The side-effect of doing fewer school visits is that each one seems a lot more fun. It’s special. I have more energy. I’m more spontaneous and I find myself genuinely listening to what my audience has to say, rather than going through some slick routine that’s safe & familiar.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that I never fall back on a few old tricks I’ve developed or a couple of favourite stories I like to wheel out every now and again. It also doesn’t mean that things never go wrong. Today I managed to combine both when I slipped into one of my favourite ‘bits’ – a Hitler impression. Somehow, sometimes, it IS relevant to what I’m meant to be talking about, but as I’m sitting here, I can’t quite put my finger on how. Never mind. It’s find. It’s my chance to pretend I’m Sacha Baron Cohen or Peter Sellers.

Sadly, just as I was getting warmed up with my subtle German accent and Aryan philosophy, I noticed how many of the students were filming me. Not just taking pictures, but actually filming. I panicked. Suddenly all I could think of was the OUTRAGE that would follow if any of these video clips found their way onto youtube.

Remember when Prince Harry dressed up as a Nazi? Or was it Prince William? Or was it the Queen? I can’t remember. But I remember everyone was pretty upset about it. Now, I’m not Prince Harry or Prince William or the Queen, and nor was I dressed as a Nazi. But somehow, one of my favourite routines, which always gets a great response from the audience, felt a little… inappropriate. OK, it felt A LOT inappropriate.

So, in my panic, what did I do?

My ‘fight-or-flight’ response kicked in. Unfortunately, both FIGHT and FLIGHT kicked in at the same time. So I ran round the room (a large-ish library, audience of 100) nicking all the mobile phones and cameras that were pointed at me. I gathered them up like an elf stealing jewellery at a dinner party. (Do elves do that? I don’t know. I’ve never been to a dinner party.)

That was the ‘fight’ response. Then came the ‘flight’. I ran out of the room.

100 students and several teachers were left baffled. I realise now how it must have appeared. I turned up at their school, pretended to begin an author event, then nicked a load of iphones and ran away.

I think I must have blacked out for a few minutes because I don’t really remember what happened. All I know is that I came round lying on the roof of a volvo in the car park, mobile phones spread out around me. And somehow there was a laptop sitting on my chest.

I was a little disorientated. Who knows how much time had passed.

I gathered up as many phones as I could carry (and, weirdly, there seemed to be more than I could carry – how had I got them all there?) and tried to take them back to the library. That’s when I found out I wasn’t in the car park of the school. I was in the car park of a branch of Sainsbury’s. The St Alban’s branch. The school I was supposed to be at was nowhere near St Alban’s, it was in West London.

I’m proud of the fact that at this point I did not panic. But that’s just about all I’m proud of. I used my own phone to find the number of the school. I rang them up to apologise. There was an awkward conversation which wasn’t completely resolved when the owner of the volvo turned up. Turns out he’d been parked at the school I was visiting a few hours previously and driven from there to St Alban’s. At no point did he mention that I’d been on his roof the whole time. I don’t think that’s possible. Surely it isn’t. And yet, I can’t think of any other way that I got where I was.

It took me 2 hours to get back to the school. By this time the school day was nearly over, but the librarian (very understanding, very confused) was kind enough to assemble almost all of the students in the library again. (I’m not entirely sure they were the same students. They looked a little older. One of them was in a boiler suit. I don’t know why. One of them had a beard.)

I promised I’d pick up where I left off and apologised for panicking. They sat in complete silence while I told them the story about the time I lost my shoe on a train. Then I opened it up for questions.

First question: who are you?

Second question: did you bring my phone back?

The third question was very kindly written on a piece of paper, wrapped around a mug and gently hurled in my direction. That was from the librarian.

So it was a mixed response from the audience, but all in all I’d say it was a success. Felt good to be back on the schools circuit…

…you know – getting myself out there…

Meet Carl – small, thin, geeky and obsessed with a computer game called Barbarianz.  Carl is battling his way through the various levels to try to reach the lofty position of Warrior Number One.  I don’t want to give too much away other than to say that, when Carl finally achieves his goal and a mysterious character known as The Sheriff comes to ask him to be a real hero – that’s when the fun starts.

The reaction to Carl being introduced as Warrior Number One is genuine laugh-out-loud stuff and, when our hero finally has to prove himself in battle, the slapstick keeps on coming.  This is great book – and one I’ve now read twice because I enjoyed it so much the first time.

As with Freak of Fortune by Ali Sparkes and Lifters by Joe Craig, Warrior Number One manages to pack plenty of action and character development into a small amount of space.  That’s what makes these adventures ideal for reluctant readers who would shy away from larger, thicker books.

Highly recommended!

Local taxi drivers, I heard, won’t stop here during the hours of darkness.

They speak of a woman in a blue (or white) dress who hails a cab and asks to be taken to a nearby destination, calling it by a strangely old-fashioned name.

But whenever drivers who pick her up take her there, they find she has vanished, leaving nothing but a pool of water.

Whether it’s the ghost or the upholstery-cleaning fees these cabbies fear the most, no one knows. ;D

Sam

Exclusively here at Trapped By Monsters, here’s the twelth part of Tommy’s brand new Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Twelve

The Wail

“That was a fail!” rumbled Mr Aspin as the group stopped to catch their breath outside the Crudley family’s garden. He clicked his pen and marked a cross next to the word ‘Pet’ on his clipboard. “And, now that the exam is over, we can finally—”

“How can it be a fail?” Cleo interrupted. “All Henry had to do was petrify a pet…”

“Yeah, and I reckon that mouse will need weeks of therapy to get over what it’s just been through,” added Resus.

“You can’t fail Henry for simply blowing too hard,” said Luke. “Show me where it says that in the rules.”

Aspin glared down at the children for a second, then snarled. He scribbled out the cross and placed a tick next to ‘Pet’. “He’s bound to fail on the next task, though,” he sneered. “In all the times Harper’s taken this exam, he’s never managed a Worrying Wail.”

“This time will be different,” insisted Cleo. “Won’t it, Henry?”

“Maybe,” said Henry weakly.

Ten minutes later, the group found themselves in a spacious, well-appointed kitchen. Twinkle the fairy entered from the garden, unaware that he had visitors, and dropped a pile of vegetables onto the table. Then he hefted a huge iron pot from a cupboard and set it down next to the vegetables with a clang!

“I’ve never been inside Twinkle’s house before,” said Cleo, as the fairy began to chop up a carrot. “It’s nice.”

“We’re not here to look at the décor,” Resus reminded her. “Henry’s got to wail.”

“He’ll do it,” said Luke, patting the trembling phantom on the back. “Won’t you?”

“Er…”

“Right,” said Aspin. “Off you go then, Harper. Let’s see you scare the fairy with a wail.”

Henry pursed his lips and began to make a soft “ooooh!” sound.

Twinkle dropped pieces of carrot into his cooking pot and selected another from the pile.

“Come on, Henry!” Cleo encouraged.

“Ssh!” hissed Aspin. “No coaching from the sidelines.”

This time, Henry’s wail was a little louder. “Whooooo!”

Still Twinkle didn’t react. He finished cutting carrots and placed a large potato on his chopping-board.

Mr Aspin grinned. “Last try, Harper…”

Henry gave it everything. “WHOOOOO!”

Everybody turned to Twinkle to watch his reaction…

Nothing. The fairy hadn’t heard a thing.

“No effect whatsoever!” announced Aspin happily. “It’s a fail!” He clicked his pen and lifted his arm to mark a cross on the clipboard – and knocked Twinkle’s cooking pot off the table with his elbow.

The iron pot landed square on Henry’s foot and he howled in pain. “OOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWW!”

Twinkle squealed. “Who’s there?” he demanded. The fairy grabbed a parsnip and wielded it like a weapon. “Tell me who’s there!”

Luke took the clipboard and pen from the furious Aspin and placed a tick next to ‘Wail’. “Thanks for the help!” He grinned.

—

The 13th – and final – part of this exclusive Scream Street story can be found where it all began tomorrow: www.screamstreet.co.uk

Posted to Book Zone for Boys, here’s the eleventh part of my brand new Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Eleven

The Pet

Henry reappeared through the fence piece by piece, looking like a child’s rubber toy that had been overstretched to the point of breaking.

“How was that?” he asked.

Luke, Resus and Cleo stared at the phantom in horror. His face sagged dramatically to one side, his stomach bulged over the waistband of his trousers and his arms were now so long that they dragged on the ground as he walked.

“Yikes!” exclaimed Resus. “It might be an idea to stick to open doors for the time being.”

A pale shadow fell over the group as they grabbed bits of Henry and tried to reshape him. “When you’ve all finished mucking around,” snarled Mr Aspin, “it’s time for Henry’s first test!”

“Yes, sir,” croaked Henry, finally looking more or less like himself again. “Whatever you say, sir.”

The phantom president consulted his clipboard. “The first challenge is for Harper to Petrify a Pet…”

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard,” said Cleo. “Cats and dogs have a sixth sense about ghosts. They frequently see things that people can’t.”

“The problem is,” said Luke, “that I haven’t seen Shan the witch’s cat around for ages, and the only dogs in Scream Street are Sir Otto’s hellhounds.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere near them.” Henry quivered. “They scare me!”

“Wait,” said Resus. “The rule is that Henry has to scare a pet, right?”

“That’s right,” said Aspin.

“Then it doesn’t have to be cat or a dog.” The vampire beamed. “Follow me…”

They found Fifi Crudley in her garden, playing with her pet mouse. The young bog monster was encouraging the mouse to run from left to right by offering it lumps of cheese.

“There you go,” said Resus.

“A mouse?” scoffed Aspin, flicking through his notes.

“It’s still a pet,” Resus pointed out. “And Henry shouldn’t have to blow too hard in order to give it a scare.”

Mr Aspin, unable to find anything in the rules that forbade a phantom from scaring a mouse, produced a pen and got ready to make notes. “Get on with it,” he growled.

“OK, Henry,” said Cleo. “This is it… Just do your best.”

The phantom nodded nervously and crouched down in front of the mouse. Fifi, unable to see him, continued to make the animal dash back and forth. Frowning in concentration, Henry blew gently.

The mouse stopped, mid-scamper, and turned to face Henry, whiskers twitching.

“It’s working!” hissed Resus. “Blow harder, Henry!”

Henry sucked in a deep lungful of air and blew as hard as he could. The mouse stared at him, blinking in the breeze, then was suddenly lifted off its feet. It flew straight at Fifi, sinking into her gooey stomach with a sickening schlop!

“Squeaker!” screamed Fifi, plunging a fist into the muddy folds of her belly and fishing around for her tiny friend.

The trio were dragging Henry towards the garden gate by the time she pulled the mouse free.

—

Posted to Walker Books’ Bear Blog, here’s the tenth part of my new Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Ten

The Fence

“Very well,” said Mr Aspin, struggling to keep his temper under control. “Let’s get this over with, then Harper can go back to his pathetic level one career and I can get rid of you three annoying little brats.”

Cleo began to massage Henry’s shoulders. “Don’t listen to the nasty man,” she soothed. “He’s just trying to intimidate you. Now, say it with me: ‘I’m a big, scary phantom!’”

Henry didn’t look sure. “But I’m not,” he moaned.

“You are!” Cleo insisted. “You just don’t think you are. Say it. ‘I’m a big, scary phantom!’”

Henry cleared his throat. “I’m a big, scary phantom,” he whispered meekly.

“Louder,” Cleo said.

“I’m a big, scary phantom,” said Henry.

“All together,” cried Cleo, gesturing for Resus and Luke to join in.

“I’m a big, scary phantom!” they all shouted.

“I’m a big, scary phantom!” said Henry at the top of his voice. Luke couldn’t be sure, but it looked as though Henry might be starting to smile.

“I’M A BIG, SCARY PHANTOM!” bellowed Luke, Resus and Cleo together.

“I’M A BIG, SCARY PHANTOM!” Henry bawled.

“That’s the spirit,” said Cleo.

“My turn,” said Luke. “The thing that always used to worry me about ghosts – until I met some, of course – was that you couldn’t get away from them. If you’re being chased by a monster, you can lock yourself in a room – but that’s not a problem for a ghost. They can walk through walls.”

“Not all of them,” Resus pointed out. “My nose still hurts.”

“I’m sure Henry can do it, though,” Luke said with a smile.

“I don’t know…” murmured Henry.

“Well, how did you get into my room earlier?” Luke asked.

Henry shrugged. “I waited until one of you went downstairs to get a drink, then I slipped inside when the door was open.”

“OK,” said Luke, “but, from now on, you walk through solid obstacles.”

“If you say so…”

“I do say so.” Luke grinned. “Because…”

Henry frowned for a second, unsure what to say. Then he spotted Cleo mouthing something to him. “Oh… I’M A BIG, SCARY PHANTOM!”

“That’s right,” replied Luke. “Now, let’s give it a go.”

Henry looked worried. “What? Now?”

“Why not?” said Luke. “It’ll be good practice.”

“Try that fence over there,” suggested Resus, pointing to a nearby garden.

“If you insist,” said Henry, approaching the fence with trepidation. Taking a deep breath, he began to walk through it.

The result wasn’t exactly the smooth process Luke, Resus and Cleo were expecting. Henry passed through the fence like hot butter melting into toast. Blobs of him were left behind to run down the wooden slats like troll snot. His head and chest may have appeared inside the garden, but one of his legs and both of his hands remained, dripping, on the outside.

“He’s falling apart!” cried Cleo.

—

Posted to Feeling Fictional, here’s the ninth part of my brand new Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Nine

The Team

The new ghost was large and imposing – and just as see-through as Henry. He wore a neatly pressed uniform and peaked cap, and carried a clipboard. “I don’t think you really want to pass this exam, Harper,” he snarled.

Henry’s transparent bottom lip began to quiver. “I do, Mr Aspin,” he pleaded, “I really do!”

The spectral boss examined the information on his clipboard. “Your work is poor,” he grunted. “Results are bad. How long did it take you to wake those skeletons with your mysterious bangs and bumps the other night?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Mr Aspin,” whined Henry. “They’re heavy sleepers!”

“No major scares credited to you in the last half century,” continued Aspin. “I don’t see why I should let you take your spirit level exam again at all.”

This time Henry really did begin to cry. Crystal tears ran down his shimmering cheeks. “Please let me take the test. I’ll try harder, I promise!”

Mr Aspin sneered. “And why should I believe a promise from a pathetic nobody like you?”

Luke stepped forward. “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” he pointed out. “I think you should apologize.”

Mr Aspin’s see-through face flushed purple. “Harper!” he roared. “Are you getting little children to fight your battles for you?”

Henry was positively shivering now. “No, no, Mr Aspin,” he sobbed. “They were just—”

“We are not fighting anyone’s battles,” Cleo interrupted. She stared up at the officious-looking phantom. “We just think you should be a little nicer to Henry, whoever you are…”

Henry looked as though he might faint.

“Whoever I am?” bellowed Mr Aspin. “I’m the president of HISS! The only spectre ever to reach spirit level one hundred and twenty! The only ghost in Scream Street qualified to appear at séances and possess the medium!” He leant in close to Cleo. “And I’m the man who has just decided that Henry Horatio Harper has failed his spirit level exam.”

Henry let out a squeak of terror. “Why?”

“For bringing three unauthorized spirits into Scream Street, of course!” thundered Aspin. “You know the rules – any fraternizing with ghosts who aren’t officially recognized by the president’s office means instant demotion. And since I can’t demote you lower than you already are, you are forbidden from taking the exam.”

“That’s not fair!” cried Cleo.

“I don’t care!” rumbled Mr Aspin.

“It’s also not true,” Resus pointed out.

“What?”

“We’re not real ghosts,” Resus continued. “We’re just under a spell that allows us to communicate with them. Look…” He turned to the nearest solid object – the wall of a house – and walked into it as hard as he could. “Ow!”

“And Henry told us that you once communicated with a solid person via this spell,” Cleo added. “So if he has to be punished for ‘fraternizing’ with temporary ghosts in this way, so do you!”

Aspin began to growl deep in his throat.

“Henry Horatio Harper is going take his spirit level exam,” Luke said firmly. “And we’re going to help him.”

—

Posted to Tall Tales and Short Stories, here’s the eighth part of my exclusive Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Eight

The Threat

The new ghost was large and imposing – and just as see-through as Henry. He wore a neatly pressed uniform and peaked cap, and carried a clipboard. “I don’t think you really want to pass this exam, Harper,” he snarled.

Henry’s transparent bottom lip began to quiver. “I do, Mr Aspin,” he pleaded, “I really do!”

The spectral boss examined the information on his clipboard. “Your work is poor,” he grunted. “Results are bad. How long did it take you to wake those skeletons with your mysterious bangs and bumps the other night?”

“It wasn’t my fault, Mr Aspin,” whined Henry. “They’re heavy sleepers!”

“No major scares credited to you in the last half century,” continued Aspin. “I don’t see why I should let you take your spirit level exam again at all.”

This time Henry really did begin to cry. Crystal tears ran down his shimmering cheeks. “Please let me take the test. I’ll try harder, I promise!”

Mr Aspin sneered. “And why should I believe a promise from a pathetic nobody like you?”

Luke stepped forward. “That’s not a very nice thing to say,” he pointed out. “I think you should apologize.”

Mr Aspin’s see-through face flushed purple. “Harper!” he roared. “Are you getting little children to fight your battles for you?”

Henry was positively shivering now. “No, no, Mr Aspin,” he sobbed. “They were just—”

“We are not fighting anyone’s battles,” Cleo interrupted. She stared up at the officious-looking phantom. “We just think you should be a little nicer to Henry, whoever you are…”

Henry looked as though he might faint.

“Whoever I am?” bellowed Mr Aspin. “I’m the president of HISS! The only spectre ever to reach spirit level one hundred and twenty! The only ghost in Scream Street qualified to appear at séances and possess the medium!” He leant in close to Cleo. “And I’m the man who has just decided that Henry Horatio Harper has failed his spirit level exam.”

Henry let out a squeak of terror. “Why?”

“For bringing three unauthorized spirits into Scream Street, of course!” thundered Aspin. “You know the rules – any fraternizing with ghosts who aren’t officially recognized by the president’s office means instant demotion. And since I can’t demote you lower than you already are, you are forbidden from taking the exam.”

“That’s not fair!” cried Cleo.

“I don’t care!” rumbled Mr Aspin.

“It’s also not true,” Resus pointed out.

“What?”

“We’re not real ghosts,” Resus continued. “We’re just under a spell that allows us to communicate with them. Look…” He turned to the nearest solid object – the wall of a house – and walked into it as hard as he could. “Ow!”

“And Henry told us that you once communicated with a solid person via this spell,” Cleo added. “So if he has to be punished for ‘fraternizing’ with temporary ghosts in this way, so do you!”

Aspin began to growl deep in his throat.

“Henry Horatio Harper is going take his spirit level exam,” Luke said firmly. “And we’re going to help him.”

—

Posted to Spinechills, here’s the seventh part of my new Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Seven

The Boss

Henry Horatio Harper turned and began to shuffle away across the central square. Luke, Resus and Cleo hurried after him.

“Lunchtime?” asked Cleo, catching up with the phantom. “You mean the bell rings like that at this time every day?”

Henry nodded, his top hat wobbling. “Not that you’d be able to hear it; it’s a phantom bell.”
“A phantom bell for phantom lunch hour?” said Luke. “Please don’t think I’m being rude, but lunch hour from what?”

The ghost continued his shuffling walk. “From haunting,” he said. “What else?”

Resus looked surprised. “You mean you’re doomed to haunt the houses of Scream Street?”

“Not doomed,” said Henry. “Although there are days when I feel like that.”

“So, how does it work?” asked Luke.

Henry sighed. “I work for a company called Haunting in Scream Street – or HISS for short. Haunting houses around here is my job.”

“And you get a lunch break from it?” asked Resus. “That’s ridiculous!”

Henry stopped and stared hard at Resus. “Have you been talking to my boss?”

“No,” said Resus. “Why?”

“He wants to do away with our lunch hour as well.” The phantom turned and continued walking. “And if I don’t get back to work soon, he won’t let me take my exam.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Cleo, catching up with the ghost again. “What exam?”

“All ghosts start out at the bottom,” Henry explained miserably. “It’s called spirit level one. Over the centuries you can take haunting exams to rise up to spirit level two and beyond.”

“What do the levels mean?” asked Luke.

“They determine what kind of haunting jobs we get to do,” replied Henry. “Level one ghosts can only make things go bump in the night, but when you go up to level two, you get to go ‘Whoooooo!’ between 1 a.m. and 2 a.m., throw one item a night and spook pets by blowing in their faces.”

“And level three?” asked Cleo.

“Light chain work and creepy footsteps.”

“I get it!” said Resus. “Going up a spirit level is like getting a promotion.”

“That’s it,” said Henry.

“And the longer you’ve been a ghost, the more you get promoted,” said Cleo.

“Exactly,” said Henry.

“How long have you been a ghost?” asked Luke.

“Just short of three hundred years.”

“And what spirit level are you at now?” asked Cleo.

Henry looked as though he might cry again. “Level one.”

“Ah,” said Resus.

The phantom sighed. “I’d love the chance to scare a cat, but they just ignore me – like everybody else. I’ll never get to go ‘Whoooooo!’”

“Of course you will,” said Cleo. “All you’ve got to do is pass your exam. It can’t be that hard…”

“Then why has he failed it over a thousand times?” roared a voice. Henry began to tremble as another figure shimmered into existence in front of the group. “And why is he late for his last chance to take it?”

—

Posted to My Favourite Books, here’s the sixth part of my special Scream Street story – Shiver of the Phantom…

—

Shiver of the Phantom

by Tommy Donbavand

Chapter Six

The Phantom

Resus held a transparent hand up in front of his face. He could still make out the outline of his body, but he could see right through it, as though he was made of glass. “You are banned from doing anything with magic wands from now on!” he shouted at Cleo.

“But that was definitely the right spell,” Cleo insisted. “I checked.”

“Well, obviously not closely enough,” said Resus. “Not only am I not a vampire, I’m not even alive any more!”

“We can’t be dead,” said Luke. “I doubt Everwell’s Emporium would sell spells that could kill you.”

“He’s right,” said Cleo. “This must just be the way it works.”

“It feels weird,” said Luke, peering through his legs. “Do you think we can walk through walls and things like that now?”

“Of course we can,” said Resus. “Cleo’s turned us into ghosts – we’ll be able to do everything ghosts can do.” To illustrate his point, he turned, strode towards the lamppost he’d recently been talking to – and crashed straight into it. “Ow!” he cried, rubbing his nose.

“The spell doesn’t really turn you into a phantom,” said a mournful voice. “It just lets you talk to us. Not that anyone ever wants to for very long.”

The trio turned. Now clearly visible, the phantom from Luke’s bedroom stood behind them. He also appeared as though he was made of glass. And he looked utterly miserable.

“You sound like you’ve done this before,” said Luke.

The phantom shook his head. “I’m not important enough to be allowed to use magic,” he said. “But I did see my boss speak to someone using the spell years ago. It didn’t go very well, but then I didn’t expect it to, really.”

“What’s your name?” asked Cleo.

The phantom looked surprised. “You want to know my name?” he asked. “No one ever wants to know my name.”

“Well, we do,” said Luke.

The phantom removed his top hat and bowed his already stooped body. “Henry Horatio Harper,” he said. “Although I don’t expect you to remember it. No one ever does.”

“We remember you throwing things at us in Luke’s bedroom,” said Resus.

“I’m sorry,” said Henry. “I was just practising.”

“Practising?” asked Luke. “What for?”

“My exam,” Henry replied. “I don’t often get the chance to practise in front of people. And even if I do, they don’t really notice me.”

“Well, we did,” said Resus, rubbing the bruise on the back of his head. “Although I can’t imagine what sort of exam would need you to chuck stuff at kids.”

Suddenly a deep bell boomed out across the square. The ground shook, and Luke, Resus and Cleo were forced to clamp their hands over their ears. “What is that?” cried Cleo.

Henry sighed. “That’s the end of my lunch hour.”

—