The Witches Read online

  ‘What the blazes do you mean, madam?’ shouted Mr Jenkins. ‘My son isn't a mouse!’ His black moustache was jumping up and down like crazy as he spoke. ‘Come on, woman! Where is he? Out with it!’

  The family at the table nearest to us had all stopped eating and were staring at Mr Jenkins. My grandmother sat there puffing away calmly at her black cigar. ‘I can well understand your anger, Mr Jenkins,’ she said. ‘Any other English father would be just as cross as you are. But over in Norway where I come from, we are quite used to these sorts of happenings. We have learnt to accept them as part of everyday life.’

  ‘You must be mad, woman!’ cried Mr Jenkins. ‘Where is Bruno? If you don't tell me at once I shall summon the police!’

  ‘Bruno is a mouse,’ my grandmother said, calm as ever.

  ‘He most certainly is not a mouse!’ shouted Mr Jenkins.

  ‘Oh yes I am!’ Bruno said, poking his head up out of the handbag.

  Mr Jenkins leapt about three feet into the air.

  ‘Hello, Dad,’ Bruno said. He had a silly sort of mousy grin on his face.

  Mr Jenkins's mouth dropped open so wide I could see the gold fillings in his back teeth.

  ‘Don't worry, Dad,’ Bruno went on. ‘It's not as bad as all that. Just so long as the cat doesn't get me.’

  ‘B-B-Bruno!’ stammered Mr Jenkins.

  ‘No more school!’ said Bruno, grinning a broad and asinine mouse-grin. ‘No more homework! I shall live in the kitchen cupboard and feast on raisins and honey!’

  ‘B-b-but B-B-Bruno!’ stammered Mr Jenkins again. ‘H-how did this happen?’ The poor man had no wind left in his sails at all.

  ‘Witches,’ my grandmother said. ‘The witches did it.’

  ‘I can't have a mouse for a son!’ shrieked Mr Jenkins.

  ‘You've got one,’ my grandmother said. ‘Be nice to him, Mr Jenkins.’

  ‘Mrs Jenkins will go crazy!’ yelled Mr Jenkins. ‘She can't stand the things!’

  ‘She'll just have to get used to him,’ my grandmother said. ‘I hope you don't keep a cat in the house.’

  ‘We do! We do!’ cried Mr Jenkins. ‘Topsy is my wife's favourite creature!’

  ‘Then you'll just have to get rid of Topsy,’ my grandmother said. ‘Your son is more important than your cat.’

  ‘He certainly is!’ Bruno shouted from inside the handbag. ‘You tell Mum she's got to get rid of Topsy before I go home!’

  By now half the Dining-Room was watching our little group. Knives and forks and spoons had been put down and all over the place heads were turning round to stare at Mr Jenkins as he stood there spluttering and shouting. They couldn't see either Bruno or me and they were wondering what all the fuss was about.

  ‘By the way,’ my grandmother said, ‘would you like to know who did this to him?’ There was a mischievous little smile on her face and I could see that she was about to get Mr Jenkins into trouble.

  ‘Who?’ he cried. ‘Who did it?’

  ‘That woman over there,’ my grandmother said. ‘The small one in a black dress at the head of the long table.’

  ‘She's RSPCC!’ cried Mr Jenkins. ‘She's the Chairwoman!’

  ‘No, she's not,’ my grandmother said. ‘She's The Grand High Witch Of All The World.’

  ‘You mean she did it, that skinny little woman over there!’ shouted Mr Jenkins, pointing at her with a long finger. ‘By gad, I'll have my lawyers on to her for this! I'll make her pay through the nose!’

  ‘I wouldn't do anything rash,’ my grandmother said to him. ‘That woman has magic powers. She might decide to turn you into something even sillier than a mouse. A cockroach perhaps.’

  ‘Turn me into a cockroach!’ shouted Mr Jenkins, puffing out his chest. ‘I'd like to see her try!’ He swung around and started marching across the Dining-Room towards The Grand High Witch's table. My grandmother and I watched him. Bruno had jumped up on to our table and was also watching his father. Practically everyone in the Dining-Room was watching Mr Jenkins now. I stayed where I was, peeping out of my grandmother's handbag. I thought it might be wiser to stay put.

  The Triumph

  Mr Jenkins had not gone more than a few paces towards The Grand High Witch's table when a piercing scream rose high above all the other noises in the room, and at the same moment I saw The Grand High Witch go shooting up into the air!

  Now she was standing on her chair, still screaming…

  Now she was on the table-top, waving her arms…

  ‘What on earth's happening, Grandmamma?’

  ‘Wait!’ my grandmother said. ‘Keep quiet and watch.’

  Suddenly all the other witches, more than eighty of them, were beginning to scream and jump up out of their seats as though spikes were being stuck into their bottoms. Some were standing on chairs, some were up on the tables and all of them were wiggling about and waving their arms in the most extraordinary manner.

  Then, all at once, they became quiet.

  Then they stiffened. Every single witch stood there as stiff and silent as a corpse.

  The whole room became deathly still.

  ‘They're shrinking, Grandmamma!’ I said. ‘They're shrinking just like I did!’

  ‘I know they are,’ my grandmother said.

  ‘It's the Mouse-Maker!’ I cried. ‘Look! Some of them are growing fur on their faces! Why is it working so quickly, Grandmamma?’

  ‘I'll tell you why,’ my grandmother said. ‘Because all of them have had massive overdoses, just like you. It's thrown the alarm-clock right out of whack!’

  Everyone in the Dining-Room was standing up now to get a better view. People were moving closer. They were beginning to crowd round the two long tables. My grandmother lifted Bruno and me up so that we wouldn't miss any of the fun. In her excitement, she jumped up on to her chair so that she could see over the heads of the crowd.

  In another few seconds, all the witches had completely disappeared and the tops of the two long tables were swarming with small brown mice.

  All over the Dining-Room women were screaming and strong men were turning white in the face and shouting, ‘It's crazy! This can't happen! Let's get the heck out of here quick!’ Waiters were attacking the mice with chairs and wine-bottles and anything else that came to hand. I saw a chef in a tall white hat rushing out from the kitchen brandishing a frying-pan, and another one just behind him was wielding a carving-knife above his head, and everyone was yelling, ‘Mice! Mice! Mice! We must get rid of the mice!’ Only the children in the room were really enjoying it. They all seemed to know instinctively that something good was going on right there in front of them, and they were clapping and cheering and laughing like mad.

  ‘It's time to go,’ my grandmother said. ‘Our work is done.’ She got down off her chair and picked up her handbag and slung it over her arm. She had me in her right hand and Bruno in her left. ‘Bruno,’ she said, ‘the time has come to restore you to the famous bosom of your family.’

  ‘My mum's not very crazy about mice,’ Bruno said.

  ‘So I noticed,’ my grandmother said. ‘She'll just have to get used to you, won't she?’

  It was not difficult to find Mr and Mrs Jenkins. You could hear Mrs Jenkins's shrill voice all over the room. ‘Herbert!’ it was screaming. ‘Herbert, get me out of here! There's mice everywhere! They'll go up my skirts!’ She had her arms high up around her husband and from where I was she seemed to be swinging from his neck.

  My grandmother advanced upon them and thrust Bruno into Mr Jenkins's hand. ‘Here's your little boy,’ she said. ‘He needs to go on a diet.’

  ‘Hi, Dad!’ Bruno said. ‘Hi, Mum!’

  Mrs Jenkins screamed even louder. My grandmother, with me in her hand, turned and marched out of the room. She went straight across the hotel lobby and out through the front entrance into the open air.

  Outside it was a lovely warm evening and I could hear the waves breaking on the beach just across the road from the hotel.

  ‘Is there a