by Sally Rippin
‘Stay with your partners!’ Miss Spinnaker calls after them, but Polly doesn’t need to be told twice. She’s not letting Malorie out of her sight.
‘Let’s go to the bathrooms downstairs,’ says Malorie, when they see the queue in front of the witches’ toilets.
She grabs Polly’s hand, and they walk to the stairs as fast as they can without actually running. Once they are in the stairwell, Malorie pulls Polly into a run and they race down the steps, two by two.
Polly giggles with the excitement of dashing around the gallery with her new almost-friend.
‘Oh!’ Malorie says, stopping so suddenly that Polly crashes into her. ‘Monsters!’
Polly peers over Malorie’s shoulder and sees the huddle of Darklands monsters moving towards them, clipboards in hand.
‘Let’s go back upstairs,’ she tells Malorie urgently.
‘No!’ says Malorie. ‘We were here first!’
She grabs Polly’s hand again and strides forwards, dragging Polly behind her. When they reach the group, Polly puts her head down and fixes her eyes to the floor.
Malorie boldly pushes her way through the grumbling monsters, keeping Polly close behind. They are nearly through the group and out the other side when Polly hears a familiar voice.
‘Polly!’
Her heart sinks.
She turns just for a second to look over her shoulder, and there is Buster, waving gleefully at her. ‘Polly! Hey, Polly! Over here! Hi!’
She glares at him, but Buster doesn’t seem to understand.
‘Do you know that monster?’ Malorie says. She sounds horrified.
‘No! Of course not!’ Polly mumbles.
‘He knows your name,’ Malorie says, looking at Polly curiously.
‘I don’t know him, OK?’ Polly insists. ‘He lives next door, that’s all. He must have heard my mum calling me or something. I don’t know!’
She feels anger flare up in her. How dare Buster embarrass her like this in public! She glares at him again.
This time he understands, and Polly sees his face fall.
Oh no! she thinks suddenly. Not here, Buster. Please don’t!
But even as she watches, she sees Buster begin to change colour, and shrink. The other monsters stop what they are doing and gather around Buster, watching his strange transformation in confusion.
‘Come on!’ Polly tells Malorie angrily. ‘Miss Spinnaker will be waiting.’
She hears Buster’s voice call out behind her, small and wavering, but she is already striding away, her heart pounding in her chest.
In the bathrooms, while Malorie is in the toilet, Polly splashes her face with water at the sink. Polly is usually pale, but now she looks white as milk.
‘What was with that monster?’ Malorie calls out from the cubicle. ‘Acting like you guys were friends or something? Ew. Imagine!’
‘I know!’ says Polly, a little too loudly.
She closes her eyes and tries to calm her breathing. That was so close. For the first time ever, Polly feels like she might actually be making a real witch friend. And Buster nearly ruined everything! How dare he? He knows they are meant to ignore each other in public.
Polly feels so angry with him.
‘Come on,’ Malorie says, washing her hands at the sink beside Polly. ‘Don’t worry about it. We’d better get back to the bus or we’ll be late.’
She puts her hand on Polly’s shoulder, and Polly feels a glimmer of happiness creep back into her.
They step out of the bathroom. Polly is moving towards the front entrance when she hears a terrible sound.
It’s the sound of monsters teasing and taunting, roaring and jeering. And underneath all that noise is a long, low groaning that wrenches at her heart.
‘Buster!’ Polly cries.
She can’t help it. Buster is hurt! She just knows it. She feels it right in her bones. Polly rushes over and pushes two big monsters to one side to see what is going on.
Buster is curled up on the hard floor in a tiny grey ball.
Polly has never seen him so small and so grey. It’s as if every last bit of light has been squeezed out of him, and all that’s left is a hard mass of grey fur, twisted and dry as a dishcloth.
All around him, monsters jeer and taunt.
‘Look at him!’ they laugh, prodding him with their great hairy feet.
‘Stop it!’ Polly yells. ‘Leave him alone!’
Buster sees Polly, and she watches as he begins to turn a hopeful shade of pale pink.
No, Buster! Polly thinks, but she knows he can’t help it.
This colour change in Buster only makes the monsters around him more excited. They tease him even louder than before.
‘Look at him! Look at Buster changing colour when he sees the witch. Buster loves the witch. Look at Buster! He’s turning pink!’
Buster squeezes his eyes shut. A last wheeze escapes from him and he shrinks even more.
‘Stop it!’ Polly screams. ‘Stop it! You’re hurting him!’
The monsters jeer louder. ‘The witch loves the monster! The monster loves the witch!’
Their cries are so loud that Polly begins to feel her head FIZZ. She shuts her eyes and covers her ears with her hands to try to block out the noise, but the sound in her head just gets louder and louder. Soon it’s as if her whole brain is roaring,
loud as an ocean.
Her skin
prickles and her
blood burns hot.
Before she can stop herself, her arms fly upwards and a shower of sparks shoot from her fingertips.
She feels an electric jolt snap through her. When she opens her eyes, the huddle of monsters has been flung against the far walls of the gallery. They hang there, flattened and panting, eyes goggling in fear.
A shocked silence settles over the gallery.
Polly leans over and pulls Buster to his feet. She hears herself ask if he is OK, before her legs give way beneath her, and the room swirls into black.
Polly wakes up to the murmuring of Miss Spinnaker’s voice above her. She opens her eyes slowly. It takes a moment to work out where she is.
Eventually things swim into focus and she recognises the ceiling of the school sick bay. She has visited here enough to know the long crack above the door that looks like a spider’s leg. Polly often has headaches that take her to sick bay, but nothing like this one.
She slides her eyes slowly to the right, where she can hear Miss Spinnaker’s voice and the gentle jangling of her jewellery.
Her brain clenches in pain.
Polly closes her eyes again as her teacher rests a cool palm on her forehead. Some of the pain disappears.
‘We’ve called your mother,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘She’s on her way.’
Polly screws her eyes closed even tighter. ‘My head hurts …’ she murmurs.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘That was quite a spell you cast back there.’
Images flash into Polly’s mind. Sparks flying from her fingertips. Rage boiling through her. The terrified looks on the monsters’ faces as they hung from the walls.
Buster, coiled tight and small on the floor.
Polly opens her eyes again. They feel dry and scratchy, as if she has stood too close to a fire.
‘I don’t know how it happened,’ Polly whispers. Hot tears leak from her eyes and run down her burning cheeks.
Miss Spinnaker looks at her with concern. Then she glances over her shoulder, leans in, and lowers her voice. ‘I didn’t see what happened. But based on what I saw when I got there, and from reports of those who did see it, you cast an extraordinary spell for a witch of your age. Extraordinary.’
Polly sees the glimmer of a smile twitch at the corners of Miss Spinnaker’s mouth. ‘And for someone who has trouble making potions? I have to be frank, I am more than a little surprised. Did you know you could do that?’
‘No!’ Polly says, trying to sit up. A blinding flash of light forces her head back
onto the pillow. ‘No,’ she says again, more quietly this time. She begins to shake. ‘Miss Spinnaker, I’m scared,’ she says. ‘It was horrible. It was like … it was like there was something in me. Something I couldn’t control. I don’t ever want to feel that again. Can you take it out of me? I don’t want that to happen to me again.’
‘Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says. She turns Polly’s face so that she is forced to look directly into her teacher’s eyes. ‘Polly. Listen to me. Yes, I could probably take it out of you, or if not me, the headmistress could. There are spells to remove magic abilities when they aren’t being used properly. But why would you want that? What you have is a gift. It’s an enormous power. Just imagine what you could do with it, once you learn to how to use it properly. I have been teaching at this school for over twenty years and I’ve never seen such power in a witch as young as you. Imagine, with training, what incredible spells you could do!’
Polly turns away again, and closes her eyes. All she can see is her dear friend Buster, curled up and hurt on the gallery floor.
Where is he now? she wonders. Is he OK?
To her surprise, her teacher seems to read her mind. ‘Your monster friend is OK,’ she says calmly. ‘I phoned his school to check up on him.’
Polly jerks her eyes open. ‘He’s not my –’
‘It’s OK, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says very quietly, a small smile on her face. ‘Not all witches and warlocks think the same way about monsters. I happen to have quite a few close monster friends myself.’
Polly’s mouth drops open. ‘Really? But my mum says witches shouldn’t mix with monsters.’
Miss Spinnaker frowns. ‘Unfortunately quite a lot of witches feel like that, Polly. Especially those on the Committee, like your mother. Does she know you are friendly with the monster who was being bullied at the gallery?’
Polly nods solemnly. ‘But I promised her I’d keep it a secret. She will be so upset if other people find out. I think she’s worried about what the other mums will say if they know she lets me play with monsters.’
‘Well, there’s no real reason for the other mothers to find out,’ Miss Spinnaker says, and a curious smile twists her lips. ‘When I arrived, I rushed over to Malorie to find out what had happened. It will probably come as a surprise to hear, but she remembered the events quite differently.’
‘Really?’ says Polly.
Miss Spinnaker nods. ‘In her eyes, the spell you did was to protect her, not your monster friend. I heard another story from the teacher at Darklands, which I guessed was the true story, as I haven’t known you and Malorie to be that close before. And I know that monsters don’t usually pick on witches for no reason. But as far as Malorie is concerned, you’re her hero! I have no reason to convince anyone otherwise.’
‘Ha!’ Polly laughs weakly. She would laugh louder if her head didn’t ache so much. ‘Me, a hero? That’s pretty funny.’
Miss Spinnaker takes Polly’s hand and smiles at her kindly. ‘Standing up for a friend is being a hero, Polly. No matter who that friend might be. Witch or monster.’
Her teacher pauses to narrow her eyes at Polly. ‘Which is why, Miss Oleander Proggett,’ she continues sternly, using Polly’s full name to show just how serious she is, ‘the headmistress and I have decided not to suspend you from the Academy for using magic out of school grounds this time.’
Polly fiddles with the thin cotton blanket that has been tucked in around her.
‘I didn’t mean to,’ she says glumly. ‘I got so mad, and then it just … happened.’
‘I understand,’ says Miss Spinnaker, her voice softening again. ‘Oh, look! Here’s your mother. Just in time, Mrs Proggett. Polly has just woken up. I’m sure she’ll be very happy to see you.’
‘Oh, Polly!’ her mother says, dashing into the room and crouching by Polly’s side. ‘What happened?’
Miss Spinnaker turns to Polly’s mother. ‘Polly was protecting her friend from some unsupervised monsters from Darklands …’
Polly bites down on the smile that is twisting her lips. She is very impressed with the clever way her teacher has told the truth without actually telling the whole truth.
‘She did quite a spell, Mrs Proggett! A Protector spell, to be accurate. Quite unlike anything I’ve seen in a witch so young. Do you have any Black Witches in the family?’
Polly’s mother frowns. ‘Oh, Polly. You poor thing!’ Then she turns to answer Miss Spinnaker. ‘Black Witches? No! Oh, but Polly’s father was quite gifted at spells. He worked for the mining company before …’ Her mother’s voice drifts off sadly.
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Proggett,’ Miss Spinnaker says softly. ‘I had heard that Polly’s father was in the accident.’
The two of them sit quietly for a moment, remembering all the lives that were lost when the mine collapsed five years ago.
‘And Aunt Hilda?’ Polly croaks, reminding her mother.
‘Oh, yes, that’s right. Polly’s aunt on her father’s side had all the makings of a Black Witch. But she ran away from home at sixteen,’ Mrs Proggett sighs. ‘We don’t like to talk about her much. Anyway, no-one on my side of the family.’
She puts her hand on her daughter’s burning forehead.
‘Gosh, you were very brave, Polly, to stand up to those monsters,’ she says, before turning back to Polly’s teacher. ‘You do realise, Miss Spinnaker, that the Committee aren’t going to like hearing there were unsupervised monsters at the gallery? Even if they were from Darklands. Deidre Halloway has been saying for a long time that monsters are a menace. I must say, after today, I am beginning to agree with her. It’s infuriating that the Mayor won’t take this threat seriously enough.’
‘Well, I am sure our Mayor will create new rules as she sees fit,’ Miss Spinnaker says calmly, ‘but I don’t think monsters mean to cause any harm. Yes, they may be noisy and a little boisterous at times, but we all know there hasn’t been a witch harmed by a monster since the uprising of ’77. And I don’t see signs of that changing any time soon.’
‘Well, I hope you are right, Miss Spinnaker,’ says Polly’s mother, shaking her head. ‘I really do hope you are right.’
Polly sits up in bed with a bowl of lizard broth in her lap, the afternoon sunlight slanting through her window. She takes a couple of obedient spoonfuls while her mother hovers, plumping up pillows and picking up shoes and socks from the floor.
But as soon as her mother leaves the room, Polly puts the bowl down on the carpet where she knows Gumpy will gratefully demolish the oily grey soup.
Polly gazes out the window towards the tree at the end of the garden. Her stomach churns with worry and lizard broth. She needs to get a message to Buster to see if he is OK. She hasn’t been able to stop worrying about him all afternoon.
The image of Buster in the gallery keeps flashing into her mind. The look of hurt and surprise when Polly pretended not to know him.
But this is what we always do! she thinks, trying to forgive herself for her meanness. He knows that nobody must know we are friends. A flicker of annoyance at his carelessness sparks through her. It’s not all my fault!
Polly hears Winifred downstairs, home from school. She is chatting excitedly to their mother in the kitchen, though Polly can’t make out what they are saying.
Then Winifred’s footsteps bound up the stairs, and her sister bursts into the room.
‘Aster at school says you did a massive spell at the gallery today! Is that true?’
She swoops over and sits on Polly’s bed, her eyes lit with glee. It’s rare for Polly to see Winifred look anything other than bored or annoyed, and she can’t help feeling a thrill at her sister’s sudden interest in her.
‘Everyone’s talking about it. What was it like, doing the spell?’
‘Well,’ says Polly, ‘it just kind of happened. I felt really hot. And there was a flash of light. It was like electricity going through me. It was pretty scary, actually.’
She glances at her sister and is pleased
to see she’s impressed.
‘Mum says there were monsters in the gallery. She says they were menacing Malorie Halloway, and you did the spell to scare them off.’
‘Well, it wasn’t exactly like that,’ Polly says.
‘Monsters are awful,’ Winifred shudders. ‘They’re smelly and noisy and they break things and hurt people. I hate them!’
‘That’s not true,’ Polly says. ‘They’re not all like that.’
Winifred turns to Polly, a cruel smile sliding across her face. ‘Yes, they are,’ she says, taunting. ‘All of them. Mum says. So do all my friends at school.’
Polly frowns. She knows exactly where this is going. Winifred is always looking for an opportunity to bring up Buster.
‘You used to play with Buster, too,’ Polly says crossly.
Winifred sneers. ‘Polly, he’s a monster. And he’s a weird monster at that. You two suit each other. You’re both weird.’
‘Stop being so mean!’ Polly says, frowning.
‘Stop being so mean!’ Winifred teases. ‘It’s not my fault you’re weird. It’s just a fact.’
‘You’re horrible,’ Polly says, feeling her cheeks stinging pink. ‘Get out of my room!’
‘Why should I?’ Winifred says, picking at her flaking nail polish.
‘Because it’s my room!’ Polly yells.
‘Polly! Winifred!’ their mother calls out.
‘Mum told me to check up on you,’ Winifred says, not budging. ‘I’m just doing what I was told to do.’
‘I hate you,’ Polly seethes. ‘You’re the worst sister ever!’
But then, as she watches, Polly sees Winifred’s face crumple. Her sister bows her head into her hands and begins to make deep sobbing sounds.
‘Oh, Winny. I’m sorry!’ Polly says, clambering across the bedclothes to reach her sister. ‘I don’t really hate you. I didn’t mean it!’
And it’s true. When she was little, Polly loved her sister so desperately it hurt. All she really wants is for it to be like that again. When their dad was still alive and everything was right in the world.
