Forest Secrets by David Laing Page A

rope and peg that were in his path. He tripped on the rope and the peg caught on his pyjamas bottoms that fell in a heap to the ground. He bent to pick them up.
    â€˜Looks like a full moon’s out tonight,’ Snook said, as we watched Blowhard scrambling to set things right with himself.
    Seeing the grins on our faces and realising how silly he must look, Blowhard spluttered, ‘You … you two. Come to ridicule me some more, have you?’
    â€˜Nup,’ Snook said. ‘Just come to make sure you’re not goin’ to go up in flames. One last check, so to speak.’
    â€˜I-It’s okay for you. You haven’t got a ghost after you.’
    Snook and I exchanged glances, and trying not to giggle, I said, ‘Ghost? There’s no ghost that we can see, Mr Blowhard.’
    Holding his pyjamas up with one hand, Blowhard pointed towards the annex with the other. I couldn’t help noticing that his hand was shaking. ‘Well, there was something ,’ he said, his voice suddenly developing a squeak. ‘I saw it as plain as day. It was outside, trying to get into my bedroom.’
    Standing on the tips of his toes, Snook made a show of looking around. ‘I can’t see anything. Maybe you were imagining it.’
    â€˜No, no, I heard it,’ Blowhard insisted, his voice still squeaking like a trapped mouse. ‘It was making a horrible, snarly sound, and it was huge … and ugly.’ With his hand still quivering, he pointed through the flaps of the annex. ‘There’s something in there now! I can hear it!’
    I could see that Blowhard was losing it fast, so I figured I’d better do something. Pushing one of the flaps to one side, I peered into his bedroom. I couldn’t help grinning. Signalling to Snook who was standing behind me, I said, ‘I’ve found Mr Blowhard’s ghost and it looks like he’s really enjoying himself.’
    â€˜What’s that? What did you say?’ Pushing himself forward and still holding onto his pyjamas, Blowhard peered over my shoulder. ‘Wh-what do you mean, enjoying himself?’
    Snook, peeking over Blowhard’s shoulder, burst out laughing. ‘It’s your ghost, Mr Blowhard, and by the looks of him I don’t reckon he wants to hurt you. He might want to say thanks, though.’ Leaning back on Blowhard’s bed, eating Blowhard’s block of chocolate and making lots of grunting noises was a large, black, brush tailed possum.
    Blowhard’s cheeks burnt crimson as he spluttered, ‘But I saw a ghost, I really did. I saw its shape. It was trying to get into my bedroom and it was making lots of ghost sounds.’
    I could see that Snook was having trouble controlling himself. ‘Was it a sort of “Arghhh! … Arghh!” noise?’ he asked, imitating the possum and trying not to laugh again.
    Squinting and screwing up his face as if he’d just eaten a lemon, Blowhard eventually said, ‘Y-yes. It s-sounded a b-bit like that. S-so what?’
    I thought I’d better answer for Snook who was bent almost double, spluttering. ‘It was the possum making that noise, and what you saw earlier was the outline of its shadow caused by your lamp. The shadow cast by the light would naturally make it look bigger than it actually was, so the possum that’s now lying on your bed and eating your chocolate is your ghost.’
    Snook, who’d managed to stop laughing, couldn’t help himself. ‘He’ll be after your can of Fanta next, Mr Blowhard. I’d grab that if I were you.’

    Glaring at Snook, Blowhard replied, ‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ He looked across at me. ‘Tell me young lady, did you and that impudent, ill-mannered ruffian arrange this … this fiasco? I wouldn’t be surprised if you did.’ Tossing his head in the air, his words dripping with contempt, he said, ‘And now, if you don’t mind, I