Witch Baby and Me After Dark

by Debi Gliori

  ‘I don’t know what to do. Are you sure they’re in there? The puppies, I mean.’

  AaaaaRGH. I’m almost sure. About ninety-nine point nine nine nine per cent sure. Which is almost one hundred per cent. I take a deep breath and say, ‘Yes. They have to be here. WayWoof is here – there are heaps of possible puppy-fathers here too, so . . .’

  ‘We’ll have to go in and look.’ Vivaldi groans and adds, ‘But . . . but we can’t just burst in and start opening doors. I mean, we hardly know Lucinda and Henry, and even if we did, we couldn’t say, Oh, hi, just ignore us as we turn your house upside down to find our invisible dog and her pups – could we?’

  She’s right, but . . . none of this stopped Daisy. Daisy is in there right now looking for WayWoof and the puppies. Which gives us the perfect excuse to go inside too. I’m looking for my little sister, not her invisible dog. Perfect. Plus there are no guard dogs barking their heads off at the two strangers on their doorstep. All the dogs have headed off into the dark in pursuit of Lucinda and the dog balloons.

  All the dogs except one. At least, I think it’s a dog, though it is hard to tell. It’s very black and exceedingly hairy, but there’s something wagging at one end and there are two shining eyes gazing up at me from the other. A tiny pink tongue appears below the eyes and it grins up at me. Aha. It is a dog.

  ‘Ahhhhhh, he’s so sweet,’ Vivaldi says, bending down to offer her hand to this tiny beast. ‘I love Scottie dogs,’ she adds, scrabbling around the little dog’s neck to find its collar. ‘Let’s see who we’ve got here . . . right . . . he’s called Macduff.’

  At the sound of his name, Macduff wags his tail so much I worry that his legs might fall off. He’s such a small, friendly bundle that it’s impossible not to like him immediately. He runs round Vivaldi in circles until she stands up and says, ‘Right. Lead on . . .’ and Macduff scampers ahead of us into The Doghouse. He skids to a stop in the hallway and turns round as if to say, Do keep up, before bounding upstairs at an amazing speed considering how short his legs are.

  Gulp. I hope this is all right. I feel as if we’re trespassing – after all, this is Lucinda and Henry’s house – but I have to find Daisy. Up we go, following Macduff’s wagging tail. I can hear loud laughter and clapping coming from a television below, but from somewhere in the darkness at the top of the stairs there’s a low, vibrating sort of hum.

  Vivaldi is right behind me, hissing in my ear, ‘What’s that weird noise?’

  ‘The sort of hum?’ I ask.

  ‘No – the breathing noise.’

  ‘Breathing?’ I gasp. ‘I thought it was a fan or some kind of machine, or—’

  We stop and listen. The noise is much louder. RrrrrrrrrHrrrrrrHrrrrrr, it goes. What kind of thing breathes like that? Then, as we turn a corner, I almost laugh out loud. By the open door of a dimly lit bedroom I see about twenty cats, all purring loudly. RrrrrrrrrHrrrrrrHrrrrrr, they go, ignoring us entirely, their attention fixed on something inside the room, all lined up as if guarding the doorway.

  Stepping carefully over the cats, we tiptoe inside and . . .

  Oh, wow.

  Oh my goodness.

  I have never seen anything so gorgeous in my life. Ahhhhh. I feel my eyes opening wider and wider as if they could drink in the sight of WayWoof and her tiny little puppies. Daisy is right beside them, almost glowing with happiness. She drags her gaze away from the puppies and peers at us briefly. ‘Huss, Lil-Lil,’ she mutters. ‘Huss, Valdy. Pup-pups seeping,’ and then she returns to giving the puppies her full attention.

  WayWoof looks up at us, and then bends her head back down to nuzzle her two babies. She looks every inch a proud mummy, as she should be. Not wanting to be left out, Macduff picks his way past Daisy and, tail wagging frantically, joins in the nuzzling.

  Vivaldi nudges me and whispers, ‘He’s the daddy.’

  ‘How d’you know?’ I whisper back.

  ‘WayWoof would have bitten his head off if he wasn’t. Female dogs are super-protective of their puppies.’

  ‘D’you think she’ll let us hold them?’ I ask.

  In answer, WayWoof rolls over and nudges one of her puppies towards me. I look at her, then look at the puppy, as if I’m asking her, Can I? Are you sure you don’t mind?

  WayWoof yawns widely and turns back to her other puppy as if to say, Help yourself.

  So, very, very slowly and carefully, I pick the tiny creature up in my hands and hold it close. Oh, my. The puppy opens its little mouth and yawns luxuriously. Its whiskers quiver with the effort and it gives a tiny squeak before closing its mouth again. It’s perfect. It’s like a wee crumpled cushion made out of pink and cream velvet. It’s warm and soft and very much alive. And to my delight, it doesn’t mind me holding it. It’s the most gorgeous little animal I’ve ever seen.

  Vivaldi reaches out and tenderly strokes the puppy’s head with one finger. ‘It’s sooooo soft,’ she whispers. ‘Oh, clever, clever WayWoof. What beautiful babies you have.’

  Macduff wags enthusiastically, as if agreeing with Vivaldi.

  ‘Clever Macduff too,’ I add, reaching out to pat him. As I do, I catch sight of Lucinda and Henry’s bedside clock.

  AAAAAAARGHHHHHH. It’s quarter past eight. We’re due home in fifteen minutes. Oh, help. I wish I could spend all night in Lucinda and Henry’s bedroom gazing adoringly at WayWoof’s puppies, but it’s time to go. We haven’t even got time to say thank you to Lucinda and Henry for allowing WayWoof to have her puppies on their bed. In fact, I’m hoping we don’t meet either of our hosts on our way out, because then we’d have to explain just what we were doing upstairs in their house, on their bed, in the dark, with our invisible dog and her invisible puppies.

  Fortunately the television is still on, so nobody hears us all tiptoeing downstairs. First Macduff, then WayWoof, Daisy and me (with one puppy in my arms), Vivaldi with the other puppy. Followed by at least twenty ecstatically purring cats. In the living room Henry is watching television, utterly oblivious to all the excitement going on upstairs. Henry is very old, and judging by the volume he has the television turned up to, he is also rather deaf.

  Macduff and WayWoof bid each other a fond farewell, wagging tails, rubbing noses and sniffing each other’s bottoms. Yeeeeurgh. No matter how old or deaf I become, I’ll never get used to dogs doing that. While WayWoof is saying goodbye, we hustle Daisy out of the front door and, whistling for WayWoof to follow, set off into the night.

  Twenty:

  My not-so-little sister

  For such tiny creatures, WayWoof’s puppies are surprisingly heavy. My arms are beginning to ache and I feel as if we’re going slower and slower, the closer we get to home. WayWoof walks beside Vivaldi and me, looking up every so often to check that we’re looking after her puppies properly. We’re all flagging, especially Daisy, who is growing more and more cranky now that the excitement is over.

  ‘Carry meeeeeeee,’ she whines, dragging behind us.

  Vivaldi and I stop to give our arms a rest and try to jolly her along. WayWoof immediately lies down. She’s exhausted, poor thing.

  ‘Not far now,’ Vivaldi says. ‘Let’s count the trees, Daisy. By the time we get to a hundred, we’ll be home.’

  ‘Not hunded. No wantit tees,’ Daisy mutters, abruptly sitting down. ‘Carry meeee,’ and when neither Vivaldi nor I respond, she turns it up a notch: ‘CARRY MEEEEEEEEE.’

  ‘Aw, come on, Daisy,’ I groan. ‘Give us a break. We’re already carrying your blooming puppies and all the Halloween goodies—’

  ‘CARRRY MEEEEEEEEE,’ Daisy bawls, drumming her heels on the ground like a grumpy troll. ‘CARRY MEEEEEEE, NO WANTIT WAAAAAAAAAALK.’

  WayWoof peers at her and yawns, slumping onto the ground and closing her eyes as if to make Daisy go away. At this rate we’re going to be really late home, and Dad’ll be really cross, and I’ll get the blame even though it’s Not My Fault. I didn’t magic up an invisible dog and carelessly let her run away to have puppies. I won�
��t even be able to tell Dad what really happened because he won’t believe me. It’s not fair. This is all Daisy’s fault, and what is she doing? She’s lying on the ground, having a tantrum, waiting for me to sort it all out.

  Suddenly I know how to get us all home in time. I fling myself down on the ground beside Daisy and let rip.

  ‘NOOO WANTIT WAAAAAAAAAAALK HOME,’ I roar, banging my legs and arms on the ground for emphasis. ‘CARRRYYYY MEEEEEEE, DAISEEEEEEEEE.’

  WayWoof’s head comes up and she shoots me a reproachful look, as if to say, How could you? I thought you were such a sensible human child; then she puts her paws over her ears and whimpers. I keep going, ‘CARRRYYYY MEEEE,’ but the thought occurs to me that Vivaldi might decide that my tantrum is the final straw. She might think that this was The Night Lily Went Too Far. For all I know, she may have already started to head for home. Poor Vivaldi has had to put up with a lot being friends with me: invisible gassy dogs, weird little witchy sisters—

  ‘NO LIKEIT WAAAAAAALK!’ comes a banshee shriek as Vivaldi flings herself down beside me and joins in. ‘DAAAAAZE, CARRY MEEEEEE TOOOOO!’ I love Vivaldi. She never lets me down. What a friend. What a genius. What a brilliant idea. What on earth—?

  There’s a WHOOOOSH as air rushes past my ears and a ‘YEEEEARGHHH!’ as I’m hauled up to the sky so fast my eyelids are pressed shut. Then I’m rocked from side to side as if I’m in a boat in a storm. I’m pressed up against something soft, below which I can feel a huge, pounding, thundering drumbeat. Where’s Vivaldi? What is going on? I squirm round to look for her and immediately it all falls into place. Yeeeearrrghh. This has to be the weirdest spell Daisy has ever done.*

  Way down on the ground below us, WayWoof is barking her head off. Can’t say I blame her. After all, a gigantic baby girl has just appeared from nowhere, picked up the two humans who were looking after her puppies and is now running off with puppies, girls and Halloween goodies. Vivaldi is clutched in a hand as big as a sofa and I’m squashed in the crook of an arm nearly the size of a bus. The thudding sound of a distant drum is my baby sister’s heartbeat. Daisy is enormous. I look up at her huge mouth, smeared with acres of chocolate, beyond which are vast nostrils like two big dark caves. Daisy is a big as a house. A BIG house. Yikes. An eyeball the size of a watermelon swivels down to stare at me. A gust of hot air blows across me as Daisy the Giantess says, ‘NO WANTIT WALK? SEE DAISY RUN.’

  And suddenly we’re off, with WayWoof running behind.

  Every step Daisy takes feels like a vast, soaring leap followed by a bone-jarring thud as her foot returns to earth. Amazingly enough, the puppies sleep through it all, barely moving so much as a whisker as we lurch and blunder through the trees towards home.

  ‘LEFT!’ I yell, and then, ‘Watch out for the ROAD,’ but Daisy ignores me completely. She’s on a mission for home and she’s going to head straight there, no matter what might be in the way.

  ‘Slow dowwwWWwn,’ I beg, but it’s no good. Daisy is doing this Her Way, and we may as well settle back and enjoy the ride. I hope we don’t meet anyone, because I suspect Daisy would squash them flat. Daisy, my not-so-little sister, the Spooky Steamroller. Gulp. That Witch Baby—WAAAARGH, DON’T SQUEEZE ME. Better not mess with her, eh?

  It’s very late and we do have school tomorrow, but Vivaldi and I are much too excited to sleep. Apart from having my best friend for a sleepover, one of the best things about tonight was that when Daisy returned to her normal size, she forgot to do the same for the huge bag of Halloween goodies. Wow. We now have three chocolate coins the size of bicycle tyres, two bags of chilli-flavoured crisps as big as duvets and, weirdly, three pound coins the size and weight of manhole covers. We buried these under a pile of leaves since they were too heavy to carry and Vivaldi was sure the bank would never accept them as real money.

  Daisy is fast asleep in her bed next door, WayWoof is back in her rightful place across Daisy’s feet, and WayWoof’s puppies are tightly curled up against their mum’s tummy. I’m so relieved we managed to get them all home safely. Pheee-yew. What a night that was, but thank goodness it all ended happily. In fact, if you think about it, WayWoof didn’t really run away; she just went elsewhere to have her puppies.

  I look at Daisy, fast asleep in her bunny pyjamas. It’s hard to believe that less than an hour ago this tiny tot was a deeply scary giantess. Daisy the Vast crashed through the woods in seconds flat and barrelled across our lawn; it was only when she realized that she wouldn’t be able to fit through our front door that she turned back into a little girl.

  Phew. Just in time. I had a moment of panic when I really thought she was about to lift the roof off our house to put Vivaldi and me inside like she’d seen me do with my old doll’s house. Aaaargh. Imagine trying to explain that to Mum and Dad. Er . . . remember we used to have an attic? And, um, about that gale blowing downstairs and the . . . er. . . gigantic hole where the ceiling used to be and . . .

  Luckily the puppies are as invisible as their mummy, but unlike WayWoof’s, their poo isn’t, even if, like most puppy-poo it doesn’t smell yet.* Mum and Dad and Jack don’t know that our invisible dog has not only come back but has also increased the invisible-dog-count in our house by two hundred per cent. However, Vivaldi and I have agreed that when the puppies are old enough to leave home, they’re both going to live at Four Winds, Vivaldi’s house. That way, Daisy, WayWoof and I can go and visit, but we won’t have to look after them. Vivaldi reckons that I have quite enough magical creatures to care for without adding two invisible puppies to the menagerie.

  ‘But won’t your parents notice?’ I ask, sawing off another slab of chocolate and popping it into my mouth.

  ‘No way,’ Vivaldi says through a mouthful of crisps. ‘They never notice anything. Brahms once threw up in Mum’s handbag and it took her months to work out where the smell was coming from . . .’

  Eughhh. I swallow the chocolate rapidly and decide I don’t want any more, but Vivaldi is unstoppable.

  ‘And one night Dad had to change the tyre on the car and he didn’t put the nuts or bolts or screws back on properly, and next morning he took us shopping, but he didn’t notice that the wheel was making a really weird noise – the car was kind of lurching over to one side and we were driving down a hill through a wee village and people were waving and pointing at us and Dad thought they were just being dead friendly so he waved back . . .’ Vivaldi is laughing so hard she can hardly carry on.

  ‘What happened?’ I ask.

  ‘Trust me, Mum and Dad are so unobservant I could keep a hundred puppies and they’d never notice a thing. So – we were still driving through the village when we saw a car wheel roll across our path and head downhill, right in front of our car. Mum pointed it out to Dad, and they were both wondering where it could have come from, but it wasn’t until a police car overtook us, pulled over and made Dad stop that we realized it was our wheel that had come off completely and was racing us down the hill.’

  Crikey. Vivaldi’s right. With parents like hers she could keep a zoo-full of witchy pets and nobody would be any the wiser. My family aren’t much better. The only thing about WayWoof they ever notice is her smell. Unfortunately, once they’ve checked that Daisy’s nappy isn’t responsible for the evil whiff, they all turn on me. I guess it’s the price I have to pay for knowing a dog like WayWoof, but right now, I don’t mind a bit. The puppies are adorable, and I can hardly wait till tomorrow to see them again.

  ‘Vivaldi?’

  ‘Nnnngh?’

  Blast. She’s falling asleep. I want to ask her what names we should give the puppies, but it would be cruel to wake her up. Besides, it’s really up to Daisy to choose names, since WayWoof is her dog. I drift off to sleep trying to guess what names she’ll come up with. I only hope that, whatever they are, they’re not too weird.

  * You be the judge. For the title of Daisy’s Weirdest Spell Ever, we have the following:

  • changing me into a slug

  • turning my
head the wrong way round so that I was facing backwards

  • blowing me up like a human balloon and then letting me go Pfffrpprrrrppp

  • poking her fingers, hands and finally her arms up her nose and turning herself inside out.

  I tell you, being a Witch Baby’s big sister is Hard Work.

  * Pong-free poo? Yes, but only when the mammal in question is fed exclusively on its mother’s milk. Add anything else into the diet and the poo will smell like . . . well, poo actually.

  Twenty-one:

  Little beasts

  ‘Vampie an’ Boomstek,’ Daisy mutters as I help her out of her coat and hang it on her peg in the school cloakroom. Next to us, Daisy’s best friend, Dugger, bursts out laughing.

  ‘Vampire and broomstick?’ he shrieks, as if Daisy’s just told him the best joke ever, then abruptly stops laughing and frowns. ‘That’s silly,’ he declares, stomping off to the sandpit.

  ‘Not silly,’ Daisy says, tugging at my arm for support. ‘My puppies not silly.’

  ‘Er, no,’ I say quietly, hoping nobody overhears. ‘Not silly at all. You can call them whatev—’

  ‘VAMPIE an’ BOOMSTEK,’ Daisy bawls, her face turning pink with the effort. Oh, great. Everyone in the school must have heard that.

  Mum turns round and smiles. ‘That was yesterday, darling,’ she says. ‘Yesterday was Halloween. We had vampires and broomsticks and bats and pumpkin lanterns yesterday. Today it’s playgroup.’

  Daisy sighs as if to say, Yes, I know that, and then insists, ‘Wantit Vampie an’ Boomstek. Want PUPPIES.’

  Mum nods patiently. ‘Maybe in the springtime, pet. It’s nearly winter now and it’s no fun house-training puppies when it’s cold outside.’