“Well, this is just perfect,” said Penelope.
“And whose fault is that?” asked Maud.
“Alright,” said Penelope. “There’s no need to go on about it.”
She took her hat off and laid it on its side to make a pillow. Within a few seconds, she was snoring loudly.
Maud took Quentin out of her pocket and tried to dry him with a tissue. His fur was so wet, it had clumped into spiky tufts, and he was shivering from the cold.
“You poor thing,” said Maud. “I’m afraid we’re not going to get much warmer tonight.” The roof of the caravan was curved, and it was impossible to find a comfortable spot, but Maud stretched out as best she could. She looked up at the bright moon. The caravan was stuck in the bog, her tent was under the mud, and the Wilds were dashing around on all fours. And this was just the first night.
So far, the holiday was off to a horrible start.
Maud hurtled through the woods, crunching black leaves and scrabbling over dead branches. The Beast was closing in on her, its foul breath warm on her neck. She heard its razor-sharp claws swish through the air, terrifyingly close to her head.
Maud stumbled. She tried to find her footing again, but it was too late. She was falling, easy prey for the vicious monster. She looked back just in time to see it open its slimy jaws.
“Wakey-wakey,” it said, in a strangely sweet voice. “Come on, sleepyhead.”
It sounded an awful lot like her dad. Maud opened her eyes.
Mr Montague was leaning out of the window of the caravan, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun. “Must have been quite the storm last night, eh?”
“Don’t tell me you slept through it,” said Maud.
“I did get a sort of slipping sensation at one point,” said Mr Montague. “But I assumed it was indigestion.”
Milly stuck her head out of the window. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair was coated with pressed flowers.
“Well, I hardly slept at all,” she said, scowling. “There was a horrid, howling noise all night. And I dreamt huge swamp-slugs were crawling over the roof. It turns out I wasn’t far wrong.”
Penelope sat up and rubbed her eyes. She pressed the dent out of her hat and put it on.
“What a wonderful night,” she said. “We must do it again sometime!”
Mr Montague craned his head round to look up towards the campsite.
“Well done for tying us to the tree,” he said. “Very resourceful, dear.” He clambered out of the window and leapt down into the mud, shouting out, “Geronimo!” Then he squelched his way up to dry ground and grasped hold of the rope. “I hope you’re all ready for tug o’ war!”
Maud scrambled down from the roof and lined up behind him. Penelope climbed down too, but wandered straight past.
Mrs Montague followed Mr Montague through the window. “Out you get, Milly,” she shouted. “We’ve all got to muck in.”
Milly shook her head. “I’m not going near any muck. The only time I’m going to set foot out of here is when we’re safely home.”
“Oh, never mind,” said Mr Montague. “She doesn’t weigh much, anyhow.”
Mrs Montague took her place behind Maud and gripped the rope.
“On the count of three, everybody pull!” said Mr Montague. “One … two … three … heave!” Maud tugged the rope with all her strength. The caravan budged an inch and then slurped back into the sticky mud.
“Let’s try again,” said Mr Montague, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “One … two … three … heave!”
This time the caravan crept up a couple of inches before sliding down again.
“Okay,” said Mr Montague, panting hard. “Nearly there.”
Mr Wild padded over to them, looking fresh as a daisy. “Morning, friends. Need a hand?”
“Sure, dude,” said Mr Montague. “That would be awesome.”
Mr Wild raised a bushy eyebrow and grabbed the rope.
“One … two … three … heave!” shouted Mr Montague.
Mr Wild casually pulled the rope with one hand, dragging the caravan out of the swamp and sending Maud and her parents crashing to the ground.
Mr Montague stood up and wiped the mud from his hands. “Thanks everyone,” he wheezed. “Good … er … team effort.”
Maud got to her feet and climbed back up into the clearing. The mud had set in the morning sun. Maud could see her footprints from the night before, now formed into deep craters. Further away were Warren’s and Wilf’s tracks, which became paw prints as they transformed and bounded off into the forest. Maud might have been worried – but thankfully, her parents never noticed anything.
Then she spotted that there was another row of tracks beyond those of the Wild brothers. Maud went over to examine them.
She gasped. They’d been made by something about three times the size of a human foot. At the front were four long talons that tapered to razor-thin points. They looked like a dinosaur’s footprint she’d seen once in a museum.
Maud shuddered to think that whatever made these prints had passed so close to her while she slept.
“Look at this,” shouted Penelope. She was standing behind Mr Wild’s truck, which was listing to one side. “Here’s something you won’t be able to blame on me.”
Maud raced over and looked at the tyres. Something had ripped them apart in neat, parallel slashes.
“Not again!” shouted Mr Wild. He kicked the side of his truck and let out a terrifying roar. “It took me ages to fix it last time.”
He went to kick the truck again, but Mrs Wild held him back. “That’s not going to help, dear,” she said.
Mr Montague picked up a scrap of shredded rubber. “How very strange,” he said. “But not to worry. I can drive you to a garage and pick up some replacements if you like.”
“That’s very kind of you,” said Mrs Wild.
“I’ll stay and keep an eye on the little ones,” said Mrs Montague.
“Great,” said Mr Montague. He took a pair of clip-on sunglasses from his top pocket and clipped them on to the bridge of his glasses. Maud thought it made him look like a giant bug. “Let’s hit the highway!”
Mr and Mrs Wild exchanged a glance and climbed into the car.
Mr Montague started up the engine, and Milly stuck her head out of the caravan window. “Brilliant! Are we going now?”
“Not yet, petal,” answered Mr Montague. “We’re off to find a garage. We’ll be back soon.” He stuck ‘Born to be Wild’ in the CD-player, and they set off down the track.
Milly rolled her eyes, before slamming the window so hard the caravan wobbled.
“I’ll go and check on her,” said Mrs Montague. “The rest of you play nicely.”
“What do you think happened to the tyres?” asked Maud.
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Penelope. “It was the Beast of Oddington.”
Maud turned to see that Wilf and Warren had arrived back from their midnight romp, and were kneeling in the middle of the clearing, examining the clawprints. She wandered over to them.
“I can’t believe the Beast of Oddington came through here last night,” said Wilf. All his hair was standing on end.
“What should we do?” asked Penelope.
“I packed a couple of fishing rods in the truck,” said Wilf. “We could go down to the lake, if you like.”
“I’d love to,” said Penelope. “But I’ve just remembered that fishing is totally lame.”
“I should get on with my essay,” said Maud sadly.
Penelope yawned. “Or we could do something completely monstrous instead. Like catching the Beast of Oddington.”
Maud looked at Penelope in surprise. Catch the Beast? That could make a great essay. Maybe even one good enough to get full marks …
“That sounds fun,” said Wilf, his voice wavering. “But I think I’d still rather go fishing.”
“Just as I thought,” sneered Penelope. “The little puppy’s too frightened to come
. Poor little bow-wow. Is he going to make a puddle on the floor when he sees the scary Beast?”
Maud made up her mind. “I bet we can find the Beast before you,” she said.
Penelope laughed. “Watch out, Beast of Oddington!” she said. “The loser patrol is on its way! You’re on!”
She and Warren set off into the forest.
“Well, now that we’re rid of them,” said Wilf, “let’s go get the fishing rods!”
Maud looked from the woods to Wilf, unsure. “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t want to hang around with Warren and Penelope, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to look for the Beast. Just imagine if we discovered it first. What an adventure that would be! You’d convince your dad you’re just as brave as Warren, and I’d get something to write my essay about.”
Wilf looked down at his feet. “Maybe if I caught a big fish instead. One with a really stern expression. That would still be quite brave, wouldn’t it?”
“Not really,” said Maud. “Being brave means forcing yourself to do things you don’t want to do. It means pushing yourself on, even when part of you resists.”
Wilf was silent for a moment. Then he looked up and said, “Alright. Let’s do it!”
“Monstrous!” said Maud. She held her hand up for a high-five, and Wilf gave it a weak slap.
There was no turning back now. They had to find the Beast, and they had to do it before Penelope did.
The sun had gone in, and wisps of mist were descending again, making the forest look scary … but exciting, too. They followed the tracks out of the clearing and among the leafless black trees. Then Maud noticed something strange about the prints – they were completely identical and spaced evenly in a straight line.
“Weird,” said Maud. “Does the Beast hop along on one leg?”
Wilf shrugged. “I’ve never seen it.”
They pressed on, deeper into the forest. The mist grew thicker with every step they took. Soon it was so thick that Maud could barely see a few feet ahead of her. She stepped over thick roots and ducked under low branches, keeping her eyes on the trail. Then she heard a sudden howl – low and mournful – echoing through the trees. She felt a trembling in the pocket of her coat.
“Don’t worry, Quent,” said Maud. “It’s probably just Warren stubbing his toe again.”
“It doesn’t sound like him,” said Wilf. “In fact, it doesn’t sound like a human or a wolf. We ought to go back now. Maybe we could look for the Beast later, when the mist clears?”
“No,” said Maud, trying to sound brave. “This proves we’re close. We have to keep going.”
The forest grew even thicker, and Maud could barely see ten paces ahead. The black branches of the trees meshed so close to her head that it felt as though she was walking down a crooked corridor. She cried out as her knee bumped into something, and she stumbled forward. It was the trunk of an overturned tree. At first Maud thought last night’s storm might have pushed it over, but after looking closer she knew that wasn’t right. It had been ripped apart at the base. Huge gashes streaked the bark, and splinters the size of daggers were strewn across the ground. Something very strong had destroyed that tree. Very strong … and very angry.
Sharp bursts of pain shot into Maud’s arm as Wilf grabbed her. “Ouch! Your claws are out!”
“Sorry,” said Wilf. “Look! There’s something in the grass!” He pointed to a patch of tall weeds.
Maud peered into the undergrowth. When she realised what she was looking at, she walked over and bent down to pick it up.
“It’s not a beast,” she said, smiling. “But I think it might help us find one.”
She wiped the grime from the cover of the old leather book. It was Penelope’s Weather Spells for Beginners.
“Penelope must have dropped it!” said Wilf.
Maud flipped through the book. Some of the pages were damaged from the downpour the night before, but she could still see a snow spell, a rainbow spell and a spell to banish mist. What luck!
Maud glanced at the words etched on the back. “No wand or training required,” it read. “Just say the rhyme and change the clime. So simple even an ogre could make it work.” She flipped to a page headed “Mist Banishment Spell by Malicious Mildred, aged 105”.
Pointing towards the thick fog ahead, she began to read:
“Mist be gone away from me,
Clear my path so I can see,
I banish you with all my might,
Move aside and end my plight.”
Maud wiggled her fingers, and the mist evaporated in front of them, revealing bare black trees. She moved her hand around, and the mist fell away, as if she were aiming a gigantic leaf-blower.
“Monstrous!” said Wilf.
Maud smiled and walked on, pointing her hand downwards so she could follow the huge prints. They led around an oozing swamp and a large patch of straggly reeds, and came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a clump of dark green pine trees.
“Where could the Beast have gone?” asked Maud.
“Maybe it’s here,” said Wilf, glancing nervously around. “Maybe it’s hiding in those trees.”
Maud listened, but there was complete silence.
“I don’t think so,” said Maud. “I’m sure we’d be able to hear something.”
“Maybe the Beast can fly,” said Wilf. “Maybe this is the spot it took off from.”
Maud pointed her hand upwards. She held her breath, imagining the glinting talons she might uncover. But the mist flew away to reveal an empty sky.
Wilf got down on his hands and knees and sniffed the ground.
“There’s a scent over here,” he said.
Following Wilf’s nose, Maud found a new set of tracks leading into the pine trees, but they were much smaller than the beastly footprints they’d been following.
“These are shoeprints,” said Maud. “Could Penelope and Warren have got ahead of us?”
Wilf stuck his nose into one of them and inhaled. “No, it doesn’t smell as bad as my brother.”
“Then we need to find whoever made them, and fast,” said Maud. “They probably have no idea of the danger they’re in.”
Wilf padded alongside the prints, picking out a path through the pine cones and fallen needles. Maud followed, blasting the fog out of their way. Wilf actually seemed to be enjoying the hunt now. His dad would have been proud.
The prints led them to a gap in the trees. Maud caught her breath. In front of them, a neat stone path wound through a bed of red and pink roses to the door of a small white cottage. It was clean and well kept, with a thatched roof and a trellis in front covered with bright yellow flowers. Maud thought it looked like a pretty holiday home, but what was it doing in the middle of this bleak, desolate swamp?
Plumes of sweet-smelling smoke rose up from the stone chimney.
“Looks like someone’s in,” said Maud. “We’d better go in and warn them about the Beast.”
Maud dashed up the path. She clacked a large bronze doorknocker and soon heard someone shuffling slowly around inside.
The door creaked open, and an old lady emerged. She was wearing a soft, white dressing gown with pink, fluffy slippers, and had thin, white hair curled neatly around her head. She peered down at Maud and Wilf, her bright blue eyes made owlish by thick spectacles, and smiled warmly.
“Hello, dearies,” she said. “What brings you out here?”
“We’re camping,” said Maud.
Maud thought she saw the woman’s eyes narrow for an instant.
“How lovely, dear,” said the woman, smiling broadly again.
“There’s something we need to warn you about,” said Wilf.
“Well, you’d better come in then,” said the old lady. “I’m Mrs St John. Would you like a cup of tea and something to eat? I’ve scones, shortbread, chocolate fingers …”
“That sounds great,” said Maud, her mouth watering. She felt she could eat several platefuls after the previous night’s cookery disas
ter.
Mrs St John led them through a bright hallway with a wooden dresser and a large cupboard into a cosy kitchen with a low ceiling and an open fire. They sat down at an oak table, covered in placemats with watercolours of moles, badgers and hedgehogs on them. Mrs St John shuffled over to the sink and filled an old copper kettle.
“Monstrous!” said Wilf. “I love tea, but Dad doesn’t like me drinking it. He says it’s not wolfish enough.”
“You’ll have to bear with me,” said Mrs St John, slapping the kettle on the stove. “I don’t usually have guests round.”
Maud wasn’t surprised Mrs St John didn’t get many visitors. It was a lonely and gloomy spot to live in, especially for a sweet old lady. Did she have to flee the Beast every time she popped out to the shops? And why weren’t there bars on the windows or bolts on the doors?
“This is a very pretty house,” said Maud. “How long have you lived here?”
“All my life,” said Mrs St John. She took some scones out of her larder and arranged them on a plate. “My family’s lived here for generations.”
“Don’t you get lonely?” asked Maud.
“Never,” said Mrs St John. “Who’d want strangers poking around when you could have peace and quiet instead? All those ramblers and campers and yompers …” She was gripping a scone so tightly that it crumbled to pieces. “…trampling my flowerbeds … pitching their tents in my garden …”
Mrs St John looked at the crumbs in her hand and smiled again. “Present company excepted, of course. Silly me, I seem to have broken this scone! Let me fetch another one.”
As Mrs St John went back to the larder, Wilf tapped Maud and pointed to a cupboard at the side of the room. Maud couldn’t work out what he’d noticed. The door was open very slightly, but not enough to see inside. Then she spotted it. In front of the cupboard, there were a couple of muddy clawprints on the floor, just like the ones they’d been following.
“It smells just like the Beast’s tracks! Do you think the monster’s in there?” whispered Wilf.
Horror Holiday Page 4