blasts ghost Harry

“Help me!” snarled the Grey Ghost.
There was a flash of blue light, and what felt like a wrecking ball made from foam-rubber mattresses smashed into my chest. It threw me back completely through the car again (Hell’s bells, ow!) and I landed on my back with stars in front of my eyes, unable to remember how to inhale.
A nearby wraith turned its empty-eyed head toward me, and a surge of fear sent me scrambling to my feet. I got up in time to see the Grey Ghost rising as well, and those burning green-white eyes met mine.
In the air behind the ghost floated . . . a skull.
A skull with cold blue flames flickering in its empty eye sockets.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered. “Bob?”
“You!” the ghost hissed. Its hands formed into arching clawlike shapes, and it hissed in rage—and in fear.
Click-clack, went the hammer of Sir Stuart’s gun.
The Grey Ghost let out a scream of frustration and simply flew apart into thousands of tiny wisps of mist, taking the floating skull along with it. The wisps swarmed together into a vortex like a miniature tornado, and streaked down the road and out of sight, leaving a hundred voices screaming a hundred curses in its wake.
I looked around. The lasts of the wraiths were dying or had fled. The house’s defenders, most of them wounded and bleeding pale ectoplasm and flickering memory, were still in their positions. Sir Stuart was holding one hand to his side, and with the other held the pistol pointed at the empty air where the Grey Ghost had been.
“Ahhhh,” he said, sagging, once it became clear that the fight was over. “Bloody hell. That’s going to leave a mark.”
I moved to his side. “Are you okay, man?”
“Aye, lad. Aye. What the hell were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?”
I glowered at him and said, “You’re welcome. Glad I could help.”
“You nearly got yourself destroyed,” he replied. “Another second and that creature would have blasted you to bits.”


Ghost Story Chapter 5, Page 46-48