Sleepover Girls on Safari

by Angie Bates

Oh, hiya! Didn’t see you there. I wasn’t really singing into my hairbrush in front of the mirror, honest. Oh, all right, I was! But I do have a good excuse. I’m practising for this cheesy school talent contest Frankie’s roped us into. I wouldn’t have agreed but she said the others REALLY needed me to be their stylist. “You’re the Sleepover Club fashion guru, Fliss,” she cooed.

As you know, Frankie Thomas is a world expert at getting her own way and I fell for it, like I always do. Then Frankie immediately started piling on the pressure, saying it just
wouldn’t feel right unless ALL the Sleepover Club girls performed with her.

Then she turned her puppy dog eyes on me. “I can understand that you’re nervous, Flissie,” she’d said in a teacherish kind of voice. “But I don’t think you’d forgive yourself if you missed out on this unique experience.”

I really hate myself for giving in to her. Plus I’m stuck with having to learn this impossible S Club 7 dance routine, PLUS I’ve got to master the words to
Reach for the Stars
! It’s a complete nightmare. I’m SO not co-ordinated. I must have tripped over my own feet five times.

Oops, listen to me wittering! Now you’re terrified I’m going to make you watch us do our horrible impression of S Club 7. But don’t panic! That is NOT why I asked you over, cross my heart and spit.

But I’d better warn you. By the time I’ve finished recounting our latest sleepover, you’re probably going to have to sleep with the light on. We’ve got a genuinely spine-chilling experience in store for you this time.
So let’s make sure the front and back doors are securely locked and bolted! Then prepare to be shocked and scandalised. Because every word I’m going to tell you is totally TOTALLY true.

It was a sunny day in spring. Outside the school dinner hall, birds zoomed to and fro and the school flowerbeds had cute little primulas and whatever poking up out of the dirt. Lyndz had just shared out those little sugarcoated mini-eggs that look like tiny, speckled bird’s eggs. “I thought it would put everyone in a holiday mood,” she grinned.

We’d managed to get a whole dinner table to ourselves. Alana Banana and Regina Hill hovered hopefully for a few seconds but Kenny gave them one of her stares and they quickly took the hint.

In four days’ time we were going on the ultimate class trip – to have what Mrs Weaver described as a “safari experience”. We’d all heard of Gawdy Castle Safari Park, but none of us had actually been, and we were getting totally overexcited.

“I can’t wait,” said Kenny. “Lions in the wild. Raaargh!!” She hooked her fingers into claws and waved them menacingly in Lyndz’s face.

“This is going to be so amazing,” I said. “Isn’t it, Rosie?”

“From what I heard yesterday, Gawdy Castle might be a bit TOO amazing!” Frankie had that annoying little smirk on her face that means she’s got secret inside info. “I’ve been talking to this kid whose sister went years ago. Boy, you should have heard what she told me.”

I was suddenly completely distracted. “Not again! I’ve broken another nail!” I screeched. I couldn’t believe my bad luck. I’d been trying to grow all my nails to the same length for weeks. Now the most exciting adventure of our lives was looming and I’d gone and ruined my Pink Passion nail-polished fingernail.

“Don’t be such a bimbo, Fliss!”

I DO wish Frankie would learn not to talk with her mouth full. Gloopy egg sandwich suddenly went splattering everywhere, and poor ol’ Kenny was right in the line of fire.

“Urgh, Frankie! That was so gross!” She frantically brushed yellow and white gunk off her t-shirt.

I helped Kenz mop herself up. Ever since the twins were born, I make sure I carry travel wipes in my bag, so I’m prepared for spills and dribbles of all kinds. Joe and Hannah could totally dribble for England!

Frankie joined in the mopping operation. “Sorry, Kenz,” she said, “but Fliss has been banging on about her silly nails all term. We’re going to Gawdy Castle in four days and there’s something you guys really ought to know.”

Mum reckons the other girls will catch up and learn to love lip-gloss and nail polish as much as I do. I hope she’s right. Sometimes I think my mates see me as a total fluff brain. As for Frankie, she’s always saying I shouldn’t worry about shallow girly stuff like getting my appliquéd butterfly jeans dirty. She says it ruins everyone’s fun.

I hate to think I might be the Sleepover Club party pooper, so right there in the dinner hall, I made a secret pact with myself that I would NOT be ruining our thrilling, end of term trip.

“Sorry, Frankie,” I said humbly. “Tell us your story.”

Frankie plans to be an actress when she grows up and she just LURVES to be the centre of attention. She took a long, very noisy sip of Snapple, to make sure everyone was watching. Then she made us all huddle closer.

“This story is going to give you terminal goose bumps,” she promised. “I heard it from a girl who made me swear not to tell anyone. She said the authorities didn’t want it to get out.”

“But it’s all right to tell us?” I said anxiously.

“Of course, you’re my mates,” said Frankie. “And I’m going to tell it exactly how she told it to me.”

Kenny’s eyes gleamed and Lyndz’s looked as if they were going to pop right out of her head. I gulped. Frankie’s the best teller of scary tales I know. Outside, a cloud had gone across the sun, and the hall suddenly became full of eerie, flitting shadows.

“It happened at Gawdy Castle exactly three years ago,” Frankie began. “In fact, by a very weird coincidence, it happened three years to the day this Friday!”

Lyndz drew in her breath. “That’s the day we’re going!”

“I know. That’s why we’d better all be careful, because the terrible events I’m about to describe could well happen to any one of us.”

Frankie was really enjoying putting the frighteners on us, but we were all loving it. “Not one word of what I am going to tell you can go outside this group,” she said commandingly. “Do you swear?”

I heard Kenny mutter, “Get on with it, Spaceman.” But the rest of us just nodded frantically.

“Then I’ll begin,” said Frankie in her special storytelling voice. “It was the day of the school safari trip and the weatherman had forecast storms. The skies were darkening as the school coach drove through the gates of Gawdy Castle. But no one wanted to miss out on seeing the animals, so the castle rangers decided to risk taking the children out in the Landrovers. They thought the storm would hold off.”

“But it didn’t,” whispered Lyndz.

“No, it didn’t. It began thundering and lightning like the end of the world. Soon rain was coming down so heavily it was impossible to see out of the windscreen. The rangers cut the tour short and told the children and teachers to shelter in the old castle. Now there was one boy, whose name was Peter Harris…”

“I’ve heard of him,” said Kenny.

“Can I PLEASE tell my story without anyone interrupting?”

We all tried not to giggle at Frankie’s impression of Mrs Weaver.

“Well, anyway, Peter soon got bored with looking at pictures of dead dukes and duchesses. And though the suits of armour were quite interesting, what he really wanted to see were the medieval torture chambers in the dungeons.”

“Dun dun du-un!” interrupted a sarky voice.

Emma Hughes was smiling down at us. I say “smile”. It was more like the lipless grin you see on mummies.

“Bug off, Emma,” said Frankie.

“Oh, I’m SO sorry,” said Emma in a scornful voice. “Was I interrupting your little story-telling
session, Frankie? Why don’t I finish it for you? Let me see. Oh, yes.” Emma put on a fake scary voice. “Peter goes down into the dungeon where the ghost of a tortured prisoner jumps out at him, going ‘Whooo!’, and drags poor little Peter right inside the wall. When he fails to return to the minibus, the teachers and other kids search the castle for him. They search for over an hour. They’ve almost given up when Peter suddenly reappears in the main hall. But he’s not the same normal, happy boy who left home that morning. His hair and eyebrows have turned snow white and he can’t talk. He can only mumble like a great big baby…” Emma’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

“That’s horrible,” said Lyndz in a trembly voice.

Emma gave a spiteful laugh. “And not one word of it is true! My brother played football with Peter Harris only the other day. That stupid ghost story’s been going round for years. I can’t believe Frankie swallowed it!”