Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Read online

  Mum glanced round at Micky’s four sisters. For a moment it looked as if she knew all. But then she turned back to Micky.

  ‘There aren’t any real werewolves anywhere. They just use big dogs in those silly films. Alsatians. Like Sandy, Mr Bryan’s Alsatian up the road. And you’re not scared of him, are you?’

  ‘No,’ said Micky doubtfully.

  He’d never been exactly fond of Sandy the Alsatian. He had a habit of crouching right down behind his fence and then growling suddenly at your ankles. It always made Micky jump a bit on his way past, going to school.

  When Micky went to school that morning he crossed right over the road so he didn’t have to go near Sandy the Alsatian. But even from right across the road Sandy looked much larger and fiercer than usual, and there seemed to be far more teeth springing from his jaw. He really did look remarkably like a werewolf.

  ‘Micky’s scared of a silly old dog,’ Marigold chanted mockingly. She put her hand right through the fence and patted Sandy’s head to show she wasn’t scared a bit.

  ‘Micky’s sensible to keep his distance,’ said Mandy, snatching Marigold’s hand back. ‘You should be careful with all big dogs. You never know when they can snap.’

  Micky discovered that he wasn’t just scared of big dogs. He was scared of quite little dogs, too.

  On Saturday afternoon Mum and Dad and Mona and Micky and Marigold went for a walk in the park. (Meryl was down at the shopping precinct with her friends, and Mandy had gone skateboarding.) There were lots of other families in the park. And lots of dogs. Micky managed to steer clear of most of them, suddenly rushing off round the duck-pond away from a lollopy spaniel and running like crazy when a Golden Retriever appeared on the horizon.

  ‘You’re quite a nippy little runner, Micky,’ said Dad, ruffling his hair. ‘It’s nice to see you dashing about a bit and having fun.’

  Micky glowed. He walked along beside Dad, skipping and hopping a bit to match Dad’s long loping stride. He suddenly didn’t feel like a baby any more. He didn’t even feel like a boy. He felt like a man.

  Then a werewolf sprang right out of the wooded garden and Micky shrieked.

  ‘What the…? For goodness’ sake, Micky, it’s only a corgi!’ Dad declared in disgust as Micky cowered away.

  All right, it was only an old lady’s corgi, although it was a belligerent one, barking its head off at poor Micky. It looked like a pint-sized werewolf on mini legs.

  ‘Help,’ wailed Micky.

  ‘It’s all right, dear, he won’t hurt you,’ said die old lady.

  ‘Pull yourself together, Micky,’ said Dad, giving him a shake. ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Leave him, love,’ said Mum, slipping her arm round Micky. ‘He’s just a bit scared of dogs at the moment, that’s all.’

  ‘I could understand it if it was a socking great Rottweiler, but a corgi!’ said Dad.

  He didn’t say any more, but Micky felt he was in disgrace.

  He tried to soothe himself after tea by doing another drawing of his magic land. Marigold came bustling up, but Mum found her some old white net curtains so she could play weddings with all her Little Ponies, and that kept her well out of Micky’s way. She made a wedding frock for each Little Pony and married them all off to each other.

  Dad pointed out that she’d got it wrong but Marigold didn’t care.

  ‘My ponies don’t want to marry boy ponies. They don’t like boys. They can’t be bothered with them,’ said Marigold.

  Dad looked as if he might agree.

  Micky drew and coloured carefully but the magic land wouldn’t come right this time. He used the wrong purple for the mountains by mistake and so they looked dark and frightening. The lake looked cold and bleak. The meadows were bare and the woods were the worst. He tried to make them look real by crayoning in all the brown trunks under the wavy green leaf part. It didn’t work. It just looked as if there were a lot of brown things in the wood. Brown creatures. Werewolves.

  The werewolves even spoilt going to tea with Granny Boot on Sunday. Granny Boot was Micky’s favourite person in all the world. Her name wasn’t really Boot, it was just a nickname.

  Micky had made it up for her. Granny Boot had a second-hand clothes shop and every Saturday and Sunday she got up very early and went to Car Boot Sales to get stock for her shop. She sometimes took Micky with her for a great treat. She said he had an eye for a bargain. The older girls weren’t interested and Mona moaned and Marigold picked things up and dropped them, but Micky and Granny always had a very good time at the Boot Sales.

  ‘You’re my Granny Boot,’ said Micky, giving her a hug.

  Dad laughed and laughed when he heard Granny’s new name.

  ‘Yes, she’s an Old Boot all right,’ Dad chuckled, and Mum got cross.

  After they’d all had a lovely tea at Granny’s (ham salad sandwiches and jam sponge and chocolate finger biscuits and raspberry jelly and ice-cream) she took Micky upstairs to show him the bargains she’d found at that morning’s Boot Sale.

  ‘Look at this lovely little Fifties number with its sweetheart neckline,’ said Granny, holding up a faded blue dance frock. ‘You could do a lovely quickstep in this, all right.’

  She danced round her bedroom in her fluffy slippers holding the frock in front of her, while Micky sat on her bed and laughed.

  Then Granny Boot delved into her pile of newly-bought clothes on the floor and found a shrivelled swimming costume with funny padded bits at the front.

  ‘I don’t think I’d even get one leg into this skimpy little thing,’ said Granny Boot. She tied it onto her head instead, with the padded bits sticking straight up as decoration.

  Micky laughed so much he nearly fell off the bed.

  ‘Don’t you laugh at my lovely new hat, you cheeky monkey,’ said Granny Boot. ‘Now, where’s that old fox-fur cape, that’ll set it off a treat.’

  She stirred the pile of old clothes – and a ginger werewolf leapt out of their midst, eyes beady, teeth bared.

  Micky screamed.

  ‘What’s up, my little lovie?’ said Granny Boot, rushing to him – but she had hold of the fox-fur cape, so the werewolf rushed too, and Micky went on screaming until Mum came and worked out what was worrying him.

  Poor Granny Boot was very upset and shut the fox fur cape right away in her wardrobe.

  ‘I didn’t mean to frighten you, my pet. Silly old Granny Boot,’ she kept saying. ‘It’s all my fault.’

  ‘It’s Micky’s fault for being such a milk pudding,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve got to stop this nonsense, Micky, do you hear me? Acting scared of a tatty bit of fur!’

  ‘Micky’s a milk pudding!’ Marigold yelled delightedly.

  ‘You shouldn’ t call the poor kiddie nasty names,’ said Granny Boot, glaring at Dad.

  ‘He shouldn’t be such a coward.’

  ‘Cowardy cowardy custard!’ sang Marigold.

  ‘He’s not a coward, he’s a brave little lad! He puts up with a lot, the way you keep picking on him,’ said Granny Boot.

  ‘I think it’s time to go home,’ Mum said quickly. ‘Come on, you lot. Get your things.’

  ‘You give your Granny Boot a big kiss,’ said Granny Boot to Micky.

  ‘I’m sorry I was silly,’ said Micky in a small sniffly voice.

  He took even longer to go to sleep that night. The bedroom was so dark he pulled the curtains open so that he could see a little in the moonlight. That was a mistake. Micky saw the round white globe in the sky. It was a full moon. Everyone knows werewolves are at their very worst on the night of a full moon.

  3…

  Mum looked at the dark circles under Micky’s eyes in the morning.

  ‘We’ve got to sort this out, old Mick,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, Mum,’ said Micky. He looked at her. ‘How?’

  ‘I’ll think of something,’ said Mum.

  Micky hoped Mum might think of something pretty rapidly. He found it very hard to get past Sandy the