Werepuppy and the Werepuppy on Holiday Read online

  ‘Mmm,’ said Micky.

  If he’d had his crayons and sketch book with him he’d only need one colour to reflect his mood. Black.

  He couldn’t cheer up at all, even when the sun came out and they went on the sands and played French cricket and then had fish and chips for tea. Even Granny Boot got a little exasperated with Micky’s gloom and despair.

  ‘How many more times do I have to tell you, ducks? Wolfie will have settled in nicely now. He’ll be all tucked up with his blanket and his bone, enjoying his own little holiday.’

  ‘Yes, but what if…’ Micky’s face screwed up with anxiety. ‘I’m so scared he might have managed to escape, you see, you know how good he is at doing that. And then, if he’s lost…’

  ‘How about phoning the dog shelter then, just to put your mind at rest?’ Granny suggested.

  Dad wouldn’t hear of it. He said Micky was to put Wolfie right out of his mind.

  Micky was going out of his mind with worry thinking of Wolfie. He couldn’t get to sleep at all when he went to bed. Marigold cuddled down straight away, and Granny Boot soon started dozing over her blockbuster and settled down, snoring softly.

  Micky tossed and turned, unable to get comfy, his sheets tangled, his pillow soggy with his secret tears. The weather outside seemed to be matching his mood, raining again. It was very windy too, the trees rustling eerily outside. The old Amber Hotel creaked and groaned, the wind whistling down the chimneys, and something started howling outside, wanting to be let in.

  Something started howling…

  Micky sat bolt upright in bed. Those howls were wonderfully familiar!

  6…

  ‘Wolfie!’ Micky gasped.

  The howls became deafening and insistent. There was no mistake. It really was Wolfie. And if Micky didn’t do something about him he was going to wake the whole hotel.

  Micky shot out of bed. The room was dark and he wasn’t quite sure where everything was. He stepped on something warm and furry and gave a little squeak of astonishment, but it was only one of Granny Boot’s bedroom slippers.

  She was snoring in earnest now, her lips smacking as if she were having a private midnight snack. Granny seemed unlikely to wake even if Wolfie howled right in her ear – but Marigold was a different matter. She was stirring restlessly already, and when Micky opened the bedroom door she called out.

  ‘Micky? Where you going?’ she mumbled, still half asleep.

  ‘Just nipping to the toilet. Go back to sleep,’ Micky whispered, praying that Wolfie wouldn’t howl again and wake her properly.

  It was as if Wolfie somehow understood, because he was suddenly silent. Micky hurried off down the corridor towards the stairs, hoping that Marigold would snuggle down again. He held his breath as he went past Mum and Dad’s door, but their room seemed dark and silent. There was a gleam of light under Meryl and Mandy and Mona’s door, and muffled giggling, but at least they didn’t seem bothered about what might be happening outside.

  Wolfie was howling again, his voice high-pitched, getting desperate.

  ‘I’m coming, Wolfie, I’m coming,’ Micky gabbled, hurtling down the stairs.

  The front door was locked up for the night and it took Micky ages tugging and pulling at the heavy bolts. He heard Wolfie scrabbling and whimpering outside, as if he was trying to help. Micky couldn’t possibly reach the top bolt and had to run off in search of a chair to stand on – and even then it was such a stretch that Micky overbalanced and toppled forward, landing painfully on his hands and knees. But he was up again in a minute and having another go, though he kept looking over his shoulder anxiously in case the owners of the hotel should hear him and think him a burglar.

  The top bolt was so stiff that at first it wouldn’t budge, but when Micky yanked it desperately, scratching all his fingers, it suddenly gave way and slid open. Then Micky tumbled down off the chair, pulled the door open at long last, rushed out on to the gravel pathway – and into the huge hairy embrace of his frantic best friend.

  ‘Oh Wolfie Wolfie Wolfie,’ Micky whispered, overcome.

  Wolfie panted ecstatically, licking Micky all over. His lick was extra sticky and when Micky peered at him in the porch light he saw they were both now smeared with something dark.

  ‘Chocolate,’ said Micky, wiping at the matted hairs around Wolfie’s mouth. ‘Oh you ever so clever boy. You found all the chocolates I threw out of the car for you. I so hoped you’d be able to follow me that way. And yet I was so scared you’d get lost. How did you ever escape in the first place?’

  Wolfie threw his head in the air and snuffled contemptuously. This was obviously werepuppy language for ‘easy peasy’.

  ‘But it was such a long long way for you to come too,’ said Micky. ‘I didn’t realize just how long a journey it would be. You must be so tired now – and your poor old paws must be so sore.’

  Micky gently lifted Wolfie’s legs, trying to examine the pads of his paws. Wolfie winced a little, wriggling. He gave a haughty little howl to remind Micky that he was no ordinary pup. He was a weird and wondrous werewolf, capable of trekking night and day. But he yawned hugely in mid-howl, obviously exhausted.

  ‘My poor boy, you’re so sleepy,’ said Micky. ‘Where can we tuck you up, eh?’ He peered round the dark sodden garden.

  Wolfie scrabbled indignantly at Micky’s pyjama jacket.

  ‘No, Wolfie, you can’t come in my bed,’ said Micky. ‘Maybe Granny would cover up for us, but we’re sharing with Marigold, and you know what she’s like.’

  Wolfie growled in agreement.

  ‘Yes, she’d tell Dad and then he’d pack you off back to the dog shelter all over again,’ said Micky.

  Wolfie shivered.

  ‘Don’t worry, though, Wolfie, I’ll find you somewhere safe,’ said Micky. ‘Come on, boy.’

  Wolfie sprang to attention, but limped a little.

  ‘Here, I’ll carry you,’ said Micky, scooping him up in his arms.

  Now it was Micky’s turn to stagger, because Wolfie was growing rapidly every day and now weighed almost as much as his master. But Micky was filled with so much love and pride for his faithful pet that he’d have happily hauled him along if he was twice the size. Wolfie laid his large head on Micky’s shoulder, his amber eyes already starting to droop.

  ‘So where can we bed you down for the night, eh?’ Micky said, stumbling about the gardens with his big burden of snoozing werepuppy.

  There were hedges and shrubs, but they were nowhere big enough to hide Wolfie. There were big wooden barrels Wolfie might just have fitted inside but they were all planted with flowers. Micky made his way to the children’s play area right at the bottom of the garden. He sat down heavily on the wet swing, balancing Wolfie carefully over his knees. Then he saw the perfect holiday hidey-home for Wolfie. It was a large pink plastic playhouse, big enough for a girl Marigold’s size to stand up in.

  Micky slung his slumbering great pup over his shoulder and staggered off the swing over to the playhouse. He got the door open and with great difficulty stuffed Wolfie inside. Wolfie woke up while this was going on and grumbled.

  ‘Hey, don’t you growl at me, boy,’ said Micky, sticking his head through the door. ‘There now. Comfy?’

  Wolfie certainly seemed comfortable enough. There was some doll’s furniture and a tea-set and a teddy or two, but Wolfie swept them aside with one flick of his tail, clearing his own space.

  ‘That’s right, boy. Now, you settle down,’ said Micky.

  He gave Wolfie a good-night hug and kiss, reaching right into the house so that his bottom stuck up in the air. Then he tried to wriggle away, but Wolfie started to howl as he withdrew.

  ‘Sh! Don’t start howling again. You’ve got to stay hidden, Wolfie.’

  Wolfie whimpered, obviously not ready to be parted from Micky all over again.

  ‘I know, Wolfie, I know,’ said Micky, giving him another big hug. He wondered about squeezing right into the playhouse and spending the whole