Witch Baby and Me At School

by Debi Gliori

  ‘We’ll see,’ says the Nose, pulling on her wraparound flying goggles. She’s unable to resist checking her elegant reflection in her broomstick’s rear-view mirror.

  There’s a CRACK, and the mirror shatters into a thousand pieces.

  ‘Great,’ mutters the Chin. ‘More expense

  Behind them, the door to Arkon House slams shut. Silently the two broomsticks rise into the night sky, heading south.

  I’m up in Daisy’s bedroom, reading her a bed-time story. At times like this I completely forget that my little sister is really a Witch Baby. Tonight she’s wearing her pink rabbit pyjamas and she smells of baby powder. She looks so sweet I could almost eat her. I inch closer, hoping that she’ll snuggle against me like she sometimes does if she’s in the right mood. Sadly, tonight Daisy has other ideas. She bats me away and struggles to sit up.

  ‘Want nother story,’ she says, looking sideways at her shadow on the wall beside her bed.

  ‘Come on, Daze,’ I groan. ‘I’ve already read five. Heaven’s sake, surely that’s enough?’

  ‘Not nuff. Want notha one.’

  To hear is to obey. Otherwise … well, who knows what she might do?

  ‘Notta book. Wanta mouff story.’

  A mouth story? Oh, help. Those are tricky. A mouth story means she wants me to make one up. I stare at the wall, trying to think of something.

  ‘Once upon a time,’ I begin, ‘there was a dog who was invisible …’

  ‘Not vinzible,’ Daisy mutters. ‘Whatever,’ I snap. I hate being interrupted before I’ve even started. Heaving a huge sigh, I carry on, ‘The dog had eyes like dinner plates, a tail like a loo-brush and a black, black coat that had never been brushed …’

  ‘Ahhh,’ Daisy sighs, popping her thumb into her mouth and snuggling down. Obviously she thinks I’m going to tell her a long story and all she has to do is lie there and enjoy it. She’s wrong. I’m tired too. All that igloo-building was exhausting. I don’t want to spend the entire night sitting on the floor, making up stories for Queen Daisy. No way. I’m not doing all the work. I decide that Daisy has to help me with her story, so I prompt her: ‘And who do you think this dog belonged to … ?’

  Daisy fixes me with a withering stare. I stare back. Finally, when she realizes that there will be no more story until she comes up with something, she drags her thumb out of her mouth, peers at it, sighs heavily and says, ‘Pinsess Dackula.’

  There. See what I mean? One minute Daisy is a fluffy little tot and the next she’s unmasked as the founder member of the Association of Ladies with Pointy Hats and Cauldrons. Woo-hoo. I’d better behave.

  ‘Ahem. Yes. Princess Dracula’s dog was very happy doing doggy things like sniffing, snuffling, licking—’

  ‘Bottoms,’ Daisy adds, but I think I’ll simply ignore that.

  ‘– and playing chase-its-own-tail. But the thing the dog loved best of all was the little girl.’ I sneak a look at Daisy. She’s staring at the ceiling with a wistful expression on her face. ‘The little girl was very happy too. Tormenting her big sister, casting snow spells and generally causing havoc. But best of all, the little girl loved the dog—’

  ‘WAYWOOF!’ Daisy wailed, loud enough to make me jump. ‘Wantit WayWoof. Love WayWoof.’ And to my dismay, she burst into tears.

  Oh dear. This is not going well. Poor Daisy. I haul her out of bed and sit her on my lap, but I can’t cheer her up. She’s crying her heart out now and the front of her bunny pyjamas is all soggy and cold.

  WaaaaayyyyWooooo, Wooooo,’ she howls, big tears spilling out of her eyes and down her little face. Any minute now, Mum’s going to come up to find out what on earth is going on. I rock Daisy from side to side and make shushing sounds, but it doesn’t make any difference.

  Outside, it has begun to rain hard, so I guess that will be the end of Daisy’s snow spell. Which means …

  ‘WayyyWooo,’ she snuffles, wriggling off my lap to grab at an invisible something that I can’t see yet. There’s a patch of shadow forming between her outstretched arms and the faint beginnings of a dreadful smell. The snow spell is officially over and rain is pouring down outside, reminding me of our poor igloo standing in the middle of the dark school playground. Soon it will start dissolving into slush. There’s a sympathetic sigh close to my ear, followed by a familiar panting sound and there, with Daisy’s arms wrapped round her neck, is our very own WayWoof.

  Hoorah! I’m so pleased to see her that I wrap my arms around her black, black unbrushed coat and hug her. Tight.

  ‘More. More story, Lillil,’ my baby sister demands, clambering back into bed. With a bound, WayWooffollows, her expression vaguely apologetic. Normally, Daisy and I would never let her climb all over our beds, but tonight isn’t normal. We settle down, all three of us. WayWoof releases a pungent cloud of dog-gas and falls fast asleep.

  I’m nearly asleep too. It’s warm and cosy in Daisy’s room, and outside I can hear the rain falling, flowing along gutters, down drains and eventually out into the sea, where it will join up with all the melted bits of Daisy’s snow spell. It’s a lovely sound, rain. It makes me so sleepy.

  I look at WayWoof. She’s twitchily dreaming. She looks really sweet. Vivaldi’s right: puppies would be amazing …

  Beside me, Daisy wriggles round and sits up. ‘More,’ she mutters, staring at me, but not really at me. In fact it’s as if she’s staring right through me.

  ‘More WayWoofs,’ she decides, her mouth curving up into a dreamy smile. ‘Lots more WayWoofs,’ she adds, then she flings herself backwards onto her pillow, claps her hands and her teddy floats up off the floor and into her arms. Her eyelashes flutter, and within seconds she’s fast asleep.

  More WayWoofs? What has Daisy done?

  Without waking her, I turn over to stare at the sleeping WayWoof. She doesn’t look any different, but then she wouldn’t, would she? Not at first, anyway. Mind you, everything I know about dogs and puppies could be written on the back of a postage stamp. I need to ask Vivaldi. She knows all about dogs. I’ll phone her tomorrow when I get back from sch—

  Then I remember. Vivaldi will be at school tomorrow. I won’t have to phone her because I’ll see her first thing in the morning. HOOrAH! I can hardly wait. With her there, everything will be all right. And, I think, just before I fall asleep: Tomorrow is Thursday — so that means Sticky Toffee Pudding.

  School? I can’t wait.

  Ae last Hiss

  Dawn is just breaking outside the staffroom window as Miss McPhee stirs in her sleep and stretches out her wings to air her feathers.

  There’s a crash as the electric kettle topples off the top of the fridge and spills its contents all over a pile of maths jotters. There will be great happiness when the children learn of their jotters’ fate. For now, though, all is confusion as Miss McPhee jolts awake.

  AAARGH!’ she yells. ‘Whaaa—?’ Then, recognizing her surroundings, she squawks, ‘What on earth … ?’

  Whatever is she doing, sleeping in the staffroom? And the dreams she’s just had … Miss McPhee shivers. She must be coming down with something, she decides. Falling asleep at work? Why did nobody wake her? She smust have been asleep for hours. Time to go home, she thinks, before anyone finds her snoozing at school. Buttoning her coat up to her chin, she lets herself out of the school by a side door and begins to walk back to her house, just like she did the day she vanished.

  Soon she will discover that she’s been missing for some time - the police will ask her loads of questions that she won’t be able to answer. But for now she’s going back home to her own bed, where she’s going to burrow under the duvet and catch a few hours’ sleep before it’s time to get up for work.

  Across the road, the postman wraps his paws round an enormous mouse and sinks his teeth into its neck.

  There’s a muffled yowl, a scream, and the postman wakes up to discover he’s trying to eat a mailbag.

  ‘EH? What the—?’ he gasps, his eyes barely able to focus on the fami
liar interior of the sorting office. Scratching his head, he slowly climbs to his feet and stares at the clock on the wall. Five thirty, it reads. Thank heavens the morning shift doesn’t start for another half-hour - otherwise the other postmen would have had something to say about him sleeping on the job. Yawning widely, he shakes his head and stares at the clock again. He can hardly believe his eyes. He must have fallen asleep last night, but he can’t remember anything about it. His brain feels as if it’s full of soft, grey fog. He decides that the best thing to do is go home, grab a shower and try to get some sleep. Obviously he’s been overdoing it. Too many late nights, too many early mornings and far too much work. Definitely time to book that holiday he’s been promising himself. But not anywhere with cats. The postman shudders. He’s never liked cats - or dogs for that matter. But now, for some reason, just the thought of cats makes him feel very odd indeed.

  Whistling loudly to cheer himself up, the postman lets himself out of the back door of the post office and heads for home. He’s ravenous. He can’t wait to sink his teeth into something tastier than his mailbag. Whatever was he dreaming about?

  Dawn is breaking over the roof of Arkon House as the sisters of Hiss bring their broomsticks down on the edge of their empty swimming pool. They’re feeling very pleased with themselves. Mission accomplished. The cat and the sparrow have been returned safely with their memories of their time at Arkon House wiped clean. Not only that, but as the Toad points out, ‘We used magic and nobody noticed.’

  ‘So what?’ says the Nose, rolling her eyes as if to say, Big deal.

  ‘So what?’ the Toad insists. ‘Nobody noticed, is what. That means we can start to use magic again if we’re very careful. Doesn’t it?’

  The Nose sucks air in through her teeth and shakes her head slowly from side to side.

  The Chin looks as if she’s just sat on a hedgehog.

  But the Toad is unstoppable. ‘Come on, girls,’ she says. ‘Lighten up. Where’s your sense of adventure? We’re going to be stuck here for years while we wait for our Witch Baby to be ready. We may as well try to enjoy ourselves, yes?’

  The Chin and the Nose both look as if they’re being mauled by small lions. Enjoy themselves?

  The very idea!

  The Toad groans, but she’s determined not to give up. ‘Look, as long as we’re very, very, very careful not to do anything too huge or too weird, I can’t see any reason why we shouldn’t use a tiny speck of magic now and then just to make our lives a little bit easier.’

  There’s a long silence, then the Chin finally says, ‘Exactly what sort of spells did you have in mind?’

  The Toad clasps her webbed feet together and begins, ‘Well - I thought that for starters we could clean out our pool and fill it with—’

  ‘Champagne!’ interrupts the Nose. ‘Let’s fill it with fizz.’

  The Chin gapes at the Nose as if she cannot believe her ears, but the Nose ignores her.

  ‘GREAT IDEA!’ yells the Toad, then adds, ‘Consider it done.’

  There’s a whoosh, a sploosh and a longseries of popping sounds as if thousands of champagne corks are being fired at once.

  ‘NOW HANG ON!’ the Chin roars. ‘Stop this right now.’

  The Toad slumps. Oh, dear, she thinks. I just knew I wasn’t going to get away with—

  ‘WHAT?’ bawls the Nose. ‘What are we waiting for? What’s the matter?’

  The Chin draws herself up to her full height and folds her arms across her chest. She frowns and points her chin towards where the swimming pool is now glittering, sparkling and fizzing in the morning sunlight. She clears her throat.

  ‘Nobody is to use that pool,’ she says, holding up her hands to stop the Nose and the Toad interrupting her. ‘NOBODY,’ she repeats firmly, then her face creases up in a smile and she emits a girlish cackle; ‘nobody is to dip as much as a toe in that champagne until I have tried it first!’ And she bounds across the lawn, then, with a shriek of delight, dives headlong into the pool.

  Pausing only to magic up a stylish bikini for herself, the Nose follows her sister into the sparkling liquid.

  The Toad smiles as her Sisters’ shrieks and cackles drift through the open windows of the kitchen at Arkon House. Inside, all is transformed. The pantry is piled high with pizzas, chocolate and tins of cherries. The breadbin is overflowing with croissants, currant buns and bagels and the freezer is full of ice cream. For the sisters of Hiss, the good times have finally begun. Waiting for Witch Baby is going to be the best fun they’ve ever had.

  Footnotes

  Eighteen Moons of Witch Baby

  *1 So sharp is the Chin’s chin, she could easily have used it to spear the lump of gristle instead of her fork.

  *2 So big is the Nose’s nose, she had to be extra careful that she didn’t bang it on the floor as she bent down.

  *3 Before the Toad’s spell, supper was three scabby rats that she had found next to the dustbins. Three rats plus assorted thistles, nettles and pondweed. Grusomely, the rats were already long dead when the Toad found them. So long dead that bits of them had come back to life again.

  My smelly little sister

  *4 That’s not exactly true. Yesterday, when I found her drawing on my pillow with my brand new marker pens, I could think of lots of things to call her. And then, when she got bored drawing with my pens and turned them into raspberry liquorice snakes and ate them, I thought of even more things to call her. Come to think of it, that’s probably why Daisy’s nappy stinks. Eating raspberry liquorice snakes can’t be good for a Witch Baby’s tummy.

  *5 I’ll explain why in a minute …

  *6 Vivaldi and I have the same birthday - she’s the only other person in the whole world that I’ve ever met who was born under a Blue Moon, just like me (she’s also the only other person who knows Daisy is a witch). This is supposed to give us both Special Powers too. So far, our Special Powers have only resulted in our being able to see Way-Woof. Not that Special, really. Not very Powerful, either.

  In with a hiss

  *7 Poor Nose. Somehow she never got around to learning how to read and write. When she was a Witch Baby, people were too busy learning how to catch their supper or avoid being supper for a sabre-toothed tiger to bother with anything like inventing books.

  The hairy eyeball in action

  *8 Quelling your class with one look is a well-known Scottish teachers’ skill which is called ‘Gieing Them the Hairy Eyeball’. When a teacher turns his or her Hairy Eyeball on a misbehaving child, the eyeballee feels in turn: hot, cold, shaky, embarrassed and, finally, desperate to go to the bathroom.

  Burning down the house

  *9 We were reading one of her favourite picture books: What Noise Does a Noisy Oyster Make? We’d done the octopus page (schleppa, schleppa, squeeeeeeeeze hug) and the giraffe page (hack, hack, cough, cough) when Daisy turned to me and said, ‘Daggon? What noise makes a daggon, Lil?’ and off the top of my head I said, very loudly, ‘Rrrrrrroarrrrrrrrr.’ She burst out laughing.

  Storm warning

  *10 Her name badge should have shown a ROTTING FISH rather than a PONY. For some reason, Annabel’s breath stinks. Really stinks.

  [What Lily doesn’t know is that a month ago, the Sisters of Hiss magicked up a batch of bacteria-coated special crisps and sneaked them into the buffet at Lily’s house-warming party. This act of culinary terrorism was designed to destroy the budding friendship between Lily and Vivaldi. Obviously it didn’t work. Lily and Vivaldi didn’t eat a single one of the special crisps. Annabel ate the entire bowlful and was promptly sick several times. The after-effect of eating the magically corrupted crisps was three months of bad breath. That’s bad, as in ‘baaaaad’.]

  If she wasn’t so horrible, I might feel sorry for her.

  *11 Weird, huh? Since it’s her that smells bad, not me.

  *12 Before you ask, this was nothing to do with a Witch Baby spell.

  Toad in a hole

  *13 Sadly, this useful skill is no longer ta
ught in schools. Alchemy is the study of how to turn base metals (tin, copper, lead, iron) into gold. These days, children only know reverse alchemy: how to turn gold back into base metals. It’s not difficult. Here’s how to do it: take gold, buy tin of fizzy drink, drink liquid - and there: one empty base metal tin. Gold into base metal in one easy step.

  *14 Nope. That information is classified. The true story of how the Toad became a toad is written in invisible ink. The paper it is written on has been folded in three and tucked into a brown envelope, closed, licked and stuck down. Furthermore, the envelope has been tied up with string, sealed with sealing wax, wrapped in cling film, parcelled in baking foil, baked at 350°C for eight hours, cooled and then placed reverently in a metal shoebox undher the Toad’s bed. And There It Will Stay.

  *15 I’m pretty sure you know that answer to this, but just in case you don’t: a squirty squid goes, ‘THHWRRRprrrTTTttPthhhhhTHWRRRRrppP.’

  Ae fond kiss, Hiss

  *16 The Sisters of Hiss have no rat problem whatsoever. This is because since they moved in, every single rat that has set foot or whisker in Arkon House has been eaten.

  *17 Luckily he can’t quite reach her mouth. Had he been able to, she might have eaten him.

  A spot of bother

  *18 I mean all four of us, but WayWoof is soaked already so a bit of extra mud probably wouldn’t make that much difference.