Young Writers Society

A hole smashed open in the floor of the helicopter. It rocked violently.

“Well jiggle my jellybeans,” said Barbara, frantically grabbing hold of the seat.

“What hit us?” said Meredith, leaning into the cockpit.

“I don’t know,” said Mr Gunn. He flipped a switch. “The engine’s damaged; we’ll need to make an emergency landing.”

Meredith sat back in her seat by the door and watched the bald mountain below soar towards them. A house sat nestled against the peak, barely visible in the evening light.

“What of the mission?” bellowed Sibo over the rotor blades.

“We’ll have to abort,” said Meredith. “Dylan’s mum has escaped our grasp yet again.”

There was a metallic crunch in the cockpit. The helicopter jolted, and began beeping loudly. A harsh red light flashed on and off.

“According to my calculations we’ll strike the ground with a force of 2000 Newtons, at an angle of 27 degrees,” shouted Mr Ryan.

“Great,” said Meredith. “Hold on tight.” She closed her eyes and gripped the roof rail with both hands.

The impact flung her into the air. Her body flew through the door, her hands slipping from the rail. She landed with a thud on the dirt outside. Steam hissed from the wreckage as she rolled over, shocked but in one piece.

“Well lick my lollipop,” said Barbara, as he dusted himself off. “I’m alive.”

“Mr Gunn,” said Meredith, panic striking her. She dashed to the helicopter and flung the crumpled door open. Mr Gunn tumbled out onto the dirt and coughed. He put his hands on his head and groaned.

“Are you okay?” said Meredith.

He rolled over to reveal a cut across his forehead. “Yeah.” He sat up and shook his head.

“Wayr da bonnie wee bagpipes ur wi?” Scottished Alfredo.

“According to my calculations, we are at a latitude of 79 degrees North and a longitude of 20 degrees West,” said Mr Ryan.

“We need help,” said Meredith. “Let’s try that house.”

They walked up the craggy slope towards the dark, looming mansion. The sound of unconvincing witches cackling filled the air.

“I can almost hear the spooky music,” scoffed Meredith.

Mother superior gripped her holy cross and did a ward against evil. “I don’t like this.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Meredith, “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

The garden gate was made of a predictable black-painted metal with spikes at the top. It even creaked as Meredith pushed it open.

They walked along the stone path which led through a graveyard. The gravestones were covered in spider webs. As could be expected of such a cliché setting, all the trees were dead.

Meredith stepped up to the door and knocked. The sound reverberated loudly, as doors on scary houses always do.

There was no answer. Meredith gripped the doorknob and slowly pushed it open. She heard rats scampering away as she stepped into the dark, musty foyer.

“We can’t go in there,” said Mother Superior.

“Yes we can,” said Meredith. She took out her brand new Energizer LED torch and held it under her chin so she looked scary.

“According to my calculations, the batteries in that torch will last 103 hours,” said Mr Ryan.

“Well victimise my violet crumble,” said Barbara. “That’s a long time.”

“We could draw a network diagram of the house,” said Mr Ryan. “We could then use an algorithmic approach to find the quickest route to search all the rooms for a telephone.”

“woi de wi nid a bonnie wee fon?” Scottished Alfredo. “A cud joos plei da bagpipes reele lood soo du soomwoon hiarrrs us. Thut’ll seyv toym sor wi c’n fu’ en a bool a porridge ‘n haggis leytar on”

“We can’t rely on that,” said Meredith. “They might think it’s someone else playing bagpipes badly.”

Suddenly, a rush of wind whistled from within the room. Meredith pointed her torch into the corner where the noise had come from. It was empty.

“It’s nothing,” said Meredith after a short pause. “Come on.”

She led the team through a high arched entrance way, and into a lounge room. There was a musty odour. The chairs were all very old fashioned, and falling apart. Dust coated the floor.

“Well shag my sherbet,” said Barbara. “No-one’s been in here for centuries.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said a voice from behind them.

Meredith spun around. On the balcony above, stood Stuart. He had a 3 litre bottle of red bull in one hand, and a mochatov cocktail in the other.

“So the crash didn’t kill you then?” he said, looking down on them. “Pity.”

He suddenly tossed the mochatov cocktail at them. Meredith leapt to the behind a sofa, hearing the splattering explosion mere moments after she was hidden.

“You’ll never get away with this,” said Meredith, drawing her pistol. She pointed it at Stuart. He spun around and disappeared down the corridor behind him.

“Sibo’s down,” shouted Mr Gunn.

Meredith stood up and saw Sibo lying on the ground, covered in mocha. Her body jittered from the sudden caffeine infusion.

“Sibo!” said Meredith, shaking her by the shoulders. She didn’t respond. Her eyes closed and she stopped shuddering.

“The bastard,” said Meredith. “Let’s get him.” She stood up and ran through a doorway at the end of the room, following a long, dim corridor.

There was the sound of movement ahead. Meredith pointed her torch at it, holding her pistol forward in the other hand. An old man stood in the hall.

“Who are you?” said Meredith.

He didn’t respond. He moved towards them, not walking, but floating.

Meredith pulled the trigger. The bullet went straight through him, and smashed a vase at the far end of the hall.

“Ghost!” shouted Mother Superior.

They scrambled through a doorway to the side, and through a room full of dusty piles of crockery and benches.

Meredith pushed through towards the carpeted staircase. She grabbed the banister and swung herself onto the stairs. She raced up to the second storey hall.

She opened a door to her left, and stepped out onto the balcony from which Stuart had ambushed them.

“It’s gone,” said Mr Gunn as he slammed the door behind him.

“No such thing as ghosts eh?” said Mother Superior.

Meredith ignored her, and crept down the hall. The bottom floor may have been messy, but this was skid row. Smashed wood and glass littered the floor. Broken paintings hung crooked on the walls. Smashed chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A few white shapes flew through the walls and across the corridor.

“Jesus save us,” said Mother Superior, holding up her holy cross as they walked.

A loud cackle sounded behind them. Meredith spun around. A translucent figure resembling a torn up plastic bag hovered behind them. Arabian music began to play.

“What is this beast?” said Mother Superior.

“I am the ghost of Bronte’s Camel,” the ghost proclaimed, “and I will turn you into an extra hump.”

“Oh no,” said Meredith, “Run!”

They belted down the hall. At the end of the room was a large wooden door. Meredith gripped the handle and tried to turn it. It was locked.

Alfredo pulled out his claymore and smashed the door to splinters with one swipe. They piled into the room.

“Well twiddle my Twix,” said Barbara.

The room was filled with ghosts. Meredith turned to escape but the ghost of Bronte’s Camel leered down at them from the doorway.

“It’s over Meredith,” said Dylan’s mum’s voice. Meredith turned to face her and her minions. The ghosts formed an arena around them.

“Never,” said Meredith, whipping out her pistol and aiming it at Dylan’s mum.

Meredith began choking. Toxic fumes billowed throughout the room. She staggered towards the wall, and tumbled behind an overturned table. Her vision blurred.

Bullets whizzed overhead. Some thwacked into the table. The sound of gunshots, shattering glass and cracking wood filled the air.

“Wat da wi doo lassie?” Scottished Alfredo.

“Kill them,” said Meredith. “Fight to the last.” She picked herself up. She figured out what it was. Dylan’s brother had thrown a cannabis grenade. She shook her head to clear it, and peaked over the table. Before them stood Mr Plowman.

She couldn’t believe it. Her late teammate, now joined the forces of evil?

She was brought out of her thoughts when a black-haired girl in a full body fishnet suit sprung at her. She fired her pistol, but it hit the oversized black pad and bounced off harmlessly. Meredith ducked back behind the table as the slut flew overhead. It bore down upon her.

Meredith aimed at the slut’s head and pulled the trigger. There was a click. Her clip was empty.

The slut leapt at her. She pulled out her Shoshone bow and arrows and drew back. The slut flew closer. She let the arrow fly. It struck the slut less than a metre from her, sending it flying back into the crowd of ghosts.

“Maths power!” shouted Mr Ryan, firing a maths beam at Dylan’s Mum and her minions. Most of them leapt out of the way, but Cool Matt was to slow.

“No... I’m too cool for maths,” he said, sweat running down his forehead.

“Nothing is cooler than maths,” said Mr Ryan.

Cool Matt was overcome. He shrieked as his mind was burdened with a recursive formula fora trigonometrical differentiation of a residual calculus equation. Unable to solve it, he ran to the window and jumped to his death.

Alfredo leapt into the fray and swiped at Dylan’s brother, opening a gash on his arm. “Thut’ll ticha tu thraw frekin cunubus granaeds u’ us ya busterd,” he Scottished.

“Retreat,” shouted Dylan’s mum. The minions fled towards the door blocked by ghosts.

Mr Ryan fired a maths beam at Mr Plowman as he was exiting the room. Mr Plowman spun around on his heel.

“The answer is 10954.484,” he said. The maths beam collapsed, but Meredith and Mr Gunn had already pinned him to the floor.

“What the hell are you doing?” spat Meredith, grabbing Mr Plowman by the collar.

“Don’t you see?” he said with an evil glint in his eyes. “You are wrong. The way of Satan is the true path to greatness. Renounce your old ways. Join me.”

“Aw nor. Bloody ‘ell lass. Dus en’ lukin goo’,” Scottished Alfredo. The ghosts were closing in on them.

Meredith grabbed mother Superior’s cross and held it at Mr Plowman’s face. He cringed.

“Tell us what to do,” said Meredith.

“Never,” said Mr Plowman, but it was obvious from his expression that he was at breaking point. Meredith held the cross a little closer.

“Okay okay. I’ll speak. See that vacuum cleaner over there?” he pointed to an old vacuum cleaner.

“Yeah,” said Meredith. “Mr Ryan, go get it. Where do we plug it in?”

“There’s no electricity in this house,” said Mr Plowman. “You’ll have to wire up some batteries to make 120 volts.”

“How the hell do we get 120 volts?” said Meredith.

“Well, you’ll need to wire up some batteries in series so that their EMF’s sum to 120 volts.”

Meredith switched off her torch and tipped out four Energizer e2 advance triple a batteries. “That’s 6 volts. Only 114 to go,” she added dryly.

“There’s a battery in the helicopter,” said Mr Gunn, “I’ll go and get it.”

Mother superior held her cross towards the door and the ghosts parted for a moment; long enough for Mr Gunn to run as fast as a sausage dog to the helicopter and back. He dumped the heavy 12 volt lead acid battery on the ground.

The ghosts closed in further, despite Mother superior’s glowing cross.

Mr Ryan took out his laptop battery and placed it in the line. “That’s 10 more volts,” he said. “According to my calculations that gives us a total of 28 volts.”

“Iers ma bonnie wee luctruc bagpipe umplufaya buttris,” Scottished Alfredo, opening a compartment on his bagpipes and taking out 8 Eveready super heavy duty double a batteries.

“40 volts,” said Mr Ryan.

“What else have you got?” said Mr Plowman.

No one spoke up. “Then you’ll have to make a transformer,” said Mr Plowman. “Get 2 bits of insulated wire and a piece of iron .”

“Where from?” said Meredith.

“Don’t worry, Brownian motion will provide,” said Mr Plowman. At that moment, an iron bar smashed through the window, followed by two pieces of insulated wire.

Meredith picked them up. The ghosts were almost upon them. They made very unconvincing spooky sounds.

“Now wind the two pieces of wire around the iron bar so that one wire has three times as many loops to boost the 40 volts to 120 volts.”

Meredith did so.

“Now connect the short one to the batteries, and the long one to the vacuum.”

Nothing happened. Mr Plowman did a stereotypical evil laugh. “Did I mention that transformers only work with an alternating current. Besides which, you wouldn’t have nearly enough current”

“You dirty traitor,” said Meredith.

“Don’t worry,” said Mr Gunn. He took the connectors and switched them between ends on the batteries as fast as a sausage dog – 50 Hz to be precise, creating an alternating current.

The vacuum cleaner began sucking very slowly.

“How do we increase the current?” demanded Meredith, pointing her gun at Mr Plowman’s face.

“Ha ha ha. More batteries,” said Mr Plowman spitefully, “which you lack.”

“We really need dues ex machina,” said Mr Gunn.

“Well molest my marshmallows,” said Barbara. His bag strap suddenly broke and it fell on the ground. There just happened to be a bottle of black current juice in it, which smashed, splashing up onto the wires.. The vacuum cleaner sucked extremely hard.

“Wow, a scientific breakthrough,” said Meredith, picking up the vacuum cleaner. “The marketing slogan shall be; for a large current, use black currant!”

The noisy machine sucked up the ghosts. They tried in vain to resist, but they were powerless. Soon there was nothing resembling white sheets in the room. Meredith turned to Mr Plowman.

Mr Plowman flew towards the vacuum cleaner. It sucked his eyeballs up, followed closely by a few clumps of hair. A couple of teeth, a tongue and an eyebrow were next. Mr Plowman screamed in agony.

“Sorry,” said Meredith. “I didn’t know it would be this strong. How do you turn it off?”

Mr Plowman’s face was sucked up against the pipe. It began tearing off skin. The bones in his nose cracked as they were pulled towards the sucker. Then it stopped.

“The batteries are all used up,” said Mr Gunn.

“Well at least we’ve gotten rid of all the ghosts,” said Meredith. Then Arabian music echoed through the halls. “Except one. Come on, follow me.”

They left Mr Plowman to bleed to death, and followed the hall Dylan’s mum had escaped through. It was dotted with charcoal footprints and burn holes in the wallpaper. At the end was a broken down door.

“They must be in there,” said Meredith. “Throw a maths grenade Mr Ryan.”

Mr Ryan tossed an object shaped like a plus-sign into the room. It exploded, sending a blast of colourful mathematical symbols out through the doorway.

Meredith charged in with her Shoshone bow drawn. The mathematical symbols settled. The room was empty. She stepped in, cautiously surveying the dark shadows. “Clear,” she said.

They strode across the room. The blackened footprints trailed off into a hall “Now,” shouted Dylan’s mum’s voice.

There was a loud crunch. Meredith turned to see a gigantic human-cross-whale crash down from the ceiling and roll towards them. “Run.”

They dashed down the hall. The house rattled as the planet-like sphere of saturated fat pursued them, knocking down everything in its path. Some furniture began to orbit it.

“Through that window,” said Meredith, pointing to a window at the end of the hall. “It’s our only hope.”

Mr Gunn fired a couple of shots, clearing out the glass. The crashing behind them grew louder.

“Its gravitational pull is drawing me towards it,” said Barbara who was at the rear.

“Aw shut,” Scottished Alfredo. “Thut pees o lud’s gonna skwush oos.”

“Don’t give up,” said Meredith as she catapulted herself out the window. The ground flew towards her. She braced herself, and landed on her feet. She staggered, and broke her fall with her hands. The others thudded down next to her. The ball of fat rolled out the window as Meredith looked up. She flung herself against the wall. It landed centimetres from them, and continued rolling down the mountain, carving a deep trench.

“That was close,” said Mr Gunn.

“Well fondle my fairy floss,” said Barbara. “My pants are wet.”

“Kill them,” said a voice above.

Dylan’s mum’s minions opened fire.

Meredith whipped out her Shoshone arrowheads and held them up to protect herself. Mr Gunn ran as fast as a sausage dog, and sheltered behind a headstone. Mr Ryan thought of the beach and teleported there. Mother Superior held up her holy cross and Jesus protected her. Alfredo took out some bagpipes and held them up as a shield. The bullets bounced off harmlessly. Barbara squealed, “Well gobble my gobstoppers,” and wet himself again, but avoided being hit only by luck.

The shower of bullets stopped as the evil minions reloaded. Meredith and the others ducked behind some gravestones.

“Throw a maths grenade,” said Meredith.

“Mr Ryan’s at the beach,” said Mr Gunn. “I think it’s safe to say we won’t see him for the rest of the mission.”

The sound of a printer aligning its print heads sounded. A moment later, razor sharp sheets of paper detailing the process of how to grow marijuana flew down into the cemetery. One sliced through a tree trunk, sending the huge oak tumbling down the mountain.

“Hit him with a haggis bomb Alfredo.”

“Orroi,” Scottished Alfredo, reaching into his kilt and retrieving a haggis. “Tek thu ya bonnie wee busted.” He tossed the haggis through the window and the sheets of paper stopped.

Meredith stood up with her Shoshone bow drawn. In the window stood Dylan’s brother, lighting a bong. He held it up, ready to throw. Meredith let go of the arrow, and it sped through the air. It struck the bong, causing an explosion of smoke.

There was loud choking, and a Nazi with orange skin staggered to the smoky window and fell out. Meredith aimed another arrow at him, when she heard gunshots. She dropped back behind her gravestone. The ground ripped up as the bullets struck it.

“Suppressing fire,” she shouted.

Mr Gunn took out his automatic machine gun and fired into the second storey windows.

Meredith stood back up again to see a portal in the ground in front of the Fake Tan Nazi Man. Four Gestapo soldiers rose up. She shot one of them, and then ducked as the others began firing.

“Another haggis bomb Alfredo.”

“U doon uv woon. A ey i’ fa breykfus’ wuth porridge,” Scottished Alfredo.

“Damn,” said Meredith. “Mother Superior, hold them at bay with your holy cross. Barbara, stop stroking your snake lolly and do something useful. You can always do that later.”

“It’s no good,” said Mother Superior. The Nazis thought they were working in the name of god. My holy cross has no power over them.”

“Ul dustruct em,” Scottished Alfredo. He stood up and lifted up his kilt. The Nazi soldiers froze in horror.

“Fire,” said Meredith. Mr Gunn leaned around the gravestone and cut down the Gestapo and the Fake Tan Nazi Man with a burst of lead.

“Now keep firing at those windows. Don’t let them get a shot off.”

Mr Gunn swept the array of windows before them with a spray of bullets. Then, from one window, a red light shone. Mr Stirling emerged from the dust, wielding his red light sabre of science. Ms Findlay followed closely, with her skin coloured light sabre of human biology.

Mr Gunn ducked just in time. The deflected bullets flew back, chipping at the gravestones.

“Again Alfredo,” said Meredith.

Alfredo stood back up and lifted his kilt. A piece of stone broke off the grave in front of him and hit him in the nuts. “Aww shut,” he Scottished, clasping his hands over his nethers.

“In the window Mr Gunn,” shouted Meredith, spotting Dylan’s brother making ready for another attack. Mr Gunn fired at him, and he died.

“Barbara, I told you to stop stroking your sn...”

“Oh,” said Ms Findlay, putting away her light sabre. “That’s a good idea.” She put her hand down her pants.

Meredith seized the opportunity, and took her down with a Shoshone arrow. She fell to the ground dead. “On second thoughts, keep it up Barbara,” said Meredith.

Suddenly, a fireball exploded in their midst. Meredith felt the heat singe her hair, as she was thrown to the ground by the force.

She pulled herself behind a rock as a mochatov cocktail whizzed past.

“Well fondle my Freddo frogs,” said Barbara. “It’s the ghost of Bronte’s camel again.”

“Retreat,” said Meredith. She stood up and charged down the hill.

“Well caress my Kit-Kat,” said Barbara as he ran. “My phone’s vibrating.”

“What!” shouted Meredith. “You have a phone and you didn’t say.”

“Woopsy daisies,” said Barbara. “Silly Me.”

“Give me that,” said Meredith, snatching it from him. She flipped it open as they ducked behind a ridge, and punched in the SAS headquarters number.

“Keep them at bay like you were before,” said Meredith as the phone rang.

Mr Gunn peeked over the ridge and fired his machine gun. Alfredo stood there with his kilt held up. Mother Superior held her holy cross in front of her. Barbara stroked his snake lolly.

“Hello,” said Meredith.

“Ah, hello captain,” said the voice on the other end, “Colonel Hippie here. Status report.”

“We need extraction. Send the nearest vehicle to 79 degrees North, 20 degrees West. We’re under heavy fire, only Gunn, Superior, Alfredo, Barbara and I remain.”

“Right away,” said Colonel Hippie. “I’m sending Corporal Ms Edmondson. She’ll be there in approximately four minutes.”

“Roger, over and out,” said Meredith.

Barbara groaned.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” said Barbara. “I won’t be able to hold them off for at least five minutes though. Do you have a tissue by the way?”

“Don’t embellish,” said Meredith. She fired an arrow over the ridge. “We’ll be out of here in four. Go down the track a little so Ms Edmondson can see you when she arrives.”

“Aye aye,” said Barbara. He stood up and ran down beyond some sharp rocks.

“They’re still coming,” shouted Mr Gunn.

Meredith peeked up and saw Mr Stirling running towards them, deflecting bullets. The others ran behind him. Meredith shot a Shoshone arrow at him. It hit the handle of his light sabre, and it switched off.

Mr Stirling was shredded by a spray of bullets. The others hunkered down behind some rocks. A mochatov cocktail flew up from behind the hiding place.

“Watch out,” said Meredith.

The mochatov cocktail narrowly missed them.

“Throw another one,” said Dylan’s mum.

“That was the last one,” bellowed Stuart. He swore loudly, stood up, and skulled a 50 litre drum of red bull. Meredith drew back an arrow to shoot him down, but he’d already died of caffeine overdose.

Meredith aimed her arrow at the next satanic minion to pop their head up. She let it fly, straight at Catherine Tate. It struck her in the head.

“Am I bovvered?” said Catherine Tate.

Meredith shot her with a second arrow.

“Does my face look bovvered though?” Catherine Tate came towards them, shrugging off their every attack.

“Get her Alfredo,” said Meredith.

Alfredo angled himself towards Catherine Tate, with his kilt held right up.

“How very very dare you,” said Catherine Tate, still moving towards them. “Just because a man doesn’t shy away from the mascara, you assume he likes his shopping dropped off ‘round the back. I’ve never been so insulted. 25 years mother and I...”

At that moment a ghost appeared in front of them. Meredith instinctively lifted her bow, but then realised it was Dylan.

“Leave this to me,” said Dylan’s ghost. He turned to face Catherine Tate. “Would you care to join me for a gooseberry and cinnamon yoghurt?”

“Why yes,” said Catherine Tate. She took out two gooseberry and cinnamon yoghurts and handed one to Dylan. She ate a spoonful.

“Oh no,” said Dylan. “These gooseberry and cinnamon yoghurts are 24 hours out of date.”

Catherine Tate screamed and ran away to die of food poisoning.

“Oh no,” said Meredith, pointing. The ghost of Bronte’s camel sped towards them. Dylan’s mum cackled an evil laugh from her hiding place.

Dylan drew his ghostly samurai sword. The ghost of Bronte’s camel spat on him.

“Ahh,” screamed Dylan, wiping ghost spit off his face. “I can’t see.” At that he disappeared into thin air.

“My holy cross doesn’t seem to be working,” said Mother Superior. “I think the 120 volt battery rated at 100 amps with a brazillion amp-hours of charge has run out.”

“Retreat,” said Meredith.

They staggered down the hillside.

“So your cross is battery operated?”

“Yes,” said Mother superior.

“And it has the right voltage and current that we needed for the vacuum cleaner, as well as enough charge to power it for years?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn’t tell us?”

“No.”

“Idiot!”

A diesel engine became audible. Headlights swept the lower reaches of the mountain.

“Well bash my banana lolly,” said Barbara as they neared. “She’s here.”

“Thank god,” said Mother Superior.

“No,” said Meredith. “Thank Colonel Hippie. And Barbara, don’t wear your banana lolly raw. You’ve already managed to kill someone with it today.”

“Aye aye cap’,” said Barbara.

The Arabian music grew louder. Meredith turned to see the Ghost of Bronte’s camel coming at them with speed. “We’re not safe yet. Run!”

Meredith scrambled down towards the Toyota Hilux. The hill became rockier, and loose stones slipped out from beneath her. Rocks tumbled past, knocked free by her comrades behind.

A scream sounded behind them. With a glance over her shoulder, Meredith confirmed that Mother Superior had tried to confront the Ghost of Bronte’s Camel, despite her cross’s dead battery.

“Jesus save her,” Meredith whispered under her breath.

The Hilux cleared a rise and came to a stop.

“Get in,” said Ms Edmondson.

Meredith got into the front seat. Barbara climbed into the middle-back, with Alfredo and Mr Gunn on either side.

“What happened?” said Ms Edmondson as she put the ute into gear. “There were 7 of you.”

“Mr Ryan’s okay,” said Meredith. “He’s just at the beach. Mother Superior and Sibo...” she left the sentence unfinished.

“Captain, the ghost of Bronte’s Camel is still catching up,” shouted Mr Gunn.

“Wut da heyk ur wi spoos te doo?” Scottished Alfredo. “Noothun wi doo hus eni uffayct on u’.”

Mr Gunn wound down his window as the ghost came up next to him. “What is the root cause of your problem?”

A lump rose in the camel’s throat. Mr Gunn wound up the window just in time to protect himself from the spit. He wound it back down again. “There must be a psychological reason behind this.”

He blocked another gob of spit with the window. “Were you ever bullied as a child?”

The ghost of Bronte’s camel looked at Mr Gunn. It looked very sad.

“Did the other camels tease you because you look like a plastic bag?”

The ghost nodded.

“Did you feel left out?”

It nodded again.

“What you need to do is look on the positive side,” said Mr Gunn. “Rather than comparing yourself with other camels, try comparing yourself with other plastic bags.”

The ghost lifted its head.

“You look pretty good for a plastic bag,” said Mr Gunn. “You don’t have EXCUSE ME written in huge letters on you, and you’re not shamefully labelled Super IGA.”

“If I were a plastic bag, I’d have sex with you,” added Barbara.

The ghost rushed towards him. Mr Gunn wound the window up just in time. He turned to Barbara. “Uncalled for!”

“Sorry,” said Barbara. “Just trying to help.”

“Well,” began Ms Edmondson as she shifted up a gear, leaving the Ghost of Bronte’s Camel behind; basking in her plastic bag-like glory, “this mission’s a rap. Did you get Dylan’s Mum?”

“No,” said Meredith. “She slipped our grasp... Next time.”

Ms Edmondson nodded as they reached the foot of the mountain and sped off into the night.