The Witches

by Roald Dahl

  ‘I was talking to my little grandson,’ I heard my grandmother saying. ‘He's been in the bathroom for hours and it's time he came out. He sits in there reading books and he forgets completely where he is! Do you have any children, my dear?’

  ‘I do not!’ shouted The Grand High Witch, and she came quickly back into the bedroom, slamming the balcony door behind her.

  I was cooked. My escape route was closed. I was shut up in the room with The Grand High Witch and three terrified frogs. I was just as terrified as the frogs. I was quite sure that if I was spotted, I would be caught and thrown out over the balcony for the seagulls.

  There came a knock on the bedroom door. ‘Vot is it this time?’ shouted The Grand High Witch.

  ‘It is we ancient ones,’ said a meek voice from behind the door. ‘It is six o'clock and we have come to collect the bottles that you promised us, O Your Grandness.’

  I saw her crossing the carpet towards the door. The door was opened and then I saw a whole lot of feet and shoes beginning to enter the room. They were coming in slowly and hesitantly, as though the owners of those shoes were frightened of entering. ‘Come in! Come in!’ snapped The Grand High Witch. ‘Do not stand out there dithering in the corrri-dor! I don't have all night!’

  I saw my chance. I jumped out from behind the bedpost and ran like lightning towards the open door. I jumped over several pairs of shoes on the way and in three seconds I was out in the corridor, still clutching the precious bottle to my chest. No one had seen me. There were no shouts of Mouse! Mouse! All I could hear were the voices of the ancient witches burbling their silly sentences about ‘How kind Your Grandness is’ and all the rest of it. I went scampering down the corridor to the stairs and up one flight. I went to the fifth floor and then along the corridor again until I came to the door of my own bedroom. Thank goodness there was no one in sight. Using the bottom of the little bottle, I began tap-tap-tapping on the door. Tap tap tap tap, I went. Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… Would my grandmother hear me? I thought that she must. The bottle made quite a loud tap each time it struck. Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… Just so long as nobody came along the corridor.

  But the door didn't open. I decided to take a risk. ‘Grandmamma!’ I shouted as loudly as I possibly could. ‘Grandmamma! It's me! Let me in!’

  I heard her feet coming across the carpet and the door opened. I went in like an arrow. ‘I've done it!’ I cried, jumping up and down. ‘I've got it, Grandmamma! Look, here it is! I've got a whole bottle of it!’

  She closed the door. She bent down and picked me up and hugged me. ‘Oh, my darling!’ she cried. ‘Thank heavens you're safe!’ She took the little bottle from me and read the label aloud. ‘“Formula 86 Delayed Action Mouse-Maker!”’ she read. ‘“This bottle contains five hundred doses!” You brilliant darling boy! You're a wonder! You're a marvel! How on earth did you get out of her room?’

  ‘I nipped out when the ancient witches were coming in,’ I told her. ‘It was all a bit hairy, Grandmamma. I wouldn't want to do it again.’

  ‘I saw her too!’ my grandmother said.

  ‘I know you did, Grandmamma. I heard you talking to each other. Didn't you think she was absolutely foul?’

  ‘She's a murderer,’ my grandmother said. ‘She's the most evil woman in the entire world!’

  ‘Did you see her mask?’ I asked.

  ‘It's amazing,’ my grandmother said. ‘It looks just like a real face. Even though I knew it was a mask, I still couldn't tell. Oh, my darling!’ she cried, giving me a hug. ‘I thought I'd never see you again! I'm so happy you got away!’

  Mr and Mrs Jenkins Meet Bruno

  My grandmother carried me back into her own bedroom and put me on the table. She set the precious bottle down beside me. ‘What time are those witches having supper in the Dining-Room?’ she asked.

  ‘Eight o'clock,’ I said.

  She looked at her watch. ‘It is now ten-past six,’ she said. ‘We've got until eight o'clock to work out our next move.’ Suddenly, her eye fell upon Bruno. He was still in the banana bowl on the table. He had eaten three bananas and was now attacking a fourth. He had become immensely fat.

  ‘That's quite enough,’ my grandmother said, lifting him out of the bowl and putting him on the table-top. ‘I think it's time we returned this little fellow to the bosom of his family. Don't you agree, Bruno?’

  Bruno scowled at her. I had never seen a mouse scowl before, but he managed it. ‘My parents let me eat as much as I want,’ he said. ‘I'd rather be with them than with you.’

  ‘Of course you would,’ my grandmother said. ‘Do you know where your parents might be at this moment?’

  ‘They were in the Lounge not long ago,’ I said. ‘I saw them sitting there as we dashed through on our way up here.’

  ‘Right,’ my grandmother said. ‘Let's go and see if they are still there. Do you want to come along?’ she added, looking at me.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said.

  ‘I shall put you both in my handbag,’ she said. ‘Keep quiet and stay out of sight. If you must peep out now and again, don't show more than your nose.’

  Her handbag was a large bulgy black-leather affair with a tortoise-shell clasp. She picked up Bruno and me and popped us into it. ‘I shall leave the clasp undone,’ she said. ‘But be sure to keep out of sight.’

  I had no intention of keeping out of sight. I wanted to see everything. I seated myself in a little side-pocket inside the bag, near the clasp, and from there I was able to poke my head out whenever I wanted to.

  ‘Hey!’ Bruno called out. ‘Give me the rest of that banana I was eating.’

  ‘Oh all right,’ my grandmother said. ‘Anything to keep you quiet.’ She dropped the half-eaten banana into the bag, then slung the bag over her arm and marched out of the room and went thumping along the corridor with her walking-stick.

  We went down in the lift to the ground floor and made our way through the Reading-Room to the Lounge. And there, sure enough, sat Mr and Mrs Jenkins in a couple of armchairs with a low round glass-covered table between them. There were several other groups in there as well, but the Jenkinses were the only couple sitting alone. Mr Jenkins was reading a newspaper. Mrs Jenkins was knitting something large and mustard-coloured. Only my nose and eyes were above the clasp of my grandmother's handbag, but I had a super view. I could see everything.

  My grandmother, dressed in black lace, went thumping across the floor of the Lounge and halted in front of the Jenkinses’ table. ‘Are you Mr and Mrs Jenkins?’ she asked.

  Mr Jenkins looked at her over the top of his newspaper and frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am Mr Jenkins. What can I do for you, madam?’

  ‘I'm afraid I have some rather alarming news for you,’ she said. ‘It's about your son, Bruno.’

  ‘What about Bruno?’ Mr Jenkins said.

  Mrs Jenkins looked up but went on knitting. ‘What's the little blighter been up to now?’ Mr Jenkins asked. ‘Raiding the kitchen, I suppose.’

  ‘It's a bit worse than that,’ my grandmother said. ‘Do you think we might go somewhere more private while I tell you about it?’

  ‘Private?’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘Why do we have to be private?’

  ‘This is not an easy thing for me to explain,’ my grandmother said. ‘I'd much rather we all went up to your room and sat down before I tell you any more.’

  Mr Jenkins lowered his paper. Mrs Jenkins stopped knitting. ‘I don't want to go up to my room, madam,’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘I'm quite comfortable here, thank you very much.’ He was a large coarse man and he wasn't used to being pushed around by anybody. ‘Kindly state your business and then leave us alone,’ he added. He spoke, as though he was addressing someone who was trying to sell him a vacuum-cleaner at the back door.

  My poor grandmother, who had been doing her best to be as kind to them as possible, now began to bristle a bit herself. ‘We really can't talk in here,’ she said. ‘There are too many people. This is a rather delicate and perso
nal matter.’

  ‘I'll talk where I dashed well want to, madam,’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘Come on now, out with it! If Bruno has broken a window or smashed your spectacles, then I'll pay for the damage, but I'm not budging out of this seat!’

  One or two other groups in the room were beginning to stare at us now.

  ‘Where is Bruno anyway?’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘Tell him to come here and see me.’

  ‘He's here already,’ my grandmother said. ‘He's in my handbag.’ She patted the big floppy leather bag with her walking-stick.

  ‘What the heck d'you mean he's in your handbag?’ Mr Jenkins shouted.

  ‘Are you trying to be funny?’ Mrs Jenkins said, very prim.

  ‘There's nothing funny about this,’ my grandmother said. ‘Your son has suffered a rather unfortunate mishap.’

  ‘He's always suffering mishaps,’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘He suffers from overeating and then he suffers from wind. You should hear him after supper. He sounds like a brass band! But a good dose of castor-oil soon puts him right again. Where is the little beggar?’

  ‘I've already told you,’ my grandmother said. ‘He's in my handbag. But I do think it might be better if we went somewhere private before you meet him in his present state.’

  ‘This woman's mad,’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘Tell her to go away.’

  ‘The plain fact is,’ my grandmother said, ‘that your son Bruno has been rather drastically altered.’

  ‘Altered!’ shouted Mr Jenkins. ‘What the devil d'you mean altered?’

  ‘Go away!’ Mrs Jenkins said. ‘You're a silly old woman!’

  ‘I am trying to tell you as gently as I possibly can that Bruno really is in my handbag,’ my grandmother said. “My own grandson actually saw them doing it to him.’

  ‘Saw who doing what to him, for heaven's sake?’ shouted Mr Jenkins. He had a black moustache which jumped up and down when he shouted.

  ‘Saw the witches turning him into a mouse,’ my grandmother said.

  ‘Call the Manager, dear,’ Mrs Jenkins said to her husband. ‘Have this mad woman thrown out of the hotel.’

  At this point, my grandmother's patience came to an end. She fished around in her handbag and found Bruno. She lifted him out and dumped him on the glass-topped table. Mrs Jenkins took one look at the fat little brown mouse who was still chewing a bit of banana and she let out a shriek that rattled the crystals on the chandelier. She sprang out of her chair yelling, ‘It's a mouse! Take it away! I can't stand the things!’

  ‘It's Bruno,’ my grandmother said.

  ‘You nasty cheeky old woman!’ shouted Mr Jenkins. He started flapping his newspaper at Bruno, trying to sweep him off the table. My grandmother rushed forward and managed to grab hold of him before he was swept away. Mrs Jenkins was still screaming her head off and Mr Jenkins was towering over us and shouting, ‘Get out of here! How dare you frighten my wife like that! Take your filthy mouse away this instant!’

  ‘Help!’ screamed Mrs Jenkins. Her face had gone the colour of the underside of a fish.

  ‘Well, I did my best,’ my grandmother said, and with that she turned and sailed out of the room, carrying Bruno with her.

  The Plan

  When we got back to the bedroom, my grandmother took both me and Bruno out of her handbag and put us on the table. ‘Why on earth didn't you speak up and tell your father who you were?’ she said to Bruno.

  ‘Because I had my mouth full,’ Bruno said. He jumped straight back into the bowl of bananas and went on with his eating.

  ‘What a very disagreeable little boy you are,’ my grandmother said to him.

  ‘Not boy,’ I said. ‘Mouse.’

  ‘Quite right, my darling. But we don't have time to worry about him at this moment. We have plans to make. In about an hour and a half's time, all the witches will be going down to supper in the Dining-Room. Right?’

  ‘Right,’ I said.

  ‘And every one of them has got to be given a dose of Mouse-Maker,’ she said. ‘How on earth are we going to do that?’

  ‘Grandmamma,’ I said. ‘I think you are forgetting that a mouse can go places where human beings can't.’

  ‘That's quite right,’ she said. ‘But even a mouse can't go creeping around on the table-top carrying a bottle and sprinkling Mouse-Maker all over the witches’ roast beef without being spotted.’

  ‘I wasn't thinking of doing it in the Dining-Room,’ I said.

  ‘Then where?’ she asked.

  ‘In the kitchen,’ I said, ‘while their food is being got ready.’

  My grandmother stared at me. ‘My darling child,’ she said slowly, ‘I do believe that turning you into a mouse has doubled your brain-power!’

  ‘A little mouse,’ I said, ‘can go scuttling round the kitchen among the pots and pans, and if he's very careful no one will ever see him.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ my grandmother cried out. ‘By golly, I think you've got it!’

  ‘The only thing is,’ I said, ‘how will I know which food is theirs? I don't want to put it in the wrong saucepan. It would be disastrous if I turned all the other guests into mice by mistake, and especially you, Grandmamma.’

  ‘Then you'll just have to creep into the kitchen and find a good hiding-place and wait… and listen. Just lie there in some dark cranny listening and listening to what the cooks are saying… and then, with a bit of luck, somebody's going to give you a clue. Whenever they have a very big party to cook for, the food is always prepared separately.’

  ‘Right,’ I said. ‘That's what I'll have to do. I shall wait there and I shall listen and I shall hope for a bit of luck.’

  ‘It's going to be very dangerous,’ my grandmother said. ‘Nobody welcomes a mouse in the kitchen. If they see you, they'll squash you to death.’

  ‘I won't let them see me,’ I said.

  ‘Don't forget you'll be carrying the bottle,’ she said, ‘so you won't be nearly so quick and nippy.’

  ‘I can run quite fast standing up with the bottle in my arms,’ I said. ‘I did it just now, don't you remember? I came all the way up from The Grand High Witch's room carrying it.’

  ‘What about unscrewing the top?’ she said. ‘That might be difficult for you.’

  ‘Let me try,’ I said. I took hold of the little bottle and using both my front paws, I found I was able to unscrew the cap quite easily.

  ‘That's great,’ my grandmother said. ‘You really are a very clever mouse.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘At half-past seven,’ she said, ‘I shall go down to the Dining-Room for supper with you in my handbag. I shall then release you under the table together with the precious bottle and from then on you'll be on your own. You will have to work your way unseen across the Dining-Room to the door that leads into the kitchen. There will be waiters going in and out of that door all the time. You will have to choose the right moment and nip in behind one of them, but for heaven's sake be sure that you don't get trodden on or squeezed in the door.’

  ‘I'll try not to,’ I said.

  ‘And whatever happens, you mustn't let them catch you.’

  ‘Don't go on about it, Grandmamma. You're making me nervous.’

  ‘You're a brave little fellow,’ she said. ‘I do love you.’

  ‘What shall we do with Bruno?’ I asked her.

  Bruno looked up. ‘I'm coming with you,’ he said, speaking with his mouth full of banana. ‘I'm not going to miss my supper!’

  My grandmother considered this for a moment. ‘I'll take you along,’ she said, ‘if you promise to stay in my bag and keep absolutely silent.’

  ‘Will you pass food down to me from the table?’ Bruno asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘if you promise to behave yourself. Would you like something to eat, my darling?’ she said to me.

  ‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘I'm too excited to eat. And I've got to keep fit and frisky for the big job ahead.’

  ‘It's a big job all right,’ my grandmother said. ‘You'll never do a bigger one.’ />
  In the Kitchen

  ‘The time has come!’ my grandmother said. ‘The great moment has arrived! Are you ready, my darling?’

  It was exactly half-past seven. Bruno was in the bowl finishing that fourth banana. ‘Hang on,’ he said. ‘Just a few more bites.’

  ‘No!’ my grandmother said. ‘We've got to go!’ She picked him up and held him tight in her hand. She was very tense and nervous. I had never seen her like that before. ‘I'm going to put you both in my handbag now,’ she said, ‘but I shall leave the clasp undone.’ She popped Bruno into it first. I waited, clutching the little bottle to my chest. ‘Now you,’ she said. She picked me up and gave me a kiss on the nose. ‘Good luck, my darling. Oh, by the way, you do realize you've got a tail, don't you?’

  ‘A what?’ I said.

  A tail. A long curly tail.’

  ‘I must say that never occurred to me,’ I said. ‘Good gracious me, so I have! I can see it now! I can actually move it! It is rather grand, isn't it?’

  ‘I mention it only because it might come in useful when you're climbing about in the kitchen,’ my grandmother said. ‘You can curl it around and you can hook it on to things and you can swing from it and lower yourself to the ground from high places.’

  ‘I wish I'd known this before,’ I said. ‘I could have practised using it.’

  ‘Too late now,’ my grandmother said. ‘We've got to go.’ She popped me into her handbag with Bruno, and at once I took up my usual perch in the small side-pocket so that I could poke my head out and see what was going on.

  My grandmother picked up her walking-stick and out she went into the corridor to the lift. She pressed the button and the lift came up and she got in. There was no one in there with us.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘I won't be able to talk to you much once we're in the Dining-Room. If I do, people will think I'm dotty and talking to myself.’

  The lift reached the ground floor and stopped with a jerk. My grandmother walked out of it and crossed the lobby of the hotel and entered the Dining-Room. It was a huge room with gold decorations on the ceiling and big mirrors around the walls. The regular guests always had their tables reserved for them and most of them were already in their places and starting to eat their suppers. Waiters were buzzing about all over the place, carrying plates and dishes. Our table was a small one beside the right-hand wall about halfway down the room. My grandmother made her way to it and sat down.