Too Much Witch

by Nicki Greenberg

  Friday 6 June

  Last school day before camp. I’d like to say we’re ready, but we’ve got one kid with nonstop tummy aches (Rose); one who says she’ll be packing a meat cleaver to defend herself against yowlies (Marlo); one who is homesick before even boarding the bus (Blake); and at least four who are plotting something (you can guess who’s in charge there). Plus one witch who might be cracking under the strain.

  Okay, maybe two of those.

  No: three.

  Phoebe, MM and me. It’ll be a miracle if sparks don’t fly.

  Saturday 7 June

  Dark of the Moon already! It crept up on me, what with everything that’s been going on. Mother called to ask if I’d go to Cauldron Club with her. I think she feels a bit guilty about refusing to look after Barnaby – though not guilty enough to tell Biggs to buy a box of tissues and toughen up. Anyway, I can’t go. I’ve got to get ready for camp. Ugh.

  Sunday 8 June

  All packed. My camp gear is in one big bag, and Barnaby’s collection of necessities (pillow, hairdryer, bird-watching magazines) is in another. We’ve both got some treats to sweeten the deal: Tweezels, chocolate-covered sultanas, pretzels, three tins of very expensive Spanish anchovies (for Barnaby) and dried pears (for me). I’ve instructed Barnaby to share his goodies with Melvin. As if.

  Briony has invited us over for dinner tonight. She thought it would be a nice way to help Barnaby get settled in. She’s prepared a special cushion for him and bought plenty of his favourite foods.

  None of this pleases His Majesty. He’s been sulking in the wardrobe all afternoon, and I’m pretty sure the only reason he hasn’t run off altogether is that Steve is making a spectacular dessert to bring along tonight: a triple-decker pavlova with raspberries, blueberries and whipped vanilla cream. My meagre contribution has been getting the trays of meringue in and out of the oven for him. I told Steve he’d better stand guard over his masterpiece, otherwise Barnaby is likely to sneak into the kitchen and gobble the lot.

  Sunday, 11.44pm

  I can’t sleep. I’ve got a belly full of Melvin’s fried dumplings (which were amazing) and a head full of horrors, made even worse by a browse through Rugged Witchcraft. It has a chapter on fighting off wild pigs! Are there wild pigs at Numbat Creek???

  What I should be reading is The Mindful Witch, but I had to throw it out after Barnaby tossed it in the toilet.

  My disgraceful cat was at his very worst this evening. He wouldn’t even say hello when Melvin answered the door. He skulked behind my legs and clawed at the welcome mat until Briony finally tempted him in with a plate of prawn won tons, which he wolfed down in the corner while the rest of us sat at the table like civilised beings.

  Then, when nobody was looking, he crept into the kitchen and devoured Steve’s magnificent pav, the entire thing, down to the last berry. He sprawled on the couch for the rest of the evening, belching and groaning, while Melvin whipped us up a batch of strawberry crepes and did all the washing up.

  Steve stuffed in an extraordinary amount of food. He told me to get stuck in too, as this would be my last chance at a decent meal before four days of Spag Vom, Mystery Meatballs and Scumbled Eggs. He actually seemed excited by the idea, as if stomaching the food on camp was some kind of fun extreme-sports challenge.

  I think I’ve got a tummy ache already. It could be appendicitis. Or bat plague. You never know. Maybe I should stay home, just to be safe.

  Monday 9 June, 9.27am

  I’m on the bus. With a gaggle of overexcited kids singing ‘One hundred green bottles hanging on the wall’ (undoubtedly the most annoying song ever written) at the top of their voices. MM is up the back making sure that nobody is pulling faces at the cars behind us, and Steve has somehow fallen asleep, curled up in his seat like a kitten. So there’s no one to help me deal with Rose and Blake. Rose is sitting across the aisle, clutching her tummy and moaning every time the bus takes a corner. And Blake is next to me, looking alarmingly green and clammy. I have a horrible feeling this camp is going to kick off with him spewing right into my lap.

  It’s all Bill the bus driver’s fault. He’s jerking the bus all over the road like it’s a rodeo horse. The man is so terrified by the thought of having a witch on board, he can’t even drive straight.

  Everyone knows that our school is The One with the Witch, and Bill guessed it was me the minute I got on the bus. It must have been the look on my face when I saw all his ridiculous anti-sorcery paraphernalia. He’s got the full kit: the ‘evil eye’ amulet swinging from the mirror, the bottle of salt water in the cup-holder and the bunch of holy rosemary sliding around on top of the dashboard. Sure, it’s all nonsense, but it doesn’t exactly make a witch feel welcome.

  Now witch-buster Bill can hardly take his eyes off me. He’s so busy snatching anxious glances in the big round mirror, he’s barely looking at the road at all. If there really were such a thing as the evil eye, I’d be giving it to him right now.

  Monday, 11am

  What do you call a tidal wave of vomit?

  A Spewnami.

  Blake was the first to go. At fifty-five green bottles, Bill took a spiky corner and – Blaaaaaaarrghhhhh! – up came a hot torrent, out of Blake’s mouth and all over my legs. Before I could help it, I was barking my bacon and eggs right back at him. Across the aisle, Rose spewed onto Eleanor. Eleanor blasted the window and got a face full of splashback. The row behind us heaved, and by then the chain reaction was unstoppable. Bill pulled over, jumped out of the bus, and lost his guts on the gravel.

  Rugged Witchcraft saved us. Well, Rugged Witchcraft and me. I followed the instructions for a super-strength clean-up spell, and guess what? It worked! But was Bill grateful? Did my excellent performance change his view of witches? Not one bit. In fact, he seemed more upset about the spell than the spew. He wouldn’t even let me zap the chunks out of his hair, but used up his precious salt water instead. On the bright side, he’s going a lot easier on the curves now.

  Almost there. Surely camp can’t be worse than a bus full of vomit.

  Monday, 7.30pm

  Journal time. Steve says we’re all supposed to write down at least three good things that happened today. I can’t think of one.

  I fell into the river canoeing and all the kids laughed. Then I had to spend the rest of the afternoon in soggy clothes. Every time I sat down, I left a puddle that made it look like I’d wet my pants.

  There are giant cockroaches in the showers. I stepped on one.

  I’m covered in mosquito bites. Not even Rugged Witchcraft has a cure for those.

  We had disgusting Mystery Meatballs for dinner, and lumpy custard that looked like a bowl of boogers. Nobody dared to complain to Rhonda the cook. She’s got a kitchen knife tattooed on one arm and a recipe for ‘Mum’s kidney pie’ on the other.

  Tuesday 10 June, 1am

  Where the hellbane is MM? I’ve just spent two hours dealing with a yowlie crisis, on my own. Steve didn’t even wake up; at least, I didn’t see the light go on in his cabin. And my bunkmate/boss has disappeared. Now I’m far too revved up to sleep, especially with the ruckus going on outside.

  Marlo and Zinnia woke me up. They frightened the gizzards out of me – two huddled shapes panting at the side of my bed, impossible to identify in the thick darkness. I screamed, and then they screamed too. They were clutching one another’s arms and squeaking, ‘Ms Stitch, you’ve got to come! The yowlies are on the roof! They’re trying to get into our hut!’ They’d run barefoot in the dark, not daring to turn on their torches lest they be spotted and attacked. ‘Listen to them, Ms Stitch! They’re everywhere!’

  The noise was scary, especially in the total dark of a near-moonless night. I could hear the things crashing around in the trees and screeching like demons, and suddenly all those yowlie stories didn’t seem so silly after all. I’ll admit it: I didn’t want to go out there. Not on my own, with only two frightened kids for backup. So I went to wake up MM – and discovered that the top bunk
was empty.

  A minute later, I realised why. MM was out there somewhere, with them. They weren’t yowlies, of course. They were bats. MM’s bats. I could smell the little stinkers as soon as I opened the door. I turned on my torch (over Marlo and Zinnia’s shrieks of protest) and shone it up into the trees so they could see what their yowlies really were.

  All four huts were in the grip of yowlie-panic. It took me ages to calm everyone down, especially Rose, who was under her bed hugging her teddy and sobbing. I did my best to sound like Briony, putting on my cheeriest voice and enthusing about how wonderful it was to be out in the bush, surrounded by amazing wildlife. I escorted group after shivering group to the toilets, then made sure they left their bat-poo encrusted shoes outside their hut doors. I told them Barnaby stories. Then I sat in the dark on the edge of Blake’s bed until he fell asleep. All with no help whatsoever from Melody ‘Night Stalker’ Martin, who is still not here. Tomorrow I’m going to front up and ask her what the blazes this bat business is all about. She’s got some serious explaining to do.

  Tuesday, 7.30pm

  Three good things:

  1. Bye bye, yowlies. Yes, thanks to Zelda ‘Myth-buster’ Stitch, the dreaded yowlies of Numbat Creek are no more. Done, dusted, dead.

  I think the whole class felt a bit silly about making such a fuss last night. There were some very sheepish faces at breakfast, especially Zinnia’s.

  But Rose looked happier than I’ve seen her for weeks. She didn’t complain of a single tummy ache all day!

  MM, on the other hand, did not look happy. I saw her this morning as she was about to dash to the shower; her hair was full of twigs and she had scratches on her face. I opened my mouth to ask her what in Hecate’s name was going on with her and the bats, but she gave me a look that would cut steel and slammed out the door.

  2. The mud run was a great success. I can’t understand why a person would want to run through a trench full of mud unless they were fleeing an actual wild pig, but the kids loved it, just like Steve said they would. I didn’t really mind doing it that much in the end, since I had my new clean-up spell to get all the mud off afterwards.

  3. I helped Blake conquer the high ropes course. He got stuck at the top, too scared to move, so I climbed up (a bit shaky with the left arm, but I did it) and got him to take some good, deep, Mindful Witch–style breaths. Then I made him float a little bit, just enough to help him along the rope bridge. He swung through the rest of the course, buoyant and beaming. And the second time around, he did it without needing any magic at all.

  I can’t say anything good about dinner. Spaghetti Vom-ognese was even worse than it sounds. I’ve never seen a pasta sauce with bones in it before. Big knuckly ones and nasty needly ones. Bleuuuurgh!!!! Nobody could eat it. And not even MM was brave enough to ask Rhonda if we could have some bread and butter or fruit to fill us up instead. So the whole class is going to bed with their bellies rumbling, poor things.

  Tuesday, 10pm

  I feel like the meanest person on earth. Here I am, stuffing my face with Tweezels, while twenty kids go hungry. We confiscated their midnight feast. All of it, down to the last Fruity-Chew. And now they hate us. Fair enough. I’d hate us too. But the really bad part is, I know they’ll all blame Phoebe for spoiling their party.

  If I’d just acted a bit faster, I might have saved her. I walked into Cabin One to announce lights out, and there was Phoebe with something shiny in her hand. Pink and green, the unmistakeable colours of a Swirl-O bar. She panicked. There was a tiny flash, and the Swirl-O disappeared, leaving a puff of chocolate-scented smoke hanging in the air. Five guilty faces blinked at me from their bunks, waiting to see what I’d do. I didn’t know either. They were breaking the rules. They knew full well that lollies weren’t allowed and would be confiscated on the spot. But the poor things must have been starving.

  I dithered too long. Long enough for MM to see the light on and come over to investigate. Her nostrils flared the second she walked through the door. The smell was instantly recognisable to any witch: spent-magic fumes and burnt chocolate.

  MM ordered a full bag-and-bunk search of all four huts, which revealed that every kid’s luggage was loaded with loot. Caramel Crisps, Fruity-Chews, Choc Royales, Sour-Straps, Swirl-Os, marshmallows, sherbet bombs, snakes…This was obviously what they’d been plotting: a midnight feast to end all midnight feasts.

  Now the entire haul is piled up in a big cardboard box in the corner of our hut. I feel bad just looking at it. I get it that rules are rules, but can’t MM see that Phoebe is the one who is really going to suffer here? It was Phoebe who gave the game away when she zapped her chocolate bar, which is definitely not going to make her very popular. The blame-throwing has already begun: as we were leaving the hut I heard Natalie mutter, ‘Why couldn’t you just shove it under your pillow like a normal person?’

  Sigh. Witches. We just can’t win.

  The bats have started up again outside. MM is in her bunk, pretending not to hear them, and ignoring me. The raid has put her in an even worse mood than before. It’s like being back at home with Barnaby, except that he would have gutsed all the kids’ lollies by now.

  Wednesday 11 June, 7.30pm

  Three good things…

  1. We’re staying in tents under the stars tonight for the survival sleep-out. I never thought I’d consider this a good thing, but the bush is actually quite nice, even if it is full of dirt and bugs. Everyone enjoyed the hike to the sleep-out site (even with packs full of food and tent gear on their backs), especially after Steve handed out a surprise snack of muesli bars and dried mango. He pointed out all kinds of interesting things along the track: tiny lizards and pretty blue wrens and plenty of toadstools. I could only name a few of the toadstools (‘I told you to practise your mycology drills, Grizelda.’). But Rugged Witchcraft has a whole chapter on fungi, so I promised the kids we’ll look some up when we get back to the main camp tomorrow.

  Marlo asked me if witches eat toadstools! Ha ha! I explained that toadstools are only for seriously powerful potions, and for very experienced witches. It’s far too easy to mix up your Coprinopsis with your Cortinarius. And toadstool poisoning is the worst.

  2. Dinner was magnificent. Steve showed everyone how to cook over the campfire. We wrapped potatoes in foil and baked them in the coals, then ate them with loads of melted cheese and salsa and beans. After dinner we toasted marshmallows – another one of Steve’s surprises. He’s definitely the favourite teacher now. He’s done a great job with the survival sleep-out. It’s actually been a lot of fun, and much easier to survive than Rhonda’s cooking.

  3. The kids seem to have forgiven Phoebe. I thought she might find herself out in the cold today, but it’s been quite the opposite. Every time I’ve looked, she’s been surrounded by an eager cluster of friends. Although I have noticed Zinnia sticking especially close to her, which is unusual. Hmm. I’d like to think she’s just looking out for Phoebe, but let’s be realistic: the Z-force is probably up to something.

  Ooh, I am so weary, I can barely keep my eyes open. And no wonder: I’ve been on duty non-stop since Monday. I’ve waded through mud, dried tears, cleaned up vomit, shepherded twenty kids through the Great Outdoors without losing any of them, and I’ve vanquished the dreaded yowlies.

  Briony will be very proud of me. I didn’t even need to use her Swiss Gadget Knife.

  Everyone else is yawning, too. I think we’ll all sleep like played-out kittens tonight, even though we’ll be crowded into tents and lying on the lumpy ground. Right now I could probably fall asleep in a box of rocks.

  Thursday 12 June, 3am

  Here’s what I can’t sleep in: a tent full of bats.

  Yes, there is an actual bat colony INSIDE our tent. I’ve got wings in my face and claws in my hair and that appalling stink in my mouth (ughhhhhh!), and the grisly creatures will not keep still. It’s like being zipped into a bag full of angry, foul-smelling miniature umbrellas. And not even Melody ‘Boss of Everyth
ing’ Martin can make them leave.

  I’d go outside, but there’s something even worse out there. Horrible, harrowing wails. Crashing and screeching. It sounds like an all-out war between bats and… yowlies. I don’t know what else could make a noise like that. And I’d rather stay in a tent full of bats than go and find out. I can’t hear the children or Steve. It seems impossible, but they must somehow be sleeping through this racket. Surely we would have heard them scream if they’d been…attacked?

  Also, I almost burned our tent down. But it wasn’t my fault. If anyone is to blame it’s MM and her stupid bats. Imagine waking up in pitch darkness, with a flock of monsters screeching in your face. Try being a Mindful Witch in that situation! Can you blame me for letting off a blast of sparks? If MM hadn’t been so quick with an extinguish spell, we would have been barbecued. She then had the gall to launch into a lecture about my carelessness (‘You could have started a bushfire, Zelda!’) but I was so angry I shoved a bunch of bats out of the way, and told her to stop right there, she owed me an explanation for this plague.

  I had barely got the words out when a bat leapt into my face and spat fury at me. ‘Plague? Who are you calling a plague, you half-baked witch?’

  Zelda, meet Lucille. Melody Martin’s secret companion. A beast with some serious battitude.

  It seems that MM has been quite a disappointment to Lucille. And Lucille couldn’t wait to tell me all about it.

  Echhh! Talk about Ordinary! I’ve been with this witch for two months now, and you’d get more magic out of a garden gnome! She’s at that stupid school, day and night. All she does is work, work, work, and I’m left hanging around like an odd sock. It’s embarrassing!