The Witches Read online

  ‘I was talking to my little grandson,’ I heard my grandmother saying. ‘He's been in the bathroom for hours and it's time he came out. He sits in there reading books and he forgets completely where he is! Do you have any children, my dear?’

  ‘I do not!’ shouted The Grand High Witch, and she came quickly back into the bedroom, slamming the balcony door behind her.

  I was cooked. My escape route was closed. I was shut up in the room with The Grand High Witch and three terrified frogs. I was just as terrified as the frogs. I was quite sure that if I was spotted, I would be caught and thrown out over the balcony for the seagulls.

  There came a knock on the bedroom door. ‘Vot is it this time?’ shouted The Grand High Witch.

  ‘It is we ancient ones,’ said a meek voice from behind the door. ‘It is six o'clock and we have come to collect the bottles that you promised us, O Your Grandness.’

  I saw her crossing the carpet towards the door. The door was opened and then I saw a whole lot of feet and shoes beginning to enter the room. They were coming in slowly and hesitantly, as though the owners of those shoes were frightened of entering. ‘Come in! Come in!’ snapped The Grand High Witch. ‘Do not stand out there dithering in the corrri-dor! I don't have all night!’

  I saw my chance. I jumped out from behind the bedpost and ran like lightning towards the open door. I jumped over several pairs of shoes on the way and in three seconds I was out in the corridor, still clutching the precious bottle to my chest. No one had seen me. There were no shouts of Mouse! Mouse! All I could hear were the voices of the ancient witches burbling their silly sentences about ‘How kind Your Grandness is’ and all the rest of it. I went scampering down the corridor to the stairs and up one flight. I went to the fifth floor and then along the corridor again until I came to the door of my own bedroom. Thank goodness there was no one in sight. Using the bottom of the little bottle, I began tap-tap-tapping on the door. Tap tap tap tap, I went. Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… Would my grandmother hear me? I thought that she must. The bottle made quite a loud tap each time it struck. Tap tap tap… tap tap tap… Just so long as nobody came along the corridor.

  But the door didn't open. I decided to take a risk. ‘Grandmamma!’ I shouted as loudly as I possibly could. ‘Grandmamma! It's me! Let me in!’

  I heard her feet coming across the carpet and the door opened. I went in like an arrow. ‘I've done it!’ I cried, jumping up and down. ‘I've got it, Grandmamma! Look, here it is! I've got a whole bottle of it!’

  She closed the door. She bent down and picked me up and hugged me. ‘Oh, my darling!’ she cried. ‘Thank heavens you're safe!’ She took the little bottle from me and read the label aloud. ‘“Formula 86 Delayed Action Mouse-Maker!”’ she read. ‘“This bottle contains five hundred doses!” You brilliant darling boy! You're a wonder! You're a marvel! How on earth did you get out of her room?’

  ‘I nipped out when the ancient witches were coming in,’ I told her. ‘It was all a bit hairy, Grandmamma. I wouldn't want to do it again.’

  ‘I saw her too!’ my grandmother said.

  ‘I know you did, Grandmamma. I heard you talking to each other. Didn't you think she was absolutely foul?’

  ‘She's a murderer,’ my grandmother said. ‘She's the most evil woman in the entire world!’

  ‘Did you see her mask?’ I asked.

  ‘It's amazing,’ my grandmother said. ‘It looks just like a real face. Even though I knew it was a mask, I still couldn't tell. Oh, my darling!’ she cried, giving me a hug. ‘I thought I'd never see you again! I'm so happy you got away!’

  Mr and Mrs Jenkins Meet Bruno

  My grandmother carried me back into her own bedroom and put me on the table. She set the precious bottle down beside me. ‘What time are those witches having supper in the Dining-Room?’ she asked.

  ‘Eight o'clock,’ I said.

  She looked at her watch. ‘It is now ten-past six,’ she said. ‘We've got until eight o'clock to work out our next move.’ Suddenly, her eye fell upon Bruno. He was still in the banana bowl on the table. He had eaten three bananas and was now attacking a fourth. He had become immensely fat.

  ‘That's quite enough,’ my grandmother said, lifting him out of the bowl and putting him on the table-top. ‘I think it's time we returned this little fellow to the bosom of his family. Don't you agree, Bruno?’

  Bruno scowled at her. I had never seen a mouse scowl before, but he managed it. ‘My parents let me eat as much as I want,’ he said. ‘I'd rather be with them than with you.’

  ‘Of course you would,’ my grandmother said. ‘Do you know where your parents might be at this moment?’

  ‘They were in the Lounge not long ago,’ I said. ‘I saw them sitting there as we dashed through on our way up here.’

  ‘Right,’ my grandmother said. ‘Let's go and see if they are still there. Do you want to come along?’ she added, looking at me.

  ‘Yes, please,’ I said.

  ‘I shall put you both in my handbag,’ she said. ‘Keep quiet and stay out of sight. If you must peep out now and again, don't show more than your nose.’

  Her handbag was a large bulgy black-leather affair with a tortoise-shell clasp. She picked up Bruno and me and popped us into it. ‘I shall leave the clasp undone,’ she said. ‘But be sure to keep out of sight.’

  I had no intention of keeping out of sight. I wanted to see everything. I seated myself in a little side-pocket inside the bag, near the clasp, and from there I was able to poke my head out whenever I wanted to.

  ‘Hey!’ Bruno called out. ‘Give me the rest of that banana I was eating.’

  ‘Oh all right,’ my grandmother said. ‘Anything to keep you quiet.’ She dropped the half-eaten banana into the bag, then slung the bag over her arm and marched out of the room and went thumping along the corridor with her walking-stick.

  We went down in the lift to the ground floor and made our way through the Reading-Room to the Lounge. And there, sure enough, sat Mr and Mrs Jenkins in a couple of armchairs with a low round glass-covered table between them. There were several other groups in there as well, but the Jenkinses were the only couple sitting alone. Mr Jenkins was reading a newspaper. Mrs Jenkins was knitting something large and mustard-coloured. Only my nose and eyes were above the clasp of my grandmother's handbag, but I had a super view. I could see everything.

  My grandmother, dressed in black lace, went thumping across the floor of the Lounge and halted in front of the Jenkinses’ table. ‘Are you Mr and Mrs Jenkins?’ she asked.

  Mr Jenkins looked at her over the top of his newspaper and frowned. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I am Mr Jenkins. What can I do for you, madam?’

  ‘I'm afraid I have some rather alarming news for you,’ she said. ‘It's about your son, Bruno.’

  ‘What about Bruno?’ Mr Jenkins said.

  Mrs Jenkins looked up but went on knitting. ‘What's the little blighter been up to now?’ Mr Jenkins asked. ‘Raiding the kitchen, I suppose.’

  ‘It's a bit worse than that,’ my grandmother said. ‘Do you think we might go somewhere more private while I tell you about it?’

  ‘Private?’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘Why do we have to be private?’

  ‘This is not an easy thing for me to explain,’ my grandmother said. ‘I'd much rather we all went up to your room and sat down before I tell you any more.’

  Mr Jenkins lowered his paper. Mrs Jenkins stopped knitting. ‘I don't want to go up to my room, madam,’ Mr Jenkins said. ‘I'm quite comfortable here, thank you very much.’ He was a large coarse man and he wasn't used to being pushed around by anybody. ‘Kindly state your business and then leave us alone,’ he added. He spoke, as though he was addressing someone who was trying to sell him a vacuum-cleaner at the back door.

  My poor grandmother, who had been doing her best to be as kind to them as possible, now began to bristle a bit herself. ‘We really can't talk in here,’ she said. ‘There are too many people. This is a rather delicate and perso