WHILE LOWRY AND HER MUM ARGUED loudly in the kitchen over flour measurements that evening, with Sheila occasionally joining in and Felix watching, Molly sat on Lowry’s bed frowning into one of the many books of Howlfair legends that she’d stored in her best friend’s room.
Footsteps.
Lowry came into her bedroom flustered and dusted in icing sugar. “So you found your books then.”
“Sorry, I didn’t realize how many boxes of stuff I’d left here.”
Lowry shrugged and fell into the gingham armchair.
“Oh, and I found this,” said Molly, holding up one of the tomes that lay on the bed, a scrapbook cluttered with notes and photographs.
“That’s my research into the Kroglin Werewolf,” said Lowry. “It proves there’s a definite link between my gran and the Kroglins, who were known for dabbling in wolf-magic.”
“Lowry, there’s no way your gran is the Kroglin Werewolf,” said Molly, examining a picture of Lowry’s gran in a restaurant, daintily eating a small hamburger. Underneath it, Lowry had written: GRANDMA FEASTING ON CATTLE FLESH. “I know a lot about werewolves and trust me, your gran shows no signs of being one. Though I’m pretty sure that at least one generation of your family was raised by wolves, and some wolfy habits might have been passed down through the ages…”
“But, Molly, what if there’s a wolf-curse in my family and it’s skipped a generation and I’m about to inherit it?” said Lowry. “Promise me you’ll look at the evidence.”
“OK, I promise,” Molly sighed, returning to the book of Howlfair lore. “I’d forgotten how gripped by ghoul legends Howlfair once was,” she said. “The whole town used to be scared to death of ghouls, back in the Dark Days. Rich people got buried in special ghoul-proofed graveyards, or they were put in silver coffins, to keep the ghouls from eating their dead bodies. Then there were all these folks who sold special charms and perfumes that people could put on their dead loved ones before they buried them, to repel ghouls.”
“Try new Ghoul-Begone!” cried Lowry. “The stinky spray that keeps ghouls away.”
“Grave robbers used to steal the silver coffins and trinkets and sell them back to the coffin makers and charm sellers. And then there were grave watchers armed with cutlasses who used to guard tombs, but they charged a fortune for their services. Ghouls were big business in Howlfair.”
Lowry looked sheepish. “Confession time. I don’t actually know what a ghoul is,” she said. “I’m guessing some kind of corpse-eating … zombie?”
Molly switched books. “Layali Mangil, an expert on Arabian folklore, has discovered very early legends describing ghouls as junior demons expelled from Hell as a punishment for annoying senior demons. They’re desperate to get back to the underworld, but they have to stay on earth and feed on rotten corpses until they’ve paid off their debt to Hell. They eat living people too, but only if they’re commanded to by a senior demon or a witch who knows how to control them.” She showed Lowry a sketch of a ghoul.
“I think my sister went out with him once.”
“In their natural state they look pretty disgusting, but they’re able to shape-shift,” Molly went on. “Often they’ll impersonate someone you know very well, and lure you to a lonely place where they can kill you.” Another book. “According to Elspeth Blinkhorne, who was a scholar and probably a witch, the common ghoul is really a type of egrimus—”
“Oh, you told me what that means!” said Lowry excitedly, sitting up straight in her armchair. “It’s a monster made of the putrid flesh of a thousand murder victims!”
“A hundred victims,” said Molly, “and no, that’s a putrimus. An egrimus is any spirit or phantom that can become at least slightly corporeal.”
“Slightly what-the-heck-did-you-just-say?”
“Corporeal. Solid.” She switched books again. “There’s one thing all the scholars agree on, though. Ghouls are desecrators.”
“Like painting and wallpapering?”
“Not decorators, Lowry. Desecrators. They get a kick out of spoiling things that people hold sacred.”
Lowry checked her watch. “Speaking of spoiling things, I’d better get back to the kitchen and help Mum ruin the cake. And you’d better get out of here if you’re going to catch this mystery guy who’s visiting the orphanage.”
“Wait – how am I supposed to sneak out without your parents seeing me? I think your dad’s in the living room.”
“Go through my window, of course!”
“Are you kidding?”
“Why would I be kidding?” Lowry bounded over to the window and with a grunt hoisted up the heavy lower sash. “It’s easy – see?” She scrambled through the frame and dropped, letting out a diminishing cry as though she were falling a thousand feet. But of course Lowry’s house was a bungalow.
Molly rolled her eyes, dropped her book and went over to the window. Suddenly Lowry popped up. Behind her, Little Valley Drive’s circular green was lavishly buttered with evening sunlight. “Hey, look what I found!”
She was holding a cat.
“Gabriel! What are you doing here?”
“I thought cats were supposed to stick to their own territory,” said Lowry, putting Gabriel down on the grass and helping Molly through the window.
Molly dropped to the ground. The cat leaned dramatically against her leg.
“Gabriel, go home!” she said. “You don’t have enough lives left to be wandering around town.”
“Yeah, Gabriel – scram!” commanded Lowry, pointing northwards with great authority. Nonchalantly Gabriel sauntered south. Lowry put her arm down and sighed. “You know why he came here? It’s like he’s saying, I’m Molly’s real best friend, not you, and don’t you forget it.”
“Lowry, you’ve gone insane,” said Molly, checking her pocket to make sure that she had a notepad and pen. “I’ll see you later. Good luck with baking.”
“Good luck with your investigations,” said Lowry, crawling back into her house. “Give me a full report when you get back. And don’t let any ghouls decorate you!”