After lunch, they spent a windy afternoon at Glastonbury. It was a good thing Aunt Effie drove a Mini, Will decided. Some of the roads they took barely had room for anything else. It was strange enough to be driving on the left side of the road, but then there were prickly hedges and blind corners. Hedges towered like walls on the sides of some country roads, and at times the two-way road dropped to one lane. When the road narrowed at a corner, Aunt Effie tooted her horn and relied on mirrors mounted on the hedges to see if another car was about to crash into them.
Glastonbury Tor was a grassy hill with a ruined tower on top. It was so windy at the summit that Aunt Effie needed to shout as she told them stories about King Arthur and the ancient island of Avalon. The wind sliced through the tower’s empty roof and windows, making a wild sound. They were glad to descend to the Levels. As they walked along the hedgerows, Aunt Effie introduced them to Gog and Magog, two ancient oak trees along the path. “These venerable old oaks are thought to be two thousand years old! Makes our walnut seem like a child, doesn’t it? Just think of the history they’ve seen,” she said in a wistful voice. Afterward, they stopped in Glastonbury for ice-cream cones, and Will tried a new flavor, raspberry ripple.
Uncle Ben greeted them back at the Griffinage. He nuzzled them all one by one, and wagged so hard that his great thumping tail nearly knocked Ariel over. Meg ducked out of the way. Her hand was still swollen from the nettle stings, and probably didn’t want to be thumped. Will saw Aunt Effie mixing up another batch of baking soda paste.
“Why are you painting Meg’s hand?” asked Ariel.
“Takes the sting out, dearie,” answered Aunt Effie. “Nasty things, nettles,” she continued. “Though I do know people who eat them. Nettle soup! With potatoes, of course. And nettle tea is supposed to be very good for arthritis and allergies: packed with iron, calcium, and magnesium. They say if you grasp a nettle firmly enough you don’t get stung, but I must admit I’ve never had the gumption to try. Ladybirds love them and lay their eggs on nettle leaves. I suppose if you’re an insect with an exoskeleton, nettles can’t sting no matter how lightly you tread. There! That should feel better soon.”
She patted Meg’s arm and put the baking soda away. Meg examined her hand, which was freshly caked with white paste. Like a ghost, Will thought. He sighed. He didn’t think he believed in ghosts, not really, but still it would be cool to see one. Here they were visiting in April, supposedly the best time, and Shep advised them to “keep your eye out,” but no sign of anything mysterious yet. Meg cradled her hand and disappeared upstairs. Will fingered the silver lion in his pocket. At least they’d found something.
From the living room, he could hear Aunt Effie’s voice as she began reading Alice in Wonderland to Ariel, Uncle Ben sprawled at their feet. They’d just reached the part in the story where Bill the lizard goes flying out the chimney. It was one of Will’s favorite parts, but he didn’t feel like listening. He wanted to know how to see a ghost. Will trailed up the stairs to Meg’s room.
“What are we going to do?” he asked, flopping on her bed.
“About what?”
“Oh, Shep’s mad at me, and he’s the only one who knows about ghosts—really knows.”
“Well,” said Meg. “That’s easy. You just have to get him un-mad.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“But I didn’t do anything. Not really. What do I say? ‘I’m sorry I don’t believe in ghosts’? People don’t usually apologize for things like that.”
Meg was silent. They both knew it would be good to have Shep back on their side and ready to talk. They had so many questions, and the book in the shop only offered vague phrases like “some say the tower is haunted.”
“What about a peace offering?” Meg asked after a bit.
“You mean a white flag?”
“No, I was thinking of a present. Something to show we really like him.”
“How about a chocolate bar?”
“That’s perfect,” said Meg. “Now we have to find some money.”
“No, we don’t,” said Will.
“Well, how else are we going to get a chocolate bar?”
“From my sock,” said Will, flashing his wide Griffin grin. “I saved one from the airport.”
“He’s home,” Will reported a few minutes later. “I set it on the stoop, but I didn’t go in.”
Aunt Effie had pointed out Shep’s house to them the day before. He was her nearest neighbor and the only visible house around, so it was easy to find.
“Good,” said Meg, sitting down on the Griffinage front step beside him. They’d decided to wait twenty minutes for Shep to find and eat the chocolate. Will had originally voted for half an hour, or even an hour, but Meg had pointed out that Shep might have to go out somewhere after that length of time, or a squirrel might eat it, so they settled on twenty minutes.
Twenty minutes later, Meg and Will approached Shep’s house and found Shep himself standing in his doorway wearing his scuffed leather boots. Even with a regular-sized door, he almost had to bend his head to look out. There was no sign of the candy bar.
“Ah. Thought I might be seeing more of you two,” Shep said.
“We’ve come . . . ,” began Will.
“I know why you’ve come,” said Shep, with a smile. “In you go, and shake your jackets off.”
Meg struggled with her jacket one-handed, careful not to bump her nettle stings. She always felt shy entering someone’s house for the first time. It was one thing to meet a person, but visiting where they lived was like meeting that person all over again. You got to glimpse inside of them somehow. Like seeing stray bits of soul they didn’t know they’d left lying out. Shep’s house smelled like coffee, fireplace smoke, and damp socks.
By the time Meg entered the living room, Will was already perched on a three-legged stool by the fireplace, tipping it up on two legs and talking animatedly to Shep. Meg settled back in a huge red wingback armchair and looked around Shep’s living room. It was a jumble of centuries: old stone walls and musty books, plus computer cords and all kinds of devices strewn about.
“Care for a bit of chocolate?” Shep winked at Will when he said this. He dug in his vest pocket and produced a slightly squashed candy bar in an orange and purple wrapper.
“Double Decker, my favorite,” said Shep. “Can’t answer for its condition. Arrived mysteriously at my house this afternoon.” Will blushed and righted the stool with a thump. Shep split the candy bar into three pieces, passing out sticky bits of nougaty chocolate to the children and popping the last bit in his mouth. They all licked their fingers in silence. Will perched on the edge of the three-legged stool and looked expectantly at Shep.
“So you want to know more about ghosts, do you?” Shep asked. The twinkle in his eye was back, and Meg settled into the armchair with a contented sigh. It was obvious Shep wasn’t irritated with them anymore.
“Have you seen her?” Will asked.
“Not in years.”
“But you did, once?” said Will. Will and Meg exchanged glances. So he did think they were real.
“Long ago,” said Shep. “When I was younger than you. We all saw her for a while, us kids in the village. Saw her a couple of times, and other ghosts, too, before we stopped looking. Your aunt would hate it that I’m telling you all this.” He paused and stared out the window, lost in thought.
“Why did you stop looking?” asked Meg.
“Eh?”
“Why did you stop looking for ghosts?”
“Got too old, you know,” answered Shep. “It’s young kids who mostly see ghosts. Starting around age two. That’s when it starts, with nightmares and things. Parents think it’s just a dream, but of course some of it’s ghosts. I’d say it peaks between four and ten for most children. By the time I was twelve or so, maybe around eleven, I knew I wouldn’t have much luck anymore, so I gave up. My brother, Pete, could see the ghosts, but I was done.”
Meg and Will looked at each other. Both knew what the other was thinking: Shep must be telling them all this because he thought they were the right age. He’d probably seen a real ghost, maybe even lots of ghosts, and he hoped they’d see one too. Around age twelve. Will was ten and Meg was a year older. Were they young enough? Would they be able to see them?
“Of course, ghosts only show up when they want to. They’ve got their own agendas.”
“Ghosts have agendas?” asked Meg. The word made her think about her agenda planner for school that listed all her class times.
“In a manner of speaking. Not to do with schedules and so on—no, that’s for the living. Ghosts don’t follow time, you see. They follow longings.”
Shep looked directly at each child. Will, who’d been tipping the stool on its front legs to the outer limit since they’d arrived, righted it again on all three. Meg sat up straight in her armchair. The way Shep looked at her confirmed they were having a serious conversation. She’d never heard anyone talk about ghosts like this before. There was no sound except for the ticking of Shep’s kitchen clock.
“A ghost longs for something most dreadfully,” Shep went on. “We all long for things when we’re alive—maybe for a puppy, or being popular at school—but a ghost longs for something so powerfully and so intensely that it just goes on longing even after its body dies. That’s why only some people turn into ghosts. Most rest in peace. A ghost is an unfulfilled longing.”
“And the manor ghost is longing for her child,” said Will.
“That’s right.”
“So you sort of see their longing,” said Meg.
“Right again,” Shep continued. “When the longing is strong enough, the ghost becomes visible. Not to everyone. Grown-ups might see lights or nothing at all. But children can usually sense the longing and it looks like a real person.”
The manor ghost’s longing was obvious, thought Meg. But what about other ghosts? What were they all longing for so intently that it wouldn’t let them be properly dead?
“Wait, how do you know all this?” asked Will. He sounded as if he’d been bursting to ask this question the whole time.
“A bit of personal study.”
“You mean you went to ghost school?”
“Some of the best things in life you don’t learn in school,” Shep answered. “I discuss it with a friend of mine. He’s a minister, in the business of souls you might say. But mainly I learned about ghosts as a boy by going right to the experts: conversations with the ghosts themselves.”
Conversations with ghosts! Shep made it sound so friendly, Meg thought. What would she say to a ghost? She’d like to meet a ghost and try having a chat. Hello, how does it feel to float? she’d say. It would be like having an imaginary friend, like Ariel, but one you could really see.
“Now then,” said Shep. “Must be getting close to your dinner time. I don’t want to fall on Effie’s bad side. Besides, if I fill up your heads with ghosts, she won’t have any space left to heap on the history.” He winked and ushered them to the door. “Keep your eyes open, see what you find.”
On the way home, Will hopped from foot to foot in excitement and talked nonstop about ghosts. “He really saw one. More than one! And made friends with them. I hope we’re here long enough.” Meg only half listened. She was distracted by a mix of feelings. Excitement, yes, but learning about ghosts’ longings had put her in a melancholy mood, and there was something else that was bothering her.
They reached the Griffinage garden. Above them, a sparrow perched on the thatch, tugged at a strand of straw, and then flew off with it proudly in its beak. From inside they could hear Ariel’s small voice singing. It wasn’t “Frère Jacques,” her usual tune. It was something new, a rather mournful song.
“Do you think I’m too old?” asked Meg. She swallowed a lump that seemed to stick in her throat.
“We’ll find out.”
“Oh, Will, I couldn’t bear it if eleven is too old. Just when things are getting exciting!”