Halloween Havoc

by Lou Kuenzler

  Chapter Thirteen

  I crouched behind the old tree stump, ready to cast my spell.

  “Wait!” cried Rascal.

  “What is it?” I hissed.

  “Do me first,” he begged.

  “What do you mean, do you first? You already are a cat!”

  “But I don’t want to be a cat,” he whined. “Turn me into something else!”

  “Rascal, we don’t have time for this.” I raised the wand again.

  Rascal arched his back. “It’s not fair. Esme got to be a witch. You’re getting to be a cat. Why can’t I turn into my costume too?”

  “You mean … a real tiger?” My mouth fell open. “Absolutely not!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because!”

  “Because why?”

  “Because I say so?”

  “Please!”

  “No!”

  “Purring please!”

  “No!”

  “Pretty purring please.” He rubbed his head against me. “I’ll be the best tiger ever.”

  “Oh…” I could feel myself weakening. “I suppose it might be useful to have a tiger on our team.” I raised my wand. “I’m going to regret this.”

  “No you won’t! And I’ve already thought of a spell,” said Rascal. “Try this.”

  Give my kitten tiger stripes

  So he can roar and pounce and fight!

  “Rascal! We’re not fighting – we’re sneaking in, grabbing Esme and getting out.”

  “All right, all right,” he purred. “How about…”

  Turn him into a big, fierce beast,

  He’ll gobble that witch up for a feast…

  “No one is getting eaten!” I said. “Stand back. And remember – no fighting!” I raised my wand.

  Make this kitten like his tiger suit,

  Small and stripy and really …

  “NO!” cried Rascal.

  But it was too late.

  “Cute!” I smiled as I waved my wand.

  Orange and black swirls filled the sky. As the mist cleared, Rascal stepped forwards. He was now the size a small, fat lamb … the most adorable fluffy tiger cub I had ever seen.

  “Oh! You’re so cuddly!” I whispered

  “Roar!” He flicked his claws furiously.

  “…And really very scary!” I added, or I knew I would never get him to keep quiet.

  “Now my turn.”

  I raised the wand again.

  Make me like a real cat

  With fur as black as a witch’s hat.

  Poof! The wand shot out of my hand. There was a strange leaping feeling in my tummy. Next thing I knew I was standing on four black paws with a long sleek tail wrapped round my legs.

  “It worked!” I purred.

  “Nice whiskers!” agreed Rascal. (Luckily, we could still understand each other perfectly. Cat Chat and Tiger Talk are almost exactly the same language. The only real difference is that Tiger Talk is louder.)

  “So, now what?” roared Rascal.

  “Shh!” I miaowed. “You are going to have to whisper.” But as I spoke, my tail unwound itself from around my legs and I found it impossible to look away. What a beautiful tail it was. So long and flicky… I turned my head to look at it. So wiggly!

  I knew there was something I had to do. I had to rescue Esme. Aunt Hemlock was going to take her to the Coven! But somehow that all seemed very misty, and all I could think about was my amazing tail. “Look!” I miaowed. If I turned in circles, my tail turned too.

  “I have to catch it,” I giggled, chasing the tip as I spun round and round in circles.

  Rascal was spinning beside me, chasing his tail too.

  “This is fun!” he cried.

  I rolled over. I had completely forgotten what I was supposed to be doing. All I could think about was trying to catch my tail. Until…

  Lying on my back, I looked up into the sky. My new cat’s eyes had wonderful vision in the dark. Hundreds of witches were swooping over our heads, like black fluttering bats.

  I sprang to my feet. “The Coven,” I cried. “They’re heading for Hag’s Crag already.”

  “Time to go, Person-child!” I heard Aunt Hemlock’s voice in the darkness. Esme made a tiny, frightened, whimpering sound in reply. My poor, brave friend was terrified out of her wits.

  How could I have been so stupid? While I had been enchanted by my own spell, Aunt Hemlock was getting ready to leave. I’d been wasting time playing kitty-cat games as Esme’s life was in danger.

  “Quick!” I bounded forwards and heard Rascal’s paws squelch in the soft mud behind me.

  There was whooshing sound, and I saw Aunt Hemlock’s broom take off.

  “Stop!” I mewed.

  But it was hopeless. We were too late.

  Aunt Hemlock, Wane and Esme were silhouetted against the green moon as they joined the flock of witches flying towards the rocky slopes of Hag’s Crag, where the Coven meets at Halloween.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I stared up at the sky, amazed how well my cat’s eyes could see in the dark. Before, everything had been pitch black unless it was lit either by lantern light or the moon. Now the view was pale grey but very clear – like a black-and-white picture in a Person newspaper. (The headline under this one would say: WICKED WITCH STEALS CHILD AS BEST FRIEND FAILS TO HELP.)

  “Right,” I mewed. “Come on, Rascal! They’re heading to Hag’s Crag and we have to follow them.” I grabbed my wand in my claws and sprang forwards on to the broom handle. “Hold tight!” I warned Rascal as we rose shakily. “Forwards, Broomstick! Take us to Esme. Fly, fly, fly!”

  Our poor old broom was still bent and twisted from where it had crashed into the tree. I gripped with my cat claws, curling the end of my tail around the handle as we blundered through the sky. Rascal was lying behind me like a tubby tiger cub on a branch.

  We lurched over a deep, ink-black lake behind the swamps. Beyond that, I could see the tall, dark shadow of Hag’s Crag. The steep, pointy shape of the rocky cliff rose out of the valley like a witch’s nose. Hundreds of witches and wizards were already swooping above it on their broomsticks.

  “There!” I cried, as my sharp cat’s eyes spotted the spiky outline of the chameleon, Wane, clinging to the front of Aunt Hemlock’s broomstick in the middle of the throng. I could see Esme’s hair streaming out behind her as she hunched over in terror – her shadow was the only one without a pointy hat. She must have left it behind when Aunt Hemlock ripped it off her in the cave.

  “That’s them. Keep your eyes on the broom, Rascal,” I cried. “Don’t let Esme out of our sight.”

  “Up!” I urged the shaky broom, and it tried its best. But the handle made a horrible creaking sound. The bent bristles at the back were sagging down. Rascal’s heavy tiger-cub weight lying flat along it didn’t help.

  “Sit up!” I told him. But it was too late.

  The broom was falling through the sky.

  “Floundering Fishes! We’re going to hit that giant rock!” I cried.

  A massive boulder was right below us.

  CRACK! The broom handle split in half.

  Rascal and I plunged towards the enormous lumpy, bumpy stone.

  “This is going to hurt!” I cried.

  “Don’t worry!” shouted Rascal as the wind whistled past my ears. “Cats always land on their feet, remember. Tigers too!”

  I closed my eyes and waited for the thud … but Rascal was right. My paws hit the rock first. Cats do always land the right way up.

  Boing!

  Instead of crashing against the hard surface of the boulder, my toes touched something soft and springy like sponge.

  Boing!

  I bounced into the air again as if I had landed on a trampoline.

  “Ouch! Get off, Claw-paws!” The strange boulder rumbled like an earthquake.

  “Hurty hurt!”

  Rascal and I landed on the ground in a heap and watched in amazement as the rock stood up … and yawne
d.

  “What – what is it?” gasped Rascal, dashing behind a bush to hide.

  I stood with my mouth open and stared.

  The rock turned towards me and I saw that it wasn’t a boulder at all.

  “Gawpaw?” I gasped. “Is that you?”

  We had crashed into my dear old friend – a huge, napping troll.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Ahhhhhhhhhh!” Gawpaw raised his arms and yawned.

  I had to hold my nose and duck as the smell of rotten cabbage breath filled the air. But it was wonderful to see him, all the same.

  “Hello, Gawpaw,” I purred up at him. It was so good to find a friendly face in the Magic Realm at last – a very knobbly face, like a giant cauliflower with big sticky-out ears. It was such a kind face … a face I loved – even if his ears had wild tufts of bright blue hair growing out of them (and so did his nostrils and bushy eyebrows too).

  “Well, howdy-do there, tiddly-winky puss-cat,” he answered, tickling me under the chin. Luckily, Gawpaw has always been able to understand Cat Chat (nearly everyone in the Magic Realm can) but I don’t think he speaks it very well, so he replied in his own rumbling, tumbling Troll Tattle. “How knows you Gawpaw’s name, Tiddly Pusskin?”

  “I’m not a puss really. It’s me. Your old friend, Bella Broomstick,” I explained.

  “Blast the bellows. Is it really so?” He lifted me up in one huge hand and squeezed me so tight, I thought he might hug the breath right out of me.

  “GAWPAW!” I puffed, wriggling as hard as I could. “You’re squishing me!”

  “Woopsy-doodle! Many ’pologies!” Gawpaw gently opened his palm so that I could sit there like a frog on a lily pad. “Is that yon tiddly kitten a witch in disguise too?” he said, nodding his head towards Rascal.

  “That’s not a kitten, that’s a tiger. Or at least he’s supposed to be,” I panted, trying to get my breath back. “It’s a long story but I don’t have time to explain now – I have to save Esme. She’s my best friend.”

  “Oh!” Gawpaw tipped me on to the ground with a thud. Then he folded his arms and stuck out his bottom lip. “So Bella Broomstick has new buddy-besters now, does she? Person World pals is better for Bella than big Gawpaw.”

  “Oh, please don’t be jealous, Gawpaw,” I groaned. “There isn’t time!” It was true Esme was my best friend now – we probably had more in common than Gawpaw and I had ever had. (Like reading comics, making up new milkshake recipes and trying to learn dance steps off the telly-vision.) But Gawpaw had always been a very good friend to me too – my only friend here in the Magic Realm (even if his idea of fun was bog snorkelling, slug juggling and collecting fart smells in a jar).

  “I missed you so much. Only yesterday, I was telling Esme how much I wished I could see you…”

  “Tellings to Esme!” sulked Gawpaw, turning his back.

  “Yes, Gawpaw!” I said furiously. “Esme is my friend, and I need to save her from Aunt Hemlock and the Coven of Witches. They think she is a spy. Any minute now they’re going to turn her into a pumpkin for a hundred years … or something even worse. I don’t have time to stand here arguing with you. If you are not going to help me, then goodbye.”

  I turned to look at our battered broomstick. The handle was broken clean in two. “We can’t fly any more.” I sighed. “Come on, Rascal. We’ll have to walk.”

  Taking a deep breath, I began to climb over the jagged stones that led to Hag’s Crag with Rascal scrambling behind me. I was sure Gawpaw would follow us, apologizing for being jealous. But, as I turned to look, I could see he was standing there scowling, with his arms folded across his enormous chest.

  “Fine. Be like that!” I muttered under my breath.

  “Shall I roar at him?” asked Rascal.

  I shook my head. “If he doesn’t want to help, we’ll go on without him.”

  I glanced back once more to see if Gawpaw was looking up at us. But he had sat down and turned his back. For all I could tell, he might have fallen asleep again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Rascal and I scrambled on up the rocky hillside. We were nearly at the top of Hag’s Crag when a sharp thorn dug into my paw.

  “Ow!” I hopped on three legs.

  “Pull it out with your teeth!” said Rascal. “It’s the only way.”

  Knowing that Aunty Rose wouldn’t approve – she doesn’t even like Uncle Martin biting his fingernails – I yanked the thorn out with my teeth and spat it on the ground.

  “You’re right. That does feel much better,” I said, carrying on and trying not to think about Aunty Rose at all … or Uncle Martin … or Mrs Lee. The trick-or-treating would be starting soon. If we weren’t there in time, they’d be wondering where Esme and I had got to. I couldn’t bear to think about how worried they would be if we were late.

  Or, worse, if I had to bring Esme home as a pumpkin.

  “Quick, Rascal. Keep up,” I said. “We’re nearly there.”

  He was much faster on his tiger legs than I was on my short cat ones. He overtook me in a single bound.

  “How about you keep up with me!” he roared as he thundered past.

  “Shh! Keep your voice down. And wait for me at the top,” I warned, scurrying after him.

  As soon as Rascal reached the brow of the hill, he leapt, with a springing tiger bound, into the top of a small crooked tree.

  “Good idea,” I panted, scrambling after him, using my sharp claws to climb the rough bark. “We can hide ourselves and see everything from up here.”

  We flopped flat on our bellies on a pair of overhanging branches and lay side by side, looking down at the swirling crowd gathered on the rocky crag below.

  What I saw made my whiskers tingle with fright…

  Hundreds of witches, wizards and warlocks were dancing in a ring, all circling round the stony hilltop. The sound of their wild whooping was deafening. Each had their own magical pet perched on their shoulder – screeching, hooting and hissing too. There were cats, rats, bats, toads, frogs and owls. Only Aunt Hemlock had a chameleon.

  I caught sight of her dragging Esme along by the scruff of the neck.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, Mistress Hemlock?” asked a silver-haired wizard standing right below our tree.

  “A spy,” cackled Aunt Hemlock. “A Person child! I found her snooping around the Magic Realm disguised as a witch.”

  Within moments the news seemed to spread through the Coven that Aunt Hemlock had found a Person.

  “Punish her! Punish the spy!” chorused the witches and wizards, forming a terrifying circle around Esme.

  If I was going to save her, I would have to act fast.

  Aunt Hemlock pushed Esme into the middle of the ring of whooping witches and wizards, and they closed in around her so there was no escape. Some of them were carrying flaming torches as they danced. Although she was surrounded, I could still see Esme clearly from my branch high in the tree. She was cowering in fright. The wind whipped along the crag and her big black coat billowed out around her as if she was about to take flight.

  Take flight… “That’s it!” I whispered. “I’ll give Esme wings … magic wings! Then she can fly away. She can swoop up and vanish into a night like a bat.”

  It was brilliant – with one wave of my wand she would be free! I reached down to take my wand out of my pocket – and then I realized.

  I had no pockets. Of course I didn’t. I’d transformed myself into a real cat. And I hadn’t seen my wand since we’d fallen from the broomstick and bumped into Gawpaw on the hill…

  My stomach twisted like a snake in a bag. It must have dropped somewhere on the ground.

  “What have I done?” I gasped. My wand was lost. “I can’t save Esme without magic … and I can’t do magic without my wand.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Esme stood alone in the middle of the screeching circle of witches and wizards.

  “Punish the spy! Punish the spy!” they shrieked.

 
There was nothing I could do but watch helplessly from the branches of the tree. I was just a tiny black cat. Without my wand, I couldn’t even turn myself back into a girl.

  “Time for a little Halloween fun!” cackled Aunt Hemlock, taking a step closer to Esme.

  The witches and wizards roared with laughter. Some of them began to shout out suggestions for Aunt Hemlock.

  “Turn the spy into a frog.”

  “A toad.”

  “A SLUG!”

  “A rat!”

  “A flea!”

  But again and again, I heard the same request. “Turn her into a pumpkin!” “A Person pumpkin for Halloween!”

  “Please let me go home!” begged Esme. I could see her lips moving, but the sound of her words was drowned out by the terrible delighted laughter of the Coven.

  It was more than I could stand.

  “Don’t worry, Esme. I’m coming!” I cried, leaping forwards. But Rascal put his big tiger paw on my tail, pinning me to the branch.

  “You can’t help her. Not without your wand,” he hissed.

  “Let me go!” I spat, raising my hackles. “If there’s nothing else I can do, then at least I can be by her side. I might only be a tiny cat, but I won’t let her face this on her own.”

  Rascal cast a nervous look at the circling witches. “I’ll … er … I’ll keep guard here, then!” He shrank back against the trunk of the tree, shivering even more as he looked down at the swirling crowd below us.

  “Good boy. Be brave. And if anything happens to me, get yourself back to the Person World somehow. Find Uncle Martin and Aunty Rose … promise me that?” I rubbed my head against his fluffy tiger knees, then sprang down from the tree.

  None of the witches and wizards noticed as my small dark body slunk past their ankles and leapt silently over their boots. But the minute I reached the edge of the circle and stepped out into the empty ground between them and Esme, the whole Coven lifted their heads and stared.

  I arched my back and hissed at them loudly. “You’re bullies, all of you! That’s what you are!”

  “Who does this creature belong to?” cried someone in the crowd. “Is it yours, Mistress Hemlock?”