Thistlebloom was a no-nonsense woman. She was sensible, logical, analytical and, to be honest, rather dull. Accordingly, she did not believe in fairies, pixies, trolls, leprechauns, zombies, vampires or ghosts. Even though they are all totally and utterly true.
Imagine her surprise, then, upon looking out the window and seeing a large white ghost galloping across the back garden in the dark.
Imagine her further surprise when that ghost ran full pelt into a tree, made a high-pitched whickering noise and flopped on the ground with a thud.
And imagine her ultimate surprise when Mrs Groves dashed out from the shrubbery, revived the ghost by popping a peppermint somewhere within the folds of its face, then led it away under cover of the blackberry bushes, through the outside trapdoor, down into the basement.
‘Mrs Groves’ Boarding School for Naughty Boys, Talking Animals, Circus Performers and Ghosts?’ Thistlebloom screeched. ‘We’ll see about that!’