by Sally Rippin
Pink blooms across his smooth green cheeks.
One by one, Polly travels from one ghost to another, and writes down messages for their loved ones. She decides she is not going to worry about spelling mistakes or messy writing. She knows, this time, it won’t matter. What matters is the messages of love, instructions and dedications, and all the other important things the ghosts have thought about over the five long years they have stood guard in this cave.
She carefully tears each note from the little notepad, folds it in half and tucks it safely into Miss Spinnaker’s soft velvet bag.
Soon, she has a bag full of precious notes and memories rustling against her side.
Finally, she reaches her father. She stands in front of him attentively, the last piece of paper from the notepad in her hand, her pencil poised and ready. This one she will write out as neatly as she can.
‘Papa?’ she asks. ‘Is there something you want me to tell Mama or Winifred?’
‘Oh,’ he says, his voice catching.
They stand there silently for a while and Polly feels tears begin to stream down her cheeks. ‘There are too many words crowding my heart for that one little bit of paper, Polly,’ he says, his voice full of sorrow. He pauses. ‘Just tell your mum and your big sister I love them. I never told them that enough when I was alive.’
Polly nods and tucks the notepad back into her pocket. She will have no trouble remembering that one.
And now it is time.
Polly pushes all the little paper fragments of love deep into Miss Spinnaker’s velvet bag, then goes to stand in front of the wall again. Her heart is swollen and her cheeks feel tight with tears. She looks into her father’s eyes for what she knows will be the last time.
‘Goodbye, Papa,’ she whispers.
‘Goodbye, my treasure,’ he whispers back. ‘You are a good witchkin and you are doing a good and brave thing. When you have finished, I will be gone. But never forget I will always be in your heart. And you, my darling, will always be in mine.’
Polly steps into position again, her feet facing the three bright stones. She closes her eyes and begins to recite the spell. Her heartbeat slows and she feels her feet become as solid as the rock beneath her. Warmth travels through her toes, up her legs, into her chest and along her arms. Finally it reaches her fingertips and they begin to crackle and fizz. Suddenly, a rush of heat flashes through her body and her arms fly upwards.
Polly opens her eyes. All around her are the sighs and moans of the ghosts as they drift upwards like pale grey mist, and soon the cavern is quiet. She looks at the gorvan’s wall. The purple fog is clearing. Soon, the rock face is as clear as the other three walls of the chamber and she knows the spell has worked. From deep below the ground she hears a gentle rumbling. The gorvan is asleep.
Polly turns to the spot where her father had hovered and sighs deeply. She misses him as much as she ever did, maybe even more, but the pain in her heart doesn’t feel like a useless pain now that she has had the chance to say goodbye.
She pictures the faces of the monsters and witches receiving messages from their ghostly loved ones, gone, but never forgotten. She can only imagine what happy-sadness they will feel.
Now that the gorvan sleeps again, Polly hopes that Blackmoon Coven will return to the quiet, peaceful town it once was.
And, who knows? she wonders, feeling unexpectedly hopeful now that the wooziness of the spell and the darkness of the gorvan have begun to lift, Maybe there might even come a time when no one bats an eye at a witch and a monster being friends?
Polly turns to look at Buster. Her oldest, dearest friend. They are the only two left in this quiet gloom. He is sitting with his back against a rock wall and his tummy is rumbling loudly.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks Polly kindly, standing up and brushing dust off his bottom. ‘That was a pretty big spell you did just now, wasn’t it?’
‘It was,’ says Polly, smiling. She nods her head up and down slowly to see if she still feels a little dizzy. ‘You know what?’ she says, patting her arms. ‘I actually don’t feel too bad.’
‘Great!’ Buster says. ‘Maybe you are getting better at them?’
‘Maybe,’ says Polly. ‘Don’t tell Miss Spinnaker though, will you? Three spells out of school grounds means I could be expelled from Miss Madden’s.’
‘I won’t,’ Buster promises. And he draws a finger across his lips to show they are sealed. ‘So, do you think that might be all you need to do here?’
‘I think so,’ Polly says.
‘Yay!’ Buster says happily. ‘That means we can go home then, right?’
‘Right,’ says Polly.
‘Oh, thank moonbeams!’ says Buster, eagerly leading the way. ‘I’m starving!’
‘Me too,’ says Polly. And it’s true. It feels like years since they ate Mortimer’s flipcakes with Flora’s sparkle syrup for breakfast.
Polly picks up the stones from the ground, one by one, and drops them back into the little silk pouch. Their light is growing dimmer and they have begun to cool. And even though Polly is hungry and sad and bone-achingly tired, she knows she has done a good thing.
Her father would be proud of her.
Buster takes Polly’s hand and swings it in his paw. They have been walking a long, long way up the steep slope of the dark, gloomy tunnel, feeling their way back along the walls in the fading light of the stones. Polly feels sure the entrance can’t be far off now, and she can feel Buster’s pace quickening.
‘What’s the first thing you’re going to do when you get home?’ Buster asks her.
‘Have a hot bath,’ says Polly. She has begun to shiver from the cold. ‘Actually, no. Hug my mum, then have a hot bath.’
‘I’m going to hug my mum, then eat a whole plate of jamcakes,’ Buster says. ‘Hot ones with extra dibblecream on top.’
‘Then have a bath?’ Polly giggles.
‘Why?’ says Buster. ‘Do I smell?’
‘Only like a monster who hasn’t washed in two days. And slept in his clothes.’
‘That’s not a bad smell, is it?’ Buster asks, lifting up a hairy arm and smelling underneath it.
‘No!’ says Polly, giggling. ‘I love the smell of dirty monster.’
Buster elbows Polly. She tumbles against the wall.
‘Hey! Don’t you think it’s hard enough walking in the dark without you knocking me over?’ She laughs and walks a little further. Suddenly she stops and Buster bumps into her. ‘Look, Buster! Up ahead. Is that light?’ She squints into the darkness. ‘Do you think it’s the entrance?’
Buster pauses to squint, too. ‘Maybe?’ he says hopefully.
‘Wait!’ says Polly, frowning and pulling Buster close. ‘Can you hear that?’ She gets a familiar funny feeling in her tummy, and the stones begin to grow warm in her hand again. ‘Hello? Is someone there?’ Polly calls out.
‘It better not be ghosts again!’ Buster mumbles, rolling his eyes.
But before Polly has the chance to answer, a blinding flash of turquoise lights up the tunnel. Polly and Buster are thrown backwards onto the hard rocky ground. There is an earsplitting crack and the tunnel rumbles around them. Buster dashes to cover Polly just as an avalanche of rocks falls down on them from the crumbling walls. He pushes away as many as he can, but they are falling thick and fast.
Again and again the rocks smash against Buster’s broad furry back, but he uses all his strength to keep them from hitting Polly. The noise in the tunnel is deafening.
Eventually the cascade slows until only dust and pebbles settle on the pile of rubble. Buster carefully pushes the many heavy rocks away.
‘Ow!’ he says, dusting off his fur.
Polly sits up, blinking and dust-covered. She has a graze on her cheek, but nothing like the big welts Buster has across his back.
‘Buster!’ she coughs. ‘Are you OK?’
Her heart begins to race. She sniffs the air in case the avalanche has woken the gorvan, but there is no sign or sm
ell of it. She breathes out in relief. The gorvan must be far enough and deep enough underground for it not to have been disturbed.
‘I’m OK,’ Buster says gruffly, but Polly can see him wince when he tries to stand.
Polly checks all her limbs. She is in one piece. ‘Mangy mushrooms!’ she says. ‘I would have been crushed if it wasn’t for you, Buster. What was that? An earthquake?’
Buster shakes his head and frowns. ‘I don’t think so,’ he says, pointing to something behind Polly. ‘In fact, I’d say it was more of a witchquake.’
Polly gasps and scrambles to stand up. She looks to where Buster is pointing. A little distance away from all the debris, lying on the tunnel floor, is Malorie – Mrs Halloway’s daughter. Her foot is trapped under a rock and she cries out in pain.
‘Malorie Halloway!’ Polly says furiously. ‘That was you? I can’t believe it! You did a spell to make those rocks fall! Why would you do such a thing?’
Malorie begins to cry. ‘My mother sent me in here. The spell wasn’t meant to hurt you, I promise. Just block you in here.’
Polly sees Mrs Halloway’s fancy wand, crushed and broken under the rocks beside Malorie. ‘And then what?’ she shouts. ‘We’d be trapped in here and left to die?’
Malorie begins to cry harder. ‘I didn’t know you’d be in here, too, Polly. My mother told me it was just Buster. And she told me he’s a dangerous monster who would hurt me and lots of other witches too, and that I was doing the right thing. That’s what she told me, Polly!’
‘You Know that’s not true, Malorie!’
Polly yells, even louder than before.
She can feel the rage steaming up through her chest and takes some gulps of the dusty air to try and calm down. ‘You know Buster is my friend. That he’s always been my friend. Why would I be friends with a monster who is dangerous?’
Malorie sobs and sobs. ‘I’m sorry, Polly! I really am. Oh, please help me. I can’t move and my leg is really hurting!’
Buster squirms beside Polly in discomfort. She knows he hates seeing anyone upset or in pain and she can feel him shifting anxiously from one foot to another.
‘Sorry?’ spits Polly, furiously. ‘Sorry? I think it’s a bit late for that!’
‘You don’t know what it’s like living with my mother,’ Malorie cries. ‘I didn’t have a choice.’
‘Of course you had a choice!’ Polly hisses. ‘You always have a choice. And you chose to do the wrong thing, Malorie. And so for that we are going to leave you here. If your precious mother loves you so much then she can come in here and rescue you. But think about it, Malorie. Don’t you think it’s a little odd she sent her daughter into these dangerous, scary mines rather than going in herself?’
Polly pulls Buster’s paw for him to follow her as she clambers over the rocks towards the entrance. ‘Don’t worry, Malorie. We’ll tell your mother where you are. On our way out!’
As they stumble closer, Polly can see Malorie’s face is bleached white with pain. Her eyes are squeezed shut and Polly almost feels sorry for her, but then she allows her anger to fill her again. Deidre Halloway and her daughter need to be taught a lesson once and for all, she decides, and pulls at Buster’s paw.
But he won’t come.
‘Buster,’ she hisses. ‘Come on!’
Buster rocks anxiously from side to side. ‘We can’t just leave her here,’ he murmurs, his face twisting with concern.
‘Yes. We. Can!’ Polly insists, jerking at Buster’s paw. ‘She wanted to hurt you, Buster. Maybe even kill you!’
But he won’t budge.
‘Polly!’ he says, so firmly that she drops his paw in surprise. She has never heard him raise his voice before. ‘You are my bestest best friend in the whole wide world and probably the cleverest and bravest witch I know. I would usually do anything you ask me. But not this. Just because Malorie did the wrong thing, doesn’t mean we should, too. We are not bad, Polly. We are good. Remember?’ Polly sighs deeply and slumps forward. She feels tired and achey and dirty and she just wants to be home. But she knows Buster is right. There is no other heart she knows that is as good and true. And she knows there are times when she has done the wrong thing herself, and hurt others without meaning to. She is no different, really, to Malorie.
‘All right!’ she grumbles angrily. ‘You can lift the rock off her foot then. But that’s all! She has to walk back by herself. You are not to carry her, all right? Even if she is hurt!’
But it turns out Malorie can barely stand, let alone walk, so dear, sweet Buster hauls her up over his bruised shoulders and they limp slowly back towards the pale, grey light, each step taking them closer to home.
‘He has my daughter! The monster has my daughter!’
This is the first thing they hear, even before their eyes adjust to the light. Polly’s heart begins to pound. She would know that horrible voice anywhere.
‘Look, look, right there! The monster has my daughter!’
Polly looks up to see a swarm of witches advancing towards them up the steep slope of the mountain. Leading the pack, as Polly knew she would be, is Mrs Halloway, her snarling face more terrifying than ever.
Polly looks towards Buster and sees how the scene might look to the advancing witches. Malorie is slung over his back, clearly hurt, and Buster is loping clumsily towards them, his face twisted with exhaustion.
‘That monster has my daughter!’ Mrs Halloway screams again. ‘I told you monsters were dangerous and you wouldn’t believe me. And now look what’s happened! He’s hurt her! Look! The monster’s hurt my daughter!’
For a moment, Polly sees a look of genuine concern come over Mrs Halloway’s face, as if she has always known that Buster could never really hurt a witch, and is surprised to see that this time, perhaps he has.
This, more than anything, makes Polly seethe with rage. How dare that horrible, scheming witch blame Buster! How dare she attack him and chase him and spread lies about her dearest friend! Polly decides she doesn’t care anymore if she is expelled from school for doing spells. She doesn’t care if what she is doing is right or wrong or somewhere in between. She won’t listen to Mrs Halloway attack Buster for one more minute.
Her chest fills with heat and she draws her arms up into the air. But before the hot wind fills her, Malorie’s voice rings out, loud and clear.
‘Stop! Ma!’ she calls out. ‘Stop, everyone! You’ve got it all wrong.’
Deidre Halloway continues to run towards them, but the other witches slow for a moment to hear what Malorie has to say.
‘Ma! Stop!’ Malorie calls out, louder this time. Her mother reaches them and tries to pull her daughter off Buster’s back. Buster shrinks away from her.
‘Get off her!’ Deidre shrieks. ‘Let go of my daughter!’ She turns to the other witches to seek assistance.
They are hovering uncertainly, unsure of what is really going on and why they were called so urgently to the mouth of the mine, when at this time of night they would normally be at home cooking dinner and preparing their children for bed. In the pink, fading light of the day, Buster looks so exhausted and pitiful it’s hard to see how he could seem frightening to anyone.
‘Help me!’ Deidre Halloway hollers again. ‘Prisquet! Bordree! Strike him down! Do none of you have your wands on you?! Can’t you see the monster has my daughter?’
‘Ma, stop it!’ Malorie says, angrily now. She slides off Buster’s back and winces as her injured foot touches the ground. ‘That’s enough!’
Then she looks over her mother’s shoulder, eyes blazing, towards the approaching witches, who are muttering among themselves. Many of them have children at Polly and Malorie’s school. Polly recognises the mother of one of Malorie’s friends, Willow Leafly, in the huddle.
‘Aren’t you ashamed?’ Malorie yells. ‘All of you! Look at him! Does this look like a monster who would hurt anyone?’
Buster shrugs uncomfortably and gives the witches an awkward wave. His fur is matted and his back
is bruised, but the kindness of his heart still shines out of him.
‘Buster has never done anything bad to me,’ Malorie continues, despite the terrifying look of rage spreading over her mother’s face. ‘Or anyone!’ She turns away from her mother and her voice stays steady and true.
Polly feels a surge of awe watching Malorie stand up to her mother like this. She has faced wild monsters, nasty witches and even scary ghosts over the last few days, but in truth, Polly couldn’t imagine anything in the world as frightening as standing up to your own mother. She feels a newfound respect for her classmate, who had been almost her friend until the whole Witches Against Monsters thing had got so out of hand.
Malorie limps slowly towards the gaggle of witches, her face crimson with fury. ‘It’s not the monsters you have to be afraid of,’ she yells at them. ‘Can’t you see? It’s my mother. My mother is the only bad one here!’
All the witches gasp. Even though they heard these exact same words from Polly only the night before, somehow hearing them from Deidre Halloway’s own daughter makes the witches finally stop and truly listen.
‘Malorie!’ Deidre snaps. ‘That’s enough!’ She turns to the other mothers, her voice twisted with embarrassment. ‘My daughter is obviously not well. She must have hurt her head when she was in the mine. Or … or …’ Polly sees her searching desperately for something to convince them. ‘Polly did a spell on her! That’s what happened. That monster-loving witch brainwashed my daughter!’ She steps forward to pull her daughter towards her, but Malorie hops away and Buster steps protectively in front of her.
‘Get away!’ Mrs Halloway shrieks. ‘How dare you filthy monster come between me and my daughter. Get away this very minute!’
Mrs Leafly steps forward and grabs Deidre’s arm, holding it firmly to keep her from lashing out at Buster.
‘Let her speak, Deidre,’ she says firmly. Mrs Halloway rises up ferociously but Willow’s mother stares her down. ‘Go ahead, Malorie,’ Mrs Leafly says, letting go of Deidre’s arm and crouching down to face the small, trembling witch. ‘Tell us what happened in that tunnel. How did you get hurt?’
