Horror Holiday

by A. B. Saddlewick

  “Sorry, Dad,” said Wilf, rubbing his neck.

  Mr Wild stomped back over to his truck.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” said Wilf.

  “That’s alright,” said Maud. “My parents are excited about it. I think they really like your mum and dad.”

  She pointed to her dad, who had untethered the caravan and was now chatting to Mr Wild. He was saying words like ‘awesome’ and ‘groovy’, and making Mr Wild cringe.

  “I’d better put my tent up,” said Maud. “Where’s yours?”

  “We don’t have any,” said Wilf.

  “You came camping without a tent?” asked Maud, surprised.

  “Of course,” said Wilf. “Why hide under a tent when you could be out in the open, feeling the moonlight on your fur?”

  Maud gulped. Keeping the truth about the Wilds’ secret from her parents was going to be even harder than she’d thought.

  She headed back to the car, where Milly was still sitting in the back with her seatbelt on and her arms folded.

  “Fancy helping me with the tent?” asked Maud.

  “No,” said Milly. “I fancy getting out of this mud pit right now, and I’d like to know why no one is listening to me.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find something to do,” said Maud. “Maybe you could build a swamp-castle.”

  Milly ignored her, so Maud went round to the boot and hauled out the tent. She dragged it into the middle of the clearing and tested the ground with her finger. It was firmer than the surrounding bog, but it was still squidgy. At least it would be easy to get the pegs in.

  As Maud unrolled the tent, Wilf ran to the other side and grabbed a corner. He stretched it over the ground and pushed a peg into the soil.

  “Is your dad always so harsh?” asked Maud as they worked.

  “He’s usually much worse,” said Wilf, clicking two of the poles together. “He thinks all wolves should be fierce and strong. He’s proud of Warren, but he says I’m so nice I couldn’t even frighten a postman. I wish there was something I could do to convince him that I’m a big bad wolf.”

  Maud crawled inside the tent and shoved the poles upright. “I’ll try and help if you like, as soon as I’ve written my essay.”

  “That would be monstrous!” said Wilf, stretching the waterproof flysheet over the top.

  Maud got out and pulled the rope at the front until it was taut.

  “Thanks, Wilf,” she said. “I think that tent’s staying put now.”

  Just then, a violent gust of wind blew through the clearing, parting the wisps of mist. It lifted the tent straight up into the air, where it flew around like a huge kite, until finally plummeting into the stagnant bog at the bottom of the slope.

  “Drat,” said Maud.

  As she padded down to the bog and grabbed the corner of her soggy tent, she heard a cackle coming from behind her. Penelope was watching from the clearing, grinning.

  “How do you like my holiday reading?” she asked, holding up a dusty hardback book called Weather Spells for Beginners. “I’m only on the first chapter and it’s going down a storm. Literally.” She broke into another fit of giggles.

  “Hilarious,” said Maud, dragging her muddy tent back up the slope.

  “Wilf told me you need to get full marks on your essay or you’ll drop down a year,” said Penelope with mock concern. “You know how much I’d hate to see you get thrown out of our class. But it’s not going to be easy with all this unpredictable weather around.”

  Maud said nothing, but she knew Penelope was right. Writing a flawless Fright essay would be difficult at any time. But with a witch playing magical pranks on her, it was going to be practically impossible.

  Mr Montague clapped his hands together. “There we are!” he said. “It’s going a treat now!”

  Maud’s dad had finally managed to get a small fire going after almost an hour of searching for dry twigs in the soggy swamp. The Wilds and the Montagues sat around on canvas stools, while weak flames and sparks flickered into the night air.

  Only Milly had refused to join in. She’d dashed straight from the car to the caravan, and announced she was going to stay inside and alphabetise her flower-pressing collection until the whole ‘ordeal’ was over.

  “Who knows a good campfire song?” asked Mr Montague.

  “I know ‘Born to be Wild’,” said Mrs Montague hopefully.

  “That’s not a campfire song,” said Maud. “If anything, that’s a driving song. And I think we’ve all heard it enough for one day.”

  Maud turned to her exercise book and started to scribble.

  My biggest fright was the time I almost ate a dead woodlouse. I put it in my lunchbox for safekeeping. But then I forgot and when I opened it again, I thought it was a raisin.

  Maud looked back at her essay. She’d just started and she could already tell it wasn’t going to be nearly frightening enough. She ripped the page out of her book and threw it into the fire.

  “Thank you kindly,” said Mr Montague. “Every little helps.”

  Maud thought she’d be making a lot of kindling at the rate she was going. Everything she wrote seemed wrong. Thinking up scary stuff was harder than it sounded.

  Mrs Wild unzipped her picnic bag and brought out a packet of raw steaks. “I hope everyone’s hungry,” she said. “It’s time for dindins!”

  Warren barked with excitement as Mrs Wild tore into the packet with her teeth and handed out the steaks.

  “My, do those look good,” said Mrs Montague. “How are we going to cook them?”

  “Cook them?” asked Mr Wild. “And take all the flavour out?”

  He chomped off the end of the raw steak and chewed it noisily. Mrs Wild and Warren did the same.

  Maud waited for her parents to cry out with disgust, but they both kept smiling politely.

  The sight of the Wilds gnashing away with flecks of blood on their strong white teeth was pretty ghastly. But they were werewolves, and Maud supposed it was the natural way for them to eat. Anyway, lots of humans ate in very odd ways. Milly always refused to eat her dinner unless it was chopped into little bits and colour coded on her special plate.

  Wilf picked up his knife, fork and plastic plate, and started to cut up his raw steak. “Sorry about my family’s table manners,” he whispered to Maud. “We usually eat out of bowls on the kitchen floor.”

  “I heard that. And it’s your manners you should be ashamed of,” sneered Mr Wild with a half-chewed piece of steak in his mouth. “You’re in the woods, not a fancy restaurant.”

  Warren sniggered.

  “Take no notice,” whispered Maud. “You should eat your food whatever way you want.”

  Mrs Montague stared at her raw steak and nudged Mr Montague. “What should we do?” she asked quietly.

  “We’d better join in,” said Mr Montague, tearing a small piece off with his teeth. He chewed it a few times and swallowed it. “Excellent. Very rare. I think this is how the French eat it.”

  “Hmm,” said Mrs Montague with a frown.

  Mr Wild and Warren had already managed to finish their steaks. They both let out long, gurgling burps.

  “I think I’ll have mine well done,” said Maud. She grabbed a skewer from the picnic basket and held the steak over the fire.

  Maud watched the weak flames lap the meat and thought about her essay. She could remember plenty of scary events in her life, like the time she thought a branch tapping on her bedroom window was an escaped murderer, and the time her dad hired a clown for her fifth birthday, but none of them seemed frightening enough for full marks. Especially not in a school for monsters.

  Mr Wild stood up and slapped his belly with satisfaction. “Time for a stroll. Fancy coming?”

  “No, thanks,” said Mr Montague, finishing his raw steak. He looked paler now, and was clutching his stomach. “I think I’ll just turn in. Long day and all.”

  “A good jog can help the digestion, you know,” said Mr Wild.

  “No, r
eally,” said Mr Montague with a groan. “I could do with a bit of a lie down.”

  Mr and Mrs Wild shrugged and disappeared into the mist. Maud didn’t believe they were going hiking so late at night, but she didn’t want to think about what they were really up to.

  “Try not to stay up too late,” said Mr Montague. He trudged back to the caravan, followed by Mrs Montague, who quickly tucked her steak into the rubbish bag and fished a packet of peanuts out of her pocket. As soon as her parents opened the door, Maud could hear Milly whining. Even though her tent was caked with mud, she was glad she wasn’t sharing the caravan with her sister.

  Maud pulled her steak away from the fire and examined it. The edges were slightly browner, but it was still pretty much raw. This was going to take for ever.

  Penelope grabbed a skewer and stuck her steak on the end of it. She wiggled her fingers, muttered under her breath, and fire whooshed around the meat, making it sizzle. She pulled out the skewer to reveal a perfect, well-done steak.

  “Monstrous!” said Maud. “Will you do that to mine?”

  “No, I don’t think I will,” said Penelope, taking a bite. “This really is excellent, though. Yum-yum-yum.”

  Maud didn’t want Penelope to see she was jealous, so she concentrated on turning her own steak around in the meagre flames.

  “That really was first class,” said Penelope, when she’d finished. “Off to my nice, dry tent now. Good luck with the cooking.”

  On the other side of the campfire, Wilf was gathering the litter his family had tossed aside.

  “Can I talk to you about something?” asked Maud.

  “Sure,” said Wilf. He tied a knot in the rubbish bag and sat down next to her.

  “Paprika flew over to our house today,” said Maud. “He came to warn me about something called the ‘Beast of Oddington’. Have you ever heard of it?”

  Wilf glanced around before leaning in. “There aren’t many things that can scare us werewolves,” he whispered. “But the Beast of Oddington is one of them. Even Dad’s frightened of it. Everyone’s told him he’s mad to keep coming back here every year, but I think he’s taken it as a challenge.”

  “So you’ve seen it?” asked Maud.

  “No,” said Wilf, “but last time we were staying here, we heard these strange howls in the night. And the next morning, there were giant scratch marks all down the truck.”

  “What sort of beast is it?” asked Maud.

  “No one knows,” said Wilf. “Nobody who’s seen it has lived to tell the tale. But I’ve heard it has twenty-four eyes, long, sharp teeth and nostrils that breathe fire. And it must have pretty massive claws, judging from the scratches.”

  A twig snapped in the trees behind them. Maud and Wilf jumped up and spun around.

  Maud could feel her heart beating faster as she peered into the murk. There seemed to be something moving.

  “Roooaaaarrrr!”

  Maud shrieked and Wilf yelped. Inside Maud’s pocket, Quentin squeaked.

  “H-h-hello?” said Maud. “Is anyone there?”

  A figure emerged from the mist. It lurched closer and closer, until finally it stepped into the light of the campfire.

  “Sorry,” it growled. “Stubbed my toe.”

  Maud breathed a sigh of relief. It was just Warren.

  A mocking laugh came from Penelope’s tent. “Don’t tell me you dweebs thought Warren was the Beast of Oddington?” she said.

  “Of course not,” said Maud. She sat down by the fire and held her steak over the flames again.

  “Let me help with that,” said Penelope.

  Maud heard her muttering from over by her tent. It wasn’t like the witch to be helpful, but Maud was so hungry she wasn’t going to complain. She stared at her steak, waiting for the flames to engulf it.

  There was a short clap of thunder and a tiny cloud appeared above the bonfire. A short, heavy shower pelted down on it, and within seconds the fire was out.

  Penelope held up her copy of Weather Spells for Beginners and smirked. “Oh dear, I seem to have cast the wrong spell. Silly me!”

  Warren grunted a guffaw.

  Maud couldn’t believe that witch. Playing nasty practical jokes was one thing, but now she had nothing to eat. “Why do you always have to be so mean?” she demanded.

  Thunder cracked above them. Dark clouds swept in to join the tiny one above the campfire, and fat globs of rain started to fall. Maud lifted her hood over her head.

  “That’s enough, Penelope,” said Wilf, lifting up his collar. “You’re spoiling it for everyone.”

  “Don’t be such a wimp,” said Penelope. But she sounded unsure, and she glanced up at the clouds, which continued to thicken above them.

  Warren growled at the sky and pulled the back of his jacket over the top of his head.

  There was another loud clap, and the rain pelted down even harder. Within seconds, it had turned the mud into a watery swamp.

  Maud leapt up as her canvas stool began sinking into the ground. Rain was running down her legs and into her wellies, and the front pocket of her jacket was filling up. Inside, Quentin had started practising his swimming.

  “This isn’t funny,” said Maud. “Turn it off!”

  Penelope looked up at the sky and down at her book. She wiped the rain off the pages and scanned through them.

  The mud rose up the tyres of Mr Wild’s car and the front of Maud’s tent.

  “You don’t know how to make it stop, do you?” asked Maud.

  “Of course I do,” said Penelope. “I just …”

  There was a loud creak ahead of them. The mud was now so deep that the caravan was floating across it like a boat. The flowing slime was pushing it to the far end of the clearing.

  “Quick!” shouted Maud. “My family’s in there!”

  “Uh-oh,” said Wilf.

  The caravan settled on the edge of the clearing for a moment, wobbling back and forth. With her heart in her mouth, Maud watched as a fresh wave of mud suddenly lapped up. The caravan began to slide down the treacherous slope to the swamp below.

  Maud ran over, her feet sinking deeper into the mud with every step. She glanced over her shoulder. Wilf and Warren were squelching along behind her, followed by Penelope.

  “Isn’t there a spell to stop the rain?” yelled Maud.

  “There was,” said Penelope, “but the page is smudged and I can’t read it.” She flipped through the book as the rain lashed its pages. “Maybe I could try a different spell. I could summon a gust of wind to blow the caravan back up.”

  “No, no more spells! You’d probably blow them into the next village!” said Maud. “We’ll have to rescue them ourselves.”

  At that moment, bright light flooded the clearing. Maud looked up to see a full moon shining between the rain clouds. At least it would be easier to see what they were doing now.

  “Wilf, can you and your brother get around it and push it back up?” shouted Maud. “Wilf?”

  There was no reply. Maud glanced over her shoulder and saw that the Wild brothers had both fallen to their hands and knees in the soupy mud. They looked up at the full moon and let out growls, as their jaws stretched and their arms and legs jutted back into awkward, impossible shapes. They craned their necks up as one and howled, with no trace of the human left in their voices.

  Where the two boys had been standing, there were now a couple of wolves with thick brown coats, slobbering muzzles, and long, bushy tails. The smaller wolf barked and ran off into the mist. The larger wolf chased around in circles, trying to bite its own tail, before finally following.

  “Come on,” said Maud to Penelope. “We don’t have any time to waste!”

  Maud splashed on through the gloopy mud and reached the top of the slope, just as the back of the caravan was disappearing into the swamp. A rope tied to the tow bar was uncoiling in the slime in front of her. She grabbed hold of it, and Penelope grabbed on behind her.

  “Some use those boys turned out to be,” s
aid Penelope through gritted teeth.

  “They can’t help it,” said Maud breathlessly, her feet dragging through the mud like a waterskier. “Wilf can’t think straight when he’s in wolf form. He once chased a squirrel for thirty miles and had to call his dad to pick him up.”

  “I might have known you’d stick up for that pathetic puppy,” said Penelope. “It’s hardly surprising, given that you’ve only got two friends.”

  “That’s still twice as many as you,” said Maud.

  No matter how much they pulled, it was no use. The caravan was still falling deeper and deeper into the swamp.

  Maud looked around desperately and spotted a thick tree-stump sticking out of the mud. She stretched the rope as far as it would go. It was just long enough to loop once around the stump. She tied it in a double knot, hoping it would hold.

  The rope twanged tight. Maud held her breath … and the caravan halted.

  Maud breathed a huge sigh of relief. The bog was covering the bottom half of the caravan door. She wouldn’t be able to rescue her family just yet, but at least they were safe.

  She looked across the clearing to the spot she’d pitched her tent. Through the slanting rain, she saw it sink down into the mud with a loud glug.

  “Drat!” said Maud.

  Penelope chuckled with glee, the rain pouring off her hat.

  There was a squelch from the other side of the clearing, as the witch’s black tent collapsed into the mud, too.

  Penelope’s laughter tailed off.

  “Well, I hope you enjoyed your joke, at least,” said Maud.

  “I was just trying to lighten things up,” said Penelope. “I didn’t know it would rain so much.”

  Maud scanned the clearing. The ground was so soggy, it would swallow her up if she tried to sleep on it. The only solid surface around was the roof of the caravan.

  She sighed, waded through the mud and clambered up the front of the vehicle on to the roof, followed by Penelope. The rain was easing off now, but a cold wind blew through Maud’s soaked clothes, making her shiver.