Witch Baby and Me At School

by Debi Gliori

  The Chin is also having a perfectly horrible morning. To her disgust, her best pair of black pointy-toed boots have sprung a leak, causing her to wince every time she goes through a puddle. Cars whoosh past, spraying her with water, and she’s so wet and miserable she nearly walks straight past the library. She skids to a stop, turns and almost screams out loud. There, on the pavement in front of her, is a sign advertising the latest newspaper headline. Unlike the Nose, who cannot read, the Chin understands exactly what the sign says:

  POLICE STEP UP

  SEARCH FOR MISSING

  POSTMAN AND TEACHER

  The Chin sways and the world around her spins slightly. For a moment it’s as if the newspaper headline is pointing an accusing finger straight at her. After all, she knows exactly where the missing postman and teacher are, right now. They’re both in Arkon House. One is fast asleep with his little furry paws in the ashes of the hearth and the other is dozing on a poo-speckled perch with her head tucked under her wing. Both of them are very much alive, despite being the victims of the sisters of Hiss’s wickedness. If the postman and the teacher could speak, the sisters of Hiss would be in trouble. BIG trouble.

  The Chin has a sneaking suspicion that kidnapping two people is probably a Very Bad Thing. This will be why the police are involved in the search. The Chin begins to shake like a jelly. What if the police find a clue that leads them to Arkon House? From her many hours watching daytime TV, the Chin knows that the police always get their man. Or woman. Or, in this case, witch.

  Another, far more terrible thought occurs to the Chin and she can hardly stifle a squeak of dismay. What if the police are already on their way to Arkon House? Abandoning all thoughts of the library, the Chin picks up her skirts and begins to sprint for home, hoping against hope that she’s not too late to avert disaster.

  Seventeen:

  The spelling test

  At break time we’re all sent outside in the rain. I can’t believe Mrs McDonald thinks this is good for us. It’s pouring. We’re going to get drenched. The littlies in Daisy’s class think this is a brilliant idea and head for the biggest puddle they can find. The rest of us head for shelter. There’s a clump of trees next to the entrance to the playground, so we huddle beneath their branches, waiting for the bell to ring so that we can go back inside again. As if this wasn’t bad enough, Craig is kicking Shane’s feet, trying to make him fall over on top of me.

  Shane keeps stumbling and crashing into me, accidentally-on-purpose. I try to ignore him, looking out across the playground to where Daisy and her friend Dugger are waving at me. Miss Chin is standing behind them, with a face as black as a thunderstorm. I shiver. There’s something I don’t like about her, but I still can’t work out what it is. As if she can hear my thoughts, her head comes up and she stares straight at me.

  Craig and Shane are still trying to knock each other off balance. Yoshito looks utterly terrified and is edging as far away from them as possible. Jamie and Annabel are standing off to one side, wearing identical sailing jackets with their hoods buttoned up to their noses and ignoring everyone. I can see their eyes rolling every time Shane crashes into me, though. I bet they’re secretly relieved that he’s not doing it to them.

  ‘Stop it,’ I mutter under my breath.

  ‘Eh?’ Shane grunts, grabbing my arm for support, trying to regain his balance. This isn’t easy: rain has turned the ground to mud, and every time we move, our feet slide around all over the place. Shane shoves his face close to mine. I can feel his hot breath on my face. Thank heavens he’s not Annabel.

  ‘I said, please stop doing that.’ I’m trying to sound menacing and sort of tough when I say this, but it doesn’t work. My voice comes out all wobbly because not only am I a bit scared of him, but I’ve also realized that I’m very close to bursting into tears.

  ‘Right. That’s IT,’ Shane says, letting go of my arm and turning round to face his tormentor. ‘Quit kicking me, Craig, eh? Else I’ll tell Mrs McDonald.’

  ‘Mrs McDonald can’t hear you,’ Craig says. ‘It’s only that ugly old witch looking after us, and she won’t care what we do.’

  Miss Chin heard him perfectly, but for once she isn’t going to react. Not this time. Normally she would turn Craig into a little heap of smoking carbon, but right here and now there are far more important things at stake. The other Blue Moon girl, the one who is also Witch Baby’s pesky big sister, is staring right at her - straight through her, in fact.

  She can see me, the Nose thinks in panic. She had to do something - anything - to stop this Blue Moon girl pointing an accusing finger at her and yelling ‘WITCH!’ at the top of her lungs. Do something, the Nose commands herself. But what?

  The Cloak of Invisibility spell? No. It shrank in the wash.

  The Memory Eraser spell? No. She’s forgotten it.

  Freezing rain runs down the back of the Nose’s neck and an evil little smile flits across her mouth. Yessss. That’s it. No need for anything too complicated. She lifts her arms up to shoulder height, her cupped hands like two claws pointing up towards the rain-soaked sky.

  Easy-peasy, she thinks. Easy-peasy, cloud squeezy. Bring it on. More rain. Much more rain. So much rain that the Blue Moon girl won’t be able to see anything and everyone will have to go inside.

  Everyone except the Nose, who has had enough of children to last a lifetime. Her hands clench: one, two, three. Her fingers feel as if they’re fizzing with electricity, all the magical power of the spell piling up as if behind a dam. It’s a big one, a huge one, she thinks, wondering if it’s so strong that it will drown the children. That would be a bit of a shame. Her fingers begin to quiver uncontrollably, and the Nose decides she has to let the spell out or else her fingernails might blow off. Under her breath she whispers, EASY-PEASY, CLOUDSQUEEZY,’ and obediently the heavens open.

  For half a second torrential rain thunders down on the north-west of Scotland, flattening grass, drumming on roofs, dancing in puddles and soaking everything and everyone within range. But it’s only half a second’s worth of magical rain and then, to the Nose’s alarm, everything goes horribly wrong.

  Witch Baby stops whatever she was doing and spins round to face the Nose. Her big black dog vanishes in a blink, and through the rain the Nose sees that the little girl is glowing. Immediately the rain stops; except it doesn’t so much stop as halt in mid-air, as if time itself has been suspended. The Nose has absolutely no idea what has gone wrong with her spell, but she’s begining to suspect that Witch Baby has something to do with it.

  Witch Baby heaves a huge sigh and her mouth turns down at the corners. ‘No, no, no,’ she says, shaking her head. ‘Mumma no likeit, rain.’

  Fascinating, thinks the Nose. And I should care what your mother likes? She considers sending a little lightning bolt whizzing across the playground to give Witch Baby a fright. Nothing too painful, just a little frizzle to remind the uppitty little wretch who’s boss—

  ‘Not wetch. Not upty. Mumma no likeit, rain. Daisy no likeit, frizzle.’

  The Nose has exactly enough time to realize that Witch Baby has just read her mind when the little girl stamps her feet:

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE!

  claps her hands and declares, ‘Snow, snow, snow.’

  The Nose shivers uncontrollably. This is partly because a blizzard’s worth of snowflakes is now blowing across the playground, but also because she is just beginning to realize how powerful Witch Baby is. Baby witches shouldn’t be able to do this kind of advanced magic, She thinks. It’s deeply impressive, but also a bit scary. Normally, at that age, spells should be weak. The Nose reminds herself how powerful her own EASY-PEASY CLOUD SQUEEZY SPELL had been. And now it’s gone, blown away on a Witch Baby blizzard!

  The Nose has to check. Witch Baby’s snow spell might still be nothing more than a fluke; a magical ‘blip’. Surely this will turn out to be the case. Forcing herself to relax, the Nose takes a deep breath and brings her claw-like hands u
p once more into the spell-casting position. There. She clenches her hands: one, two—

  But she can’t do it. Something is tickling her. She drops her hands, takes another deep breath and tries again, this time counting in Latin to make the spell even stronger. Ha, that’ll teach the little madam, she thinks.

  UNUS, DUO, TRES—

  She still can’t do it. The same something is tickling her ribs, sending feathery twiddles into her armpits, making her want to sneeze, brushing the extra-ticklish back of her neck with the lightest of touches - oooh, no, not there - she hates being tickled - urrrgh, stop it—

  ‘You toppit,’ a little voice informs her, and there is Witch Baby staring at her through swirling snowflakes.

  ‘Whaaa—?’ the Nose squeaks, discovering to her horror that she now cannot move so much as an eyelid. With this final spell, the upstart Witch Baby is proving that she is already a deeply, scarily and massively powerful witch. Not only can she now do more than one spell at a time, but her spells are invincible. The Nose is beside herself with envy. Snow falls on her lashes, on her nose, on her mouth, all over her face, and she cannot do a thing to stop it.

  ‘You toppit,’ the little girl repeats, a huge smile breaking across her face. Then she turns, and is gone.

  Seconds later, the Nose discovers that she is able to move again. Completely unnerved, she does the most sensible thing under the circumstances. She picks up her skirts and flees, largely unobserved by a playground full of delighted children, all but two of whom can scarcely believe the good fortune that has brought them snow in September.

  Eighteen:

  A spell of good weather

  I don’t care what Mum says, I’ve never seen snow in September before. Never. Two reasons which prove this has to be Daisy’s doing are: Way Woof’s gone; and every so often a snowflake lands on my mouth and it tastes of strawberries. I’m hoping nobody else has noticed this, because whoever heard of strawberry-flavoured snow?

  Apart from that, this is by far the best snow anyone has ever seen. Not only is it exactly the right kind of sticky snow to make perfect snowmen, it’s at the ideal temperature to make sure it doesn’t melt and drip over everything. The playground is filling up with an assortment of snow people: snowmen, women, cats, dogs and dinosaurs. Snow lies in drifts on the muddy slope under the trees, so we take turns sledging on a plastic teatray that Mrs McDonald let us borrow from the staffroom. I had no idea that teatrays were so fast. We sledge in pairs, because the weight of two people makes us even faster than if there was only one on the tray. Yoshito and I shriek downhill into the playground, narrowly missing killing several innocent snowmen, and whizz across the snow, scattering nursery children before us.

  I feel bad for Vivaldi, though. She would have loved this. I bet she’s a really fearless sledger. It must be really horrible being stuck at home, looking out at the snow and wondering what all your friends are doing. I must remember to phone her tonight to find out if she’s better yet. Craig and Shane yell to me to come and help them. They’re trying to build an igloo out of bricks made by patting snow into old ice-cream tubs. They need hundreds of bricks for their igloo, so they need lots of help.

  We all pitch in, thumping snow into the ice-cream tubs, turning out the snow bricks and carefully putting them in position on the igloo walls. My hands are freezing, but I don’t care. This is the best day I can remember for … oh, for ever. I check to see that Daisy is having a good time too. After all, this snow is entirely thanks to her. I scan the playground and spot her over by the trees. Yoshito is demonstrating to her and Dugger how to make angel fish in the snow. All three of them are lying on their backs in smooth patches of snow and solemnly waving one arm up and down for the angel fish’s back fin, and scissoring both legs to make the tail. Like snow angels, but fishy. Perfect. Meanwhile, back to the igloo …

  After we’ve made a million snow bricks, Jamie decides that it’s time to organize the world’s biggest ever snowball fight. Actually, it’s Jamie who organizes us into two armies and tells us the rules. He turns out to be very bossy, but we’re all having such fun that we let him go ahead and be a dictator. I’m in his army, Jamie says, because I’m quite strong for a girl. Annabel isn’t in his army, because he says she’s a complete pain, smells like a dead haddock, and besides, she’s his sister.

  First, he says we have to gather ammunition and stockpile it. This means I have to make tons of snowballs while he stands around blowing on his hands and sorting them into little piles. Then he explains that we need to find ourselves an easily defended stronghold. Poor Jamie – he’s only eleven and already he sounds like he’s been in the army for ever. He’s carrying about twenty of my carefully stockpiled snowballs in his jacket over to his easily defended stronghold when Annabel launches the first attack.

  For someone who smells like a dead haddock, her aim is impressive. A snowball arcs through the air and smacks off the back of Jamie’s unprotected neck.

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAH! You big CHEATER!’ he roars, and we’re off. It’s WAR. The air fills with snowballs as well as snowflakes. Nobody is spared. There are thuds followed by shrieks as snowballs find their targets, and wails as small people are mown down in the rush to gather more ammunition. There are grunts as snowballs slam into people’s backs, screams of revenge and the occasional ghastly silence as we all hold our breath and pray that the staffroom window hasn’t smashed after a direct hit from a hard-packed snowball.

  I’m shivering, my hands are two useless throbbing lumps, my fingers like frozen sausages, and I’ve fallen over so often that my legs are caked with slush. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so good in my whole life. This is the most brilliant day ever. Snow is still falling steadily as Mrs McDonald comes out into the playground and calls us all over. Although it isn’t even lunch time yet, she is debating whether to send us all home early because of the snow.

  ‘NOOOOOOO,’ wails Shane. ‘I don’t want to go home. Ochhh, come on, Mrs McDonald. I haven’t even finished building my snow dinosaur yet.’

  I don’t want to go home either. It’s too much fun being here, playing with everyone. We’re all having such a good time. I look around the playground. Everyone’s staring at Mrs McDonald with big spaniel-eyes, willing her not to send us home.

  ‘Pleeeease?’ Craig begs. ‘Let us stay on? We could even write about snow for our weather project. But that would mean we’d have to stay and do some more … er … research.’

  Brilliant! What a good idea. Jamie gives Craig the thumbs-up and Shane slaps him on the shoulder in a friendly way. I stare at Mrs McDonald and I can sense her weakening. We all smile harder and cross our fingers tightly. Oh, please …

  Mrs McDonald sighs. She knows when she’s beaten. ‘Very well,’ she says. ‘You can all stay until the little ones go home at lunch time, but no longer than that. And I must warn you: if it keeps snowing, I’ll have to send you home right away. Any more snow and the roads will be blocked and then your mums and dads won’t be able to get here to pick you up.’

  Miraculously, the words have barely left her mouth when the snow stops, as if someone has turned it off with a switch. Fortunately I’m the only one who knows that somebody has, though not with a switch, but a spell.

  Woo-hoo, Witch Baby. Respect.

  *

  The Chin skids and slithers in the snow, her leaky boots hardly able to grip the pavement’s icy surface. Unable to run without falling over, she has slowed down to a fast walk, but this does nothing to stop her panicking. Her mind is full of terrible thoughts of blaring sirens, policemen and jail cells; she’s sure she’ll stagger back to Arkon House in time to see the poor Toad being led away in chains. She promises that if she does make it home without being arrested, she’ll try to undo the spells that so cruelly transformed Miss McPhee and the postman. Trying to remember how to reverse them, the Chin is so wrapped up in her thoughts that she steps straight out in front of a car.

  There’s an outraged BEEEEEPAOOOGAAAA from its horn, a shriek of b
rakes, and then something grabs her from behind and hurls her safely across the road and onto the icy pavement on the other side.

  ‘Ahhh, Miss Chin, we meet again,’ a familiar voice gasps in her ear. ‘So very fortunate that I was passing, yes?’

  Fortunate, thinks the Chin, face down in the slush. Not the first word that springs to mind. The weight pinning her to the pavement shifts, and there, kneeling by her side, is Mr Haruskashi, his face full of kindly concern.

  ‘Don’t move, dear lady. I shall summon an ambulance to take you to the hospital, and the police will be on their way in due course—’

  The word ‘police’ acts on the Chin like an electric shock. Batting Mr Harukashi aside, she leaps to her feet … totters … and, with a squeak of dismay, discovers that she’s ripped the sole off one of her boots. Stifling an oath, she hops about in the snow, trying to remove the useless item of footwear. Despite her miraculous recovery, Mr Harukashi still insists on offering help.

  ‘No. NO. NO,’ the Chin mutters. ‘I’m fine. There’s no need for all this fuss. No, really, there’s no call for an ambulance. Don’t be silly. Just as soon as I get rid of this useless, stupid, boot—’ She loses her balance and falls on top of Mr Harukashi, nearly bringing them both crashing down to the ground. Mr Harukashi teeters, staggers, grabs onto a lamppost for support and manages to remain upright despite the Chin’s added weight. Propping her against the lamppost while she struggles with her boot, he tries to reason with her.