by Michael Bond
“Are you surprised?” asked Judy. “He had his eyes closed.”
“It isn’t like him to go rushing around the garden before breakfast,” broke in Mrs Brown. “I do hope he’s all right.”
“He was as right as rain when he went to bed last night,” said Judy. “I met him on the landing. He said he was going to do his accounts.”
“Perhaps he found he was overdrawn,” said Mr Brown. “I’d better have a quiet word with him after breakfast.”
Mrs Bird gave a snort as she came into the room carrying a coffee pot. “There’s nothing wrong with that bear’s accounts,” she said. “If you ask me, he’s planning something. Earlier on he was asking me if I had any pumpkins.”
“Ssh!” warned Mrs Brown. “Here he comes.”
The Browns were only just in time. They had scarcely settled down, trying to look as though butter wouldn’t melt in their mouths, when Paddington entered the room.
After mopping his brow several times with a napkin, he joined them at the table, and while he was unscrewing the lid on the marmalade jar they managed to get a closer look at his book.
Most of the cover was filled with the silhouette of an elderly lady astride a broomstick. The pointed hat she wore matched her sharply pointed nose as she hovered above a row of chimney pots. Far from being called ‘Teach Yourself to Fly’, the book bore the words: ‘Everything You Need to Know about Witches, Warlocks and Hobgoblins.’
Mr Brown gave a groan. “Of course! It’s October 31st.”
“Halloween,” said Judy.
“Trick or treat time,” added Jonathan.
Paddington spread a liberal helping of marmalade on his freshly buttered toast.
“Mr Gruber lent it to me,” he explained. “I haven’t read anything about warlocks or hobgoblins yet, but there’s a very good chapter on witches and making masks. And there’s another one telling you how to decorate a patio using lanterns made out of hollowed out pumpkins. They’re called jack-o’-lanterns, and if you put a lighted candle inside them it keeps evil spirits away.
“There’s another chapter on superstitions,” he continued. “It says if you take a three-legged stool and sit at some crossroads while the church clock strikes midnight it will tell you the names of all those who will die during the next twelve months.”
“Very cheering, I must say,” said Mrs Bird. “I know one thing. Anyone who sits on a stool near our crossroads at midnight could well end up top of the list.”
All the same, Paddington’s enthusiasm was infectious and as soon as the rest of the family finished their meal they gathered round his chair.
“I’ve never been to a Halloween party,” he said wistfully. “I don’t think they have them in Darkest Peru.”
Mrs Brown caught her husband’s eye. “We haven’t had one for ages, Henry,” she said. “It might be fun.”
“Please, Dad,” chorused Jonathan and Judy.
Mr Brown weakened. “Perhaps a small one,” he said. “Just for the family, but no more. It’s bad enough as it is with all those people ringing the front door bell and calling ‘trick or treat’ through the letter box. The only time I didn’t answer it last year we lost our dustbin lid.”
“It did get found in the canal,” said Jonathan.
“I’ll get some chocolate bars in,” said Mrs Brown, hastily. “They always go down well.”
Paddington turned over the page. “There’s a recipe for a witches’ brew,” he read.
“It’s called stir-fly and it sounds very interesting.”
“I think you must mean stir-fry, dear,” said Mrs Brown. “Unless, of course, it’s a misprint.”
Jonathan took a closer look. “No,” he said firmly. “Paddington’s right. It is stir-fly.”
“It gives the recipe,” announced Paddington, reading from the book. “It’s a mixture of toenail clippings, bats’ blood and dead flies.”
“Charming,” said Mr Brown. “I can’t wait!”
“They’re not real,” piped up Judy, seeing the look on everyone’s face. “You can make pretend toenail clippings out of pieces of chicory, and for the flies all you need is some old currants that have gone hard. Mix it all together with tomato ketchup and Bob’s your uncle.”
“Bob’s welcome to it, whoever he is,” murmured Mr Brown. “I’m not sure I wouldn’t prefer the real thing.”
“Look,” said Jonathan, gazing over Paddington’s shoulder. “There’s something here about taking a kipper to bed with you.”
“That’s another very good chapter,” said Paddington, knowledgeably. “I read it under the eiderdown last night. It says if you take a kipper to bed and eat it before you go to sleep, the person you are going to marry will bring you a glass of water during the night to quench your thirst.”
“Hmmm,” said Mrs Bird. “I hope whoever it turns out to be is prepared to wash the sheets in the morning, that’s all I can say.”
“Anyway,” said Judy. “You’re not thinking of getting married are you?”
“I might do,” said Paddington darkly.
“There is another way,” he continued. “It says here, if you cut the letters of the alphabet out of some newspaper headlines and float them in a bowl of water they will spell out the name for you.”
Mr Brown pointedly glanced at his watch, and then reached for his morning paper. “I think it’s time I went to the office,” he said. “It’s a bit early in the day for origami.”
“What a bit of luck it’s half term,” said Jonathan, after Mr Brown had said his goodbyes. “We can help get everything ready.”
“If I were you, Paddington,” said Mrs Bird, “I’d get down to the market as soon as possible. Once people begin to realise what day it is, there could be a run on pumpkins.” She reached for her handbag. “While you’re there you can get a box of night-lights to go inside them.”
“Don’t forget we need some chicory for the toenails,” called Judy.
Paddington made a note of it and in no time at all he set off with his list, leaving Jonathan and Judy to start making the masks.
“Very wise,” said Mrs Bird approvingly, when she saw what they were up to.
“Speaking from experience, that bear and glue pots are best kept as far apart as possible. He can help me with the pumpkins when he gets back.”
“You don’t think Paddington was serious about getting married do you?” asked Judy, when she and Jonathan were on their own.
“I can’t picture him carrying anyone over the threshold if that’s what you mean,” said Jonathan. “He’d be bound to drop them, or else get stuck halfway through the door, besides he’s got to find someone first.”
“It’s hard to picture anyone wanting to share kippers in bed with him,” said Judy, reaching for the paint. “It would be a bad start to married life. I think we’re fairly safe.”
By the time Paddington got back from the market, they had both made so many masks it was hard to find anywhere to sit. Having tried his paw unsuccessfully at painting one whilst standing up, Jonathan suggested he might look in the garage for some old pieces of frayed rope so that he could make a wig for himself.
Mrs Bird set to work hollowing out the pumpkins, and as soon as that job was done, having left Jonathan and Judy to put the night-lights inside them, she turned her attention to the cooking, leaving Paddington to look for some way of dying his wig black.
One way or another everyone was kept busy, but if the first half of the day passed quickly, waiting for it to get dark seemed to take for ever.
In order to pass the time, Paddington retired to his bedroom to write some Halloween poems while he was trying out his costume.
“I’m ready for the trick or treat part,” he announced, when he came back downstairs at long last.
With the addition of a black pointed hat, similar to the one on the cover of Mr Gruber’s book, everyone agreed he made a very good witch indeed. The finishing touch was a set of white fangs Judy had made for him out of some orange peel turned i
nside out.
“I wouldn’t like to meet you on a dark night,” said Jonathan, when they went out into the front garden.
“I thought perhaps we could start with Mr Curry as he’s nearest,” said Paddington.
“Do you think that’s wise?” asked Judy.
“I’ve written a special poem for him,” said Paddington. “I don’t want to waste it.”
“You must like living dangerously,” said Jonathan. “I doubt if you’ll get anything out of him. It would be easier to get blood out of a stone.”
“Pigs might fly!” agreed Judy.
“I don’t suppose he’ll recognise me in my outfit,” said Paddington optimistically, as he set off through the front gate leaving the others to hide behind the fence.
“I wouldn’t bank on it,” called Jonathan.
But he was too late, for Paddington was already out of earshot.
Having pressed Mr Curry’s bell push several times, he hid in the shadows, carefully keeping the lantern behind him so that his face wouldn’t show.
“Yes?” barked the Browns’ neighbour, as he opened the door a fraction and peered through the gap. “Who is it?”
“Hurry, hurry, Mr Curry,” called Paddington, disguising his voice. “Give me a gift, and I’ll be swift.”
“Go away, bear!” exclaimed Mr Curry. “How dare you! Any more of that nonsense and I shall call the police.” And with that he slammed the door in Paddington’s face.
“That settles it,” said Jonathan, when they heard what had happened. “It’s time for tricks, not treats.
“I found a good one in your book while you were in the garage this morning. You tie one end of a length of cord to someone’s front door knob. Then you pull it tight and tie the other end to a convenient tree.
“After that, you ring the front door bell and hide. If it’s done properly, when they try to open the door they think it’s stuck. I’ve brought some cord in case it was needed.”
“It’ll serve him right for being so mean,” said Judy.
“I’ll do it,” said Paddington eagerly. “Bears are good at knots.”
He seemed so keen on the idea the others didn’t have the heart to say ‘no’. Instead, they kept watch while he hurried back to Mr Curry’s house armed with the cord.
Tying it to the door knob took rather longer than he had bargained for, especially as he was trying to do it as quietly as possible, and it wasn’t until he looked round for something he could tie the other end to that he realised Mr Curry’s front garden was like the proverbial desert. There wasn’t a sign of a convenient shrub, let alone a tree.
Paddington was about to go back home and ask Jonathan’s advice when the door suddenly opened.
“Who’s that rattling my letter box?” barked Mr Curry.
“I might have known!” he growled, when he caught sight of Paddington hiding behind his pumpkin. “Up to your tricks again, bear!”
“Oh, no,” said Paddington hastily. “They’re not my tricks, Mr Curry. They’re in Mr Gruber’s book… I mean…”
The Browns’ neighbour stared at him suspiciously. “What’s that in your paw?” he demanded.
“It’s my jack-o’-lantern,” explained Paddington. He held the pumpkin up for Mr Curry to see. “It’s supposed to frighten off evil spirits, but it doesn’t seem to be working very well…” He broke off as he caught sight of the look on the other’s face.
“I meant, what’s in your other paw?” barked Mr Curry. “The one behind your back.” And before Paddington could stop him he had grabbed hold of the cord.
“I wouldn’t pull it if I were you, Mr Curry,” said Paddington anxiously.
“Nonsense!” barked the Browns’ neighbour. “There’s only one way to find out where something goes – that’s to give it a good tug.” And without further ado he wound the cord round his other hand and pulled.
There was a loud bang as his door slammed shut. It was followed almost immediately by a sound of tinkling as a metal object landed on the path at their feet.
Mr Curry stared it. “That looks like a door knob,” he growled. “Have you any idea how it got there, bear? It might have caused a nasty accident.”
Paddington held out his lantern and took a closer look. “I don’t think it’s one of ours, Mr Curry” he said. “Mrs Bird always keeps our door knobs polished.”
“That still doesn’t explain what it’s doing there,” growled Mr Curry.
“I was looking for a convenient tree…” explained Paddington.
“I don’t have any trees,” growled Mr Curry. “Nasty, untidy things, dropping their leaves everywhere.”
“I know,” said Paddington unhappily. “That’s why the door knob trick didn’t work properly. Yours must have fallen off by mistake. It wasn’t meant to.”
“I’ll give you tricks, bear,” barked Mr Curry. “They ought not to be allowed. If I had my way I’d…” he broke off.
“Would you mind repeating what you’ve just said?”
Mr Curry’s face had grown purple with rage. In fact, Paddington didn’t like the look of it at all and he hastily lowered his lantern to be on the safe side.
“If you don’t mind,” he said, “I’d rather not.”
But the Browns’ neighbour was already doing it for him. “Are you trying to tell me that’s my door knob, bear?” he spluttered.
Clearly hardly able to believe his eyes, let alone his ears, he gazed at his front door, then looked at the end of the cord tied round the knob.
“Do you realise,” he bellowed, “you have locked me out of my own house!”
“No, Mr Curry,” said Paddington, glad to be on firm ground at last. “I didn’t lock you out. You did it yourself. It’s what Mrs Bird calls a self-inflicted wound. She often says you’re very good at those.”
Raising his hat politely, he looked anxiously over his shoulder, but Jonathan and Judy were too well hidden to be of any help. “I think perhaps I’d better go now,” he said. “We’re having a Halloween party and I don’t want to be late.”
Mr Curry paused from whatever it was he had been about to say and a cunning gleam came into his eyes. “Is that so, bear?” he said. “I thought I saw you doing a lot of coming and going this morning.”
“There was a lot to get ready,” said Paddington, only too pleased to change the subject. “Mrs Bird’s been very busy, baking cakes, and making some special stir-fly mixture.”
“Seeing I have been locked out of my house,” said Mr Curry, “it couldn’t have happened at a better time. It’s very kind of you to invite me, bear. Unless, of course,” he added meaningly, “you would rather I told the Browns what you’ve just done.”
Jonathan stood up. “That’s torn it!” he said gloomily, overhearing the conversation. “Wait until Dad hears what’s happened. He won’t be pleased. Mr Curry is the last person he’ll want to see when he gets home.”
“Paddington wasn’t joking when he said bears are good at knots,” agreed Judy. “How’s he going to get out of this one?”
“I bet he finds a way,” said Jonathan loyally. “He usually comes out on top.”
Mr Curry gazed round the Browns’ living room as he made himself comfortable in Mr Brown’s favourite armchair. Having helped himself liberally from a bowl of chocolates he gave a shiver and then stood up again.
“I think I’ll move nearer the fire,” he said. “I got cold standing outside.”
Much to everyone’s dismay he looked all set for the rest of the evening.
“Now, bear,” he said, addressing Paddington. “It’s my turn. Seeing you have kindly invited me to your party, I have a poem for you.
“You mentioned something just now about having some stir-fry… so first of all, trick or treat, give me some of that to eat!”
Mrs Bird pursed her lips, but before she had time to say anything Paddington jumped to his feet. “Don’t worry, Mrs Bird,” he called, as he hurried out of the room.
“Leave it to me.”
It wasn’t long before he returned carrying a large bowl and a spoon on a tray.
Mr Curry scooped up the last of the chocolates and placed them inside his jacket pocket before turning his attention to Paddington’s offering.
“You cannot say I do not try,” said Paddington. “I’ll give it to you, then I must fly.”
“Thank you, bear,” said Mr Curry, licking his lips. And without further ado he grabbed the spoon and began attacking the bowl.
Paddington waited until the Browns’ neighbour had finished his second mouthful and was visibly slowing down. “I’m afraid it’s a bit chewy,” he said. “It’s a special Halloween recipe.”
“Most unusual,” said Mr Curry. “I’ve never had anything quite like it before. Aren’t you having any, bear?”
“I don’t think so, Mr Curry,” said Paddington. “Thank you very much. My Aunt Lucy always told me never to swallow flies. It’s a bit difficult in Darkest Peru. They have a lot of them there. She had to keep her jars covered whenever she was making marmalade in case some went in. They’re supposed to make you go thin.”
Mr Curry gave a snort. “Nonsense!” he barked. “That’s an old wives’ tale if ever I heard one. Besides, what’s that got to do with…?” He broke off, the spoon halfway to his mouth.
“Why are you telling me that, bear?”
“I thought you might be interested,” said Paddington innocently. “I did give your bowl a good stir before I brought it in.”
Mr Curry jumped to his feet. “Bear!” he bellowed.
“Are you trying to tell me I’ve been eating… stirred flies?”
“May I get you another helping?” asked Mrs Bird sweetly, before Paddington had a chance to answer.
“No, you may not!” spluttered Mr Curry. Clutching his stomach, he gave a loud groan. “That’s the very last time I accept an invitation to one of your parties, bear!”
“Could we have that in writing?” murmured Jonathan, fortunately not loud enough for anyone other than Judy to hear.
“Accept an invitation indeed!” said Mrs Bird. “I heard you browbeating Paddington just now. As for being locked out of your house-you know very well we keep a spare key for you in case of an emergency. Come with me.”