Horror Holiday

by A. B. Saddlewick

  “It can’t be a very big monster if it is,” said Maud. “It looks like there’s barely room for an ironing board.”

  Mrs St John came over, plonked a plate of scones and chocolate fingers on the table, and returned to the stove. Maud looked from the cupboard back to the old lady, and all at once an idea occurred to her. Could it be? she wondered.

  Maud lifted Quentin out of her pocket.

  “I need you to do something,” she whispered. “Run over to that cupboard and open the door.” Quentin glanced at the huge clawprints and leapt straight back into Maud’s pocket, pink legs kicking frantically.

  Maud hauled him out again. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “I’m sure the monster isn’t in there. I think I might know what’s going on, but I need you to help me prove it. There’s a piece of scone in it for you.”

  Maud lowered Quentin to the floor, and he scuttled across as the kettle let out a high-pitched whistle.

  “Do you take sugar?” asked Mrs St John.

  “Yes, please,” said Maud. “We’d both like four sugars.”

  Wilf turned to her and whispered, “But I don’t usually have any sugar.”

  “Just trying to buy Quentin some time,” muttered Maud.

  Mrs St John poured four spoons of sugar into each cup and gave them a stir. She ambled over and placed the steaming cups on the table.

  At that moment, the cupboard door flew open, and its contents spilled over the floor with a clatter. There was an ornate horn, a pair of strong metal shears, and an enormous cut-out in the shape of a claw.

  Quentin darted back across the floor, scrabbled up the chair leg, and dived into Maud’s pocket.

  “Well done, Quent,” said Maud. She broke off a piece of scone and handed it to him, then folded her arms and turned to the old lady. “So, what’s all that stuff doing in your cupboard, Mrs St John?” she said. “Or should I say … the Beast of Oddington!”

  Mrs St John gave a gasp. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean!” she said, scrabbling around on her hands and knees to scoop everything back inside the cupboard.

  “Don’t give me that,” said Maud. “That’s the very clawprint we’ve been following from our campsite. It’s even got an elastic strap on the back, to put your foot through. And those shears look exactly the right size to make the scratch marks we’ve seen and slash tyres!”

  “Yeah,” said Wilf. “And I don’t even take sugar in my tea.”

  Maud wasn’t quite sure why that mattered, but at least Wilf was trying to help.

  Giving up, Mrs St John let everything fall to the floor. She got to her feet.

  “Alright, I admit it,” she said fiercely. “I am the Beast of Oddington.”

  “Ah-hah!” cried Wilf, hopping to his feet. Then a look a confusion crossed his face. “Wait … really?”

  “Why do you want everyone to think there’s a monster here?” asked Maud.

  “To save Oddington,” said the old woman, gesturing all around her. “This is such a quiet, lovely spot. I don’t want strangers trampling all over it.”

  Maud and Wilf gave each other a sidelong glance. Quiet maybe, but lovely?

  “What’s it to you if a few harmless ramblers pass through?” asked Maud.

  “You don’t understand,” cried Mrs St John. “One day, years ago, some men in hard hats and neon jackets called round here. They showed me some blueprints. Said they were building a holiday camp with a pool and a spa and an unlimited buffet.”

  Mrs St John was spitting the words out, a blue vein on her pale forehead bulging.

  “I had to stop them. Oddington has always been such a peaceful place. I couldn’t bear to think about all those loud, chubby families stomping around.”

  “There must have been someone you could go to,” said Maud. “My dad launched a petition last year. I think it was to stop the city centre from being pedestrianised.”

  “I tried,” said Mrs St John. “I wrote to the council, but they said it was too late. I was about to throw the letter away when I noticed that they’d misspelled my name. I’m Bea, you see, short for Beatrice. Bea St John. And they’d written ‘Beast John’. At first I thought, How rude! But it gave me the idea.”

  “But how did you do it?” asked Wilf. “What were all those spooky noises?”

  Mrs St John picked up the horn and blew into it. A low howl blasted out.

  “I ran around leaving clawprints and blowing the horn whenever the mist came down,” said Mrs St John. “Soon word of the horrendous Beast spread, and all the yompers and campers stayed away. Even the builders abandoned the place eventually. I listened to the blissful peace and quiet, and I knew I’d done the right thing.”

  “It was certainly clever,” said Wilf. “But I don’t think you should have slashed Dad’s tyres.”

  The old lady slumped into an armchair and put her head in her hands.

  “Please don’t tell anyone,” she pleaded. “All I wanted was to preserve Oddington. Wouldn’t you have done the same to save your home?”

  Maud looked out of the window. Oddington was sort of pretty, if you ignored the mist, marshes and dead trees. If they walloped a holiday camp in the middle of it, a coffee shop would soon follow, then a supermarket, then a bowling alley. Soon it would be concreted over like so many other places, and all the spookiness would be gone forever. She thought about all the crazy things she’d done to make sure Rotwood stayed safe, and made up her mind.

  Just as she was about to speak, Maud spotted movement among the trees outside. She got up and peered out of the window. Penelope and Warren were bumbling through the mist towards the house.

  “Alright,” said Maud. “Your secret is safe with us. But you must help us with something.”

  Mrs St John looked up. “Anything,” she said. “Anything to keep my home the way it is.”

  A minute later, Maud watched through a crack in the kitchen door as Mrs St John doddered down the hallway and opened the front door.

  “Finally,” said Penelope. “Do you know the way back to the clearing? We’re lost.”

  “Certainly, dearies,” said Mrs St John. “You walk back that way for …”

  Mrs St John looked behind Penelope and let out a terrified gasp. “Oh no! I just saw something in the trees! I think it was the Beast!”

  Penelope spun around, her skin turning pale. “What should we do?”

  “Come inside,” said Mrs St John, ushering them into the house. “You’ll be safer in here.”

  Penelope and Warren darted inside, and Mrs St John slammed the door behind them.

  Warren yelped with fear.

  “Quiet!” barked Mrs St John. “Don’t let it know you’re afraid. It can smell fear.”

  “You don’t think it will attack us, do you?” asked Penelope, her voice trembling.

  “Attack you?” said the old lady. “It will do more than that. Last time it came round here it ate three children … whole. Nothing left of them but a pair of trainers and a sweet wrapper.’

  Maud watched Penelope and Warren quaking with fright and tried not to giggle. She lifted the horn to the gap in the door and blew into it.

  A deep howl filled the cottage, making the pictures in the hallway rattle.

  “Good heavens! It’s in the kitchen!” screamed Mrs St John. “It must have come in through the back door!”

  Penelope shrieked, and Warren whimpered.

  “Shh!” hissed Mrs St John. “You’ll draw it in here.”

  Maud sneaked over to the kitchen table, where she’d stored her scaring equipment. She wrapped the fluffy black bathroom rug around herself and tied it with elastic. She stuck wooden spoons into the ribbon on Mrs St John’s summer hat and put it on. Then she attached forks to her fingers with rubber bands. Now she couldn’t pick up the horn any more, so she bent down and grabbed it with her teeth, using her elbows to keep it steady.

  She rushed back to the door as Mrs St John surreptitiously flicked the hall lights off.

  “The power’s
gone!” yelled Mrs St John. “It’s chewed through the cables! Saints preserve us!”

  Maud flung the door aside, and Penelope and Warren screamed. In the dim light leaking in through the hall window, Maud saw them pressing their backs to the wall.

  “It’s the Beast!” shouted Mrs St John. “Look at its fearsome horns!”

  Maud waggled her head, making the wooden spoons wobble from side to side.

  “Look at its deadly claws!” cried Mrs St John.

  Maud shook the forks attached to her fingers.

  “Listen to its chilling roar!” said Mrs St John.

  Maud blew the horn.

  Penelope and Warren screamed again.

  Just at that moment, Wilf burst in through the front door. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s the Beast of Oddington! Run for your life!” shouted Penelope.

  “Run? Never! I’ll handle this,” said Wilf, puffing his chest out. “You two hide in the cupboard.”

  Penelope and Warren rushed into the cupboard, and Wilf shut the door behind them. Mrs St John handed Wilf a cushion and a mop.

  “Take that!” said Wilf. He bashed the mop into the cushion with a deep thud.

  Maud blew the horn again. This time she tried to make it sound like an injured scream.

  “Oh, you didn’t like that did you?” asked Wilf. “Well, try this on for size.”

  Wilf hit the cushion again, and Maud tooted another short howl.

  “You just don’t quit, do you?” shouted Wilf. “Well, you’ve picked the wrong wolf to mess with this time!”

  Wilf struck the cushion once more, and Maud let out a last, pained howl, before dashing back into the kitchen, trying as hard as she could to sound like a defeated beast fleeing into the woods.

  When the door was shut behind her, Maud quickly took off her beast costume and hid it in a corner. From the hallway, she heard Wilf opening the cupboard and saying, “It’s gone. And I don’t think it will be back any time soon.”

  Maud opened the kitchen door and headed back into the hallway. “What happened? I heard something approaching, so I hid under the table.”

  “I fought the Beast of Oddington,” said Wilf.

  “Wow! You’re a real hero! Thanks!” said Maud. “But what about Penelope and Warren. Didn’t they help you?”

  “No,” said Wilf. “Actually, they hid in the cupboard.”

  “Yeah, thanks,” muttered Penelope, looking down at the floor and shuffling awkwardly.

  Mrs St John opened the front door and looked around. “You can go now. That brave young man scared the Beast off.”

  Warren and Penelope stepped out, glancing nervously around.

  “That was monstrous!” Wilf told Mrs St John.

  “Monstrous?” asked the old lady. “Is that the word you youngsters use these days? Yes, I suppose it was pretty monstrous, wasn’t it? That girl with the purple hair got the fright of her life, and that fellow with her was the biggest wimp I’ve ever seen.”

  Maud giggled, then stopped suddenly. Hearing about Penelope getting the fright of her life reminded her she still hadn’t started her essay. She didn’t have much time left. But now she knew exactly what she was going to write about.

  Wilf’s eyes shone. “It shot flames at me,” he said. “But I didn’t care. I just ducked to the side, leapt up and smacked it on the nose.”

  Maud and the Wild family were sitting around the spluttering campfire, listening to the story. Mr Wild was nodding as his son spoke, his eyes sparkling.

  “Then it let out a scream of terror and raced off into the woods,” Wilf continued. “It won’t bother us again.”

  Mr Wild stood up and clapped Wilf on the shoulder. ‘I’m proud of you, son. You did well. Unlike your weakling of a brother.”

  “Sorry, Dad,” said Warren, squirming. “You didn’t see it, though. It was horrible.”

  “It was pretty fearsome,” said Maud. “It’s not surprising that Warren hid in the cupboard.”

  Mrs Wild shook her head and tutted. She took a packet of raw lamb chops out of her picnic bag and handed a couple to Wilf. “As a reward for being so brave, you can have your brother’s supper, too.”

  “What am I going to eat?” cried Warren.

  Mrs Wild took out a packet of bone-shaped dog biscuits and tossed them to him. He whimpered with shame, but tucked into them anyway.

  Maud grinned and wandered over to the car, where her dad was wrestling their muddy tent into a black bin-bag.

  “Are we off home?” Maud asked.

  “Afraid so,” said Mr Montague. “I don’t want to risk sliding back into the swamp if the weather turns. Between you and me, I don’t think this is very good terrain for camping. You need firm soil for pegs. Why they promote this place as a campsite I have no idea.”

  Maud was about to point out that a large ‘KEEP OUT’ sign hardly counted as encouragement, but she didn’t want to be mean.

  She noticed Penelope taking down her own tent, and headed over.

  “I think this belongs to you?” she said, handing over Penelope’s copy of Weather Spells for Beginners. “If only you hadn’t dropped it. You might have been able to cast a spell at the Beast rather than running for the safety of the cupboard.”

  “It’s not funny,” said Penelope. She opened the book and pointed to a lightning-bolt spell. “And if you ever tell anyone about it, this is what you’ll get.”

  “I promise I won’t breathe a word,” said Maud.

  Penelope tramped back to the truck, where Mrs Wild was loading the canvas stools into the boot.

  Warren was waiting by the front door on the passenger side.

  “Oh no, you don’t,” said Mr Wild. “Wilf gets the front seat today.”

  Warren opened the back door and skulked in.

  Mr Wild started up the engine, and the truck rolled across the clearing on its huge wheels.

  He passed Mr Montague, who was attaching the caravan to the back of the car, and honked his horn.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said. “Shame about the weather.”

  “That’s summer for you,” said Mr Montague, snorting out a laugh. “But thanks for inviting us all the same. Stay cool, dudes!”

  Mr Wild forced a smile and sped away down the track. As they went, Warren stuck his head out of the back window and yapped mournfully.

  Maud got in the back of their car. Milly was sitting there with her flower-pressing book on her lap and her seatbelt on.

  “So that’s settled,” Mrs Montague was saying. “We’ll listen to our Ultimate Driving Hits collection until junction nine, and then we’ll swap to your Pink Pony Princess Party CD.’

  “Fine,” said Milly. “As long as we get out of this place.”

  Maud didn’t know which half of the journey she was looking forward to least, but she didn’t really care. She had her exercise book, her pen and a very important essay to write.

  As the car juddered away, with ‘Born to be Wild’ blaring out yet again, she opened her book and began again:

  Paprika was reaching the terrifying end of his story. “… And then they took it away and brought a salad instead,” he read. He looked up from his exercise book and smiled at the class.

  Maud was sitting at her desk in Mr Von Bat’s class. Everyone else had read their Fright essays. Oscar had written about the time he accidentally dropped his head out of the car window and had to ask his dad to reverse and pick it up. Zombie Zak had told them about the time his jaw rotted off and he had to sew it back on. Finally, Paprika had described the time he’d been given garlic bread by mistake in a pizza restaurant.

  “I remember it well,” said Mr Von Bat. “It gave your mother a terrible headache, and I got yelled at all night. Seven out of ten.”

  Mr Von Bat turned to Maud. “Ah, Miss Montague, it looks as if we’re left with you. Let’s see how you got on. No pressure.”

  Maud stepped out to the front. She opened her exercise book and took a deep breath.

  “The Fri
ght of My Life. By Maud Montague.” She cleared her throat. “My biggest ever fright was the time I saw the legendary Beast of Oddington.”

  There were gasps around the classroom. Billy Bones had been dragging his ruler up and down his ribs, but he put it down to listen. Oscar’s head had been looking out of the window, but he grabbed it off the sill and turned it round to face Maud.

  “It happened just a few days ago when I was on a camping trip with my friend Wilf Wild.”

  Wilf turned and waved at the class.

  “We went out to Oddington Marshes, even though another good friend had warned me that a hideous creature haunts that lonely and desolate place.”

  Maud smiled at Paprika, who was looking terrified.

  “One morning, we saw some giant clawprints leading away from our campsite. Wilf said we should follow them and find the monster. I was very scared, but Wilf was determined, so I gave in. We followed the clawprints through a foggy swamp and a dark forest until we came to a little white cottage. We knocked on the door, and an old lady called Mrs St John invited us inside. She had a roaring fire, a cosy kitchen, and a big cupboard at the end of the hallway.”

  Maud looked at the back of the room, where Penelope was glaring at her. Weather Spells for Beginners was sitting open on her desk.

  “We were just having a nice cup of tea, when the front door was ripped right off its hinges and we heard a terrible roar. The hideous Beast of Oddington was upon us. It was the most fearsome thing I’d ever seen. It had long, sharp claws that looked a bit like forks, huge horns that looked sort of like wooden spoons, and a stomach that was as furry as a bathroom mat. It had twenty-four eyes, a row of long chomping teeth flecked with blood, and nostrils that spluttered out flames.”

  All around the class, pupils were leaning forward in their seats. Even Zombie Zak was paying attention, and he never seemed to follow what went on in lessons.

  “I was so frightened that I screamed, ran into the cupboard and slammed the door behind me,” said Maud.

  Giggles erupted around the classroom.

  “Lame,” shouted Billy Bones.

  “Chicken!” shouted a voice from the back of the room that must have been Invisible Isabel.