More Pongwiffy Stories

by Kaye Umansky

  When the door was finally opened, it revealed a wild-eyed, weeping, dishevelled Honeydimple with a long, unlikely story about being lured into the Wood by a mad Hamster, where she was captured by a Witch and tied up in a hovel before being set upon by the crazed Hamster again, who cut her hair and bit her on the ankle and chased her through the Wood and tripped her up into cowpats and pushed her into a pig trough, all the while calling her dreadful names in some frightful foreign language.

  Honeydimple’s parents, King Futtout II and Queen Beryl, were sent for and gravely listened while Honeydimple told her story again. And guess what? Instead of being soundly smacked and sent to bed, she was given a bowl of strawberries and promised a pair of ice skates and given her mother’s solemn promise that Daddy would look into the matter.

  Doesn’t it make you sick?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rumblings

  Of course, all this activity wasn’t going unnoticed. You can’t go around snatching whiskers and falling into quicksand and getting attacked by toads and stealing feathers and kidnapping princesses without attracting a bit of attention.

  There were thirteen Witches in Pongwiffy’s Coven, and they all lived in Witchway Wood (which might look small on the map, but in some mysterious way seems to stretch to fit everyone in).

  As well as the official monthly Coven Meeting, traditionally held on the last Friday of the month, the Witches saw quite a bit of each other on a daily basis (or nightly basis, depending on their habits). So it wasn’t surprising that Pongwiffy’s curious behaviour very quickly supplanted spring-cleaning as the current hot topic of conversation. As topics of conversation go, talking about Pongwiffy behind her back beat spring-cleaning hands down. The gossip spread like wildfire.

  Witches Ratsnappy and Sludgegooey were sitting in Sludgegooey’s kitchen having an animated discussion about a particular brand of air-freshener, when Witch Bendyshanks came rushing in.

  ‘I say!’ gasped Bendyshanks. ‘Guess what? I just met Gaga and she’s just seen the twins and they’ve just been talking to Greymatter who met Bonidle who saw Macabre who heard that Scrofula’s looking for Pongwiffy because-she-thinks-Pongwiffy-knows-something-about-Barry’s-stolen-feather!’

  ‘No! Really?’

  ‘Surely not!’

  Ratsnappy and Sludgegooey looked suitably shocked.

  ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t put it past her,’ added Ratsnappy.

  ‘True,’ nodded Sludgegooey sagely. ‘She’s been acting very strangely since that quicksand business. Very strangely indeed.’

  ‘I wonder what she was doing at the quicksand in the first place?’ mused Ratsnappy. ‘Macabre said she was very secretive about it all when Rory brought her home. She’s up to something. I’m sure of it.’

  ‘You’re right,’ agreed Sludgegooey. ‘Come to think of it, I passed Sharkadder early this morning, running back from Malpractiss Magic with a load of bandages and a packet of plasters. I asked her if she’d cut herself and she said something about Dudley’s cheek and how she was going to pulverise Pongwiffy when she saw her.’

  ‘And that’s not all!’ burst out Bendyshanks, shrill with excitement. Ratsnappy and Sludgegooey shushed her and looked over their shoulders. Bendyshanks lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘That’s not all. My sister’s boy Gary, over at the palace, said that stuck-up Princess Honeydimple came back from the Wood yesterday with a very strange story indeed!’

  ‘Tell us, tell us!’ urged Sludgegooey, flying to put the kettle on.

  ‘Well, apparently, Her Royal Hoity-toityness went out into the meadow, and who should be sitting in a strawberry patch wearing his best I’m So Cute face, but . . .’

  And so on.

  It wasn’t long before the gossip reached the ears of Grandwitch Sourmuddle, Mistress of the Coven. Or rather, it reached the small, pointy red ones of Snoop, Sourmuddle’s Demon Familiar, who relayed it into his mistress’s ear trumpet with relish.

  ‘What?’ said Sourmuddle irritably. Like all the Witches (apart from Pongwiffy), she had been spring-cleaning. Her back was killing her, egged on by her knees. Right now, she was taking a well-deserved breather in her favourite chair. Her shoes were off and she was halfway through a large bowl of nourishing, energy-giving lice bites.

  ‘Speak up, Snoop, I can’t hear you over my own slurping. Pongwiffy’s been what? Baking gruel?’

  ‘Breaking rules, Sourmuddle! Stealing whiskers. Fooling around in quicksand. Helping herself to Barry’s new tail feather without even a by-your-leave or may-I. Kidnapping princesses without filling in the proper chit. Rumour has it she’s working on a secret spell, Sourmuddle. Without asking your permission. An old-fashioned one, with funny ingredients.’

  ‘Is she, by thunder? Well, we’ll soon see about that!’

  Sourmuddle slammed down the bowl, spilling milk over her clean floor. She was a stickler for The Rules. Old-fashioned secret spells with funny ingredients were supposed to get special clearance from the Coven Mistress. You had to go to her with the recipe and be prepared to answer some very searching questions. After all, in the wrong hands, some of these old spells could be quite dangerous.

  ‘I thought you’d want to know,’ said Snoop smugly.

  ‘I certainly do, Snoop. Er – know what?’

  Sourmuddle’s ancient memory let her down at times.

  ‘About the secret spell,’ Snoop reminded her.

  ‘Yes, exactly, that’s what I said,’ nodded Sourmuddle, picking up the bowl and beginning to eat noisily again. ‘I mean, if everyone went running around doing secret spells, badness knows what might happen. There might be all kinds of clashes. You can’t be too careful where Magic’s concerned. You were quite right to tell me. What else are they saying?’

  ‘That it’s high time you gave her an official warning, Sourmuddle. And I think they’re right. I think you should call a Meeting at once.’

  ‘Excellent idea! I’ll leave it up to you, then, Snoop. Get a poster organised. Tonight, Emergency Meeting, Crag Hill, Midnight, Everyone Must Attend, Bring Your Own Sandwiches . . . you know the sort of thing. On second thoughts, it looks like rain. Best be on the safe side and book Witchway Hall. Apart from anything else, I’m not sure my bum could take an hour’s Broomstick ride tonight. Not after all that spring-cleaning.’

  Just at that moment there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Oh, goody, the postman!’ exclaimed Sourmuddle, who was expecting a Bat on Elastic. For the past six weeks she had eaten lice bites until they came out of her ears in order to get enough tokens. She pushed the bowl aside and scuttled to open the door. Sadly, it wasn’t the postman. Instead, it was Sharkadder and Scrofula with Dudley and Barry in tow. Both Familiars sported a great deal of sticking plaster and looked extremely sorry for themselves. Sharkadder and Scrofula were falling over themselves in their eagerness to complain about Pongwiffy.

  ‘Sourmuddle, guess what Pongwiffy did! She stole Dudley’s whisker!’

  ‘. . . after all Barry’s gone through, I think it’s the absolute limit . . .’

  ‘. . . and I’d already said she couldn’t have a whisker, so what does she do, she sends that sneaky little Hamster . . .’

  ‘. . . I mean, look at the state of him . . .’

  ‘. . . my Dudley’s terribly upset . . .’

  ‘. . . Barry’s getting legal advice, and I don’t blame him . . .’

  ‘. . . Pongwiffy’s really gone over the top this time . . .’

  ‘. . . and, what’s more, Sourmuddle, there’s a rumour that the palace are thinking of sending a formal letter of complaint,’ finished Scrofula triumphantly, ‘because of the Princess Business. Did you know about the Princess Business, Sourmuddle?’

  ‘Certainly I know about the Princess Business,’ snapped Sourmuddle. ‘I’m Grandwitch, remember? It’s my business to know these things. In fact, I decided ages ago to hold an Emergency Meeting and thrash things out. Snoop is even now drafting a poster. By the way, Snoop, I think we should s
end Pongwiffy an official summons and get it delivered by hand. I don’t want her pretending she doesn’t know about it. Now, who shall I get to take it?’

  ‘Us!’ shouted Sharkadder and Scrofula, jumping up and down and gnashing their teeth. ‘Us! Send us, Sourmuddle, we’ll go!’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Sourmuddle. ‘Simmer down, the pair of you. You’ll go through the proper channels. You can have your say tonight at the Emergency Meeting. Send Macabre, Snoop. No, on second thoughts, perhaps not. I don’t want Pongwiffy frightened off. Tell you what – send the twins.’

  Snoop sent the twins.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The Twins Come Calling

  Up to the moment the twins came calling, things had been going surprisingly well. Not only was Pongwiffy well on her way to collecting all the important main ingredients for Granny Malodour’s Wishing Water, but that very morning, a large box of basic items had arrived from Sharkadder’s catalogue.

  It contained everything Pongwiffy wanted – Skunk Stock Cubes, Beetle Doos, Fly Droppings, and so on. The Frogspawn was on special offer, so it worked out cheaper than Malpractiss Magic Ltd, where the prices were so high they made your nose bleed.

  Her Magic cupboard was now looking much healthier. Much to Hugo’s despair, Pongwiffy had rescued the old Wands and cracked crystal balls and crumbly spell books from The Dump and tenderly placed them back on the shelves, next to the rows of new, neat, winking little jars that he had carefully polished and labelled.

  ‘Zey look out of place,’ Hugo complained.

  ‘They do,’ Pongwiffy agreed. ‘But don’t worry, they’ll soon dirty up nicely.’

  ‘I not mean ze jars! I mean ze old rubbish you put back in.’

  ‘Just stop complaining. I’m trying to think. I’ve got to come up with a way to get hold of a bobble from a Goblin’s hat. It’s not going to be easy. Goblins never take their hats off because they’re scared their brains’ll freeze up. I know all about Goblin habits because I lived next door to them once.’

  ‘I know,’ sighed Hugo. ‘You tell me, many times.’

  It was at this point that there was a rapping on the door. Agglebag and Bagaggle, come to deliver the summons and completely ruin Pongwiffy’s day. They stood beaming on the doorstep, violins tucked beneath their chins and bows at the ready.

  ‘Hello, Pongwiffy,’ said Bagaggle. ‘Can we come in?’ She peered hopefully into the dark recesses of the hovel. ‘I think I can hear a kettle boiling, don’t you, Ag?’

  ‘I do, Bag,’ agreed Agglebag. ‘I expect Pongwiffy will offer us a nice cup of hot bogwater.’

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Pongwiffy.

  ‘In that case, we’ll just stand out here and play our violins. Ready, Ag? One, two, thr—’

  ‘Come in,’ said Pongwiffy hastily. She knew when she was beaten.

  Happily, the twins trooped in. They gave two identical looks at the clean, tidy hovel and their mouths fell open in shock. Bagaggle clutched at her twin’s arm.

  ‘Do my eyes deceive me, Ag, or has she been spring-cleaning?’ she breathed.

  ‘I do believe you’re right, Bag. It looks lovely, Pongwiffy. What’s that delightful smell?’

  ‘Reeka Reeka Roses,’ said Pongwiffy bitterly. ‘And, just for the record, I haven’t lifted a finger.’

  ‘Zat’s right,’ called Hugo from inside the cupboard, where he was arranging the last of the little jars. ‘Me and ze Broom do it all.’

  ‘Well, we think it’s wonderful,’ chorused the twins. The Broom shuffled coyly around in the corner, flushed with pride.

  ‘I especially like the floor, don’t you, Ag?’ said Bagaggle. ‘I’ve never seen it so beautifully swept.’

  The Broom ventured a little way out of the corner and attempted a bow. Pongwiffy grabbed it and threw it outside, where it began to sweep the path. The twins continued to stare around. Their beady eyes didn’t miss a thing. Agglebag nudged Bagaggle and pointed.

  ‘By the way, over there on the table, isn’t that a . . . ?’

  ‘Pigeon feather,’ said Pongwiffy firmly, picking it up and throwing it hastily into a drawer. Instantly, she came out in green spots, which always happens when she tells lies.

  ‘Looked more like a Vulture feather to me,’ said Agglebag.

  ‘No, definitely pigeon. I collect them.’

  ‘Why have you come out in green spots?’ enquired Bagaggle.

  ‘Slight allergic reaction, nothing to worry about.’

  ‘You’re allergic to Vulture feathers?’

  ‘Pigeon,’ insisted Pongwiffy. ‘I’m allergic to pigeon feathers.’

  ‘But why collect them if you’re aller—’

  ‘Because I do! I’m a pigeon feather fancier and I collect pigeon feathers. All right? Satisfied? Now, how do you like your bogwater?’

  ‘With biscuits,’ said Agglebag.

  ‘Or cake,’ said Bagaggle.

  ‘Hugo!’ called Pongwiffy. ‘Three cups of bogwater. And offer the twins some of those nice, fresh, home-made rock cakes. So. What brings you here? Just a social call, is it?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ said Agglebag. She reached into her pocket and withdrew an official-looking brown envelope. ‘Actually, we’ve brought you this. It’s a summons.’

  ‘Summons? Who from? What for?’

  ‘It’s from Grandwitch Sourmuddle,’ explained Bagaggle helpfully. ‘She wants to make sure you come to tonight’s Emergency Meeting.’

  ‘What d’you mean, Emergency Meeting?’

  ‘It’s a Meeting you hold when there’s an Emergency,’ Agglebag told her. ‘Right, Bag?’

  ‘That’s exactly right, Ag. You explained that beautifully,’ nodded Bagaggle, and they exchanged happy smiles.

  ‘But I’m busy!’ wailed Pongwiffy. ‘I’ve got something planned for tonight. I haven’t got time to go to some old meeting. What’s it about, anyway?’

  ‘Who knows?’ chorused the twins innocently, rolling their eyes.

  ‘Well, I bet it’s not important. Tell Sourmuddle I’m poorly. Better still, tell her I wasn’t in and you couldn’t deliver the summons.’

  ‘Oh, we can’t do that, can we, Ag?’ said Bagaggle, terribly shocked.

  ‘Certainly not, Bag,’ tutted Agglebag. ‘That’d be telling fibs. Besides, she’s very keen that you should be there.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know why,’ said Pongwiffy uneasily.

  ‘Something to do with Sharkadder and Scrofula, I think,’ said Bagaggle. ‘They’ve been complaining about you. Something about missing whiskers and feathers.’

  ‘I can’t think what they mean,’ said Pongwiffy. ‘Whiskers? Feathers? What’s that got to do with me?’

  ‘Well, you can ask them yourself,’ said Agglebag, who was staring out of the window. ‘They’re coming up the path. They’re nearly at the door. Badness me, they do look cross. Come and see how cross they look, Pongwiffy. Pongwiffy? Where is she, Bag?’

  ‘Vanished in a smelly puff of smoke, Ag,’ explained Bagaggle. ‘Hugo’s gone as well, look.’

  Sure enough, there was a small, green, evil-smelling cloud hovering in the place where Pongwiffy had been standing. The door to the Magic cupboard swung open and there was no sign of Hugo.

  ‘Say what you like, Bag, she’s fast,’ said Agglebag admiringly.

  ‘She needs to be if Sharkadder and Scrofula are on the warpath, Ag.’

  ‘Oh, but they’re not. Well, not at this very minute. I said that for a joke, to see what she’d do.’

  ‘Good. That means we can eat all the rock cakes.’

  Chuckling, the twins eagerly helped themselves to a cake each and attempted a bite. There came the sound of teeth grinding on granite. Hastily, they lowered their arms, looked at each other and pulled a face.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ they chorused.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Demon Barber

  ‘Phew! That was a close one!’ gasped Pongwiffy, staggering forward a few paces before buckling at the knees and slithering grate
fully down the nearest tree.

  ‘Ssh. Don’t speak,’ begged Hugo, who was lying down in a clump of grass, very pale round the pouches. ‘I still vaitink for tummy to catch up.’

  ‘The trees are whizzing round! I can’t stop them! Remind me not to use that spell again,’ groaned Pongwiffy, crawling off on all fours and collapsing into a nearby bush.

  She had transported them into a large glade on the other side of Witchway Wood, using the first transportation spell that had come into her mind. Unfortunately, like most of Pongwiffy’s spells, it was one of those old-fashioned, wonky ones which did the trick but came with nasty side effects. It got you out of there fast, but you certainly paid for it.

  They both lay quietly moaning for a while, wishing they hadn’t had so much breakfast. At one point, Pongwiffy remarked that there was something familiar about that tall tree over there, the one with the rope ladder and the red and white stripy pole, and that if only it would stay still for a moment she’d know what it was. A bit later, Hugo remarked that he would sooner have taken his chances with Sharkadder and Scrofula. On the whole, Pongwiffy was inclined to agree with him.

  It was fate, of course. One chance in a million. But things like fate and coincidence and one-in-a-million chances are always cropping up in Witchway Wood. There they were, Pongwiffy and Hugo, lying down quietly, conveniently hidden by grass and bushes, when who should come along the path but . . .

  THE GOBLINS! Yes, here they come, all seven of them, stomping along in single file. Plugugly, Stinkwart, Eyesore, Slopbucket, Sproggit, Hog and Lardo. Those are their names. They live in a damp cave on a particularly horrible mountain which borders Witchway Wood. Right now, they are off on one of their doomed-to-failure hunting trips. You can tell this because their faces are smeared with soot, they are carrying the Traditional Goblin hunting bags (the ones with the Traditional holes cut in the bottom) and they are singing a loud hunting song.

  ‘Oh, a-hunting we will go,’ sang the Goblins, horribly out of tune.

  ‘A-hunting we will go,