The Ghost of Howlers Beach (The Butter O'Bryan Mysteries, #1)
()
About this ebook
Butter O'Bryan has been told there are ghosts on Howlers Beach, but are there?
Howlers Beach, 1932
Butter O'Bryan lives in a Very Small Castle with his father and three aunts - Aunt Elephant, Aunt Cake and Aunt Peculiar. These aren't their real names, of course, just as Butter's father isn't really called 'Pongo'.
And even though Butter is only twelve years old, and the grandson of one of Australia's most successful Jam Kings, he is very aware of the hardship many people are experiencing.
Butter has been told there are ghosts at the nearby isolated Howlers Beach, but are there? And how can the children Butter plays cricket with on the beach simply vanish? Who are these children and why do they refuse his help?
Butter is certain they're hiding a secret and he's determined to uncover it.
AWARDS
Shortlisted - Davitt Awards 2021 (Children's Crime Novel)
Jackie French
Jackie French was born in Sydney in 1953, grew up in Brisbane, graduated from the University of Queensland and moved to her present home in NSW bush land in her mid twenties. Over the past 10 years she has published over a hundred books on diverse subjects ranging from children’s fiction to pest control!
Read more from Jackie French
Tom Appleby, Convict Boy Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5The Night They Stormed Eureka Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Pennies for Hitler Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Diary of a Rescued Wombat: The Untold Story Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Secret World Of Wombats Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Rose for the Anzac Boys Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Walking The Boundaries Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Koala Bare Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Dinosaurs Love Cheese Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Macbeth and Son Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Happy Birthday Wombat Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Somewhere around the Corner Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5A Day to Remember Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5I am Juliet Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5I Spy a Great Reader: How to Unlock the Literary Secret and Get Your Child Hooked on Books Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsPirate Boy of Sydney Town Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5
Related to The Ghost of Howlers Beach (The Butter O'Bryan Mysteries, #1)
Titles in the series (1)
The Ghost of Howlers Beach (The Butter O'Bryan Mysteries, #1) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratings
Related ebooks
A Christmas Hamper: A Volume of Pictures and Stories for Little Folks Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsJack Mason, the Old Sailor Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Rover Boys on the Great Lakes; Or, The Secret of the Island Cave Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Stolen Prince of Cloudburst Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Last Pearl Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Round about the Seashore - With Eight Coloured Pictures Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Ghastly McNastys: The Lost Treasure of Little Snoring Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Sky Island Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Mouth of the Crocodile, The Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsDeadman Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsRepeat This and You're Dead Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsShoes and Ships and Sealing Wax Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Boggart Fights Back Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Jack the Hunchback: A Story of Adventure on the Coast of Maine Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Voice of the Pack Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Sea Fairies Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsHidden Secrets Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Mystery of Adventure Island: The Mystery Series, #2 Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Kate Bonnet: The Romance of a Pirate's Daughter Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMarjorie's Busy Days Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsGone to Drift Rating: 3 out of 5 stars3/5Dorset Folk Tales for Children Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsMr. Turtle's Flying Adventure Hollow Tree Stories Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Scarecrow of Oz Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Cruise of the Little Dipper, and Other Fairy Tales Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Scarecrow of Oz: A Children's Classic Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsJean, Our Little Australian Cousin Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Tale of Little Pig Robinson Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Secret of the Kloog: The Altar of Shulaani, #3 Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Quayside Cat Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Children's For You
Summary of The Anxious Generation by Jonathan Haidt: How the Great Rewiring of Childhood Is Causing an Epidemic of Mental Illness Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Graveyard Book Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5A Long Walk to Water: Based on a True Story Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Into the Wild: Warriors #1 Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Bridge to Terabithia Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Cedric The Shark Get's Toothache: Bedtime Stories For Children, #1 Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Alice In Wonderland: The Original 1865 Unabridged and Complete Edition (Lewis Carroll Classics) Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsThe Witch of Blackbird Pond: A Newbery Award Winner Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Phantom Tollbooth Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Number the Stars: A Newbery Award Winner Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5Little House in the Big Woods Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Summary of The New Menopause by Mary Claire Haver MD: Navigating Your Path Through Hormonal Change with Purpose, Power, and Facts Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsAmari and the Night Brothers Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Coraline Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Fever 1793 Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Island of the Blue Dolphins: A Newbery Award Winner Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5The Dark Is Rising Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Summary of Bad Therapy by Abigail Shrier: Why the Kids Aren't Growing Up Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Crossover: A Newbery Award Winner Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Summary of Good Energy by Casey Means:The Surprising Connection Between Metabolism and Limitless Health Rating: 0 out of 5 stars0 ratingsOver Sea, Under Stone Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Coraline 10th Anniversary Edition Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Alone Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Wayside School Is Falling Down Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5The Secret Garden: The 100th Anniversary Edition with Tasha Tudor Art and Bonus Materials Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Dork Diaries 1: Tales from a Not-So-Fabulous Life Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5Peter Pan Complete Text Rating: 4 out of 5 stars4/5
Reviews for The Ghost of Howlers Beach (The Butter O'Bryan Mysteries, #1)
0 ratings0 reviews
Book preview
The Ghost of Howlers Beach (The Butter O'Bryan Mysteries, #1) - Jackie French
Dedication
To Jack and Tom —
may you have adventures always
Contents
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author Notes
About the Author
Also by Jackie French
Copyright
CHAPTER 1
Sunlight danced across the water the day the dog dug up the skull. But even a golden beach couldn’t cheer Butter up, as he sat on top of the sand dunes below the Very Small Castle and stared at the curling waves, endlessly washing in and out.
If only something would happen. Something INTERESTING. Something so big it would fix the boredom of holidays.
And fill the emptiness since Mum’s death, said a whisper in his mind.
But all he could see were marshmallow clouds, the crinkling froth on the sand, three kids playing cricket at the water’s edge, and a dog digging enthusiastically in the dirt a few yards away from him.
It wasn’t much of a dog. It was dirty, thin and scruffy, with a crooked tail and only three legs. But it was still burrowing eagerly, using its two front legs to dig as it lay with its remaining hind leg curled under it.
The huge pile of earth and grass had tumbled down there from the headland after a storm just two months ago. A landslide was rare excitement at Howlers Beach.
Butter’s attention returned to the cricket match. The kids were skinny and barefoot. Two were about Butter’s age: a boy in ragged shorts and tanned skin, and a barefoot girl in a long, loose dress. The smaller girl was so young that the bowler had to come close to toss her the ball.
The stumps were just driftwood, shoved in the sand. The bat was a fence paling. The players only had one ball, so every time it sailed into the water someone had to wade in to fetch it. The tide was coming in too. Soon the waves would wash right up to the stumps.
But they were having fun, Butter thought.
School holidays were long when your best mates had gone back to their families’ properties. Taggert Minor had even taken another two months off to visit his uncle in Scotland in a REAL castle, not a Very Small one. Taggert’s castle was probably haunted too, maybe by a headless knight. Or Taggert’s ship might be hit by an iceberg. He’d have to cling to the iceberg till he was saved . . .
Some people had all the luck.
Something bobbed round the rocks at the other end of the beach. A boat! Butter shaded his eyes against the morning glare to get a better look as it drew closer. Maybe they’d be gangsters, smuggling stolen jewels to a mysterious cave.
Butter squinted into the sunlight. Two men held pistols, just like in the talking picture show Guns of Chicago he’d seen with the Aunts the previous week!
They really HAD to be gangsters — why else would a boat come so close to Howlers Beach? Other ships sailed further out, like passenger liners or the big barges that had carried stone from the Moruya quarries for the pylons of the giant bridge that now almost stretched from one side of Sydney Harbour to the other.
No one came to Howlers Beach, and not just because of the moans from the cliff that made people say it was haunted, but that Dad said was just the wind. Howlers Beach was small: a sandy curve between the big headland on one side and rocks on the other. There was nothing nearby for miles, except the susso camp that had gradually grown in the last few years on the other side of the headland and his family’s Very Small Castle — his family’s big stone home — that had been built close enough to the beach so Grandpa O’Bryan, the Jam King of Australia, could watch the sea through his telescope when he decided the Russians might invade Australia back in 1903. The Very Small Castle even had battlements where you could pour boiling oil down on invaders, as well as four small towers, because Grandpa had decided that a Jam King with eighteen jam factories around the new nation needed a proper castle too. That had been nearly thirty years back and there’d been no invasion, and no boiling oil either, so instead Grandpa hung big banners down the battlements, with Wallaby Jam: bounce your way to goodness written on a picture of a grinning wallaby eating a slice of bread and plum jam.
Luckily the Very Small Castle was at the end of the road, so hardly anyone had seen the banners, which were put away after Grandpa died. Nowadays the battlements just made the roof a good place to hang the washing, so the male servants couldn’t see the Aunts’ underpants as they dried.
The boat came nearer. Maybe the cricket players were gangsters too. Very young gangsters . . .
Suddenly the gangsters jerked their pistols up. All at once the pistols became bottles with fishing lines attached to them. Even the boat looked homemade now it was closer, its planks not quite matching. As Butter watched, one of the men hauled in a glinting fish.
The boat was probably from the susso camp. It wasn’t an easy life over there, but at least at the camp everyone had neighbours. The fishermen had each other, and so did the kids playing cricket below.
Suddenly Butter was so deeply lonely he felt like crying. But it was a poor show to cry, especially if you were a boy. And he still had Dad, even if Dad rarely talked to him these days. He had the Aunts too. And it was over a year since Mum had died. He should have been over it. ‘Take it on the chin, lad. You’ll get over it,’ the Headmaster had said.
‘Another sixer,’ yelled the girl below, as the boy hit the cricket ball soaring across the sand and into the green curl of waves.
The boy grinned. He had tousled brown hair like muddy tussocks. His arms and legs were thin, but their muscles gleamed with sweat. He plunged into the water, ducking under the froth to grab the ball before the undertow sucked it out to sea. The beach was small, but the rips could be bad.
The boy scrambled up, all wet tanned skin and dripping shorts, still grinning.
‘Aim the ball toward the sandhills next time, drongo,’ yelled the girl, as he waded out of the surf. ‘We’ll lose it if you keep whacking it at the waves.’
The boy shifted his grin to her. ‘Then bowl properly!’
‘I can bowl as well as you!’
The boy snorted. ‘Bowling underarm ain’t proper bowling.’
‘It is if it bowls you out!’ The girl’s grin was as wide as the boy’s. Her dark plaits bobbled as the boy tossed her the ball. She caught the ball expertly, then backed up to bowl again; the boy took his place at the stumps.
Butter stood up impulsively. ‘Can I have a go?’ he called. ‘At least I can bowl overarm.’
Actually he was a pretty good bowler. He reckoned he could bowl that boy out with just one left-hand spin bowl. He began to slip and slide down the dune toward them. They might just be susso kids but a game of cricket would at least shake away the memory of the last picnic there with Mum before the polio. Aunt Elephant had hauled over a giant driftwood log for the campfire and Dad had grilled chops . . .
The kids turned and stared at him, even the smallest girl, with her big eyes and arms and legs almost as thin as a seagull’s. They mustn’t have noticed him sitting up above.
The boy scowled as Butter reached the bottom of the sand dune. ‘Get lost,’ he said flatly.
‘Why?’ demanded Butter.
‘This is our beach.’
‘But you can’t own a beach!’
‘Yes, you can,’ said the boy confidently. ‘Captain Cook stood on a beach near here and claimed it for Britain. Governor Phillip stood on a beach and claimed it too. The people in the susso camp,’ the boy nodded to where the camp sat on the other side of the headland, ‘claimed the land there. So, we can claim this beach.’
If anyone owns Howlers Beach it’s Dad, thought Butter. Or maybe the ghosts who were supposed to haunt it. Dad had inherited all the land around there from Grandpa, including the land the susso families had built their shacks on. But still, no one could own a beach. ‘You live in the susso camp? But that’s not on a beach. It’s next to it!’
The boy shrugged. ‘Same thing. The squatters claimed their farms just by saying the land was theirs, and got rich.’
‘But that was a hundred years ago!’ insisted Butter.
‘You don’t want to play on this beach,’ said the bigger girl. ‘The ghosts will get you!’
‘The moaning sounds are just the wind. Anyhow, why are you here if it’s haunted?’
‘Maybe we’re ghosts too,’ said the girl softly. ‘Maybe we’ll vanish as soon as you turn away.’
‘But that’s nonsense,’ said Butter.
The three kids just stared at him.
No point arguing, thought Butter, even if Aunt Peculiar called him the Arguing King of Australia. Aunt Peculiar said that every castle needed a king, even a Very Small Castle. But it had been Mum who’d called him ‘Butter’ when he was three years old because she said he began every sentence with ‘but’.
But no law said a mob of kids had to play cricket with him. Anyway, it was nearly lunchtime. Auntie Cake said it wasn’t fair on the servants to be late for meals.
‘I hope you enjoy your game,’ said Butter stiffly. Aunt Elephant said you should be polite to everyone, which meant even susso camp kids like these. He just felt — empty again. A hollowness that couldn’t be filled since Mum had vanished from their lives, since Dad retreated into politeness. An emptiness that at least DOING something might make him forget for a little while.
He started to climb back up the sandhill, just as the small grey dog triumphantly pulled something big and dirty out of the hole it had dug in the landslide.
The dog balanced carefully on its three legs for a few seconds, then limped over to Butter. It dropped the object at Butter’s feet, grinning up to him as if to say, ‘Look what I found! Aren’t I a good dog?’
The skull seemed to grin too, its bare teeth almost as white as the sand.
Butter felt the breath sucked out of his body. He glanced back at the beach. Kids like that little girl shouldn’t see something like this.
But the beach was empty. The cricket players had gone. Even their footprints had been wiped away by the waves.
CHAPTER 2
The Very Small Castle rang with silence, as though he could feel Mum wasn’t there as soon as he stepped inside.
But that was stupid, Butter told himself as he washed his hands in the scullery by the back door. The Very Small Castle might be tiny for a castle, but it was still big, especially with just him and Dad and the servants living there, and Aunt Peculiar, Aunt Elephant and Auntie Cake.
Aunt Peculiar had moved back to the Very Small Castle when her husband Uncle Theo had died in the second battle of the Somme. Aunt Elephant’s fiancé had been killed at Ypres, and Auntie Cake’s at Gallipoli. The men’s photos, taken on the day they each had left for the War and one from Aunt Peculiar’s second wedding anniversary, sat in silver frames on the grand piano in the drawing room, with red poppies added on Anzac Day and on their birthdays.
The Aunts’ real names were Petunia, Ellen and Kate, but Dad had called them Peculiar, Elephant and Cake when he was small and the names had stuck, even though Auntie Cake had protested she no longer ate nearly enough lamingtons to warrant HER nickname. The Aunts called Dad Pongo. Butter