The House at the Edge of Magic

by Amy Sparkes

  Flabberghast tightened his lips and said nothing.

  “No?” said the witch. She twisted her wrist and pointed at Flabberghast’s leg. A red light zapped out from her fingers, striking Flabberghast on the shin. He yelped and bent over, rubbing his leg. Without looking, Eric hoisted the wizard back into an upright position.

  “Ah, maybe some games will loosen your tongue,” said the witch, strutting backwards and forwards across the stone flooring. The sound of her boot heels echoed around them. “I love games.”

  “Never would have guessed,” said Nine.

  The witch smiled at her, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “You. Yes, you. You’ve done quite well to get so far,” she said. “With your brainless troll, your kitchen utensil and your pathetic excuse for a wizard.”

  “They are not ‘mine’,” Nine said, but the witch just smiled knowingly then looked at Flabberghast.

  “And fancy you having friends. I thought I was the only one who would put up with you!”

  Flabberghast glared at her as the witch sauntered on. She stopped in front of Nine and stared intensely at her. Nine shifted uncomfortably but held her ground, staring back, digging her nails into her clenched fists. The witch looked at her with a mix of curiosity and pity, then leaned forward and put her mouth to Nine’s ear.

  “Still no strawberries?” she whispered. Nine gasped and momentarily unclenched her fists. She stared at the witch, who strutted back to the middle of the crypt.

  “Too much talking, not enough playing,” sang the witch impatiently. She reached both hands above her head as if she were holding an imaginary sphere. The gap between her hands took the form of the glowing not-a-moon – the hexagonal clock. The three hands whizzed round and the small sword hand was nearly back at the 15. She threw it upwards, where it hovered in mid-air.

  “Oh and look: you’re so nearly out of time. I wonder what it will feel like, being shrunk out of existence. Squishy, I suppose.”

  “The Revenge Curse should be broken!” said Flabberghast as his sister strutted around the crypt, poking the stone effigies on top of the tombs. “We made our sacrifices. I said the magic words!”

  The witch span around to face him. “The magic words?” She tapped her cheek thoughtfully with a long, perfect nail and smiled. “Oh! Brother dear, I’m disappointed in you. Surely you don’t think these are the magic words, do you?”

  She raised her hand in the air and twisted her fingers into a closed fist. The parchment appeared again. ‘The magic words are: SONG WIN WAR’, then it crumbled to dust and dropped to the floor, leaving just the red, sparkling letters hanging in mid-air. Nine eyed the witch cautiously.

  “How decidedly dull. Where is the fun in telling you the exact words?”

  “But—” began Nine, then she stopped. Because there was a sudden, stony grinding sound.

  “The Sometimes Dead!” whispered Flabberghast. “I think they’re doing the Sometimes Not Dead bit.”

  Eric whimpered and began rummaging in his dressing-gown pocket for sweets. Spoon pointed his sword around the crypt. Nine watched in horror as, one by one, each of the nine stone effigies seemed to come to life, sliding slowly from the top of their tombs and standing on two definitely Not Dead legs. Their stone eyes rolled backwards and two solid, cloudy-blue ovals sat in their place. Their noses all had the same flared nostrils.

  “Who are they?” said Nine as every muscle in her body tensed.

  “Distant relatives from our family tree,” said Flabberghast. “There’s Marvin the Merciless. That one with the dagger is Agatha the Rather Short-Tempered. Millicent the Goat-Eater with the sword. And that’s Sybil the Particularly Fond of Biting and—”

  “Biting?!” said Nine.

  The witch gave a little cry of satisfaction. “Oh, I adore family reunions! Did anyone bring sandwiches?” She stepped away from the clock, which remained glowing in the air. “Three minutes to go, Flabberghast. Perhaps we should … liven things up a little.” She began to skip in a circle around Nine and the others.

  “Oh no. Not skipping,” murmured Flabberghast. “It never ends well when there’s skipping.”

  Nine twisted her head, watching for any moment of explosive trickery. Something was coming…

  The witch skipped around them, pointing to the glowing clock and singing:

  “Girls and boys come up to play,

  The moon doth shine as bright as day.

  Leave your supper and leave your room,

  And join your playfellow –”

  She stopped and smiled darkly at them.

  “– IN THE TOMB!”

  The witch twisted her hands again, then thrust them out to the sides. Each of the red, sparkling letters flew towards a Sometimes Dead, Sometimes Not person and burned itself into their stone chests. Their bright blue oval eyes instantly turned red. The witch smiled. There was a united stony stomp as all the figures took a step towards Nine and the others – all the figures except one, which held a long, stone staff.

  “Ignatius the Permanently Late!” said Flabberghast. There was a little solitary stomp as the staff-bearing statue took a step to catch up with the others.

  “Come, come, don’t be shy,” said the witch, skipping around the statues and twisting her fingers in a sharp motion. The figures took another step forward. Ignatius took another step forward. With a stiff, grinding sound, Sybil the Particularly Fond of Biting opened her jaws unnaturally wide to reveal sharp, stony teeth. Marvin the Merciless raised his sword. Agatha the Rather Short-Tempered raised a dagger.

  The witch moved behind Sybil, who lifted her hands in a throat-gripping motion.

  “I know, Auntie Sybil,” she said, “he does rather have that effect on people.” Another stony stomp echoed through the crypt. Another solitary step echoed after.

  “So what stops the Sometimes Dead from being Sometimes Not Dead?” asked Nine, edging closer to the others.

  “Er – what?” said Flabberghast.

  “WHAT MAKES THEM STOP TRYING TO KILL US?” shouted Nine.

  “Oh! I believe at some point they simply get bored of being alive again and go back to being dead. Of course, that was before they had –” Flabberghast glared at the witch – “PURE EVIL IN A DRESS controlling them.”

  The witch smiled sweetly and pointed at Flabberghast. A jet of red light shot out of her finger disintegrating Flabberghast’s nightcap into little flakes of ash that floated mournfully to the stone floor.

  “Oi!” Flabbergast snapped. “I liked that nightcap!”

  “Old-fashioned, tatty and barely suitable for purpose,” said the witch airily. “Yes, it suited you so well, brother dear.”

  “I say we take them on,” said Spoon.

  “Nine stone statues. Three idiots and me. No chance,” said Nine. “Your sword would end up blunter than Eric’s sentences.”

  “Eric sentence?” said Eric, puzzled.

  Flabberghast looked around. “What do you want from us? What do you want us to do?” he called out angrily.

  “You know what you need to do to break the curse, Flabberghast,” the witch’s voice oozed silkily through the air. She stepped out from behind one of the pillars and stepped back again. Then she appeared from behind the pillar opposite. “What you’ve always had to do.” She disappeared behind the pillar again.

  Then they all startled as a voice behind them hissed, “Say the magic words.”

  By the time they had turned around to look at the witch, she had gone again. Nine looked rapidly at all the pillars – behind them – above them: where was she? What was her next move? As if in reply, a soft red glow appeared at the end of the room. It faded away to reveal the witch sitting sideways on the stone throne, her legs kicked lazily over the side.

  “You’ve only ever had to say the magic words,” said the witch. She clicked her fingers and the statues took three steps forward. Ignatius caught up.

  Nine, Spoon and Eric all turned to look at Flabberghast, who looked flabbergasted. “SONG WIN
WAR! I’ve said the magic words.”

  “Oh Flabberghast. Do use your brain, dearest. I know it hurts.”

  “Well?” demanded Nine, turning to Flabberghast. “If those aren’t the magic words, what are?”

  “I – do – not – know!” he said, pulling at his hair.

  “Shame,” said the witch, examining a fingernail. The Sometimes Dead all took another step closer and formed a line, closing ranks.

  “Enough nonsense!” Spoon hollered and leapt towards Ignatius the Permanently Late. Without turning its head the statue raised its free hand, caught the spoon in mid-air and clasped its stony fist shut around him. Spoon’s little sword tinkled to the ground and his spindly legs kicked wildly in mid-air. “Put me down! I’ll have your head for this!”

  “Say the magic words, Flabberghast,” the witch sang, swinging her booted legs carelessly.

  “But I don’t KNOW—”

  “Getting bored now,” sang the witch with a sharp edge in her voice. She waved her hand carelessly and the statues all stepped towards them and didn’t stop. Ignatius the Permanently Late stamped his staff on the stone floor a moment after. Dust and fragments of stone rained down on them from the ceiling.

  “She really is going to kill us,” coughed Flabberghast. “What do we do?!”

  The statues stepped forwards. Ignatius stepped forwards. Nine, Eric and Flabberghast backed away until, with an unwelcoming thump, they felt the damp chill of the subterranean stone wall on their backs. There was nowhere else to go. Nine’s eyes widened as the statues aimed their swords, daggers and staffs right at them. Sybil licked her lips with a stony tongue.

  “Song win war. Song win war,” muttered Flabberghast quickly. “What – what – do you want me to sing?”

  “Heavens, no,” called the witch from the throne. “You’re always off-key. Now tick tock, tick tock, you’re nearly out of time, Flabberghast.”

  Nine glanced at the clock, still hovering in mid-air. There was a hair’s breadth before it hit 15. Still on the throne the witch stretched out her arms, and her hands formed into twisted claw-like shapes, the fingertips glowing glittery red. She flicked her hand towards Marvin the Merciless. In a heartbeat, the statue reached forward, grabbed Flabberghast, twisted him around to face the others and pinned his sword across Flabberghast’s throat.

  “Stop it!” hissed the wizard.

  “And spoil the fun?” said the witch coolly.

  Agatha the Rather Short-Tempered pointed her stone dagger towards Nine, ready to strike. Suddenly, Eric let out a roar of panic and dashed forwards, shielding Nine from the statue. But a click of fingers came from the other end of the crypt. Red sparks shot from the witch’s hand…

  …and Eric froze.

  Eric’s long-nailed feet turned to the mottled grey stone of the statue, then his legs, his stomach – then Nine gasped, as with one last, desperate action, the Nearly Completely Sometimes Dead troll looked at Nine and reached into his dressing-gown pocket. As he threw the boiled sweets into the air towards Nine, his arm and the sweets turned to stone. Nine stared at them, just hanging in the air in front of her face. She looked at the Completely Sometimes Dead troll and then at the witch.

  She took a deep breath and an ocean of rage rose up inside her. “HOW DARE YOU?” she bellowed.

  “Oh, quite easily,” called the witch. “Don’t tell me you liked him … did you?”

  “Turn him back at once!” demanded Flabberghast.

  “Hmmmmmmmmmm… No.”

  The rage in Nine exploded and she went to charge at the witch, but Millicent the Goat-Eater marched towards her, sword in hand. Nine retreated, her back against the wall. She gasped as the Not Dead Millicent pointed her sword at Nine’s heart. Nine’s breaths came quick and fast.

  Focus. She needed to focus.

  She stared at the red letters on all the statues. Now the letters and words were all mixed up… Three of the statues now read S-A-W…

  That’s it!

  “The exact words!” she yelled. “She didn’t give us the exact words. She gave us the letters! It isn’t SONG WIN WAR, it’s the letters in the words! We need to make different magic words!”

  From the throne came slow clapping. “You know, Flabberghast, she’s really rather good.” Her eyes met Nine’s. “However did you find her?” Then, with a noisy swish of crinoline, she swung her legs dramatically back around, bouncing out of the throne. “But then you love your words and your books, don’t you?” Her eyes flashed red just like the eye at the library.

  Nine looked desperately from statue to statue. She mustn’t get distracted. Don’t think about the glowing red eyes. Don’t think about the cold wall at her back. Don’t think about the sword at her heart. Don’t think about Eric…

  Focus! The letters.

  “I RAN – I GO – IN GO –”

  The witch twisted her fingers lazily and Sybil the Particularly Fond of Biting walked towards Nine. She slowly put her head on one side and widened her jaws even further.

  “Stop! Be reasonable!” Flabberghast bellowed at the witch. Marvin’s sword edged closer to his throat.

  “Reasonable?” oozed the witch, tossing her scarlet hair over her shoulder. “Do you consider banishing someone from their own House reasonable, dearest?”

  “You utterly deserved to be locked out! And I left your suitcase outside, made sure Aunt Griselda knew to expect you—”

  “While you popped off in the House and did a spot of friend-shopping!” The witch looked disapprovingly at Eric and Spoon.

  “I would have let you back in … eventually. But when I came back, you cast this wretched curse on the House before I could lift mine and—”

  “Ha!” crowed the witch. “Yes, this curse! Oh, banishment is nothing compared to this! Is it? IS IT?!” The witch threw her arms up in the air and turned around slowly on the spot, clearly relishing every second. “This wonderful, beautiful curse I have created! Ooooh, I’m so glad you banished me. This has been … delightful!”

  She smiled sweetly at Flabberghast. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell them what you said through the letterbox?”

  Focus. Nine stared at all the letters in desperation. “I SAW…?”

  “Ooh!” squealed the witch. “Tick tock – watch the clock. Oh, how time does fly when you’re having fun. Are you having fun?”

  Nine looked up at the clockface. The smallest sword hand was about to hit 15.

  “Say the magic words, brother dear! LOUD AND CLEAR. You have four seconds until the shrinking begins. That’s if our relatives don’t kill you first.” She sighed. “Every family reunion’s the same.”

  “I don’t KNOW the words!” cried Flabberghast as Marvin’s dagger pushed a little harder against his throat. Sybil the Particularly Fond of Biting gnashed her stony teeth together and leaned towards Nine’s neck. Millicent’s stony sword slid up towards her throat.

  “I SANG – I WAS –” said Nine desperately. “I WAS –”

  “Ooh, it’s all so terribly exciting,” said the witch, her dress swishing as she strutted. “Terribly.” She stared coolly at Nine and pointed her finger.

  “WRONG!” shouted Nine.

  A red light shot out of the witch’s finger. Nine felt a sharp chill in her heart. Then a cold, heavy feeling hit her feet and started to spread up her legs. She looked down. Stone.

  “I beg your pardon?” said the witch, stopping where she stood.

  “I … WAS … WRONG!” The cold, heavy feeling spread up Nine’s legs. “The words … Flabberghast!”

  “Say them!” yelled Spoon, still wriggling in Ignatius’ grasp.

  “And mean them!” gasped Nine breathlessly.

  The witch stared at Nine and a ghost of a smile flickered across her face. The stone swept up Nine’s body, spread heavily over her heart, crept up her neck – her jaw –

  Flabberghast let out a roar of frustration. “I –” he bellowed – “WAS – WRONG!”

  The witch let out a victorious whoop of
delight and hovered up in the air, raising her arms in triumph. The not-a-moon clock smashed noisily and shards flew across the crypt, fading into nothing. Nine felt the cold stone melt away and warmth return to her body. She breathed a sigh of relief, then looked at Eric and saw his stone body turn back to furry flesh. With a little clatter, all the sweets fell to the ground.

  “Drop sweets,” he said sadly, looking at them in confusion. Nine hesitated then bent down and picked one up. Without meeting the troll’s gaze, she pushed it into his hand.

  The eyes of the statues returned to their cloudy blue. They glanced around, looking a little lost. Ignatius the Permanently Late held up Spoon to eye level and tilted his head on one side as if to ponder why he was holding a leg-thrashing murderous utensil and if this was really a good idea.

  He dropped Spoon on the floor and yawned. The statues all stomped back to their tombs, lying back down on their lids, until only Ignatius the Permanently Late had a last look around before sloping back to his resting place.

  “There!” said the witch shrilly, landing on the ground before Flabberghast. “That wasn’t so hard, was it, brother dear? You should have told them what you said through the letterbox. They would have solved it instantly!”

  “I really don’t like you any more,” Flabberghast growled. “You could have killed us!”

  “Oh, just a little excitement, Flabberghast. You really are as dreary as this old House. Auntie Griselda the Unruly is much more fun!”

  “So that – that’s it?” flustered the wizard. “My powers are back?”

  “Yes, yes,” said the witch in a bored tone, “your powers – if you could call them that – are back.”

  Flabberghast made a rapid twisting movement with his hands, as if he was undoing the lid of a jar. Silver sparks shot out and he yelled in delight.

  “And as for your pathetic sacrifices,” said the witch. “I suggest you try the cupboard under the stairs.” Flabberghast groaned. “Amazing what you have in the cupboard under the stairs,” she added in a voice that could cut stone.

  Flabberghast froze for a moment then looked at her out of the corner of his eye. “Ah,” he said.