dare you try and bargain for my affections,' she spluttered. 'I'm worth a lot more that seventy-five pathetic pence!'
'One pound,' Haig insisted.
The lovesick kid hesitated for a moment. He turned to inspect Dayle from the toes of her shoes to the top of her head, before finally deciding.
'Okay,' he said, thrusting his hand into his trouser pocket and rummaging amongst the fluff, 'You've got yourself a deal, mate.'
Haig looked well pleased, and held out his hand expectantly. Dayle had, by now, turned purple with rage.
'I'd rather be beaten with a cricket bat full of nails than go out with you,' she screamed at the first year. 'There's no way you're going to buy a date with me off someone else. Exactly what kind of a girl do you think I am?'
With that, she spun round on her heels and stormed off down the road. I took one look at Haig, still standing there with his hand held out for the money, and quickly followed her.
The first year watched us leave. Apparently, when he realised that Dayle wasn't going to fall madly in love with him because he'd saved her from the school bully, he changed his mind. When I glanced nervously over my shoulder, I saw him darting across the road waving the pound coin in the air and laughing.
Haig's stiffened, his upper lip curled. His bristly head turned towards our hastily departing bodies. Then, with a deep roar, he came after us.
'RUN,' I screamed.
Dayle's pace didn't quicken in the slightest. 'Seventy-five pence,' she muttered. 'The horrible child actually thought he could buy a date with me for seventy-five pence, can you believe it? I can't.'
'Dayle, he's coming. Haig. He's coming to get us.'
'I mean,' she continued, 'I might have considered it for a pound, but seventy-five pence No way!'
Haig was gaining on us. I could hear his heavy boot beating a frantic rhythm on the pavement. My heart started to inflate, my stomach curled up and died, and still Dayle kept going on about the cheek of young children these days.
Just when I thought the end had arrived, that all hope for survival was gone, a red car pulled up beside us. Mr Jewit, my Geography teacher, wound down the passenger window.
'Don't forget your homework tonight, Crystal,' he said. 'It's very important I get it first thing in the morning, not three weeks late like last time.'
'Yes, Mr Jewit.'
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Haig stop dead in his tracks. We'd been saved. I never thought I'd be so grateful to see my Geography teacher.
'And try and do more than half a page this time, Crystal,' Mr Jewit added.
'Yes, sir. Of course, sir. Hope you have an enjoyable evening, sir. Wasn't the weather just awful today, sir?'
Haig loitered in the background. I could feel his eyes boring into the back of my neck. Mr Jewit quickly grew impatient with my attempt to keep him talking until Haig died of boredom or old age, but I tried to keep him there for as long as possible.
'I really do enjoy Geography,' I lied. 'You're such a good teacher, Mr Jewit. What do you think of the climate in southern Spain at this time of the year, sir, and do you think living in a hot country is better or worse than living in a cold one?'
Mr Jewit glared at me. 'Can we resume this conversation tomorrow, Crystal, only I have an eight month old son I'd like to see grown into manhood, if that's okay with you?'
I blushed and stared down at my feet. Mr Jewit shook his head and pulled away from the kerb. Now there was no one to save us.
Haig stomped towards us again with a vengeance. Mr Jewit drove up the road a little way, then stopped next to another Geography student. Mr Jewit was very strict about homework. I prayed he would be delayed by the entire Geography class all the way up the road. If we were lucky, we might be able to evade capture and escape with our lives.
I pushed Dayle forward. She'd abandoned the subject of money and grotty first years, and was now complaining about homework.
'How are we supposed to find time to go to disco's and meet boys when we have four tons of homework to do every single night of the week?'
Haig was waiting to come after us again. Mr Jewit was revving up his engine and driving away. As his car faded into the distance, Haig's plodding footsteps started up again. Closer and closer. Louder and louder. My heart pounded. Blood coursed through my veins like the rumblings of an old lavatory cistern.
Then I heard something else. Another sound. Something familiar.
It was the dry, hoarse noise of Magpie's chattering in the distance.
I glanced around frantically, and saw Maggie and B.W. visiting relatives in the Ash tree on the corner of Gregory Avenue. I jumped up and down, waving my arms in the air to attract their attention and making a complete fool of myself in the process.
Maggie eventually spotted my impersonation of a windmill, and came over on the pretence of picking some tasty morsel off the ground.
'What do you want?' she cawed.
'Do you see him?' I whispered, flicking my head back towards a rapidly descending Haig. 'He's after us. Can you stall him while we make a bolt for it?'
Dayle stopped muttered about homework and disco's. She turned to look at me as if I'd suddenly gone mad. 'Who are you talking to, Crystal?'
Maggie flew up, startled by the sound of a strangers voice. For one horrifying moment, I thought she had ignored my plea for help and was about to leave us to our fate.
But, as I pulled Dayle into a run, I caught sight of her black and white shape swooping low over Haig's head, and dumping on him.
