Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism

by Georgia Byng

  When she arrived at Hardwick House, the windows of the stone building were already aglow from lights within. Molly could make out, behind the thin curtain in a second-floor window, the wizened silhouette of Miss Adderstone as she petted her bad-tempered pug dog, Petula.

  Molly smiled to herself and pushed open the iron gates. As she walked across the gravel, the side door of the orphanage opened. It was Mrs. Trinklebury. She threw her plump arms around Molly and hugged her.

  “Oh, h-hello, Molly, poppet! You’re back. At least I didn’t m-miss you completely. H-how are you? All right?”

  “Yeah, just about,” said Molly, giving her a hug back. Molly would have loved to tell Mrs. Trinklebury about the book, but she decided it was better not to. “How are you?”

  “Oh, good as ever. Look, I saved you a cake.” Mrs. Trinklebury reached into her flowery knitting bag and rummaged about. “Here you go,” she said, passing Molly a wax paper package. “It’s a ch-chocolate cupcake. Made some last night.” The glass in her spectacles flashed as they caught the light coming from the hall. “B-but don’t let Miss You-know-who catch you with it.”

  “Oh, thank you,” said Molly appreciatively.

  “M-must be going now, dear,” she said, pulling her old crotcheted coat tightly around her. “Keep warm, chuck. See you in a week.” With that, Mrs. Trinklebury set off for town, and Molly went inside.

  She nipped up to her bedroom and, since everyone else was at tea, had time to eat her cupcake. She hid the book under her mattress. Then she went down to the dining room and sat by herself at a small table by the fireplace.

  Molly usually had tea with Rocky, but he wasn’t there. She ate her bread and margarine, warily watching Hazel at the large table on the other side of the room. She was showing off because she’d won the cross-country race. Her beefy legs were covered in mud; her big face was still red from all the exertion.

  Molly knew that when Hazel saw her alone, a bullying session would begin. Hazel would make a few vicious comments, and Molly would pretend not to care. Hazel’s taunts would become more malicious until she pierced Molly’s shell. Molly might blush or her face might twitch, or worse, she might get a lump in her throat and her eyes might water. Quickly, Molly stuffed the last of her bread into her mouth and prepared to leave. But she was too late.

  Hazel shouted, “Look, everybody, Zono’s finally made it. Did you fall in a puddle, Drono? Or was there a frog in the path that frightened you? Or did your weird Spammy legs snap?”

  Molly smiled sarcastically, trying to shake the insults off.

  “Is that supposed to be a cool smile?” asked Hazel with a sneer. “Look everybody, Bog Eyes is trying to look cool.”

  Molly hated Hazel—although she hadn’t always.

  Hazel had arrived at the orphanage four years ago, aged eight. Her bankrupt parents had been killed in a car crash, leaving her nothing, not even relations. And so, alone and destitute, she’d been sent to Hardwick House. Molly had done her best to make Hazel feel welcome, but very soon she’d realized that Hazel didn’t want her friendship. Hazel had pushed Molly up against a wall and explained to her that she was better than her. She had known a wonderful family life and she remembered her parents. She hadn’t been dropped like rubbish on the doorstep. She’d come there because a tragic twist of fate had killed her loving parents. And ever since then, Hazel had teased, taunted, and bullied Molly.

  “I said, is that supposed to be a cool smile?” repeated Hazel.

  “Maybe a farmer attacked her because she looks like a bog-eyed rat,” suggested skinny Roger Fibbin. He was Hazel’s informant; her spy. As Molly looked at him, in his crisp, white shirt and with his tidy hair, she thought how much he looked like a shrunken adult. His sharp nose and cold, spying eyes were sinister.

  “Or maybe a rat attacked her because her sweaty hands stink so much,” piped up muscly Gordon Boils. He had tattooed each of his fingers, using a compass and ink. The fingers on his left fist read GORD, and the fingers on his right fist read KING. From where she was sitting, Molly could just read KING GORD. As Gordon took a bite of his teacake, Molly was reminded of his trademark trick of taking a fresh slice of bread and blowing his nose in it, making what he called a snot sandwich, which he’d then eat.

  “Or did Rocky and you sit in the bushes planning your wedding?” jibed Hazel.

  All at once Molly smiled. It was a smile that came from an excitement deep inside her, and from the hopes already kindled in her about what she would be able to do if she learned to hypnotize people. Hazel and her posse just better watch out. Without a word Molly stood up and left the room.

  After tea all the children had to rest on their beds, except for those who were allowed to practice their acts for the Briersville Children’s Talent Competition. Molly was itching to start reading the hypnotism book but couldn’t risk it, as Cynthia was reading a comic on the bed beside her.

  The minutes crawled by. Molly heard Rocky’s husky voice, but she still felt angry about what he’d said, so she didn’t go and see him. Then came homework hour. It felt like homework year.

  Miss Adderstone’s cuckoo clock struck six. At assembly, Molly ignored Rocky and so Rocky ignored Molly. After singing a hymn, to tape-recorded organ music, Miss Adderstone, with Petula yapping under her arm, made some announcements. The first was that Molly would be on vacuuming duty for a week since she had failed to complete the cross-country race. The second was that some American visitors were coming the next day.

  “They will be arriving at four o’clock. May I remind you that they are interested in adopting one of you, strangely enough. If you remember, the last Americans to come here left empty-handed. Do not let me down this time. I’d like to get rid of one of you, at least. They won’t be interested in adopting dirty, flea-bitten rat runts.” Miss Adderstone’s eyes hovered on Molly. “So clean up. Only a respectable child will be chosen. Some of you, of course, don’t need to be told this.”

  Every child in the room felt excited when they heard this news. Molly even detected a glimmer of hope in Hazel’s eyes.

  At supper Molly sat by herself, eating a bruised apple.

  Finally, when she thought she was about to explode from curiosity, she found a moment when the bedroom was empty. Quickly taking the book from under her mattress, she hid it in her laundry bag and set off for the laundry rooms.

  Hades means Hell in Greek. Hades was the orphanage name for the laundry rooms, which were deep in the bowels of the building. Molly made her way down to them now, looking as if she was off to do some washing.

  The cellar was dark and musty, with low ceilings. The walls were lined with rusty pipes that hung with drying clothes. At the far end were some old porcelain sinks with limescale-covered plug holes where the children washed their dirty clothes. Molly found a warm spot under a lightbulb, below some drying pipes, and, bursting with anticipation, she reached inside her laundry bag.

  All her life Molly had yearned to be special. She’d fantasized that she was special and that somehow, something miraculous would happen to her. Deep down inside, she felt that, one day, a brilliant Molly Moon would burst out and show everyone at Hardwick House that she really was a somebody. Yesterday, she’d thought something important was going to happen. Maybe the important thing was one day late.

  All evening Molly had wondered whether this book was going to make her dreams come true. So it was with trepidation and a timid hand that she slowly lifted the dry, leather cover of the old book. It opened with a creak.

  There was the first page again.

  HYPNOTISM

  An Ancient Art Explained

  Molly turned to the next page. What she read made her tingle from head to toe.

  DEAR READER,

  Welcome to the Wonderful World of Hypnotism, and congratulations for making the wise decision to open this book. You are about to depart on an incredible journey. If you put into practice the following nuggets of wisdom, you will find that the world is full of golden opportunit
ies! Bon voyage and bonne chance!

  Sincerely,

  Doctor H. Logan

  Briersville, February 3, 1908

  Molly noticed with amazement that Dr. Logan had come from Briersville. This was extraordinary, as sleepy Briersville didn’t have many interesting people to boast of.

  She eagerly turned the page.

  INTRODUCTION

  You have probably heard often enough of the ancient art of Hypnotism. Perhaps you have seen a performing hypnotist in a traveling fair, hypnotizing members of the audience, getting them to behave in peculiar ways and amusing spectators. Maybe you have read statements of how people have been hypnotized for operations so that they feel no pain.

  Hypnotism is a great art form. And like other art forms, hypnotism is something that most people can learn, if they are patient and practice hard. A few students of hypnotism will have a natural talent. Even fewer will have a real gift. Will you be one of the gifted few? Read on.

  Molly’s hands began to sweat.

  “HYPNOTISM,” the book read,

  was given its name by the Ancient Greeks. “HYPNOS” means sleep in Greek. Hypnotists have practiced since the earliest of times. Hypnotism is also known as “MESMERISM,” a word that comes from the name of a doctor called Franz Mesmer. He was born in 1734 and died in 1815, and his chief pursuit in life was the art of hypnotism.

  When a person is under the powers of a hypnotist, he is in a “TRANCE.” People go into trances all the time without realizing it. When you put your pen down, for instance, and one minute later can’t remember where you put it, you can’t remember because you were in a small trance.

  Daydreaming is another form of entering a trance. People daydreaming are in a world of their own, and when they come out of their daydream trance, they often don’t know what people around them have been saying or doing. In trances, people’s thoughts float away from the noisy world into quieter places of the mind.

  Molly thought of the trick she had learned: of drifting off into space and looking down at the world, of turning herself off when people were shouting at her. Maybe, without knowing it, she had been putting herself into a trance. The book continued.

  Our minds like to relax in this way, as a rest from thinking. Trances are very normal things.

  When Molly read the next sentence, her heart skipped a beat.

  If you are good at going into trances, the chances are you will be very good at hypnotism.

  Hungrily, she read on.

  What a hypnotist does is bring people into trances and then keep them there by talking to them in a hypnotic way. When the person is in a deep trance, a sort of wideawake sleep, the hypnotist can then suggest things that the person should think or do. For instance, the hypnotist might say, “When you wake up, you will not want to smoke another pipe.” Or, “When you wake up you will no longer feel afraid of riding in automobiles.”

  Molly put the book down for a moment. “Or,” she thought aloud, “when you wake up, you will think you are a monkey.”

  Molly smiled as ideas began to jostle through her head. Then a shiver of suspicion stopped her in her tracks. Was this book for real, or was it written by a madman?

  Then she remembered the warthoggy man in the library. He said he’d traveled all the way from America just to find this book. The professor must believe that the secrets contained between its covers were extremely valuable. It must be very, very special. Perhaps—Molly said to herself—perhaps she’d chanced upon a real treasure!

  Eagerly she looked at the table of contents.

  CHAPTER ONE Practice on Yourself

  CHAPTER TWO Hypnotizing Animals

  CHAPTER THREE Hypnotizing Others

  CHAPTER FOUR Pendulum Hypnosis

  CHAPTER FIVE Hypnotizing Small Groups of People

  CHAPTER SIX How to Hypnotize a Crowd

  CHAPTER SEVEN Hypnotizing Using the Voice Alone

  CHAPTER EIGHT Long-Distance Hypnosis

  CHAPTER NINE Amazing Feats of Hypnosis

  The book was peppered with drawings of hypnotized people in Edwardian clothes. There was a picture of a woman lying flat with only a chair under her head and one under her feet. She was called “The Human Plank.” There were lots of diagrams of a man making strange faces—one a puffed-up blowfish face, another where his eyes were turned upward, showing their whites. “Yuck, disgusting!” Molly thought. As she turned the thick pages of the heavy old book, Molly came to the end of Chapter Six and realized it was immediately followed by Chapter Nine. Two chapters, Chapter Seven, “Hypnotizing Using the Voice Alone,” and Chapter Eight, “Long-Distance Hypnosis,” had been carefully removed. Molly wondered who’d taken the pages and whether they’d gone missing years ago or only recently. It was impossible to tell.

  Near the end of the book was a brownish photograph. It was of a man with curly hair and glasses and a bulbous nose.

  Doctor Logan. The World’s Most Famous Hypnotist, it said underneath. Molly was relieved to see that you obviously didn’t need to be a great beauty to be a good hypnotist. Eagerly she flicked back to the first chapter, “Practice on Yourself.”

  The first section was “VOICE.” It read: A hypnotist’s voice must be gentle, calm, lulling. Like a mother’s hand rocking a baby to sleep, so the hypnotist’s voice must lull the subject into a trance.

  This sounded too good to be true. Molly had been labeled with the nickname Drono because people said her voice made them want to go to sleep. Now this ability, instead of being something to be ashamed of, felt like a talent to boast about. The book went on: Here are some exercises, which must be said slowly and steadily. Practice them.

  Molly read the sentences out loud. “I have a wonderful, calm voice. I am calm and per-suas-ive. My voice is ver-y—”

  All of a sudden she heard loud steps. She shut the book quickly and slipped it into her laundry bag.

  Hazel was coming into Hades. She stamped noisily into the pipe room with her tap shoes still on.

  “Urgh,” she said, “what are you doing here, weirdo? I heard you trying to sing. Give up. Your voice is flat.”

  “Just singing while I find my socks,” said Molly.

  “More like you’re down here thinking about how everyone dislikes you.” Hazel collected her clothes from a pipe and turned to look at Molly. “You’re like a sock, aren’t you, Drono? A worn-out, stinking, unwanted, weird sock. Why don’t you enter the talent competition as a sock?”

  When Molly didn’t react, Hazel added, “Or better still, enter as the ugliest person in the world.” And shuddering, she added, “Urgh, I bet your parents were ugly, Bog Eyes.” With a satisfied smirk, she turned and walked away.

  Molly watched her go. She smiled to herself, and under her breath she said, “Just you wait, Hazel Hackersly, just you wait.”

  Five

  The next day was Friday. Molly had awakened early, smiling from a dream that she was a world-famous hypnotist. Since then, she had been concocting a daring plan.

  She had no intention of going to school. She couldn’t possibly go and sit in dire, dishwater Toadley’s lessons while the book, with all its secrets waiting to be learned, lay under her mattress. Besides, she couldn’t leave the book unguarded. Snoopy Miss Adderstone might find it.

  When the morning bell went, she lay still and kept her eyes shut even when Rocky came to visit her. When Hazel rang the bell in Molly’s ear and pulled her covers off, Molly just lay listlessly in her bed.

  “Brain not working again, Bog Eyes?” Hazel jeered.

  “I don’t feel very well,” Molly moaned.

  Molly missed breakfast. When she was sure everyone was downstairs, she swung into action. Jumping out of bed, she opened the bedroom window and scraped some green mildew off the stone wall into a plastic soap dish. Then she carefully mashed the chunks of green mold into a fine powder. She applied the powder to her face, giving her skin a sickly green tinge. Afterward she wiped the dish and put it back by the sink.

  Next, she crep
t along to the infirmary. There was an electric kettle, which Molly switched on. A moment later she had filled a glass half full with boiling water and hidden it under a low armchair. Then she grabbed the metal sick bowl and placed it high up on top of a cupboard next to the chair.

  Back in the bedroom, Molly rifled through her satchel and found a packet of emergency ketchup, which she’d saved for sandwiches. With this in her pajama pocket she got back into bed, her trap set.

  People started to return from breakfast. Gordon Boils plodded into Molly’s room. “Sick? Some hope,” he said. Molly heard something flicked, and felt something small, nasty, and damp land on her neck before Gordon left. Then Molly recognized the voices of Gerry and Gemma as they came to see her.

  “Bet she caught a cold. Maybe she did fall in a puddle yesterday,” whispered Gemma.

  “Poor Molly. She’s probably sick because the big kids are nasty to ‘er,” said Gerry.

  “Mmn. Shall we go and feed your mouse?”

  Finally, Miss Adderstone stomped in.

  “Sick, I hear,” she said unsympathetically. “Well, you’d better come to the infirmary.” She shook Molly, who pretended to wake up.

  Acting as headachy and fluey as possible, Molly followed Miss Adderstone down the shabby corridor and past other children who’d come out of their rooms to stare at her. Miss Adderstone made Molly sit on the infirmary armchair. Taking a key from the metal chatelaine that hung round her waist, she opened a drawer, found the thermometer, and jabbed it into Molly’s mouth. Molly’s sweaty fingers were crossed tightly behind her back as she hoped madly for Miss Adderstone to leave the room. Seconds later her wish was granted.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes. We’ll see if you’re sick.” Sucking her false teeth, Miss Adderstone marched out.

  As soon as Miss Adderstone was safely away, Molly found her glass of water—once boiling, now very hot—and put the thermometer in it. She watched anxiously, her heart beating fast, as the mercury rose up the stalk. A temperature of one hundred and three degrees should convince Miss Adderstone that she was unwell. But just to be sure, Molly tore open the ketchup packet before putting it back in her pocket. Her hands were trembling with nerves.