Witch Baby and Me At School

by Debi Gliori

  There’s a lot of hands waving frantically in the air now, and Mrs McDonald is still talking, but I’m not really listening. It’s suddenly gone quiet next door. I can’t work out if this is a good thing or not. WayWoof sounded really upset. She sounded as if she was trying her hardest to warn us. Or even to warn someone off. To protect Daisy.

  My stomach gives a little lurch. I hope Daisy’s all right. After all, playgroup is her first venture out into the Big Wicked World on her lonesome. Without Mum. Daisy and I have been in the same classroom for the last few days since poor Miss McPhee vanished.*12 But now the little ones have a new teacher, so they’ve gone back to their room next door. That means I can’t see what Miss Chin does in there with them. For all I know, she could be teaching them Witchcraft. Ha-ha.

  Actually, not so ha-ha. I wish I hadn’t thought that. Now it occurs to me that WayWoof may well be silent because she’s disappeared - perhaps Daisy’s Up To No Good. Maybe she’s turned her entire class into dragons. Or worse. What could be worse? Turning your class into slugs? Maybe that’s why it’s so quiet next door. Now I’m going to have to dream up an excuse to go next door. Just to check; to make absolutely one hundred per cent sure that my baby sister is all right. I’m starting to put my hand up when I remember. Oh, duhhhhh.

  Mum picks Daisy up at lunch time.

  Daisy (and WayWoof) must have gone home. Phew. At least for the rest of today I won’t have to worry about what on earth is going on next door.

  But the little nagging doubt remains. What was wrong with WayWoof?

  Eight:

  Toad in a hole

  The Toad was exhausted. She’d risen at five thirty, cooked breakfast (scrambled rat with shredded nettles), ironed the Chin’s sober, grey teacher’s skirt and spent hours persuading the tearful Nose that making money was easy. Under the Toad’s guidance, the Nose was instructed to go to the dump and find some base metals for her first attempt at alchemy.*13 It was past midday when the Nose finally set off for the dump on foot, promising to return before supper. Waving goodbye to her sister with one warty flipper, the Toad could hardly wait to collapse on the sofa and enjoy some forbidden afternoon TV watching. She was squatting on the television’s remote control, wondering which button to jump up and down on, when she heard the sound of a vehicle crunching across the drive outside, followed by footsteps and a knock at the front door.

  Immediately the postman-cat and the playleader-sparrow began yelling for help, but since their pleas were in Cat and Sparrow, the Toad ignored them and hopped to the window to see who was outside. Peering out through the dusty glass, she could see a young man standing on the doorstep. At his feet was a large plastic crate full of what looked like boxes of chocolates.

  ‘Oh, yessssss,’ the Toad croaked. ‘It’s the Chin’s computer shopping thingy!’ And she leaped down from the window and bounded across the floor. At last, she thought delightedly. Some real food for a change. No more rat ratatouille or nettle gumbo. Chocolate! Pizza! She was just wondering what other delights might be in the young man’s crate when she screeched to a stop at the front door.

  What on earth did she think she was doing?

  Heart hammering under her skin, the Toad clasped her head and gave a small moan. She was utterly horrified. To think she had been about to Open The Door. What a complete disaster that would have been.

  You stupid, stupid, wart-encrusted, addlepated slubberty-gubble, she thought. You goggle-eyed, mush-brained tadpole. You quivering, useless blob of jellied—

  There was a determined KNOCK, KNOCK on the other side of the door, followed by a faint ‘ER, HELLOOOOO?’

  The Toad clasped her little webbed hands together as if in prayer. What to do? Oh, what to do? If she didn’t answer, man might take his lovely crate away. The thought of missing all that wonderful food on the other side of the door gave her courage.

  ‘Er, helloooooo?’ she quavered, in as pathetic a voice as she could manage.

  ‘Young maaaan? I’m not feeling quite myself right now. Could you possibly just leave your delivery on my doorstep and I’ll get it later when I feel better?’

  There. Fear of discovery had practically dissolved the poor Toad into a little puddle of grease, sweat and tears, but she’d done it. Now, with any luck, the young man would do as he was told and go—

  ‘Sorry to trouble you when you’re feeling poorly, but I need a signature on this …’ And to the Toad’s dismay, a piece of paper and a pen came slipping and sliding under the door towards her.

  Fortunately, before the dreadful day when the Toad turned herself into a toad,*14 she had always been the Sister of Hiss in charge of writing down spells and listing ingredients for potions. However, that was back when she had hands to write with. Now, with her warty, webbed little flippers, using a pen felt like trying to draw with a sharpened tree trunk.

  However, the Toad had no choice, so, ignoring the background shrieks of: ‘HELP HELP GET US OUT OF HERE HELP CALL THE POLICE!’ in fluent sparrow and Cat, the Toad signed the piece of paper and slid it and the pen back under the door.

  Several very long and heart-hammering minutes later, she was rewarded by the sound of a vehicle driving away from Arkon House.

  *

  By the time we’ve had supper and I’ve done Daisy’s nappy (yeeeurghhh), I’m ready for bed, even if Daisy isn’t. WayWoof is curled up at the foot of Daisy’s bed. She’s not asleep, but then neither is Daisy. Daisy is waiting for me to read her the next verse of What Noise Does a Noisy Oyster Make? Her face is bright pink from laughing so hard and she’s staring at me, willing me to read her favourite page: the What Noise Does a Squirty Squid Make? page.*15 But I’m not going to do my dreadfully rude squirty squid impersonation. At least not until I find out what on earth was wrong with WayWoof today. After much thought, I decided that the best way to do this would be to get Daisy to make WayWoof speak in Human, and that way she could tell us herself exactly why she was barking at school.

  I can hardly wait to hear what WayWoof sounds like. Will she have a Scottish accent? Will she have a deep growly voice? And how cool would it be to have our very own talking dog?

  ‘O Beautiful Elder Sister of My Witchy Mistress,’ I imagine her saying, ‘your wish is my command. I only live to serve. Simply name that which your heart desires-’

  And then I remember that if Daisy is doing a spell to make WayWoof talk, then she won’t be able to keep the spell that makes WayWoof visible going as well.

  One-spell-At-A-Time, that’s my little Witch Baby sister. So the only way to get to the bottom of WayWoof’s Mystery Barking Fit is to ask Daisy to ask WayWoof. After all, Daisy magicked WayWoof into life, so she’s probably the only person in the world who can understand what WayWoof is saying. The only problem is that Daisy’s only a very little person. She can barely understand what I’m saying, let alone translate for her dog. But she’s the only hope I’ve got, so here goes.

  ‘Daisy? Could you help me? I need you to ask WayWoof something.’

  ‘What noise squiddy squid make?’

  ‘No-o-o-o. Not right now, Daisy. We’ll do the squid stuff later, I promise. But now, could you ask WayWoof why she—?’

  Uh-oh.

  WayWoof is fading fast and Daisy’s frowning so hard her face has practically folded in two.

  ‘NOT ask WayWoof. Want squid. Wantit now. Lil go tthhhprrr, chprrrt.’

  WHAT??? Oh no. Oh NO NO NO NOOOOOOO.

  As Daisy makes her squirty squid sound, I find myself rapidly blowing up with air like a balloon. And just like a balloon, I drift slowly up to Daisy’s bedroom ceiling, then bob helplessly in the corner above her door.

  ‘Oh, come on, DAISY,’ I try to say, but what comes out of my mouth is a very loud THWPRRRRRPRRPHHHHprrrCHT. Down below, Daisy shrieks with laughter.

  This isn’t fair. Now Daisy’s in control and I can’t do anything about it. I don’t like floating around, full of magical gas, feeling dangerously like I might go POP if I accidentally brush against som
ething sharp. It’s hot, stuffy, dusty and there are millions of cobwebs up here on the ceiling, and all of a sudden I’ve had enough.

  ‘DAISY. Stop it. It’s not funny any more. PUT me DOWN.’

  Of course, all this does is make me go Prrrt, frrrp, proot, pfff all the more, and to make matters worse, every time I go Prrt or Frrrp or Proot pfff, I whoosh across the ceiling just like a deflating balloon. Fortunately Daisy is now laughing so hard she can’t keep the spell going and, to my relief, I find that I’m slowly sinking back down to the floor, where WayWoof is fading back in.

  Daisy shoots me a rather guilty smile as she hands me her picture book, but I don’t mind now. I still don’t know what made WayWoof bark today, but I’ve worked out exactly how to find out.

  ‘Hey, Daisy?’ I say, opening her picture book and pretending to find a new page. ‘Listen. Here’s one we haven’t had before. What noise does an invisible dog make?’

  Daisy stops laughing as if somebody’s turned her laugh switch to ‘off’. She stares at me, and for some reason I shiver. Woo hoo, I am Witch Baby, her stare seems to say. Don’t Mess With Me.

  ‘A vizibble dog make a barky noise,’ she says solemnly, then, just when I’d resigned myself to giving up my Get-WayWoof-Translated plan, she adds, ‘A barky dog make a go-wayyyy-baaaad-lady noise.’

  What? Before I can say anything, Daisy gives a huge yawn as if she wants to show me that she can handle anything WayWoof might bark at, even baaaad ladies, and dismisses me.

  ‘Baba, Lil. Na-night. Tunna light off.’

  Your wish is my command, O Witch Baby. I only live to serve.

  Nine:

  Ae fond kiss, Hiss

  The front door of Arkon House opens and slams shut. In the kitchen, the Toad winces. Uh-oh, she thinks. SOMEBODY’S had a bad day.

  The Toad has been planning a feast fit for a king. Well, she admits, perhaps that is a bit of an exaggeration. Let’s say it’s a feast fit for a Hiss.

  She hears footsteps approaching and looks up in time to see the Chin totter across the living room and collapse onto a sofa.

  ‘What a MORNING I’ve had. That was simply AWFUL,’ she groans. ‘The NOISE! My poor head. Horrible, horrible BEAST. That blooming dog. Barking incessantly. Couldn’t even throw a crispy-tonsil spell to shut it up because it belongs to our precious Witch Baby …’ The Toad frowns, then remembers. Witch Baby’s dog. Of course. Like Mary’s Lamb, only invisible.

  ‘And the SMELL. Eughhhh,’ the Chin continues, closing her eyes and slumping deeper into the sofa cushions. ‘Horrible children too. With their soggy nappies and dribbly mouths - I tell you, I’m not sure if I can stand another’ - the Chin yawns widely - ‘another’ - yawn - ‘anoth—’

  When the Toad pokes her head round the door, she finds her sister has fallen fast asleep in mid-rant. Perfect. Let her have a little afternoon nap. That way, the Toad reasons, she’ll end up in a far better mood …

  There’s a pinging sound from the kitchen. Pizzas are nearly ready. Toad is just putting the finishing touches to supper when, for the second time that day, she hears the sound of a car engine outside. Could it be the Nose, back from the dump? No - it can’t be. The Nose can’t drive. Who can it be this time? In a panic, the Toad drops her spoon into the cauldron of chocolate sauce she’d intended for the pizza. The spoon bounces off the side of the cauldron and flips over, catapulting a vast gobbet of melted chocolate across the top of the cooker, most of which lands on the unfortunate Toad. Before she can react, the front door slams and all at once there are voices in the hall.

  Voices?

  In the living room, the Chin’s eyes snap open and she’s leaping off the sofa before she’s even properly awake. Taking one wobbly step forward, she falls over the postman-cat and crashes to the floor with a howl of dismay.

  There’s a ghastly shriek from the direction of the kitchen, where the Toad has just discovered how hot her melted chocolate shower was. Coated in sauce and half hysterical, the Toad leaps into the living room just as the Nose appears in the doorway, frantically signalling to her sisters. To everyone’s alarm, there is someone standing behind her.

  Candles gutter and fizz in one of Arkon House’s many draughts, but they cast a kindly light over the dining table where the sisters of Hiss are entertaining their unexpected supper guest. Well, two of the Sisters, that is. In an earlier hissed conversation in the kitchen, the Nose and the Chin decided that their guest must never discover that they are related to a talking Toad. Therefore, much to the Toad’s disgust, she is shut in the kitchen and ordered to stay there until their visitor has gone.

  Their unwelcome guest is their neighbour, Hare Harukashi. When the sisters of Hiss first moved into Arkon House, it was Hare who gave them their computer. Because they’d lived on a mountain for the previous four hundred years, they had no idea how to use a mouse or a keyboard, so it was Hare who taught them. It was also Hare who told them about using the Internet to buy food. Hare is a very clever Japanese software designer. He is also a lonely widower, raising his daughter Yoshito all on his own. Poor Hare.

  Lucky Hare too. He is blissfully unaware of how very fortunate he is not to have been turned into a cat, a sparrow or worse … How was he to know that a lift home from the dump was the last thing the Nose wanted? Hare saw what he thought was a damsel in distress there and stopped to offer assistance. The Nose had spent a perfectly horrible afternoon sifting through rubbish, most of which was mouldy, maggotty and not made of base metal. When she finally gave up this pointless search, she was in a foul temper and all she wanted to do was go home and grind her teeth. Instead, she’d listened to Hare’s chatter, fielded his questions and failed to get rid of him when he drove her home to Arkon House.

  ‘Some more pizza, Mr Harukashi?’ the Chin says through gritted teeth. For the millionth time she asks herself why on earth the Nose allowed this dreadful little man to give her a lift home? Why didn’t she simply turn him into a woodlouse the first time he poked his nose into their lives? So much simpler. So easy to shut a woodlouse up. So—

  ‘Delicious. I would love some, Miss Chin.’ Mr Harukashi beams happily at her. ‘Such a wonderful idea, chocolate pizza. What a marvellous, inventive cook you are.’

  From behind the kitchen door they all hear the unmistakable sound of something being smashed. Mr Harukashi’s eyebrows practically disappear over the back of his head.

  ‘Mice!’ squeaks the Nose, then, realizing that not even a thousand mice could possibly have made such an unholy din, corrects herself: ‘silly me, I mean rats. Terrible problem we’re having with rats. So noisy, so destructive, so . . .’ And running out of things to say about their non-existent rat problem,*16 the Nose blushes, falls silent and wipes her nose on her napkin.

  The Chin slides a slice of chocolate-coated pizza onto Mr Harukashi’s plate. Hurry up and go home, she silently wills him, but Mr Harukashi is immune to her thought-waves. He praises the food, the candles, the comfort of the sofa, the warmth of the fire …

  By the time Mr Harukashi buttons up his coat and is finally standing on their doorstep, the sisters of Hiss are completely flattened under the weight of all his praise. How on earth do humans cope with all this pleasantness?

  But the worst is yet to come. As the Nose turns to go back inside, leaving the Chin to say the final goodbyes, Mr Harukashi stands on tiptoe and plants a smacking great kiss on the Chin’s chin.*17

  ‘Thank you, dear lady, for an evening I will never forget.’ And bowing politely as he walks backwards down the drive towards his car, Mr Harukashi takes his leave.

  Ten:

  Spot on

  Today starts badly. It’s one of those horrible, wet, grey mornings when I wish I could just stay in bed. Our roof has sprung a leak, so Mum and Dad are busy running around with bowls and buckets to catch the drips. Someone forgot to order more milk, so nobly, Jack and I do without. This way Daisy can have the remaining milk for her breakfast. However, Daisy has again decided that breakfast cereal is real
ly shampoo in disguise, and while Mum and Dad are distracted by the leaky roof, she starts remodelling her hair with handfuls of milky Toasty Oaties.

  By the time we’re finally ready to leave the house, we’re all thoroughly fed up. Dad takes the car to drive Jack to school, and Mum, Daisy, WayWoof and I brave the rain. When at last we reach the school, we’re drenched. Overnight, the playground has turned into a quagmire, so at morning break time we have to stay inside. This is a bit like being shut in with the wild animals in the zoo. The minute the bell rings, Vivaldi starts rifling through her rucksack. I watch. It’s fascinating. She empties it completely to find whatever it is she’s looking for, so we all get to see what a pile of stuff she brings to school every day.

  ‘Ewwww,’ squeals Annabel. ‘What is that disgusting-looking thing?’

  ‘A giant tarantula leg,’ mutters Vivaldi without looking up.

  It’s a hairbrush. Obviously. Even Annabel knew that. Annabel is probably going to go ‘Ewwww’ at everything in Vivaldi’s rucksack, but she’s fascinated, just the same. Even Craig and Shane have stopped swinging on their chairs and are showing some interest. They keep pushing and shoving each other and crashing into Donald, who is staring into the rucksack with his mouth open. Oh, boy. Feeding time at the zoo, I guess. Where would I be without Vivaldi?

  As if she’s heard my thoughts, Vivaldi looks up and smiles at me, then shows us all her v-shaped prism for splitting light into rainbows.