And that’s why Lucille decided to move to school too. She set up her roost in the ceiling and refused to budge. You want a teacher’s pet, Ms Important Vice Principal? Well, now you’ve got one!
One bat in the ceiling wouldn’t have been so bad. But Lucille wasn’t alone. A whole colony of hangers-on moved in with her. Hundreds of them.
It was Bat Party City in Building B, and Lucille was content at last. She could keep up her reputation as a proper witch’s companion, with her very own witch working just downstairs, and throw the best bat parties in town. It was all going perfectly, until some fool sent a stupid cat in and destroyed the place.
I’m just grateful MM didn’t tell Lucille that the fool in question was right in front of her snout.
I feel quite sorry for MM, actually. Of course she’s at school day and night. She’s still shouldering most of Principal B’s work for him while he swans around buying roses for my mother. And if MM wants to be a principal herself one day, she can’t let anyone find out she’s a witch. People might tolerate a witch as a teacher, but they’re not going to let one run the school! The last thing she needed was a bunch of pesky bats stinking up the place and threatening to blow her cover.
After the bat-storm, the roof space was sealed up. MM was safe – just – but Lucille and her smelly crew were homeless. They roughed it in the park for a week, which was very unsatisfactory. Then they followed MM all the way to Numbat Creek. I’ll say this for Lucille: she may be a fire-tongued ingrate, but she will not give up on her witch.
And that – Lucille claims – is why she’s staying here, inside our tent, with twenty or so of her closest friends. Just sticking by her witch, like a proper companion should.
It’s rubbish, of course. Lucille might act tough, but she’s as scared as we are of whatever is prowling around out there. The noises outside have finally died down, but Fraidy-Bat and Friends aren’t going anywhere. They’re clinging fast to our tent, bickering and scratching and tearing holes in the material with their nasty claws.
Ugh. And I thought Barnaby was hard to live with. Compared to Lucille, he is an absolute pussycat.
Thursday, 8.06am
DISASTER.
The kids are gone.
Not asleep. Gone.
I knew something was wrong. I knew it. I knew those tents were too quiet. I am the worst, worst kind of coward! I didn’t go out to check on them even once! I feel sick. Oh, the gut-sinking feeling when I unzipped those tent doors, one after another, and nobody was there!
We thought it was a joke, at first. We walked around calling their names. Come on out, everyone, the game’s over. Nothing. Not even a rustle in the bushes. We looked along the walking track and out behind the bush toilets. Nothing. Now MM and Steve have gone back to search the main campground. I’m supposed to stay here by the tents in case any of the kids show up.
Every minute of this is agony. Where are they?? There are acres and acres of bush out there. They might have fallen down a ravine in the dark. Or drowned. Or eaten poisonous mushrooms. Or been…taken. By whatever that was last night.
How could we lose an entire class of children? What are we going to tell their parents?
Monday 16 June
I still don’t know what I’d say to all those parents. It’s been four days, and I haven’t been able to talk about The Incident at all, not even to Barnaby. I’m only just starting to feel like I can write about it here, where nobody else can read it.
So: Thursday morning. The kids were gone. Vanished. Lost. The bus was due to arrive at lunchtime, and we had absolutely no idea what had happened to my class.
I was waiting by the tents, getting more panicked by the minute, when the sky exploded with bats. Out of the storm swooped Melody Martin, ponytail flying, face set grim, straddling two broomsticks at once. She dropped one broom at my feet and told me to saddle up, we were going to find my class.
Let me just say, I’m badly out of practice. And even with Steve’s exercises, my arm still isn’t strong enough to control a broom. I got on, wobbled a metre into the air, then hit the ground like a sack of sausages. The broomstick snapped in half. MM gave a mighty eye-roll and said ‘Honestly, Zelda!’ as if I’d done it on purpose. She took off into the air with the bats fanning out behind her, while I tried to pick my dignity out of the dust. This was not a heroic moment for Zelda Stitch.
Before she flew off, MM told me to hike back to the main campsite; there were signs that the kids might have been there before they disappeared. I trudged back, feeling about as useful as a chocolate cauldron. The whole place looked like the site of a terrible battle. Broken branches. Bat droppings. Torn shade sails and tangled bunting. Lolly wrappers strewn across the ground.
Steve and I waited for what seemed like an eternity, watching the specks of bats against the clouds. Suddenly, a small bat fluttered down and called to us. We followed her to the river, then along a hidden, overgrown trail, and finally emerged onto a familiar path: the Valley Track where Steve had led the nature hike. At the lowest point of the valley, crouching among the bracken, was Phoebe. She was in her pyjamas and boots, clutching my copy of Rugged Witchcraft in one hand and a plastic bag full of toadstools in the other. She was sobbing.
MM landed just as we arrived. Phoebe jumped up and looked wildly from her aunt to me. She was ready to run. And no wonder: MM’s face was thunderous. I held out my hand and told Phoebe it was all right, she wasn’t in trouble, she just needed to tell us what happened.
This is what happened: Phoebe made the entire class invisible. And she couldn’t turn them back.
She hiccupped out the whole story. They wanted to be invisible. They begged her to do it. They were all going to sneak over to the main camp during the survival sleep-out, steal back the confiscated lollies and have their long-awaited midnight feast. It was Zinnia who came up with the idea, but the whole class was in on it.
Phoebe didn’t want to risk it. She’d never made another person invisible before. But her friends just kept pushing. Oh yes. I can just imagine…
Phoebe crumbled. And who could blame her – one kid, being hounded by a whole class? So, when we teachers were tucked up in our tents for the night, she spun her spell and off they went, a convoy of invisible children, creeping back to camp. To avoid losing anyone, the clever things whispered their names in roll-call order, over and over, all the way there. Unbelievable how quiet and well-organised they can be when they actually want to.
The bats were carousing in the trees again, but this time the children weren’t afraid. At the main camp, Zinnia and Zac slipped into our hut and lugged out the huge box of treats. The rest of the class followed them through the inky dark, heading for Cabin One.
They were halfway there when the yowlies attacked.
It seems I was wrong. There are things out there in the bush that I had no idea about. The monsters that attacked them weren’t bats, Phoebe insisted. They were yowlies, just as Zinnia had described them. They flew at the children, slashing and wailing, like streaks of darkness come alive. The kids screamed in terror, tripping and stumbling over one another as they ran for their lives.
Twenty terrified, invisible kids, lost in the bush. That’s what we would have been dealing with if it weren’t for Eleanor’s quick thinking. In the thick of the chaos, she had the presence of mind to yell, ‘EVERYONE GO TO CABIN ONE!’
Inside, they did a roll call. They were all there, all safe. Outside, a chaos of screeching bats and terrifying wails raged around the camp. Being invisible didn’t feel like fun anymore; it felt scary. Everyone wanted to go back to normal, to be able to see one another again. But Phoebe couldn’t reverse the spell. She could bring herself back, but nobody else.
By dawn the others were fast asleep, tangled together on the bunks in invisible heaps, and Phoebe was desperate. Desperate enough to steal into our hut, take Rugged Witchcraft from beside my bunk, and go hunting for toadstools. Thank all the Witching Stars we found her before she started to meddle with the
m. One wrong mushroom, and those kids might have been gone for good.
MM tipped out Phoebe’s bag. It was a motley collection of puffballs and milk caps, with a few really toxic Agaricus thrown in. Toadstool potions were out of the question, MM said. She and Phoebe would just have to pull off the reversal using their own combined forces. MM would be revealed as a witch, but there was no alternative; someone had to bring the kids back. I did suggest that maybe I could try, but MM snapped that things were bad enough already without me setting the whole class on fire. That wasn’t my hero moment either.
Steve and I took the camp four-wheel-drive to the sleep-out site and packed up all the gear. Then we drove back to the main camp and waited. There were flashes of light in the windows of Cabin One. Weird squeaks and bangs, and a smell like rain on charcoal. Then suddenly the door opened – and there they were.
Sort of.
What we saw shambling out of the cabin was a crowd of empty clothes. It looked like the school lost property bin had vomited and the contents were dancing across the grass. MM and Phoebe hadn’t reversed the spell at all. The kids were still invisible, they’d just put on another layer of clothing so that everyone could see where they were. Very clever. Now, why didn’t I think of that?
When Jittery Bill pulled up in his bus, twenty sets of empty – but very noisy – pants and t-shirts crowded on board. Bill completely lost his lolly. His eyes bulged like twin anti-witchcraft amulets. He grabbed his bunch of rosemary in one hand and his salt water in the other, and gasped, ‘Sorcery! Help! Call the police!’
MM sidled up behind Bill. She gave a flick of her hand and he slumped forward over the wheel. There was a scent of lavender in the air: she’d tapped him with a sleep spell. I must have looked shocked, because she said, ‘It’s for his own good, Zelda. I’ll wake him up when we’re back at school.’
And that’s how we ended up stealing a bus.
It turns out that bus driving is harder than it looks. Not as hard as riding a broom, but still very tricky, especially if one of your arms is a bit wobbly. It was like trying to steer a whale down one lane of a swimming pool. The scattering of bats flying alongside us didn’t help, either.
We passed a stretch of roadworks, and I somehow ran over the whole row of orange witch’s hats. Bumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbumpbump. The workers all yelled and made rude hand gestures at the bus, which the kids thought was hilarious. Definitely not my hero moment.
Behind me, MM and Phoebe were hard at it, trying to unhex the kids. I could see them in the big fish-eye mirror. MM’s eyes were closed and her teeth were clenched. Phoebe was growing paler and paler, pulsing in and out of visibility herself. It was too much for her. She was quivering on the edge of exhaustion, or worse, a blowout.
And then it hit me. An inspiration.
It was staring me right in the face all along.
The mirror.
I heaved the bus into the emergency lane and turned off the engine. I told MM there was something I wanted to try. She gave her eyes a good spin, but she didn’t stop me.
I held my hand up towards the big round mirror and carefully recalled each step of Amanita’s reveal spell, the one she showed us in her Cauldron Club workshop. Then, Mindful Witch style, I closed my eyes and turned my concentration inwards, away from the rabble of invisible kids. I focused on drawing the magic along my arm. It was shaky, but I held steady. Breathe in. Breathe out…
I felt a tug, and something seemed to unhook inside my elbow. Then the power unrolled like a ribbon and flowed through my hand.
I opened my eyes. There they were, my whole class, gleaming in the curved glass. There was Marlo’s gap-toothed grin, and Zinnia poking her tongue out, and Eleanor with her arms folded in disapproval, and Danny, caught mid-yawn. And Owen, as ever, with his finger up his nose!
Here’s what my victory dance looked like:
And here’s how I looked when I turned around:
Hero moment GONE.
I could have cried. Nothing had changed. They were still invisible! But I’d seen them in the mirror! I had! They were right there!
MM grimaced as if someone was dragging a nit comb through her hair and said, ‘That’s enough, Zelda. Just drive. We’re going to be late, on top of everything else. There’s nothing you can do.’
There’s nothing you can do. Those words stung. I’d heard them so many times, mostly from myself.
Well, I didn’t want to say those words anymore. I thought about what Jessamyn had told me. Believe in yourself. And I decided to say something else instead.
You’ve got good ideas, Zelda.
Look how far you’ve already come.
Don’t give up. If one thing doesn’t work, reach into your toolkit and try something else.
Eureka! That was it! The missing piece of the puzzle! ‘Reach in’!
It’s a good thing I’d kept Briony’s Swiss Gadget Knife handy. I jumped up onto the driver’s seat and undid the screws that held the big mirror in place. Then I poured another jolt of magic into the mirror, carried it carefully into the aisle, and held it up, fizzing and crackling, to the set of empty clothes in the first seat. Rose’s reflection stared back, open-mouthed with amazement.
‘Okay Rose, now, touch the glass with your left hand.’
Rose’s empty sleeve reached for the mirror, and the image of her hand reached back. The moment they connected, a cascade of blue electricity flashed out and wrapped itself around Rose’s hand, her arm, and then the rest of her, tracing her outline in a sparkling aurora. Then, as if a magic paintbrush was colouring her in, Rose reappeared.
One by one, I brought them all back. And then, while my magic was still flowing, I turned the mirror onto Steve.
THIS was my hero moment.
I brought back the kids.
I brought Steve (and all his clothes) back to size.
I drove a bus without killing anyone.
You know what? I saved the day.
To be fair, I have to say that MM did her bit too. Without her sleep spell, bus driver Bill would have caused us some serious difficulties. MM woke him up just as I parked the whale-mobile outside the school. ‘Asleep on the job, Bill?’ I heard her say in a witheringly sweet voice. ‘The Department won’t be pleased about that.’
Bill gaped at the children, and at full-size Steve. ‘But – they were invisible—’ he stammered.
MM cut him off. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must have been dreaming. Now, if you think you’re in a fit state to drive back to the depot, Ms Stitch will give you your keys.’
Bravo Melody Martin! What a performance! I really hope Lucille was watching.
Tuesday 17 June
You’ll never guess who I found sitting on the couch when I got home from school today…
Barnaby and Melvin, side by side, watching telly and sharing a box of Tweezels! Barnaby and Melvin are friends! This is even more astonishing than Mother canoodling with Principal B!
But there were bigger astonishments still to come.
It was Melvin who spilled the beans. He nudged Barnaby and said, ‘We really ought to tell your witch, Barney.’ (Barney????!!!!!!!)
Barnaby just grunted. He won’t even tell me the time, let alone anything about his private life. So Melvin told me instead.
According to Melvin, Barnaby was miserable while I was away. He moped under Briony’s bed and refused to come out. He wouldn’t even eat. Melvin could tell that poor old Barnaby was really missing his witch.
Then on Wednesday morning, Briony left for her dentists’ conference. And that afternoon, Barnaby disappeared.
Being a kind and thoughtful cat, Melvin decided to go and find him. He had an inkling where Barnaby might have gone, and he was right.
When Melvin arrived at Numbat Creek, it was already dark. The campsite was deserted, but the trees were thick with hordes of shrieking bats. He found Barnaby quaking under my bunk, scared out of his socks.
Melvin, however, was thrilled. The sound and smel
l of bats took him right back to his yowling youth. He used to love chasing bats. He hadn’t done it in years. He tried to persuade Barnaby to come outside and give it a whirl, but Barnaby would not budge.
Melvin was about to give up when something bizarre happened. The hut door opened, all by itself. There were scuffles and whispers. Then, as if by magic, the big cardboard box on the table opened. A clutch of Caramel Crisp bars emerged into the air, followed by bags of marshmallows, snakes, Swirl-Os, Choc Royales…The cats stared. And drooled. The goodies dropped back into the box, and then the whole thing wobbled, heaved, and floated out the door.
It was the invisible kids reclaiming their loot. But the two cats didn’t know that. All they knew was that a box full of treats was leaving the building.
Barnaby forgot his fear. He sprang out from under the bunk and launched himself caterwauling out the door with Melvin right behind him. They leapt at the floating box, knocked it to the ground and tore into the goodies. And then, pumped up with sugar and howling with triumph, they went after the bats.
Melvin popped a Tweezel into his mouth and threw his arm around Barnaby’s shoulders. ‘This guy was ferocious! A bat-chasing legend!’ Then the two of them flung back their heads and let out a bloodcurdling, Tweezel-spraying howl.
Can you believe it? My very own yowlie. Wait until I tell my class!
Praise for The Cursed First Term of Zelda Stitch
‘An extremely fun read that shows us if we are just true to ourselves, we can do remarkable things. Anyone who loves a little magic will love this book!’
Lamont
‘Nicki Greenberg has created literature’s most admirably down-to-earth witch in this wickedly hilarious tale of classroom mishaps and witchy adventures.’
Too Much Witch Page 8