by Lou Kuenzler
“That’s horrible!” I said. But it didn’t surprise me. Piers Seymour is the meanest boy in our whole school. And he lives right next door to me in the village. Worst luck.
“Please, Bella. Can you go in and get the broom for me?” gulped Esme. “Unless you’re scared of spiders too.”
“Of course I’ll get it. I like spiders,” I said, ducking under the silvery web. “They used to cheer me up when I was living in Aunt Hemlock’s cave. There were hundreds of them. You wouldn’t have liked it one little bit.”
“Yikes! I suppose that’s one good reason to stay away from the Magic Realm.” Esme shuddered.
“Exactly!” I scrambled over a pile of flowerpots and spotted the long-handled broom in the darkness.
“This will be perfect,” I called, dragging it back out to the light. It was a proper old-fashioned broom with sticks for bristles, not like the neat little kitchen brush that had danced out of the cupboard to help me with my tidying-up spell.
“It’s just like a real witch’s broom!” Esme clapped her hands with excitement, although she was still hanging back, keeping well away from the spiders as I closed the shed door.
“If we stay on this side of the windmill, we’ll be hidden by the hill. No one on the road will see us taking off,” she said. “Gretel will be playing in her bedroom and Mum will be writing by the kitchen window, which looks out the other way too.”
“Hovering hawks! I must be mad to agree to this,” I said, glancing nervously at the sky. But my tummy was fizzing with excitement too. At least it was cloudy, which would help to keep us hidden once we were in the air. “Right, let’s get started. Lay the broomstick on the ground and stand well back.”
I cleared my throat, still feeling a bit anxious. The spell I was about to do was really simple – back in the Magic Realm every young witch learns it almost before they can walk. Every young witch except me, that is. Before I came to the Person World, I was so hopeless at magic I couldn’t even do beginner spells. Everything changed when Aunt Hemlock banished me to Merrymeet and I discovered my amazing pink-flamingo feather wand instead of my horrible old splintery one. It’s the best wand there ever was … anywhere! And now I can do magic. But I am still a bit surprised every time it works.
“Here goes,” I said, giving the feathers a kiss as I waved the wand over the broom three times:
Sweep like wings into the sky,
Brush the clouds and fly, fly, fly!
Almost at once, the broom wobbled on the grass, then rose slowly and hovered in the air.
“Wow!” gasped Esme.
“Hold on to my waist,” I told her as we scrambled on board. “And, whatever you do, don’t let—”
“Whoa!” we shrieked. The broom was off, shooting into the sky like a rocket.
“DON’T LET GO!” I cried, but Esme had already taken one hand off my waist and was waving it in delight. She might be scared of spiders, but she didn’t seem to mind heights.
“Whoopee!” she cried as I steered the broom over a weeping willow tree and we soared higher and higher above the little stream at the bottom of the meadow. “This is better than the roller coaster at the fair!”
“Roller coaster?” I shouted over my shoulder. “What’s that?” There were so many Person things I still had to find out about. But before Esme could answer, the broom was swooping towards the ground in a spinning nosedive.
“It’s a bit like this!” she cried.
“Walloping wombats!” I yelped as we skimmed the meadow. I was sure we were going to crash head first. But just as the grass tickled my nose, the broom shot up again.
“Whoopee!” cried Esme.
“Not again!” I gulped. My head was spinning. But, sure enough, the broom was off. Up, up, up into the air once more and then … WHOOSH! Down like a diving eagle.
“I feel sick!” I groaned, and even Esme screamed as we shot up, looped the loop and plunged towards the ground yet again.
The wind was rushing past my cheeks so fast I could barely speak, but I managed to lift my hand and rap the broom with my wand. It shuddered to a halt, hanging in mid-air.
“Thank you!” I panted, muttering a chant before it could change its mind and start swooping around like Esme’s racing roller coaster again:
Be more like a dragonfly…
Hover gently in the sky.
Ah – that was better. My chant seemed to have done the trick and the broom was calm. It glided along in mid-air, following the path of the stream.
A startled pheasant flew up from the reeds and squawked as he saw us flying overhead.
“Sorry! Didn’t mean to frighten you,” I called in a mixture of Owl Hoot and Crow Call (I don’t speak Pheasant but hoped he’d understand).
“You really are so clever. I wish I could talk to animals,” said Esme.
But either I’d said something rude to the pheasant by mistake or he was shocked at seeing two girls on a flying broomstick, because he squawked again and started flapping round and round our heads in circles. I couldn’t understand what he’d said but I began to think he was trying to tell us something.
“Let’s follow him,” I said as he flew off a little way.
“Brilliant!” agreed Esme.
At least the broomstick was behaving itself now, and as we swooped towards a small wood, the pheasant turned and squawked at us again.
“Chuck! Chuck!” he cried.
“Pardon.” I leant forwards and listened as hard as I could. It was no good. I still couldn’t figure out what he was saying – but I was sure he was trying to tell us something … and it sounded important.
Chapter Four
The pheasant kept on calling out to us as we followed him along the side of a wood.
“Chuck chuck!” he cried.
“If only we knew what he was trying to tell us,” said Esme.
I was just wondering what to do when I heard two squirrels laughing at us from halfway up an oak tree.
“Wenowhatyrelooknfo!” cried one, and the other chuckled.
I do speak a little of their language. But Squirrel Squeak is so fast and giggly it is often impossible to understand what they’re actually saying – and they usually talk with their mouths full of nuts too.
“Pardon?” I said, wobbling as I tried to turn the broomstick round. It didn’t help that the pheasant was still squawking at us too.
“Losoming!” said the squirrels. It was no good. They were giggling so much, I couldn’t make head nor tail of anything.
“I think they’re just teasing us,” I sighed as the broomstick wobbled and Esme grabbed hold of my waist.
“Naughty little things. But they’re so cute,” she cooed. The squirrels fluffed up their grey tails and jumped from branch to branch as we flew along the edge of the wood beside them.
“Chuck chuck!” crowed the pheasant.
“Weknowwhatyourlookingfor! Weknowwhatyourlookingfor,” chanted the squirrels.
Finally I understood what they were saying. “That’s odd! The squirrels think we’re looking for something,” I explained. “Perhaps that’s what the pheasant’s trying to say too.”
“But we’re not looking for anything. Are we?” Esme sounded as confused as I was.
I pulled the broomstick round again, trying to keep it still. (Hovering is always one of the trickiest parts of flying.) “Can – you – tell – us – what – you - mean?” I asked, talking in Squirrel Squeak as slowly and clearly as I could.
But it was no good. They were playing a chasing game now, swinging from branch to branch.
“Whoopsadaisy!” giggled the first squirrel, almost falling out of the tree.
“Whoopsadaisy! Whoopsadaisy,” they both giggled, swinging by their tails.
“SILENCE!” Suddenly a voice I understood hooted from deep in the shadowy wood. “HOW DARE YOU WAKE ME UP BEFORE IT IS DARK!” The squirrels fled in terror. The pheasant gave one last squawk and flew away.
“Wow!” gasped Esme as a barn owl swoope
d out of the trees and landed on a branch beside us.
“I am so sorry you were woken up – how very distressing for you,” I hooted, bowing my head. (It is always good to be polite to owls.) Owls are very wise. Perhaps she’d know what the squirrels meant. The magnificent bird swivelled her head and stared at us bobbing about on the broomstick.
“Excuse me, Madam Barn Owl,” I hooted. “We have a question for you. The squirrels seem to think we have lost something. The trouble is, we don’t know what it is.”
She gave me a long look and then lifted her wings. “You had better follow me,” she hooted, rising up from her branch. Her wings didn’t make a sound as she swooped away through the darkening sky. I sighed and set off after her. Owls are wise but they aren’t always very chatty.
“This is so exciting!” whispered Esme, jiggling up and down behind me.
“Just don’t wriggle so much or we’ll both end up in a ditch,” I warned her as we whooshed away across the fields.
We had been flying for about five minutes when the owl swooped towards the ground as if she was hunting for something behind a fallen tree.
“What if it’s a mouse?” I shivered as the owl appeared again with something in her claws.
“It’s a bat!” squealed Esme. “A dead bat.”
“No!” I told her. “It’s not a bat. It looks more like a…”
“A hat!” cheered Esme. “Look! It’s a witch’s hat!”
The owl opened her claws and dropped it into my lap
“It’s my witch’s hat!” I cried, recognizing the battered old thing at once. “It blew off when I flew into the Person World with Aunt Hemlock.” There was a burnt hole in the brim where I’d once tried to turn a spoon into a candle, but it had become a firecracker and exploded in my hat instead. “See?” I tried to turn round on the broomstick and show Esme where my name was embroidered inside with green thread:
“Go on then!” said Esme. “Put it on!”
I hesitated for a moment – something about the old hat made me shiver – but Esme was so excited I pulled it down over my ears.
“Oooh! You look amazing,” she cried. “Like a real witch, sitting on your broomstick. You’ll have the best costume ever for Halloween.”
“I suppose so,” I said, thinking a little sadly of the cute cat costume in Aunty Rose’s magazine. But she was right; now I had the hat, which the animals had gone to so much trouble to get back for me, I’d have to wear it…
“Thank you!” I hooted as the owl swooped silently away.
“We’d better be getting back too,” I said, turning the broomstick towards home.
“You’re so lucky you’ve got your costume sorted out.” Esme sighed. “If only I didn’t have to be a ghost again in a silly old ripped sheet.”
Poor Esme. She had told me dressing up was the most important thing about Halloween. Mrs Lee certainly didn’t have any money to buy her anything new and it was too late now to make anything good. It only made me feel worse for not really wanting to dress up as a witch.
“You’re right,” I agreed, trying to sound cheerful. “I am lucky to have such a great costume.” But I didn’t feel lucky. Wearing the tall black witch’s hat reminded me far too much of my old, spooky life back in the Magic Realm … and I didn’t like the feeling one little bit.
Chapter Five
Esme and I landed safely behind the windmill just as it was getting dark.
By the time I had put the broom away (Esme was still keeping a good distance from the spiders), Uncle Martin had arrived to take me home.
We got in the car and set off, with him warbling along to the crazy Person tunes on the radio.
“We will, we will ROCK YOU!” he squawked, sounding worse than the pheasant, but I loved his out-of-tune singing. He and Aunty Rose were the best foster parents I could ever dream of. The only thing was that they still had no idea I had really come from the Magic Realm or that Aunt Hemlock had tricked them with a spell to let me stay. Would they still want to foster me if they ever found out the truth?
I was trying so hard not to think about that, I almost jumped out of my skin when Uncle Martin said, “So, Bella, I never knew you were a witch…?”
“A witch?” How had he finally guessed? I froze, gripping the edge of the car seat as we rattled along the country lanes.
“How … how did you know?” I stammered.
“Well … the black pointy hat was a bit of a giveaway!” he chortled.
“The hat? Oh! I had forgotten I was wearing it!” My heart was still pounding like a runaway toad, but I breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know I was a real witch at all. He thought I was just dressing up as one. “It’s for Halloween!” I explained.
“You don’t say!” Uncle Martin chuckled as we pulled up outside our little thatched cottage in Merrymeet Village. “The only thing is,” he said, sounding serious for a moment, “I think Aunty Rose might be bit a disappointed…”
“Disappointed?” Had I done something to upset her? I racked my brain trying to think what it could be. But I had no idea. I still had so much to learn about living in the Person World …
Before Uncle Martin could explain, the front door opened and Aunty Rose stepped out to greet us. She was smiling as usual. Her pink apple cheeks glowed in the warm light of the porch.
“Hello!” she called. Even in the shadowy light of the garden, I saw her smile flicker for a second as her eyes came to rest on the witch’s hat in my hands.
“Ah, so you’re going to be a witch for Halloween?” she said brightly, but her voice sounded funny – a bit too high and loud, as if she was sad about something but pretending to be fine.
“Yes … I think so,” I said. “Why?”
“It’s just…” Now her pink cheeks were burning bright red. “I should have asked what you wanted, but … well, I saw you looking at my sewing magazine the other day and I just thought— Oh dear, I’ve got so much to learn about being a mum!”
“No you haven’t!” I cried as we stepped into the hall. “You know how much I love living here with you and Uncle Martin!” Whatever it was that was upsetting Aunty Rose, she had no need to worry. She was the best foster mum ever.
“It’s just…” She gave an embarrassed grin. “Well, I made you this.”
She pulled a bundle of fluffy black fabric from behind her back. “See?” She unrolled it.
“The cat costume!” I cried, tossing my old witch’s hat in the air and flinging my arms around her. “I can’t believe you made it for me!”
“You don’t have to wear it, of course,” said Aunty Rose quickly. “Not if you’d rather be a witch?”
But I was already wriggling into the fluffy cat suit and pulling the hood up so the cute little ears were on top of my head. “It’s perfect! Even better than the picture in the magazine,” I said, peering into the mirror by the coatrack. “Thank you, Aunty Rose! Thank you, thank you, thank you.”
She blushed again. But this time she was grinning from ear to ear and her eyes were sparkling too. “I’m so glad you like it!”
“I love it! You know cats are my favourite animals,” I said. Just then I caught sight of my little kitten, Rascal, at the top of the stairs. I waved a big paw-print mitten at him.
“That is the funniest thing I have EVER seen!” he purred, rolling around on the carpet.
Aunty Rose didn’t understand a word of Cat Chat, of course.
“Rascal seems to like it too. I’ll leave you to play kittens together for a few minutes before tea,” she said, still smiling as she headed off to the kitchen.
“Rascal, stop laughing. You’ll just have to teach me how to be a proper cat,” I purred, straightening my woolly whiskers and bounding up the stairs towards him.
It was only when I had finished learning how to arch my back and chase my tail that I remembered the witch’s hat.
It was still lying on the hall floor where I had dropped it. Half of me wanted to throw it away in the dustbin and never see it ever
again. But I had another idea too. What if I let Esme borrow it for Halloween? It would solve her costume problem.
“What do you think?” I said, scratching Rascal’s ears. “After all, Halloween in the Person World is just a bit of fun. It’s not like Esme will turn into a real witch or anything. She’ll just be pretending … and it’s only for one night. What harm can it do?”
Chapter Six
As soon as I had finished breakfast next morning, I ran outside to wait by Uncle Martin’s car. He was giving me a lift to Esme’s house so we could spend the day together getting ready for Halloween. I couldn’t wait to see her face when I told her she could wear the witch’s hat. I had it with me now in a bag, along with my precious cat costume.
The bag seemed surprisingly heavy. I put it down to rest my arms for a moment. As I looked up I saw Piers Seymour, my horrible neighbour, collecting a huge parcel from the post Person outside his front door.
“Ha!” he shouted through the iron railings. “Just you wait. This is my costume for Halloween. I ordered it specially and it’s going to frighten your friend Esme out of her skin.”
“That’s not very nice!” I said. Trust Piers, the village bully, to dream up some truly horrible Halloween trick while everybody else was baking cakes and filling bowls with sweets to give out as treats. “And anyway, Esme’s not frightened of anything, except…” I trailed off as I remembered the story about her lunch box. “Spiders!” I groaned. “Oh, Piers, you wouldn’t.”
But he just grinned and made a little scuttling shape with his hand.
“Please don’t really frighten her,” I said. “I thought Halloween was supposed to be fun.”
But it was too late. He had already scurried back inside his house and slammed the front door.
As soon as I told Esme about the hat, she started jumping up and down on her bed.
“Do you really mean it? I can wear your witch’s hat for Halloween?” she cheered. “Your real witch’s hat! I don’t have to be a silly ghost in a sheet after all?”