The Ghosts of Gribblesea Pier - Hardcover
Aurelie Bonhoffen has grown up in the circus. She's been a juggler, the back end of a cow, and played a dead girl on the ghost train at Gribblesea Pier, her parents' run-down amusement park. She adores her family, especially her uncles Rolo and Rindolf, but when she turns twelve she stumbles onto a remarkable secret. Her family members have two chances at life―they can become ghosts! It's hard to accept that her favorite uncles are ghosts, but when Aurelie's new friend at school reveals a dangerous plot to demolish the pier, the secret helps her confront the greatest threat her family has ever faced.
"synopsis" may belong to another edition of this title.
About the Author:
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:
Deborah Abela has written and directed for children's television programming in Australia, where she lives. She is the author of the Spy Force series.
1
The Ghost Train
The girl lay in her coffin with a faint smile on her powder-white face. She had been carefully laid out. Gentle hands smoothed down her white silk dress, combed her soft curls, and brushed on her makeup so that her cheeks looked like two faintly pink cherry blossoms.
“So very young,” the taller of two undertakers mused.
“And beautiful,” answered the other, a cruel scar running down his left cheek.
Framed by the flickering light of a candelabra behind them, they fussed around the girl, fixing a lone curl across her forehead, straightening out the black satin ribbon around her waist, and finding the exact place for a single white lily to lay across her chest.
They were never happy until everything was perfect.
The shorter man put his lofty black top hat on his perfectly combed hair. For today’s ceremony he had chosen the one with the flowing gray band and white feather. He’d buffed it with a horsehair brush given to him by his grandfather, who had also been in the business. “We’re ready,” he announced with a flourish of his hand.
The other man’s left eyebrow rose slightly. “You don’t think you’ve overdone it a little with the hat?”
“I think it fitting.” The shorter undertaker positioned his nose, just so, in the air. “It’s dignified yet mournful, graceful yet not too showy.” He scowled and mumbled, “Anyone with an ounce of fashion sense can see that.”
They were twin brothers, born ninety seconds apart. The shorter, younger brother was never one for taking orders or advice from the older—never had been and wasn’t about to start now.
“Fashion sense? You wouldn’t know fashion if it walked down the catwalk and tripped you.”
The rattling of a train in the distance broke through their argument.
“Right on time,” they both whispered with more than a speck of delight.
The wheels screeched along the metal tracks. The carriages strained with the weight of passengers, crawling slowly through the pitch-black night. Eerie, creaturelike shadows jumped out at every bend. The misty, damp air filled with the echo of hooting owls, the far-off screeching of vultures, and the hungry cries of nearby wolves.
Then they heard the first scream.
“Earlier than usual.” The younger man pulled a watch from his vest pocket.
“Yes, but not one of our best.”
“No, no, we must work on that.”
For their work to be successful, everything must be timed perfectly. One slipup, one fall or stumble, could ruin everything.
Another terrified cry sounded, this time closer.
“Two screams.” The older one adjusted his already perfectly adjusted jacket. “Death can be fearful.”
Knife-sharp beams of light lit up the tunnel walls before them.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
The front carriage of the train loomed around the corner. The undertakers threw their hands up to their brightly illuminated faces.
“It’s coming straight for us!” they cried.
The undertakers appeared to float into the air, as did the candelabra behind them. The lifeless girl between them suddenly sprang forward and screamed. An ear-stabbing, heart-piercing scream. A trickle of blood flowed down her forehead and from the murderous cut roughly sewn across her throat.
“Aaaah!” Whole carriages of screaming dread. One passenger fainted.
Within seconds it was over. The train swooped by. Flashes of sparks faded, and the screeching of passengers and metal wheels drew away into the distance.
The girl’s voice erupted through the murky dark that remained. “That was our best yet!”
The taller undertaker snapped a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her bloodied forehead and neck. “Your performance gets better each time, young Aurelie. What’s not to scream at?”
“Thanks, Uncle Rindolf.” Aurelie’s teeth flashed from her pale face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
The shorter one, Uncle Rolo, held his hat in front of his chest. “Nothing like causing a bit of a fright to get the heart going.”
Rolo and Rindolf had sharp gray-black curls and impish faces deeply lined from entertaining audiences since they were boys. They’d stand with apples on their heads for the knife-throwing act, whinny and neigh as the head and rear end of a horse and, of course, terrify innocent passengers on the ghost train.
“We’ll always be guaranteed a fright with that schnoz of yours.” Rindolf threw a look at his brother as he helped Aurelie out of her coffin. “It’s enough to scare a person into an early grave.”
“You might want to look in the mirror before you start talking about frightening features, skunkface,” Rolo shot back.
Aurelie giggled.
“And don’t you encourage him.” Rolo waved a finger. “If he thinks he’s funny, he’ll never stop.”
The echoing laughter of passengers seeped into the tunnel as they reached the end of the ride. It was the last train for the night.
“Even with my skunkface, I do enjoy a bit of fear-making.” Rindolf nudged his brother.
Rolo’s face spread into a reluctant smile. “And pants-scaring.”
Rindolf shook with laughter. “We scared the pants right off someone once. Tell Aurelie how we did it.”
Rolo blew out the candles and took a flashlight from his pocket. “I’d be delighted.” He limped a few steps to the exit, held open the door for his niece, and bowed deeply.
Their faces became lit by strings of colored lightbulbs that crisscrossed their way throughout the pier.
“It was in front of the Bulgarian royal family in the capital, Sofia. We went there for a special performance at the king’s invitation. We were warming up the crowd with some simple tumbling and balancing...”
“Rolo’d flip your mother into the air and she’d land on my shoulders. Nothing too fancy.”
“But it did look spectacular,” Rolo added, “because your mother would do it with two flaming torches.”
All around them pier workers pulled down shutters on kiosks selling hot dogs, cotton candy, and soft-serve ice creams dipped in chocolate. Rindolf rushed over to the waffle stand, poked his head between the shutters, and minutes later withdrew three plates of steaming waffles topped with melting swirls of cream.
Aurelie and Rolo sat at a round table shaped like a teacup and saucer. The last of the patrons were making their way to the curled steel gates at the front of the pier. Groups of teenagers slung their arms over each other’s shoulders, couples held hands, and young kids chased each other through clusters of deck chairs.
Rolo’s eyes wandered over them. Searching.
Rindolf handed a waffle to Aurelie and shoved the other beneath his brother’s absorbed look. “Are you going to tell this story or not?” He squeezed into the teacup with them.
“I was waiting for you.” Rolo sank his fork into his waffle and stole one last look. “From up above, in the balconies where the rich people sat, a woman screamed.”
“Ooooh, she was loud. I can still hear the ringing in my ears.” Rindolf rubbed his ears exaggeratedly.
“She was screaming because this young boy—”
“Who couldn’t afford a ticket—”
“Had sneaked into the theater and found himself a safe position behind the rather large skirts of this woman who had fallen asleep.”
“Not all our audiences were cultured enough to appreciate art when they saw it.” Rindolf sniffed.
Aurelie smiled through a mouthful of waffle and cream.
“But as the boy peered over the edge of the balcony,” Rolo continued, “he laughed so much at what he was seeing—”
“We were funny,” Rindolf added.
“That he fell back into the fine lady’s lap. That’s when she screamed. The chase was on. Everyone in the theater was determined to catch the intruder, but he swerved and dodged and, just as he was about to get away, a generously bellied gentleman caught him by the edge of his pants. The man held on, red cheeks puffed out, wheezing, until the boy undid his trousers and stepped out of them in front of blushing ladies, giggling girls, and loud shrieks.”
“I normally hate being upstaged, but it was good sport.” Rindolf nodded.
“What happened to the boy?” Aurelie asked.
Rolo smiled. “We found him hiding in a Dumpster behind the theater. He said his mother would have him whipped from one side of town to the other if he went home without his pants, so we sneaked back inside and found him a new pair in the costume trunk.” He slipped a last morsel of waffle into his mouth and looked at the dwindling crowds. “There’ll be a good ten minutes before the last of our guests leave and we have to lock the gate.”
“To the roof?” Rindolf asked.
“Where else?” Rolo answered.
On certain evenings after they finished their work, when the wind wasn’t too furious or cold, they would climb the stairs to Aurelie’s room above the ghost train. Inside, the walls were hung with rich red theater curtains. Stained-glass lamps sat on handmade tables, while strings of tiny twinkling lights glowed across the room like fireflies. There was a large feather bed covered with cushions and soft toys, and nestled at the end was a trunk full of shawls, blankets, and costumes from years of the Bonhoffens’ shows.
They reached in, grabbed a blanket, and climbed the ladder leading to a skylight. Outside, Aurelie huddled between her uncles.
“Can you feel that?” Rolo asked. “The wind’s changing. Autumn’s coming....
The Ghost Train
The girl lay in her coffin with a faint smile on her powder-white face. She had been carefully laid out. Gentle hands smoothed down her white silk dress, combed her soft curls, and brushed on her makeup so that her cheeks looked like two faintly pink cherry blossoms.
“So very young,” the taller of two undertakers mused.
“And beautiful,” answered the other, a cruel scar running down his left cheek.
Framed by the flickering light of a candelabra behind them, they fussed around the girl, fixing a lone curl across her forehead, straightening out the black satin ribbon around her waist, and finding the exact place for a single white lily to lay across her chest.
They were never happy until everything was perfect.
The shorter man put his lofty black top hat on his perfectly combed hair. For today’s ceremony he had chosen the one with the flowing gray band and white feather. He’d buffed it with a horsehair brush given to him by his grandfather, who had also been in the business. “We’re ready,” he announced with a flourish of his hand.
The other man’s left eyebrow rose slightly. “You don’t think you’ve overdone it a little with the hat?”
“I think it fitting.” The shorter undertaker positioned his nose, just so, in the air. “It’s dignified yet mournful, graceful yet not too showy.” He scowled and mumbled, “Anyone with an ounce of fashion sense can see that.”
They were twin brothers, born ninety seconds apart. The shorter, younger brother was never one for taking orders or advice from the older—never had been and wasn’t about to start now.
“Fashion sense? You wouldn’t know fashion if it walked down the catwalk and tripped you.”
The rattling of a train in the distance broke through their argument.
“Right on time,” they both whispered with more than a speck of delight.
The wheels screeched along the metal tracks. The carriages strained with the weight of passengers, crawling slowly through the pitch-black night. Eerie, creaturelike shadows jumped out at every bend. The misty, damp air filled with the echo of hooting owls, the far-off screeching of vultures, and the hungry cries of nearby wolves.
Then they heard the first scream.
“Earlier than usual.” The younger man pulled a watch from his vest pocket.
“Yes, but not one of our best.”
“No, no, we must work on that.”
For their work to be successful, everything must be timed perfectly. One slipup, one fall or stumble, could ruin everything.
Another terrified cry sounded, this time closer.
“Two screams.” The older one adjusted his already perfectly adjusted jacket. “Death can be fearful.”
Knife-sharp beams of light lit up the tunnel walls before them.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
The front carriage of the train loomed around the corner. The undertakers threw their hands up to their brightly illuminated faces.
“It’s coming straight for us!” they cried.
The undertakers appeared to float into the air, as did the candelabra behind them. The lifeless girl between them suddenly sprang forward and screamed. An ear-stabbing, heart-piercing scream. A trickle of blood flowed down her forehead and from the murderous cut roughly sewn across her throat.
“Aaaah!” Whole carriages of screaming dread. One passenger fainted.
Within seconds it was over. The train swooped by. Flashes of sparks faded, and the screeching of passengers and metal wheels drew away into the distance.
The girl’s voice erupted through the murky dark that remained. “That was our best yet!”
The taller undertaker snapped a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at her bloodied forehead and neck. “Your performance gets better each time, young Aurelie. What’s not to scream at?”
“Thanks, Uncle Rindolf.” Aurelie’s teeth flashed from her pale face. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
The shorter one, Uncle Rolo, held his hat in front of his chest. “Nothing like causing a bit of a fright to get the heart going.”
Rolo and Rindolf had sharp gray-black curls and impish faces deeply lined from entertaining audiences since they were boys. They’d stand with apples on their heads for the knife-throwing act, whinny and neigh as the head and rear end of a horse and, of course, terrify innocent passengers on the ghost train.
“We’ll always be guaranteed a fright with that schnoz of yours.” Rindolf threw a look at his brother as he helped Aurelie out of her coffin. “It’s enough to scare a person into an early grave.”
“You might want to look in the mirror before you start talking about frightening features, skunkface,” Rolo shot back.
Aurelie giggled.
“And don’t you encourage him.” Rolo waved a finger. “If he thinks he’s funny, he’ll never stop.”
The echoing laughter of passengers seeped into the tunnel as they reached the end of the ride. It was the last train for the night.
“Even with my skunkface, I do enjoy a bit of fear-making.” Rindolf nudged his brother.
Rolo’s face spread into a reluctant smile. “And pants-scaring.”
Rindolf shook with laughter. “We scared the pants right off someone once. Tell Aurelie how we did it.”
Rolo blew out the candles and took a flashlight from his pocket. “I’d be delighted.” He limped a few steps to the exit, held open the door for his niece, and bowed deeply.
Their faces became lit by strings of colored lightbulbs that crisscrossed their way throughout the pier.
“It was in front of the Bulgarian royal family in the capital, Sofia. We went there for a special performance at the king’s invitation. We were warming up the crowd with some simple tumbling and balancing...”
“Rolo’d flip your mother into the air and she’d land on my shoulders. Nothing too fancy.”
“But it did look spectacular,” Rolo added, “because your mother would do it with two flaming torches.”
All around them pier workers pulled down shutters on kiosks selling hot dogs, cotton candy, and soft-serve ice creams dipped in chocolate. Rindolf rushed over to the waffle stand, poked his head between the shutters, and minutes later withdrew three plates of steaming waffles topped with melting swirls of cream.
Aurelie and Rolo sat at a round table shaped like a teacup and saucer. The last of the patrons were making their way to the curled steel gates at the front of the pier. Groups of teenagers slung their arms over each other’s shoulders, couples held hands, and young kids chased each other through clusters of deck chairs.
Rolo’s eyes wandered over them. Searching.
Rindolf handed a waffle to Aurelie and shoved the other beneath his brother’s absorbed look. “Are you going to tell this story or not?” He squeezed into the teacup with them.
“I was waiting for you.” Rolo sank his fork into his waffle and stole one last look. “From up above, in the balconies where the rich people sat, a woman screamed.”
“Ooooh, she was loud. I can still hear the ringing in my ears.” Rindolf rubbed his ears exaggeratedly.
“She was screaming because this young boy—”
“Who couldn’t afford a ticket—”
“Had sneaked into the theater and found himself a safe position behind the rather large skirts of this woman who had fallen asleep.”
“Not all our audiences were cultured enough to appreciate art when they saw it.” Rindolf sniffed.
Aurelie smiled through a mouthful of waffle and cream.
“But as the boy peered over the edge of the balcony,” Rolo continued, “he laughed so much at what he was seeing—”
“We were funny,” Rindolf added.
“That he fell back into the fine lady’s lap. That’s when she screamed. The chase was on. Everyone in the theater was determined to catch the intruder, but he swerved and dodged and, just as he was about to get away, a generously bellied gentleman caught him by the edge of his pants. The man held on, red cheeks puffed out, wheezing, until the boy undid his trousers and stepped out of them in front of blushing ladies, giggling girls, and loud shrieks.”
“I normally hate being upstaged, but it was good sport.” Rindolf nodded.
“What happened to the boy?” Aurelie asked.
Rolo smiled. “We found him hiding in a Dumpster behind the theater. He said his mother would have him whipped from one side of town to the other if he went home without his pants, so we sneaked back inside and found him a new pair in the costume trunk.” He slipped a last morsel of waffle into his mouth and looked at the dwindling crowds. “There’ll be a good ten minutes before the last of our guests leave and we have to lock the gate.”
“To the roof?” Rindolf asked.
“Where else?” Rolo answered.
On certain evenings after they finished their work, when the wind wasn’t too furious or cold, they would climb the stairs to Aurelie’s room above the ghost train. Inside, the walls were hung with rich red theater curtains. Stained-glass lamps sat on handmade tables, while strings of tiny twinkling lights glowed across the room like fireflies. There was a large feather bed covered with cushions and soft toys, and nestled at the end was a trunk full of shawls, blankets, and costumes from years of the Bonhoffens’ shows.
They reached in, grabbed a blanket, and climbed the ladder leading to a skylight. Outside, Aurelie huddled between her uncles.
“Can you feel that?” Rolo asked. “The wind’s changing. Autumn’s coming....
"About this title" may belong to another edition of this title.
- PublisherFarrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)
- Publication date2011
- ISBN 10 0374362394
- ISBN 13 9780374362393
- BindingHardcover
- Edition number1
- Number of pages240
- Rating
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The Ghosts of Gribblesea Pier
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(2011)
ISBN 10: 0374362394
ISBN 13: 9780374362393
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Published by
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(2011)
ISBN 10: 0374362394
ISBN 13: 9780374362393
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The Ghosts of Gribblesea Pier
Published by
Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)
(2011)
ISBN 10: 0374362394
ISBN 13: 9780374362393
Used
Hardcover
Quantity: 1
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