Maud led her parents out of the room and down the staircase.
“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it, dear?” asked Mrs Montague.
“I suppose not,” said Maud. But her mind was already racing about the essay. What could she write that would impress Mr Von Bat enough to give her a ten?
A cold wind was blowing in through the open windows, and some of the torches had gone out, leaving parts of the stairwell in pitch darkness. Maud took her mum’s hand and guided her slowly down, sticking closely to the wall, where the steps were widest.
The school nurse, Mrs Quasimodo, was waiting for them at the bottom. She was wearing a clean white uniform over her scaly green skin. Maud wondered if she’d washed the bloodstains out especially for parents’ evening.
Milly was standing next to the nurse, staring straight ahead and trembling. “Jars of eyeballs …” she muttered. “Pickled hands … slimy leeches …”
“What’s the matter, cupcake?” asked Mrs Montague, bending down to look Milly in the eye. “What happened to you?”
“She want to play doctors and nurses,” growled Mrs Quasimodo. “So I show her school surgery.”
“Vats of blood … buckets of fingers … flasks of noses …” continued Milly.
“I think you must have taken my sister to the Art room,” said Maud, pulling her family towards the door. “It sounds like she’s seen more of the nightmare paintings from last week.”
Maud dragged Milly out of the school doorway, and her parents followed. Free at last! Maud thought, as they were walking back towards the car. She made out the figures of a tall man and woman leaning against the red truck with the oversized wheels. They were wearing baseball caps, jeans, leather jackets and dark glasses. The man looked like he was over two metres tall and had a neat brown beard. The woman took off her dark glasses, and Maud noticed she had bushy eyebrows that met in the middle.
Suddenly a dog jumped out of the back seat of the truck on its hind legs. No, wait … It wasn’t a dog – it was Maud’s werewolf friend, Wilf Wild.
Of course, thought Maud. No wonder those people are so hairy! They’re Wilf’s parents.
“Hi, Maud,” said Wilf. “Hi, Mr and Mrs Montague. Nice to meet you.”
Maud wondered if her parents would notice that there was something strange about him, but she doubted it. Wilf had thick hair on his face and hands, but he could still pass for an unusual boy. At least they hadn’t seen him when there was a full moon, when he’d be running around on all fours and howling.
“How did your report go?” asked Wilf.
“Not great,” said Maud. “Mr Von Bat says I need to get ten out of ten on my holiday essay or I’ll have to repeat the year.”
“Ten out of ten?” asked Wilf. “I’ve never heard of anyone getting full marks.”
Maud’s eyes widened. “Never?”
“Nope, it’s impossible,” said Wilf. His eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Wait, I mean … sorry. If anyone can do it, it’s you.”
Next to them, Milly was still mumbling away to herself. “Beakers of ears … metal drills … horrible shrieks …”
“Is she alright?” asked Wilf.
“She’s fine,” said Maud. “She just banged her head. Anyway, how was your report?”
“Mr Von Bat said I was a good all-rounder, but need to work on my Fright skills,” said Wilf. “He said I should try and be as fierce as Warren.” He scowled. “I hate it when people say that.”
Maud hoped Wilf didn’t become more like his brother. Warren was a mean bully who went around growling at anyone who got in his way.
Over by the truck, Maud’s parents were chatting to Mr and Mrs Wild.
“This thing must have a beast of an engine inside it,” Mr Montague said, patting the front of the truck.
“1500 horsepower,” said Mr Wild. “That’s 1500 times as much as that horse-drawn carriage over there.”
“Wow!” said Mr Montague.
On the other side of the truck, Maud’s mum was talking to Mrs Wild about her amateur dramatics society. “We’re doing Les Misérables next, so as you can imagine, I’m spending a lot of time making wigs.”
“If you need any spare hair, let me know,” said Mrs Wild. “We’ve still got a big bag left over from our last shearing.”
“Shearing?” asked Mrs Montague. “So you keep sheep, do you?”
“Oh no,” said Mrs Wild. “I try to avoid having snacks around. Too much temptation.”
Mrs Montague smiled, but she looked a little confused.
Finally snapping out of her daze, Milly scuttled over to Mr Montague and tugged at his sleeve. “I want to go now. I’ve had enough.”
“Looks like the little one is tired,” said Mr Montague to the Wilds. “But thanks for your offer. We’re looking to go away for the week, so it sounds ideal.”
Uh-oh, thought Maud. “What sounds ideal?” she asked.
“Now, I know you were looking forward to the Classic Car Show,” said Mr Montague. “But Mr Wild has asked us to go camping in Oddington Marshes with them next week, and I think it’s a great idea! It will be a lot cheaper than forking out for a hotel at the Car Show.”
“That sounds lovely,” said Mrs Montague.
“Monstrous!” said Wilf.
“Er … yeah. Monstrous,” said Maud. Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Now, not only did she have to write a perfect essay, she had to spend all holiday trying to keep the truth about the Wild family from her parents. This was shaping up to be the least relaxing break ever.
The clouds parted, and the car park was bathed in bright moonlight. Maud looked up at the waxing moon. By the time of the holiday, it would be full.
A camping holiday with a pack of werewolves.
During a full moon.
Perfect.
Milly was grumbling again. “Where are my heart-shaped sunglasses?” she shouted. “How am I supposed to go camping without my heart-shaped sunglasses?”
Maud fished her torch out of the mess on the floor. Her half of the bedroom was a tangle of dirty clothes, monster masks and insect jars, while her sister’s half was spotless, with everything tidied into her chest of drawers. But somehow Maud always seemed to find her things more easily. She’d already packed her exercise book, pens, waterproof, magnifying glass and Spotter’s Guide to Worms and Bugs, while Milly was still flapping around looking for her sunglasses.
“This is going to be the worst holiday in the history of the world,” said Milly. “I can’t believe we’ve got to go camping with your weirdo friends.”
“Would you rather go to the Classic Car Show?” asked Maud.
“No, I’d rather go to Corfu,” said Milly. “Like Mum and Dad promised. I can’t believe I won’t be able to sunbathe. I won’t even get to build a pretty sandcastle.”
Maud was glad about that. Last time they’d gone to the beach, Milly had spent all day working on a perfect replica of Dream Castle from her favourite Pink Pony Princess Party book. Meanwhile Maud had recreated the castle from Dracula, with some help from Quentin in his vampire-rat costume.
Honk! Honk!
Maud stuck her head out of the window and saw her dad’s car approaching. He was towing a large, battered lump of metal. Maud squinted at it. Was that a caravan? It was peppered with dents and scratches. The side panels were probably meant to be white, but they’d picked up so much grime they were now a dingy grey. Tattered beige curtains hung behind cracked and dusty windows.
Mr Montague turned into the driveway and the caravan followed, tottering on its rickety wheels.
“You’ll never believe it,” he called up, getting out of the car. “I found this in the scrapyard. The things people throw away!”
Maud could easily believe he found it in the scrapyard. What she couldn’t believe was that he hadn’t left it there.
Milly joined Maud at the window.
“What do you think?” asked Mr Montague.
“I think you should let m
e stay in a hotel as a reward for doing well in my exams,” said Milly. “Then you and Mum will have more space in the caravan.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Mr Montague. “But there are no hotels near Oddington Marshes. Tell you what though, you can stay in the tent. Your mum’s almost managed to get that funny smell out of it.”
“Come on, girls!” Mrs Montague called from downstairs. “Time to go!”
“Well, this is already a disaster,” Milly grumbled to Maud, as she shut the window. “I can’t find my sunglasses and I’m going to have to sleep in that smelly, leaky old tent.”
Maud put her backpack on and went downstairs. On the way out, she popped into the garage and scooped Quentin into the front pocket of her waterproof.
“Sorry this isn’t as comfortable as my blazer,” she said. “But I’ve stuffed the bottom with cotton wool. Hope it helps.”
Quentin burrowed into the cotton wool, looked up and gave a ratty smile. At least someone likes their holiday accommodation, thought Maud.
She went outside and waited in the car.
Her parents wheeled their cases down the driveway. Instead of their usual matching raincoats, they were both wearing brand new leather jackets. With their thick, round glasses, they looked like they belonged to a gang of biker librarians.
“What are you wearing?” asked Maud.
“Oh, these?” her dad said. “I just picked them up in the sales. Pretty cool, huh?” He flipped up the jacket’s collar and winked.
Maud didn’t think they were very cool at all. Even the word ‘cool’ didn’t sound cool when her dad said it.
“You’re not copying Wilf’s parents, are you?” asked Maud.
“Of course not,” said Mr Montague. “Chill out! You’re messing up my vibe.”
Maud buried her face in her hands.
Milly dragged her case into the car and slumped on the back seat. “Come on, then. Let’s get this over with.”
Her dad checked his mirrors, clicked his fingers and said, “Let’s roll.” He was about to turn his key in the ignition when something that looked like a small black rubber ball bounced off the back window.
“What was that, dear?” asked Mrs Montague.
Maud looked out. Paprika was lying on the ground with his cape crumpled over his head.
“Just a minute,” she said. “I’ll deal with this.”
She got out quickly, dragged Paprika into the neighbour’s driveway and propped him against the fence while he got his breath back.
“What on earth are you doing?” she hissed. “I told you not to come here in bat form. What if my parents had seen you change?”
“Sorry,” said Paprika. “I’m still trying to get the hang of transforming and landing at the same time. But I came to warn you. Don’t go camping with Wilf and his family. You’ll be in terrible danger!”
Mr Montague stuck his head out of the window. “Come on, dude!” he called. “We need to burn some rubber.”
“It’s Paprika from my class,” said Maud. “I’m just telling him about our … uh … homework.” She lowered her voice and whispered to Paprika. “Is this because of the full moon?”
“Sort of,” he said. “But there’s something else. What do you know about Oddington Marshes?”
“Nothing much,’ said Maud. “Wilf says it’s a nice campsite, but the facilities are a little basic.” Paprika shuddered.
“What’s wrong with it?” asked Maud.
“The Beast of Oddington lives there,” said Paprika in a low voice. “You must have heard of it. It’s the most terrifying creature for miles around. Even monsters are scared of it.”
Maud tried to imagine what sort of beast could frighten vampires, ghosts and zombies.
“I’m sorry,” said Maud. “It’s too late to cancel it now.”
“Please,” said Paprika, reaching out to Maud with his trembling hand. “Don’t go!”
“I’ve got to,” Maud said. She turned her back on Paprika and walked back to the car. She could hardly tell her parents there was a monster without revealing the rest of the truth about Rotwood.
“Alright, let’s do this,” said Mr Montague, as Maud slammed her door shut. He stuck in a CD called Wild at Heart – Ultimate Driving Hits.
“Excuse me,” said Milly. “But I’ve brought my Pink Pony Princess Party CD. I think we’d all rather listen to that.”
But it was no use. Both Maud’s parents were already singing along to ‘Born to be Wild’ in fake American accents.
At last they drove off.
In the rear-view mirror, Maud could see Paprika waving. He looked terribly sad. Almost as if he were waving goodbye for the very last time.
Mr Montague stopped the car, and the caravan creaked to a halt behind them. They had come to the end of a narrow country lane with thick hedges on either side. In front of them was a rusty iron gate. It was buckling outwards, as if something had tried to escape and failed. Beyond, Maud could see a clump of leafless black trees growing from boggy ground. A crow cawed, somewhere in the distance.
Maud tried to look on the bright side. At least the journey was over. That meant no more ‘Born to be Wild’ and no more stories about pink ponies having parties. Whatever horror lay beyond those gates, it couldn’t be worse than that.
“This can’t be our campsite,” said Milly. “There’s no spa. There’s no heated pool. I can’t even see any shops.”
“It does look at bit run-down,” said Mrs Montague. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”
“I hardly think my Sat Nav would lie to me,” said Mr Montague.
He pressed a button on the black box, and a robotic female voice said, “You have reached your destination. Please watch out for potholes, fallen trees, marshland, swamps, flash flooding, insect attack …”
Mr Montague switched the machine off quickly.
“Yep,” he said. “We’re in the right place. Could one of you girls get the gate?”
“I’ll do it,” said Maud. She hopped out, squelched across the ground and dragged the rusty bolt aside. The gate creaked open. A muddy track led into dense fog between the hedges. Maud’s dad drove in, and Maud closed the gate again.
After she’d climbed back into the car, they continued down a track riddled with overgrown roots and fallen branches. A sign nailed to one of the trees read:
“Well, that settles it!” said Mr Montague cheerfully. “We’re in the right place.”
“You have to be joking,” said Milly. “I want to go home right this instant.”
“I think Milly might be right,” said Maud. “It does say to keep out.”
“Don’t be such a square,” said Mr Montague. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”
It felt as though they were driving over a never-ending cattle grid. Behind them, the caravan bounced up and down and leaned from side to side, threatening to tip over and take them with it.
“If they don’t even have a proper road,” said Milly, “I’m pretty sure they won’t have a proper pool.”
Maud lifted Quentin out of her pocket so he could look out of the window. Mist was snaking around dead trees and thick clumps of nettles.
“So this is Oddington,” said Maud. “What do you think?”
Quentin’s fur stood on end.
“Yeah, me too,” said Maud.
Suddenly, there was a high-pitched howl from deep in the woods. Milly squealed. Quentin burrowed deep into Maud’s pocket, his back legs kicking up small tufts of cotton wool. Mr Montague slammed his foot on to the brake. He peered into the fog ahead of them and checked his mirrors.
“I don’t know why anyone would walk their dog in this weather,” he said, driving slowly on.
The mist thinned out as the car spluttered on to smoother ground. They emerged in a clearing of flat, firm earth with a few tree stumps dotted about. It was surrounded by thick woodland on each side, and sloped down to a deep swamp.
Maud’s dad let out a sigh of relief as Mr Wild’
s red truck appeared in front of them. “See?” Mr Montague said. “Nothing to worry about. We’ve arrived!”
Warren and Wilf were tossing a tennis ball back and forth, catching it in their mouths.
Mr Montague parked at the far end of the clearing, and Maud jumped out of the car and rushed over.
“Hi, Mau – oof!” said Wilf.
Warren had let the tennis ball drop to the floor and grabbed Wilf in a headlock.
“Grrrr!” said Warren.
Wilf pulled at Warren’s forearm and scrabbled his feet around. “Let me go!”
“Only when you admit you’re the weakest little brother in the whole world,” growled Warren.
“Stop it!” said Maud. “I don’t know why you’re showing off. There’s no one here to watch.”
“I was enjoying it, actually,” said a mocking voice that Maud knew all too well. Poisonous Penelope stepped out of a ragged black tent at the edge of the clearing.
Penelope was a witch with straggly purple hair and a pointed hat, and she was Maud’s least favourite classmate. She was wearing black wellingtons and a waterproof version of her usual black dress. “Hello, Montague,” she said.
“What are you doing here?” asked Maud.
“I’m Warren’s best friend,” said Penelope. “I always come. I’m surprised Wilf managed to find a friend this year, too. He’s so totally un-monstrous.”
Mr and Mrs Wild strode out into the clearing, wearing matching red wellingtons and checked shirts. “Glad you could all make it,” said Mr Wild. He turned to his fighting sons and let out a low, angry growl. Maud thought he was going to tell Warren off, but instead he said, “I’ve told you before, Wilf. You need to throw your weight to get out of a headlock. And stop whining.”
Maud picked up the tennis ball and threw it over Warren’s head. “Fetch,” she said.
Warren’s eyes followed it, and he bounded off, releasing Wilf.
“Good boy,” said Maud.
“Fight your own battles next time,” said Mr Wild, pointing his finger at Wilf. “You shouldn’t need little girls to help you.”
Horror Holiday Page 2
