Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism

by Georgia Byng

  And, lazy as Edna was, she agreed. “Yeah, I can’t see why not. After all, you’ve been in blasted bed for a day and a half while I’ve been slaving away down ‘ere.”

  She sat down in the kitchen chair, her legs splayed out like a doll’s.

  “I bet that feels more comfortable,” Molly said, taking the spoon from Edna. “You must be bleedin’ exhausted.”

  Edna nodded. “I am … phew.” She leaned back and exhaled noisily.

  “You’re doing the right thing,” said Molly, looking at Edna calmly. “Taking breaths like that, deep breaths, will make you feel much—more—relaxed.”

  “Mmn, I s’pose you’re right,” agreed Edna, puffing out a grumbly breath and closing her eyes.

  Molly’s voice slowed. “If you—take a—few—breaths—you’ll see—how relaxed—you feel … and how much—you needed—to sit down.”

  “Yes,” said Edna, “I did bloomin’ well need to sit down.” But then she opened her eyes. “‘Ang on a minute, you’re bleedin’ infectious. I shouldn’t be letting you near that food.”

  This was annoying. Maybe hypnotizing Edna wasn’t going to be such a breeze. Maybe she should have brought some sort of pendulum with her to focus Edna’s mind.

  “It’s all right, the boiling of the blood-y soup will kill—any—germs,” said Molly. And in an inspired move, she began to stir the soup slowly and rhythmically. The wooden spoon circled to the rhythm of her words. Edna watched the spoon. “Don’t—you—think,” said Molly, “the boiling soup will kill—the—germs? Nothing—to—worry—about.” Edna seemed about to say something, but her eyes were overcome by the movement of the stirring spoon.

  “Mmmnnn, I s’pose you’re bleedin’ right,” she sighed, and sat back again.

  “I ex-pect—your—shoul-ders—and back—are feeling—much—more—comfort-able,” said Molly.

  “Mmmn,” agreed Edna, “they are.” Then she said, “Molly, you’ve got very big eyes, you know.”

  “Thank you,” said Molly, turning her green eyes on Edna’s. “Your eyes—probably—feel—ver-y—heav-y—now—you—see—how—much—you—need-ed—to relax.”

  Edna’s eyes started to flutter as she looked at Molly’s eyes and watched Molly stir.

  “And this—room—is—so—warm—and—comfortable—if—you—just—sit—there—and—I’ll—stir—the—soup—round—and—round—and—round—and—round.” Molly stirred, trying not to look at the chicken heads bobbing about in the pot.

  “Round—and—round—I’ll—stir—and—Ed–na—you—should—just—re-lax—and—to—re–lax—even—more—per-haps—you—should—shut—your—eyes….”

  Edna did not shut her eyes but she did look very distant and dreamy. Inside, Molly was so excited that she wanted to shout, “Yes! I’ve nearly done it,” but instead she said calmly, “I—will—count—backward from—twenty, and you—will—feel—more—and more—relaxed—as—I—count—back-ward.” Molly stirred and concentrated on her most soothing voice. “Twenty … nineteen.” Edna’s frown disappeared. “Eighteen … seventeen.” Edna’s eyelids hovered. “Sixteen … fifteen … fourteen … thirteen …”

  At thirteen Edna’s eyelids suddenly clamped shut, and all at once the fuzzy, tingling feeling started to creep up Molly’s body.

  “The fusion feeling!” Molly gasped. Then, noticing that this made Edna’s eyes flutter again, she counted more. “Eleven … ten … nine … Now—Edna—you—are—so—deeply—relaxed—that—you—are—in—a—trance…. Eight … so relaxed…. Seven … deeply relaxed.”

  Molly stopped stirring the soup and walked over to Edna. “Six,” she said, only a foot from her. “Five … and as I count down now, you, Edna, will be more and more in a trance until, when I get to zero, you will be completely willing to do as I say … four … three … two … one … zero…. Good,” said Molly as she looked at Edna sitting quietly in the chair. She had done it! The low, steady voice that had given her the name Drono was obviously the perfect voice for hypnotism. Perhaps her eyes had something to do with it too. They felt as if they were glowing.

  For a moment Molly was at a loss for words. She’d been concentrating so hard on how to hypnotize Edna that she hadn’t thought about what to tell her to do. So she said the first thing that came into her mind.

  “From now on, Edna, you will be really, really, really nice to me, Molly Moon. You will defend me if anyone tells me off, or punishes or bullies me.” That was definitely a good start. “And when I come into the kitchen, you will let me make tomato ketchup sandwiches…. You will buy me delicious things to eat from the town, because you like me so much, and … and … you will stop making cheese-and-nut-sauce fish. In fact, you will refuse to make fish anymore unless it is fresh that day, and—” Molly hesitated, then added recklessly, “and you will become very interested in … Italian cooking. You will get Italian cookbooks and try your hardest to become the best Italian chef in … in the world … and you will cook lovely Italian food from now on for everyone. Except for Miss Adderstone, whom you will give normal food—but you will make it much, much spicier. Also, without knowing it, you will make Hazel Hackersly’s food very spicy too, and Gordon Boil’s and Roger Fibbin’s…. Is that clear?”

  Edna nodded robotically. It was a wonderful sight. Molly wanted to laugh, but then her stomach gave a loud rumble and she said firmly, “And now, Edna, you will drive me to town and buy me a proper breakfast, and you will remain under my command.”

  Edna nodded and stood up, and with her eyes still closed walked straight into the door.

  “But obviously, Edna,” said Molly quickly, “you have to open your eyes to walk and to drive.”

  Edna opened her eyes and nodded. Her expression was distant and glazed, just as Petula’s had been.

  “Okay, Edna. Let’s go.”

  So Edna, dressed in a white apron, a chef’s hat, and white clogs, walked out of the building like a zombie. Molly picked up a coat to cover her pajamas, and outside, Petula picked up a piece of gravel to suck.

  On the way down to Briersville Edna drove with a very peculiar expression on her face—as if someone had just dropped an ice cube down her dress. Edna was not altogether there, it seemed. She drove down the main road in zigzaggy jerks, nearly hitting an oncoming truck. Then she shot two red lights and drove through a flower bed in a pedestrian-only park. Finally she stopped the car on the pavement outside a café, and staring blankly ahead of her, she led Molly and Petula inside. From the door Molly worriedly checked the street, very relieved to see that no policeman had spotted them.

  Inside the café, two construction workers looked up from their bacon sandwiches and studied Edna. In her white outfit she looked odd anyway. On top of this she was moving like a windup doll. Quickly Molly encouraged Edna to sit down.

  “Can I help?” asked a chirpy waiter, who had a carnation in his buttonhole.

  “Er, yes please,” said Molly, since Edna was staring straight at the salt shaker with a surprised look on her face and was beginning to drool. “I’ll have four tomato ketchup sandwiches, not too much butter, and a half glass of orange squash concentrate, with no water added.” Molly’s mouth watered. It was lovely to be able to order her favorite things.

  The waiter looked bemused. Orange squash concentrate was a sweet syrup to make an orange drink with. People didn’t normally drink it straight up.

  “Shall I bring some water for you to mix with it?” he asked.

  “No thanks,” said Molly. “But a bowl of water for our dog would be great.” Petula sat at her feet loyally, cocking her head to one side as Edna blew a raspberry.

  “And for the lady?” asked the waiter.

  “I love bleedin’ Italy,” said Edna, sucking a fork.

  “It’s nice to be out of the hospital for the day, isn’t it?” Molly said to Edna kindly. The waiter smiled sympathetically.

  Twenty minutes later, after the most embarrassing breakfast of Molly’s life, they were driving back to
the orphanage. Past Shoot It, the camera shop, past a bicycle shop called Spokes, past the antiques shop with its curly painted name, Moldy Old Gold. Molly thought of things she’d always wanted and felt on top of the world. Miss Adderstone probably had mountains of orphanage money stacked up in her bank account. All Molly had to do was hypnotize Adderstone into taking her shopping. Molly looked across at Edna, who was smiling with her mouth wide open. She was completely under Molly’s spell. Would everyone be as easy to hypnotize as Edna? So far Molly seemed to be a natural.

  “Edna,” said Molly, “when we get back, you will walk down to the kitchen, and as soon as you pass the door, you will wake up. You will forget about our trip to town. You will not remember that I hypnotized you. You will tell Miss Adderstone that I came downstairs for an aspirin and that you think I’m still very ill. Do you understand?”

  Edna nodded, her mouth hanging open like a puppet’s. Then, slamming her foot down hard on the accelerator and her hand on the horn, she urged the car up the hill.

  Professor Nockman was woken from a frenzied sleep full of pendulums and swirling motifs by a car beeping loudly in the street outside his room in the Briersville Hotel. He rubbed his eyes and ran his tongue along his plaque-covered teeth. “It’s noisier than Chicago here,” he grumbled to himself as he untangled the scorpion medallion from the mesh of his string vest and reached for a glass of water.

  After his frustrating experience at the library, the professor had extended his stay in Briersville. He decided that if he badgered that pathetic librarian often enough, she’d find the hypnotism book. Or, he hoped, he might see someone reading it. Briersville was a small enough town.

  Since Thursday he’d been prowling the streets, stalking people carrying books. Mothers with small children had crossed the road to avoid him, and one group of teenagers had called him a weirdo, but he didn’t care. He was determined to get ahold of Dr. Logan’s book.

  He had particular reasons of his own for needing the secrets contained in it, and they had nothing to do with museum research.

  Professor Nockman knew a great deal about the life of the famous hypnotist. He had read how Logan had grown up in Briersville and traveled to America, where he had become rich and famous with his hypnotism show. Nockman had studied yellowing old press cuttings describing the amazing feats of hypnotism performed by the doctor in the show that had made him one of the greatest celebrities of his time. He had visited Hypnos Hall, the palatial mansion that Logan had built with money made from his career as a showman.

  But he had become especially fascinated when he learned about a book that Dr. Logan had written, which, it seemed, contained everything he knew about hypnotism. Very few copies of this book had been printed, and it was extremely rare. But, Professor Nockman had discovered, one of the only surviving copies of it was owned by the library at Briersville. From that moment he’d been absolutely determined to acquire that book for himself. He’d almost got it, too, until that stupid librarian had lost it.

  Thinking of that librarian now made Nockman quake with rage. He imagined throttling her skinny neck, and blood rushed to his head. Puce in the face, he reached for the phone.

  “Room service,” he said angrily, “bring me a pot of librarian … I mean coffee.”

  He was desperate for that book. He had never wanted anything as much. Nothing in his dishonest life had been quite as attractive, and he had big plans that depended on his finding it. Nobody was going to stop him having it, and he wouldn’t return to America until he had that book safely in his fat, oily hands.

  Eight

  Edna and Molly arrived back at the orphanage in a swirl of flying gravel. The place was empty, since Miss Adderstone was still out and the other children had not yet returned from their walk. Petula went to explore the garden, and Molly returned to the attic room, feeling very pleased with herself. She sat down on the bed to think about the extraordinary thing she had just done. Hypnotizing Edna seemed almost as though it had been a dream. Opera music from the kitchen radio drifted faintly up the stairs as Molly marveled at her new power. Her eyes felt tired. Something odd had definitely happened to them when she’d hypnotized Edna. They’d felt as if they’d been glowing, and now they felt dull and heavy.

  Molly flicked through the hypnotism book to see if there was anything about glowing or tired eyes. In the “How to Hypnotize a Crowd” chapter, there was a part that read, “It’s All in the Eyes.”

  To hypnotize a large crowd, you must learn to hypnotize using only the eyes. This is very tiring for the eyes.

  The book had diagrams of an eye. An eye looking left. An eye looking right. An eye looking at objects close and far. Then Molly came to something called “The Looking Glass Exercise.”

  Stand in front of a looking glass and stare straight into your own eyes. Try not to blink. Soon your face will change shape. Do not be alarmed. Your eyes will feel as if they are glowing. This glowing feeling is the feeling you must have to hypnotize people with your eyes only. And this is the trick you need to hypnotize a crowd.

  So had Molly hypnotized Edna using just her eyes? She was sure she’d used the spoon, like a pendulum, and her voice, too. She went to the mirror and stared at herself. There was her pink, blotchy face and her potato nose. She stared at her closely set eyes. Her eyes glared back, green and intense. Ten seconds, twenty seconds, thirty seconds, she stared. Her eyes quivered and then seemed to get bigger and bigger and bigger. The music downstairs sounded very distant. Molly concentrated on her eyes and tried not to blink, trying to make her eyes feel as if they were glowing again. Then, suddenly, something peculiar happened. Molly lost her own face entirely, and a different face began to grow where Molly’s real face had been. Molly’s hair turned orange and spiky. A big safety pin grew out of the side of her nose, and her eyelids were covered with blue-and-white makeup. She was staring at herself as a punk. Molly’s legs felt all tingly, and her eyes felt as though they were throbbing, glowing and throbbing, switching on and off like the beam of a lighthouse. And this, the book said, was the eye trick for hypnotizing crowds.

  Molly blinked hard. She was relieved to see her normal face in the mirror. That had been very strange. Had the looking glass exercise made her hypnotize herself? Perhaps the book would explain what had happened.

  Molly scanned the section entitled “The Looking Glass Exercise.” There was a paragraph called “Hypnotizing Yourself.”

  Imagine forms of yourself that you would like to be, suggested the book. For instance, if you would like to be kinder, or bolder, imagine yourself as being kinder or bolder, and in the looking glass you will see an alternative you.

  Molly sat back feeling puzzled. She hadn’t imagined herself as a punk, yet that was the face that had appeared in the mirror. It was as if her unconscious mind had wanted her to be like a punk and had—through hypnosis—shown her a different identity. Who were punks? She had always thought of them as rebellious people. Molly certainly wanted to rebel. Yes, it seemed that her unconscious mind was one step ahead of her, showing her how, deep down, she wanted to be.

  Sliding the hypnotism book safely under her mattress, she sat down to wonder what other Mollys could be conjured up. Then, still wondering, she took a pencil and began to bore a hole through a bar of soap from the basin. She unraveled a piece of cord from the bed-cover’s fringe, snapped it off, and threaded it through the soap. She made a knot at the bottom. Now she had a home-made pendulum. It wasn’t a very good one, but it would have to do, and though she was tired, there was time to try it out on Edna before everyone else came back.

  On the way downstairs she passed Petula, who trotted happily after her. As she came to the checkered stone floor of the hall, she heard, to her surprise, Hazel Hackersly’s whiny singing voice. Hazel must have somehow evaded the Saturday morning walk.

  Molly peeped through the TV-room doorway. She saw Hazel dressed in a cat outfit, wearing a white leotard, white tights, white tap shoes, and white fluffy ears on a band. It was her ta
lent competition outfit. In her hand she swung a white tail, and while she danced, she sang.

  “I’m sorry I chased those pigeons,

  I’m sorry I killed that rat,

  I’m sorry I like to steal the milk,

  It’s just I am a cat…. Meoww meoww.”

  Molly watched Hazel tap dancing round the room, opening her eyes very wide, fluttering her eyelids, and looking really stupid. Molly wished she had a camera. Then she had another idea. When Hazel was curtsying, Molly took a deep breath and went in.

  “Oh, not you, Drono … and you’re with smelly Petula. Not better, are you?” moaned Hazel. Petula growled at her.

  “Yes, a bit better, thank you,” said Molly, taking the soap pendulum out of her pocket. She sat down in front of Hazel and began to swing the soap pendulum as if she were just playing with it.

  “What’s that?” said Hazel. “Soap you have to carry around because your hands sweat so much?”

  Molly held the pendulum in front of her face and swung it rhythmically from side to side.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Just re-lax-ing,” said Molly.

  “No you’re not. You’re trying to hypnotize me,” snapped Hazel. “Typical of a weirdo like you to think that hypnotism is something real.”

  Molly stopped swinging the soap. “No I’m not,” she said quickly.

  “You’re so weird,” sneered Hazel, and Molly realized that she had approached Hazel too clumsily. Her previous successes had made her overconfident. Hazel was now too alert for Molly to hypnotize.

  “I wasn’t trying to hypnotize you. This isn’t a pendulum, it’s a … soap-on-a-string, so that I won’t lose it in the bath.”

  “I hope you’re not planning to have a bath,” said Hazel nastily, rewinding her cassette, “because Adderstone would not be pleased to hear you’d ignored her punishment. If you’re covered in sick, you’ll just have to stay that way. No bath for three weeks, wasn’t it?”