How to Catch a Witch

by Abie Longstaff

  Charlie pulled herself up onto the old dusty floor and gazed around. Wow. Mum wasn’t joking – the attic was a mess! There were old saucepans, and bundles of fabric. Ancient leather suitcases were piled in the corner with cracked plates teetering precariously on top of them, and under the eaves an armchair lay on its side, with its springs popping out. Annie was jumping up and down on a worn out sofa cushion, sending up puffs of dust into the air with a “Wheee!”

  Mum was twirling around in an old hat and a set of pearls.

  “Ta-da!” she said, waving her arms high. “I found a whole box of clothes and scarves. Some of them are gorgeous!”

  “What’s it all doing up here?”

  “Everything Bess owned got stored up here in case we wanted it.” Mum waved her hand around the space. “I think most of it’s rubbish but there could be a few pieces of interest. dad might know.”

  Charlie’s Dad was working on a big restoration project out at Broom Hill on the edge of town. He was becoming an expert in old property and possessions. Every now and then he came home raving about a bit of ancient kitchen equipment or jewellery he’d dug up and handed in to Broomwood Museum.

  Charlie sifted through the wooden crates. There didn’t seem to be anything witch-like. There were no potions or bottles or jars of herbs. Agatha had said Great-Aunt Bess had become very strange in the years before she died; she’d found an old grimoire, a book of dark magic called The Book of Shadows. She grew obsessed with dark magic – and it had ended in disaster. Charlie’s eyes flicked around the room but could see nothing ominous. Bess must have either got rid of anything magic-related before she died, or else she had kept it all somewhere else.

  Idly Charlie opened another wooden crate and a quickening rushed through her blood. Her fingers prickled and her scalp started to tingle. She had spoken too soon; there was something magic here! Charlie glanced at Mum – who was busy trying to rescue Annie from a pile of dusty sheets she’d wrapped herself in – and then eased her fingers down into the crate. The tingling came from something at the bottom. It was tugging at her attention, calling her hand down to find it. Her fingers closed around something cold and hard. She drew it up in her fist and nervously opened her hand.

  There on her palm sat a grey stone ladybird, with spots carved into its back. It was heavy and smooth, around the size of a yo-yo. A shallow split ran across the top, dividing the stone into two wings. Charlie ran her fingers along the crack. She tilted the ladybird and heard a slight rattle. She shook it and heard the sound again. There was something inside! With her back to Mum, Charlie tried to open the ladybird, first twisting it, then pushing her fingers into the narrow split. The stone refused to move. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to open? Maybe it was sealed fast? No. There was something special about this stone, Charlie was sure – something inside it. She just needed longer to figure it out. She squeezed it into the back pocket of her jeans.

  “I’m going back d-down,” she said, with her feet on the ladder. “I need to get my things r-ready for school tomorrow.”

  “Oh cripes! It’s getting late! I hadn’t noticed,” cried Mum. She pulled off the hat. “And Annie, you’re filthy!” Clouds of grey puffed out of Annie’s clothes. Annie grinned proudly as if this was the best news ever. “I didn’t realize the time! I haven’t even started cooking!”

  “Don’t worry!” Dad called from downstairs. “I’m home now and I’ve got the dinner on.”

  “Thanks, love!” Mum called back. “Here, you take Annie.” She handed the little girl to Charlie and then followed them down the ladder, a box of old scarves on her hip.

  As they stared at each other in the hallway Charlie had to laugh. Annie wasn’t the only one messy from the attic. Mum had a cobweb in her hair and a streak of something greyish across her cheek.

  “Go and have a sh-shower, Mum,” said Charlie. “I’ll put Annie in the bath.”

  Mum gave her a dusty kiss.

  “Come on, Annie,” Charlie said, jiggling her sister on her hip. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  “Bubbles?” Annie’s voice was hopeful.

  “Of course! We can p-pop them together.” Charlie put one finger in her cheek and pulled it out, Pop! Annie laughed.

  “Again! Again!”

  “You’ll be sorry you started that trick,” Mum groaned as she headed towards her shower room. “She’ll make you do it over and over.”

  “Again! Again!”

  *

  That night in her room Charlie sat at her desk, turning the stone ladybird around in her hands. She shook it and heard the rattle.

  “What are you hiding?” Charlie whispered.

  A gust of wind blew in through Charlie’s open window and her papers flew across her desk. Charlie jumped up to rescue them. She closed her window and put the ladybird down as a paperweight.

  There it sat on her desk, silently waiting.

  Mum gave Charlie and Matt a lift to school the next morning.

  “I’ve got rehearsal after school,” Matt reminded Mum, as they climbed out of the car, “so I’ll be home late.” Charlie’s brother was in the school production of Macbeth. He was playing one of the witches.

  “I’ll be late as well,” Charlie added. “I’m hanging out with Kat.” It wasn’t a total lie. She would be with Kat; it’s just that Agatha would be there too, and they would be practising magic. “Have a good d-day at work,” she said, waving goodbye to Mum.

  “Bye, Annie!” Matt blew her a kiss. “Have fun at nursery!”

  Kat was waiting for Charlie in their usual spot, just outside the school entrance. Today she wore bright stripy green-and-pink tights. Charlie grinned and shook her head. Kat was always in trouble for breaking the school uniform rules but she didn’t seem to care. She did her lunchtime detentions quite cheerfully and continued to wear her crazy tights.

  “How are you?” she asked. “Anything exciting happen last night?”

  “Actually, it d-did. I found something c-cool!” Charlie dropped her voice to a whisper as Matt walked past them into school. “It belonged to Eliza – I found it in the attic – and there’s something m-m-magic about it, I can tell!”

  Kat’s eyes widened.

  “I know!” Charlie said. “It c-could be really exciting!” It took her a second to realize that Kat wasn’t paying her any attention at all. Instead, she was staring at something behind Charlie.

  Charlie turned around.

  An older boy was riding down the drive, standing upright on the side of his bike with both feet on the same pedal. He had a wide grin on his face and the glint of a silver earring in one ear. His hair flopped over his eyes and he lifted a hand casually to sweep it back. The bike leaned as he looped lazily from one side of the drive to the other.

  A Year 13 girl with spiky hair was riding just ahead of him, heading for the last space on the bike rack. The boy narrowed his eyes, flung his right leg over the bike seat and pedalled hard straight towards it. With a screech of his brakes, he swooped into the final bike slot just in front of Spiky.

  “Hey!” She looked up. “That was my space.”

  “Sorry,” said the boy flippantly, in a broad Northern accent. “I got here first.” He locked up his bike and strolled passed Charlie and Kat into the school office.

  “Who is that?” Kat turned to Charlie.

  “I don’t know,” said Charlie irritably. “He m-must be new… Did you hear w-what I was saying before?”

  “Oh. Sorry. What?” Kat said.

  “Never m-m-mind,” mumbled Charlie as they walked through the entrance.

  The boy was just ahead of them, approaching the reception office. He knocked on the side of the glass hatch. “Zak Crawford, Year 9,” he drawled.

  “Hello!” Mrs Fisher in the school office gave him a welcoming smile. “If you wait on the sofa for a moment, a buddy from your year will come to collect you.”

  “What?” said Zak, “I don’t need a buddy,” he emphasized the word as if it was the stupidest thing in t
he world.

  Charlie walked on past Zak towards the double doors that led to the hallway. She turned to roll her eyes at Kat but her friend wasn’t there. Charlie looked back to see Kat pretending to tie her shoelace, just by the new boy.

  Mrs Fisher was still explaining the merits of the buddy system to Zak. “They’ll help you find your way around, introduce you to friends...”

  “I don’t think I’ll need help making friends,” Zak sneered. “I’ll just try my luck. Without a buddy.”

  “Wait!” Mrs Fisher called after him. “Hang on … there are some papers … ah…” She leaned out of the hatch but he ignored her and strode past Charlie to the double doors, marching through them and not caring that they swung back and nearly hit her.

  “Nice,” said Charlie sarcastically.

  “Yep,” said Kat as she caught up. “I’m glad I stayed to check him out. At least we know what he’s like now. He might be cute, but he’s not likely to make friends with that attitude.” She waved to Charlie as the bell rang. “See you for lunch later.”

  By break time it was clear that Charlie and Kat weren’t the only ones to find Zak annoying. According to school gossip, in PE he’d refused to pass the football even once, in music he’d carried on a long drum solo drowning out the guitar riff Toby had been practising for ages, and in art he’d sniggered at Katie’s self-portrait.

  He was certainly causing a stir. Throughout the morning Charlie heard rumour after rumour:

  Zak had been expelled from his last school.

  His parents had sent him away to live with his grandparents.

  He was mean.

  He was a show-off.

  His trouser legs were too short.

  He was Bad News.

  At lunch, Charlie took her tray and joined Kat at their favourite table.

  “Water?” Kat said, holding up a jug.

  Charlie nodded. Kat poured it into Charlie’s glass. Just as she lifted it to her lips, Charlie caught a sharp smell, like vinegar.

  “Ew,” she wrinkled her nose and put her glass down again.

  “What?” Kat looked puzzled. She took a swig of her own water. “It’s fine!” she said, shrugging. “It’s just water.”

  Charlie sniffed hers again and pushed it aside. It smelt awful – the school must be using some new filter. No one else seemed bothered – all around her children were gulping it down – but just the smell of it made her retch. She made a mental note to bring in her own water bottle from now on.

  “Don’t look,” Kat said in a whisper. Charlie looked. Zak had walked in.

  “I said don’t look!”

  “Sorry!” Charlie looked back down.

  Kat’s green eyes followed Zak.

  “You know,” she said, as she sipped her water, “maybe we’re being a bit harsh. Maybe he’s just nervous.” She took another sip. “He seems quite nice, actually.”

  “You’ve never even sp-spoken to him,” said Charlie dismissively.

  “No, but there’s something about him… I can’t put my finger on it…”

  Charlie felt a little shiver of jealousy run through her as she watched her friend gazing across the canteen, her eyes fixed on the new boy.

  It wasn’t just Kat who seemed to be warming to Zak. At the end of school that day a handful of students had gathered by his locker.

  “Hey, nice ball work in PE,” Kevin Anders said, high-fiving him.

  Toby gave Zak a nod of appreciation. “Cool drums, man.”

  Charlie kept walking. There was no way she was giving Zak any attention.

  “Wa-ha ha ha!” She heard a loud cackle from the school hall and poked her head through the doorway. The rehearsal for Macbeth was in full swing. Charlie saw Matt standing in a group of three.

  “When shall we three meet again?” one actor read from her script.

  “You need to sound more witch-like, Janine,” came Miss Knevitt’s voice from the director’s chair. “Witches are old hags.”

  Charlie bit back a smile.

  Janine hunched her back. She scowled and made her voice shaky.

  “When shall we three meet again?” she rasped, sounding like a strangled cat.

  “Perfect!” cried Miss Knevitt. “You sound exactly right. Just like a witch.”

  To Charlie’s amazement, over the next few days, Zak somehow became more and more popular. To Charlie it seemed he was no less annoying, no less arrogant, no less Bad News. But it soon became clear that the rest of the school saw things differently.

  Even Kat had taken to lingering for longer and longer periods of time by the school exit. Every day Charlie felt like she was practically dragging her friend to Agatha’s.

  “Just a minute,” Kat would say, adjusting her glasses casually as she scanned every student leaving. “You start. I’ll catch you up!”

  And every day Charlie would head off on her own.

  By Friday morning, in the eyes of the school, Zak had turned into some kind of mini-god and Kat could talk about nothing else. Charlie was completely fed up.

  Then, that lunchtime, Suzy Evans, the coolest girl in school, invited Zak Crawford on to the Year 12 and 13 canteen table next to the window. This was the greatest honour that had ever been bestowed on a Year 9.

  That Friday afternoon, on the way to Agatha’s, Kat was still talking about Zak. She bounced through the woods, chattering away;

  “Did you notice he has a little scar just by his mouth? I wonder how he got that.”

  Charlie shrugged in answer as she snapped a skinny branch off a nearby bush and broke it apart in her fingers. Kat was her friend. Her only friend, if she was honest. And they were supposed to be a team, just the two of them.

  There was a loud Caw! from a treetop and a crow swooped down. “Oh, hi, Hopfoot!” said Kat happily as he perched on her shoulder. She tickled the top of his head and he ruffled his feathers against her.

  “Hi,” said Charlie, but Hopfoot ignored her and cuddled into Kat’s neck.

  Grumpily, Charlie left them behind and pushed through the bushes to find the narrow path to Agatha’s house. There was a fine drizzle in the air and the branches pinged back against her, showering little splashes on to her face. In frustration Charlie shoved one bush hard and scratched her hand on a bramble. She stomped into the cottage.

  “Who put a curse in your bonnet?” the witch asked as Charlie slumped down in an armchair. Agatha raised her eyebrows but Charlie shook her head. She didn’t want to talk about it.

  Kat came in, Hopfoot on her shoulder.

  “I think someone’s hungry,” she laughed as the crow nibbled the ends of her short red hair. “Ow! Hopfoot! Leave some hair for me!”

  Agatha handed her some nuts and Hopfoot happily munched them out of Kat’s palm.

  “Right,” the old witch began. “We’ve got just over two weeks until Samhain and, if you’re going to do the blessing together, there’s still a lot of work to do.” Charlie winced. Despite trying every day, they hadn’t managed to repeat their telepathy skills of last Sunday night.

  Charlie took her place on the rug opposite Kat and crossed her legs under her knees.

  “Now,” said Agatha, “empty your minds. Focus on your breathing. Slow down. Feel the air flow in and out…”

  There was an itch on Charlie’s neck. One of her curls was caught under her collar and it tickled against her skin. Should she brush it away? If she did then Agatha would know she wasn’t concentrating. But if she didn’t it was going to annoy her. Would that be worse? Maybe, if Agatha wasn’t watching, she could sneak her hand up. She opened her eyes a tiny bit. All she could see was the old rug on the floor. Her face was still wet from the drizzle and her jumper felt heavy and damp on her shoulders. She shifted slightly to ease the itch.

  “Stop,” said Agatha, and Charlie opened her eyes. The witch was looking at her closely.

  “S-s-sorry,” Charlie mumbled. She pulled her hair out of her shirt collar.

  Kat blinked and yawned. She looked like she w
as waking from a trance. At least one of them had got it right.

  “Let’s try something else for now,” said Agatha. She lifted a pile of long thin twigs. “You can help me make a blessing wreath for the new year.”

  “New year?”

  “Yes. Samhain – what you call Halloween. The new year.”

  Charlie looked at Kat, confused. Surely New Year was January the first? Kat shrugged in answer.

  “January isn’t the new year for witches,” said Agatha quickly, as if she’d read Charlie’s thoughts. “Our calendar starts on November 1st. Remember I told you Samhain marks the end of the harvest and the start of the cold weather? That’s why we do the blessing then, on the night of 31st October. We give thanks for the old year past, and we wish for peace for the new year to come.” She lifted the twigs on to her lap and began to plait. Her gloved fingers moved quickly over and under and soon she had the start of a circular shape.

  Charlie curled her feet to the side and picked up some twigs of her own. They were thin and bendy – they looked like they were made from an old vine.

  “Honeysuckle,” said Agatha in answer to Charlie’s unasked question. “It aids friendship,” she added quickly and reached for another twig. Charlie sneaked a glance at Kat, but her friend was absorbed in her task, weaving the twigs in and out.

  Charlie looked down. There was silence for a while. Charlie concentrated on plaiting. After a time, Agatha spoke again.

  “Eliza and I used to make these together,” she said. “We sat right here, by the fire, years ago.” The witch reached for another twig and paused a moment before she plaited it in. “Eliza loved Samhain!” she said with a little smile. “She would write a new blessing chant every year for us to say.”

  “Can witches write their own sp-spells?” Charlie was surprised. She’d only ever used spells written down in Agatha’s old grimoire.

  “Some can,” said Agatha. “Not all. Eliza could. At Samhain I’d walk to over to her house. We’d stand together before the old Akelarre, where our sisters had stood for years and years before us. We lit the fire and waited till midnight to see the new year in. We hung our wreaths and we chanted Eliza’s spell together in the early hours of the new day, bringing luck and strength to the village to see it through the winter.”