The Time of the Ghost by Diana Wynne Jones Page B

in most nights to tuck them up. So what was she to do? Imogen was still stiff and twirling, and her face was an odder color than ever. I know! Sally found herself whizzing through the room toward that bell push labeled “ FOR EMERGENCY ONLY. ” Because , she said as she whizzed, if this isn’t an emergency, I’d like to know what is! Oh, the idiots! She flung herself on the chilly little white button with even more force than she had used on the wastepaper basket.
    Downstairs her worry had somehow communicated itself to Oliver. After a few rumbling, questioning growls, he burst out barking, each bark like a clap of thunder. And at almost the same time Imogen reached the end of her endurance. With what was probably the last breath in her body, she managed to make her grinning mouth utter a long, grating squeak. “Ee-ee-eeeh!”
    â€œI think she’s dying,” Fenella said, hushed with shock.
    â€œGet her down—quick!” said Cart.
    Sally turned from hurling herself at the bell push to find them hurriedly lowering Imogen. They tried to do it too quickly and burned their hands. Fenella let go and fell over backward. Cart let out a roar. Imogen flopped to the floor and folded there in a green nylon heap, with her face a dense mauve, breathing in small, shallow shrieks.
    â€œChrist!” said Cart, with her fingers on the knot in the skipping ropes. “This rope is practically embedded in her! Scissors, quickly!”
    Fenella leaped up and thudded on knobby feet to Sally’s drawer again. Feathers came out in a black cloud to join the wastepaper on the Rude Rug. And to Sally’s relief, the scissors toppled out with them. Fenella scudded back with them and hung anxiously over Cart while Cart hacked at the rope round Imogen. All the while, from below, Oliver kept up a thunderous, howling bark.
    â€œOh, do go and shut him up, Fenella!” said Cart.
    The rope came apart. Sally saw Imogen’s chest enlarge. She made a great noise like “Hoom” and began breathing properly again. Her face turned a more normal color almost at once. Tenderly and gently Cart and Fenella heaved her into bed, where she lay gasping.
    â€œI don’t think I shall be a pantomime fairy,” she said tearfully. “Their life must be perfect hell.”
    â€œI think they may wear some kind of harness, you know,” Cart said.
    â€œAll the same,” Imogen gasped dolefully, “I think I shall have to stick to my music. I’m … not fitted … for a strenuous … stage career.”
    Downstairs Oliver’s barking turned abruptly to shamed whining. Impatient, angry feet in high heels clattered on the stairs. Imogen, Cart, and Fenella exchanged looks of horror. Fenella kicked the skipping ropes and the scissors under Imogen’s bed and dived for her own. Cart dithered and finally decided to sit on Imogen’s bed in the attitude of a sister exchanging confidences. There was no point in putting the light out, Sally knew. Phyllis would have seen it shining from the stairs.
    The next second Phyllis burst into the room. She looked like an avenging angel that has done too much avenging for that day. Tired, so tired, Sally thought. There were deep lines under the angel eyes and even deeper ones beside the angel mouth. The electric light seemed to bleach her pale face and hair to tired white. Sally took one look at that face and found herself up on the beam over Imogen’s bed, out of harm’s way.
    â€œWhat is going on?” Phyllis inquired. It was her terrible flat, tired voice. “Is this a practical joke? Is your father to have no peace in the evenings?”
    â€œI—I’m sorry, Mother,” Cart said in a subdued, childish whisper. “Oliver just started barking for no reason at all.”
    â€œI didn’t mean Oliver,” said Phyllis. “How many times have you been told that the alarm bell is only to be pressed in a real