Mr Mahli's Shed Read online

  ‘So I went inside the shed,’ Mrs Best continued ‘although I was feeling a bit scared as you can imagine!’

  ‘Was it a burglar, Miss?’ shouted Gregory from the back of the class.

  ‘No Gregory, nothing was missing. It had all just been moved. The weird thing was that the shed was completely empty. Nothing left in there at all, not even a spider’s web on the ceiling!’

  This was all beginning to sound frighteningly familiar to TB and Alys. Mrs Best went on to explain how she’d woken up her husband and they’d put everything back. She’d felt a little bit freaked out but managed to sleep anyway, thinking someone had just played a harmless trick on her.

  The next day however, everything was out of the shed again. This time, as they started to put everything back, Mrs Best had heard a low moan and suddenly felt very cold. She’d rushed out of the shed in fright and hadn’t felt able to go back in again since.

  Mr Best had sorted out the shed only for the same thing to happen the next night. He tried waiting near the shed for the culprit to appear and had even fashioned a sort of trip wire around the garden perimeter (the children were quite impressed by this), but no one had come in and no one had gone out. It was all very peculiar and Mrs Best couldn’t sleep at all, worrying about who was taunting her in this way.

  ‘Have you ever heard anything like it?’ Mrs Best asked the children with an anxious look on her pretty face. Alys and TB had. And they knew exactly what to do about it.

  Sixteen

  The Best Plan

  ‘The crafty devil!’ exclaimed Mr Mahli when the children told him what they knew after school. ‘Whatever do you think he’s doing in Mrs Best’s shed then?’

  ‘No idea,’ replied TB, ‘but we have to go and get him. Poor Mrs Best is freaking out!’ Mr Mahli looked thoughtful for a minute.

  ‘He must want her to know he’s there,’ he mused, ‘or he wouldn’t have made it so blooming obvious with all his furniture removal trickery. Wonder when he learnt that trick then. I don’t know, travelling in bags, floating in cupboards; it sounds as though Dylan has been given a whole new lease of life with you two!’

  ‘Why would he want her to know?’ asked a worried Alys. ‘Surely he doesn’t want to scare her! What’s she ever done to him? And why would he want to get us in trouble? We were epic to him! We were like, the best ever friends, taking him out and that.’

  ‘Calm down lovely,’ soothed Mr Mahli, ‘I’m sure he doesn’t want to get you into trouble. What you need to know about Dylan is that he’s a little … impetuous.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ asked Alys.

  ‘I know,’ said TB, ‘it means you don’t give a monkeys about anyone else, just yourself. Dylan’s off on his adventures and he hasn’t given us a second thought.’

  The children felt very cross with Dylan now and Mr Mahli went off to the kitchen to see if he had any of Nan Taylor’s bara brith left. In times of distress, cake was always the answer.

  ‘We need to go and get him,’ repeated TB as he helped himself to a spoonful of mayonnaise (the cake was all gone unfortunately). ‘We need to find out where Mrs Best lives, go over without letting her know we’re there and make him leave her shed.’

  ‘You’re right,’ said Alys, ‘but I can’t go this evening ’cos I’ve got Tae Kwon-do.’

  ‘And I’m … out between seven and eight thirty,’ added Mr Mahli.

  ‘Where are you off to?’ Alys asked casually. She was surprised to see Mr Mahli was blushing! TB knew at once.

  ‘Nan! You’re going to see my Nan aren’t you?’ A big smirk spread across his face.

  ‘She needed a bridge partner, Tomos. It’s not a wedding son, calm down. Anyway, you can’t go about stalking ghosts at night. Where does Mrs Best live? I’ll go and get him myself.’

  The children paused. They desperately wanted to be part of this mission but knew Mr Mahli would never let them. TB glanced at Alys and read her like a book. They’d go alright, but without Mr Mahli knowing about it.

  ‘I’ll google her Mr M,’ he said and sat down at Mr Mahli’s ancient PC.

  He was still there thirty minutes later.

  ‘Oh, TB! How are we supposed to find her house? You said you’d find it. What happened?’ Alys demanded.

  ‘I looked, alright? I googled her and checked her Facebook and Instagram and everything but I can’t find her address. Don’t panic though,’ TB soothed, ‘we’ll just go to the school and look in the office. I know there’s a file there with all the teachers’ names and addresses and stuff and we can…’

  ‘TB! You are not serious. We can’t go breaking in to the school! Honestly, all these clandestine plans have gone to your head!’ TB and Mr Mahli stared at Alys.

  ‘Good Word!’ they said in unison.

  ‘It was “word of the day” last week.’ Alys shrugged. ‘Anyway, you’re just going to have to leave it Mr M. Get him another night.’ TB nodded reluctantly but Mr Mahli had disappeared into the hallway. When he came back he was holding a large floppy book.

  ‘Here it is,’ he announced, ‘number 27, Sketty Avenue.’ He looked up at the children with a smug smile on his face.

  ‘Sometimes books beat computers you know,’ he declared in quite an annoying voice.

  TB and Alys left Mr Mahli to get ready, but they had no intention of letting him go alone.

  ‘We’ll have to follow him tonight Al,’ TB announced as they crossed the road, ‘under the cover of darkness.’

  ‘Yes!’ hissed Alys, punching the air; the balaclava was going to see some action after all.

  The plan was set.

  Seventeen

  Operation ‘Dylan’

  TB pulled the covers right up to his chin when his mum came in to say goodnight, masking his black jumper and jeans. The moment his mum had turned off the light and gone back downstairs, TB jumped out of bed and headed to the window. He had climbed down several times from here before. It wasn’t too bad because there was a little flat roof about three foot below the window and from there he could leap onto one of the garden tiers and run down the steps. But he’d never done it in the dark.

  TB slipped his backpack over his shoulders, tucked his torch down his trousers and stepped out into the night. The air felt chilly around his face and he suddenly felt very alive. His breath came fast and shallow and the cool air in his lungs seemed to be pulsing around his whole body.

  Alys waited until her parents had gone into the lounge, shut the door and put the telly on, then she sneaked straight out the front door. Despite the balaclava, she was less dramatic than TB as a rule.

  They watched Mr Mahli leave the house from behind a handy rhododendron bush, then followed him, silently, as he hurried down the road.

  Dark masters of the night.

  Sketty Avenue was quiet and tree-lined. There were lampposts at regular intervals all along the street, but the one outside 27 was dark. TB vaguely wandered if Dylan had anything to do with that. He had a history of blowing bulbs after all.

  The two friends stayed close to the brick wall as they shuffled round to the back of the house. A light was on in the front room downstairs, but the curtains were drawn so only a slice of yellow shone out onto the small front garden.

  Alys reached for TB’s hand in the dark. She was more scared of Mr Best lying in wait for them in the garden than she was of any spooks or ghouls. But she hoped it was too early for him to begin his nightly garden patrol. The back garden was eerily silent. The shed stood at the bottom of it, looking foreboding and slightly tilted. The pair stood very still for what seemed like a few minutes but was probably only one. When there was no sign of any other movement in the garden they forged ahead.

  ‘Look out for Mr Best’s trip wires,’ warned Alys in a whisper. They began to walk differently then, with high steps like they were doing exaggerated tip-toes. They looked quite ridiculous at that moment, but luckily no one was there to see them.

  Except Mr Mahli.

  He had cunningly
camouflaged himself by holding a fern in front of his face and was creeping towards the shed a few steps in front of TB and Alys.

  ‘Pssst!’ TB hissed ‘Mr M, it’s us!’ Mr Mahli jumped a metre in the air and threw his fern straight at TB. TB ducked to avoid the actually-not-very-scary plant and Alys put her finger to her lips.

  ‘Shh. Mr Mahli. Calm down and keep quiet!’ Mr Mahli frowned at this.

  ‘Don’t you go telling me what to do Miss Alys James. What the devil are you two doing here? Do your mums know you’re here?’

  The children looked shiftily at their feet for a moment.

  ‘No,’ started TB, ‘but…’

  ‘Don’t make excuses boy. I told you not to come and you expressly disobeyed me. When I was your age I…’

  ‘Mr Mahli,’ whispered Alys, ‘we’ve brought the bag.’

  Mr Mahli stopped wagging his finger at the pair and looked at the rucksack TB was carrying on his back.

  ‘The bag?’

  ‘Yes’ continued Alys ‘how else can we get Dylan out of the shed?’ Mr Mahli chewed his lip for a moment then quietly sighed.

  ‘Come on then. But you’re going straight home after this and there’ll be no Joe’s ice cream on the way.’

  Alys reached the shed first. ‘Right TB, look around for the key,’ she instructed.

  But this time the shed wasn’t locked. The ease with which the door opened took TB by surprise and he stumbled backwards, letting the door bang against the side of the shed. ‘Oh no!’ whispered Alys and the three friends froze.

  ‘Oh no!’ exclaimed another voice in the darkness. It was a voice they knew well.

  ‘Dylan boy!’ called Mr Mahli, ‘what are you up to eh? It’s time to come home now. You’ve caused quite a bit of mischief.’ TB shone the torch into the shed and there was Dylan, in another replica of Mr Mahli’s shed, sitting comfortably in his old chair and holding a pen like a cigar between his lips.

  TB, Mr Mahli and Alys piled into the shed and pulled the door shut behind them. ‘We’ll have to talk about it later,’ urged TB. ‘We’ve got to get you out of here before Mr or Mrs Best comes out and starts going mental.’ But Dylan shook his head. ‘Aw no! Don’t do this to us, Dylan. You’re scaring Mrs Best to pieces being here. She won’t even come into her own shed any more. Why are you here Dylan? Why?’

  Dylan lowered his pen-cigar and regarded TB. ‘I’m here, boy,’ he said slowly, ‘because I’m in love with Mrs Best.’ He paused to see their reactions then went on. ‘And I’m going to tell her I’m here as soon as I find the opportunity. She and I will have wonderful times in this place together once she understands about me.’

  The children were amazed. Mr Mahli sat down on the floor in shock. Nobody knew quite what to say. Could Dylan be serious? Did he really want to live here with Mrs Best? And did he really believe that she could love a ghost?

  No one had the chance to answer these questions however, because there was a very loud knock on the shed door right at that moment.

  Eighteen

  A Shed Load of Trouble

  They heard a nervous throat-clearing, then a shaky voice demanded loudly, ‘Come out of that shed right now this instant. I’ve called the police and they’re on their way.’

  ‘Oh no,’ groaned TB. ‘You two stall him, I’ll try to get Dylan in the bag.’

  Mr Mahli and Alys stood side by side in the shed doorway, ready to block Mr Best’s view, and opened the door. To say Mr Best was surprised to see an old man and a nine-year-old girl in his shed at half past nine on a Tuesday night would be an understatement.

  ‘What are you … who are you … what? Who are you doing here?’ babbled Mr Best, lowering the cricket bat he was carrying. Alys noticed Mrs Best standing in a pool of light by the back door, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

  ‘Mrs Best,’ she called out suddenly, ‘it’s me, Alys.’ Mr Best turned back towards his wife, who came running over the lawn towards them.

  ‘Alys?’ she cried. ‘Has it been you all along? I don’t understand…’

  ‘No, Mrs Best, I wanted to help you. I was worried about what you said in school and I thought I could…’

  ‘This is one of your pupils?’ interrupted Mr Best.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Best confirmed, ‘but I have no idea what she’s doing here at this time of night and who this man is with her!’ The couple turned to Mr Mahli, who opened his mouth to speak, then closed it abruptly when he realised he had nothing to say.

  Alys came to his rescue. ‘This is my granddad,’ she said, desperately. ‘He’s great at doing this kind of thing you see because he worked as a commando in the war and had to do like, tons of stake-outs and stuff.’ Mr Mahli smiled reassuringly at the couple. ‘I asked him to come with us because I shouldn’t be out at night without an adult of course, but I was so keen to help you get rid of the … whatever’s been bothering you.’

  Mrs Best sighed and smiled. ‘You shouldn’t have done this, Alys,’ she said softly, ‘but I really appreciate you trying to help. Look, come inside and warm up. We’ll ring the police and tell them they don’t need to come after all. Bring your … um … granddad too, come on.’ Mrs Best ushered them all towards the house and Mr Mahli surreptitiously pushed the shed door shut behind them.

  TB and Dylan narrowed their eyes at each other like cowboys preparing for a dual. ‘I’m not coming with you boy, so you may as well leave,’ Dylan declared. TB turned around without a word and stepped out of the shed. He was back a second later with two things in his hands: a box of screws and a hammer. He held them up for Dylan to see.

  ‘Don’t make me get nasty, Dylan,’ he warned, ‘but I know how to use this and I’m not afraid to do it.’

  Dylan smirked lazily. ‘You can’t hurt me lad, I’m a ghost.’ But TB just smirked right back at him.

  ‘Oh, I’m not planning on hurting you, Spooky Simon.’ (He didn’t know where that came from, but thought it sounded good at the time.) ‘I’m planning on fixing everything and anything I can possibly fix to the floor of this shed, and you won’t be able to move it.’

  Dylan opened his mouth to protest but TB went on, ‘and when I’ve done that I’ll start on the ceiling, and pretty soon you’ll have no room to make your ghostly den and Mrs Best will never come in here anyway. Give it up, Dylan; you’ve got to come with me. It’s not right you being here, you know that.’

  Dylan stared first at the hammer in TB’s hand and then back at the boy’s face.

  ‘Since when did nine year olds become so damn bossy?’ he asked softly. He sank down further into his chair and put his messy-haired head in his hands.

  ‘You can’t understand yet boy, but she’s cigars to me. She’s the drinks I can’t have and the silk I can’t touch. Her voice is my heart’s music and I can’t go back to the quiet of Mr Mahli’s shed, I just can’t. I need beauty in my life boy, like you need water.’

  TB smiled sadly and shrugged because it seemed like the right thing to do. He didn’t have a clue what Dylan was on about but he had to get him out of the shed before Mr Mahli and Alys left the house and went home without him.

  ‘Dylan, we’ll find you some beauty I promise. But it can’t be here. We really do have to go now … don’t make me use the hammer.’

  Nineteen

  A Disgruntled Guest

  The noises began a few days after Dylan’s reluctant return to Mr Mahli’s shed. He had been quite stubborn about visitors and the children had only been allowed in a couple of times to see him. It was Friday night when the banging sound became too loud for Mr Mahli to ignore. He poked his head out of the back door to see his shed rocking about in an alarming manner.

  Dylan was running from side to side, bashing his body into the walls of the shed and ricocheting off to hit the other side again.

  ‘For goodness sake Dylan, stop all this!’ implored Mr Mahli. ‘You’ll wake up the neighbours! What are you trying to do anyway? Break the shed?’

  Dylan stopped running about and s
at on the floor in a heap.

  ‘Actually yes, I was trying to break the shed. I’m fed up to the back teeth of this place, Mahli. I look out of the window every day and the view never changes. My view never changes. I miss Claire and I want to get out.’

  ‘Claire?’ Mr Mahli questioned.

  ‘Mrs Best,’ confirmed Dylan. ‘My Claire, my light.’

  ‘Good grief man, stop being so dramatic! Whoever heard of a ghost being in love? You’re imagining it Dylan. You just need … I don’t know … to forget about Mrs Claire. I’m off to bed now and I need you to leave my poor old shed alone. You’ve never managed to exist in the open air man, remember that.’

  Mr Mahli left the shed, closing the door behind him. The noises had stopped but Mr Mahli felt just as troubled and he didn’t know what to do.

  On Saturday night Mr Mahli was woken up by Roy from number six knocking on his door.

  ‘Whatever you’re up to Mr Mahli, in that shed of yours, please can you leave it till the morning? We’re all trying to get some sleep next door.’ Mr Mahli apologised quickly and scuttled into the garden to tell Dylan off again.

  He found Dylan sitting quietly in his seat. He was flickering gently round the edges and seemed quite transparent in the half-light.

  ‘Dylan?’ Mr Mahli asked gently. ‘What’s happening?’

  Dylan glanced up but hardly seemed to see Mr Mahli. He closed his eyes and rocked slightly in his chair. As Mr Mahli watched, his outline blurred and wobbled before becoming more solid again.

  ‘Are you leaving us boy?’ Mr Mahli crouched down next to Dylan and peered into his face.

  ‘Just having a kip, Mahli, just having a kip,’ he slurred and Mr Mahli crept quietly out of the shed and left him to sleep.