Saffron & Bruno and the New House

It was a big wooden white house.  She looked up at it and smiled.  There were roses and daffodils in the garden and a fishpond.  The wooden fence, Tom Sawyer white, held a gate and a mailbox in its grasp.  The sky was blue and the sun was shining down.  She could tell immediately that this was going to a happy home.

The she was a little girl.  Her name was Saffron and she carried her suitcase and Bruno across the threshold.  Bruno lay inanimate in her arms, an overstuffed toy frog.  The hallway opened up to reveal a sweeping spiral staircase and whitewashed walls.  Everything was very neat and everything was very clean.  Saffron looked about her and turned at the noise of her parents coming up the garden path.  She smiled at them.  Her face beamed and her parents could tell immediately that this was going to be a happy home.

A spirit of adventure coursed through Saffron’s veins.  She let go of the handle of her suitcase and, holding on tight to Bruno, began to explore the whitewashed rooms of this big wooden white house.  There were nooks and crannies, lever-handled locked doorways that led down passageways to other rooms.  The floorboards were bare and brown – not a dark brown, a light, warm brown of freshly sawn wood.  Saffron could smell the sawdust.  It wasn’t dusty though.  The house was clean and new and ripe for the filling.  Without turning back on herself, Saffron gave herself a little shock as she opened a doorway and reappeared back in the hallway.  She thought that was a little odd because she had climbed stairs and walked along passageways and gone into rooms but she had not climbed down stairs.  She shook her head and knew there would be a simple explanation.  She was simply unfamiliar with the lay out of her new home.  It had played a little trick on her.  She laughed.  Immediately she could tell this was going to be a happy home.

Saffron grabbed her mother’s hand and led her to the bedroom. “This is the one,” she said, and took her mother to look out of the window.  The fields of the surrounding farms wafted the summer breeze and trees shook their branches, waving her a greeting.  A few farmhouses stood up proud in the view and there, off to the right, was the village.  From the window they could see the village postman on his rounds, the ducks on the duck-pond and the red bus waiting at the bus stop.  They watched as the postman weaved his way up the lane to their house.  He paused, looked through his pile of letters, dropped one into the mailbox and, seeing them in the window, waved as he wended his way away.  Saffron and her mother waved back.  Saffron rushed down to see who on earth could have written them a letter to arrive on the very first day they moved into the house.

The envelope had clumsy writing on it, in blue crayon.  It was addressed to Saffron.  Quickly, she tore at the paper and revealed a yellow piece of paper with stickers of frogs and cakes all over it.  Also on the paper was the following message – also written in blue crayon:

“Thank You For Keeping Me Safe During The Move! I Cannot Wait To Get To Know The New House With You! Lots Of Love, BRUNO! XXX”  Saffron yelped with delight and ran back to her bedroom.  She gave Bruno the biggest of hugs and then showed her mother the letter.  Saffron’s mother smiled and ruffled Bruno’s head.  This was going to be a happy home indeed.

*

The first day started to draw to a close and Saffron’s thoughts began to turn to bedtime.  She decided to finish colouring the picture she had drawn before choosing a bedtime book to read and was picking out her favourite green pencil when she heard a noise.  The noise was a bump and it was followed immediately with a voice.  The voice said “Ow!”.  Saffron sat up and gave the ceiling a confused look.  She gave the ceiling a confused look because that’s where the noise had come from; from somewhere up above.  Saffron’s face took on a puzzled look.  And then, there it was again.  Bump, “Ow!”.  This time, Saffron sat up straight and turned her whole face toward the ceiling.  She listened.  There were no sounds of walking just silence and then a bump and then an “Ow!”.  Saffron was puzzled.  She wasn’t scared.  The “Ow!” was said in the silliest of voices and didn’t sound scary at all.

She stood up and walked over to the bedroom door.  She called down to her parents and, having established they were both downstairs unpacking in the kitchen, turned her attention back on the noises from above.  The bumps were continuous, as were the “Ows!”, and were coming, now, every two to three seconds.  Oddly, the voices seemed to move around up above.  Sometimes the voice would come from right above her, sometimes from over to the left and sometimes from over to the right.  Occasionally, the voice would come from behind her.  Saffron found herself turning in circles, swiftly responding to the change in direction of every “Ow!”.  Saffron grew curiouser with every bump and more curiouser with every “Ow!”.

Curiously, Saffron walked out on to the landing at the top of the spiral stairs.  There in the corner was a door.  In all the fun she had had during the day, this was one of the few doors she had not unlocked and gone through.  She unlocked it now.  There was a small key in the mortice lock and it turned ever so easily.  The door opened smoothly.  Behind the door was a narrow staircase leading up.  Saffron quickly realised that it must lead to the attic.  That must be where the noise was coming from.  As her foot touched the very first step she stopped.  The voices may not sound scary (If anything, the voices sounded quite the silliest voices she had heard in a while), but it might not be a bad thing, she thought, if she had some company.  Saffron hurried back to her bedroom and picked up Bruno.  “Come on,” she said to her frog, and she clamped him under her arm and marched back to the staircase.  Confidently but quietly, Saffron climbed.

At the top of the stairs there was a door.  It was blue, eggshell blue to be exact and with a shiny round, brass doorknob.  Behind the door the bumps and the “Ows!” were now quite loud and beginning to come with a little variation.  Sometimes there might be an “Oooo!”, once or twice an ‘Ouch!” and, so Saffron believed she heard, at least one, “My nose!”.  Saffron giggled a little at that.  She reached out and turned the handle.  She opened the door.

Arranged around the walls of the attic were a group of creatures.  They were all facing towards the walls and, with repeated determination, were all walking into the walls.  Each time a wall was hit there was a bump and there was an exclamation – usually an “Ow!”.  Saffron struggled to take in what she was seeing.  Each of the figures was white.  Each of the figures was a little bit see-through.  Each of the figures was floating.  Each of the figures, except one, was bumping their noses on the walls of the attic.  Saffron watched the gaggled of ghouls and giggled once again.  The giggling brought the bumping to a halt.  Seventeen pairs of eyes pointed at the new arrival in the room; seventeen pairs of eyes and sixteen red and very sore looking noses.

There was a bit of a silence.  One of the ghosts sniffed.

“Who are you?” Asked the ghost who didn’t have a sore, red nose.

“I’m Saffron,” replied Saffron.

“Who’s that?”  The ghost pointed at the frog she was carrying.

“This is Bruno,” Saffron said, holding Bruno up for closer inspection.  The ghosts seemed to be satisfied with this answer.  “Who are you?”  Saffron asked.  It seemed to be her go.

“I’m Andrew,” said the ghost with a normal nose, “And these are Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen and Stephen.”  He said, gesturing to each ghost in turn.  Saffron giggled again.  Sixteen ghosts called Stephen and one ghost called Andrew.  She found this quite the funniest thing.

“What are you doing in the attic?”  She asked, when she finally stopped her mouth from laughing.

“We live here,” said Andrew, “We’ve lived here for years.”

“Oh,” replied Saffron not a little shocked by that news.  “And, why are you bumping your noses on the walls?”  At this, one of the Stephens lifted his hand to his red, sore nose and gingerly touched it.

“We’re learning to walk through walls,” said one of the Stephens.

“It’s what ghosts do,” said another.

“We’re not very good at it,” said a Stephen with a sheepish look down at what would have been his feet had he had any.  This was too much for Saffron; ghosts who were learning to walk through walls!  How ridiculous!

“It’s not ridiclious,” said one of the Stephens with a stern look on his face, folding his hands across his chest, “Ridiclious is the last thing it is!  All ghosts should be able to walk through walls.  That’s what being a ghost is all about walking through walls.”
“And going ‘Ooooooo!’,” chimed in another of the Stephens.

“Yeah,” agreed the first Stephen, “Walking through walls and going ‘ooooooo!’”

“And knocking three times if someone says, ‘Is there anybody there?’”  Said another of the Stephens.

“That’s right,” said the first Stephen, warming to the task, “Walking through walls, going ‘ooooooooo!’ and knocking three times if someone asks, ‘Is there anybody there?’  He listed the three points on his fingers.

“And throwing custard pies,” added another of the Stephens – although this one had the most mischievous of grins on his face.

“Aye,” the first Stephen agreed, “Walking through walls,” he started listing again, “going ‘ooooooo!’, knocking three times and throwing custard pies.”  He smiled smugly.  Then he frowned.  “Hang on,” He turned to the mischievous face, “Throwing custard pies?”

“Oh no,” whimpered the ghost known as Andrew, “here we go again.”  Within minutes the room had descended into an argument over whether throwing custard pies was in fact a ghostly going on.  The bickering was barking.  The quarrelling was querulous.  The tantrum was terrific.  Saffron giggled at the squabbling and shrugged her shoulders to Andrew.  He was the only ghost not caught up in the row and he had an apologetic look on his face.  This was an argument he had obviously heard before.  Many times.  And then it happened.

SPLAT!

A custard pie smacked into a Stephen’s face.  There was a pause.  Mischievous Stephen held his hands behind his back and whistled innocently.

“Right!”  The pie-encrusted Stephen drew back his arm and flung a pie right at the mischievous Stephen.  Splat that went too.  The room became festooned with pies.  Pies flying, pies splatting, pies dropping from faces, pies lathering custard over ghosts, pies looping in the air, pies hitting bodies and heads and arms and not legs.  Pies landing on pies.  In amongst the deluge Saffron heard two words being yelled.  “FOOD FIGHT!”  They were yelled with such glee.  Saffron shrieked with laughter at the sight in front of her.  Through all of this Andrew stood patiently waiting for the furore to falter.  Eventually it did.  One Stephen was trying to get custard out of his ear.  Another Stephen was rubbing the custard out of his eyes.  The next Stephen took a pie dish of his head.  The mischievous Stephen was licking the custard from around his mouth and smiling the biggest smile he could smile.  Andrew shook his head and clicked his fingers.  The custard disappeared and the ghosts were all clean again.  Even their noses didn’t look sore anymore.

“Anyway,” Andrew said, turning to face Saffron once more, “We are the Sixteen Stephens and Andrew, and we are very glad to meet you.”

“I am Saffron,” said Saffron, “and me and Bruno are very glad to meet you too.”  Andrew and Saffron shook hands.  Saffron shut and locked the egg-shell blue door behind her.  She climbed down the stairs and tucked herself into bed.  She gave Bruno one of her biggest and best cuddles and she smiled at the ceiling.  Saffron knew this was indeed going to be the happiest of homes.