The Wayward Witch and the Feelings Monster Page 7

  ‘Monster!’ they call out, as they dart their hands in to tap Gretel. ‘Monster! Monster! Big, ugly monster!’

  Gretel swings her arms around wildly, giggling each time she nearly catches a witch before they slip away.

  Polly finds herself laughing in the excitement of it all. She dips in and out between the other witches, occasionally colliding with one of them and snorting with laughter, narrowly missing Gretel’s swinging hands.

  Finally, Gretel catches Rosemary around the wrist.

  ‘Caught!’ she yells, yanking the scarf off.

  Rosemary takes her place. Willow is caught next, then Capsum, then Malorie. Polly is more cautious than the others and so has avoided being caught up until now, but Malorie seems determined that it be her turn next. At the precise moment Polly ducks her hand in towards Malorie, Malorie catches it swiftly and cleanly, like she has been waiting only for this.

  ‘Your turn,’ she says, smiling, and hands the scarf over to Polly.

  Polly thinks she glimpses a tiny flicker of menace in Malorie’s smile, but then it’s gone. Malorie ties the scarf tightly around Polly’s eyes, and the witches circle around her.

  ‘Monster,’ they begin to call, gently at first, then louder and louder. ‘Monster! Monster! Big, ugly monster!’ They step in to jab her in the ribs, her shoulders, her back.

  Polly swings her hands around in the darkness but touches nobody. The witches circle closer. Polly can feel the warmth of their bodies swishing past. She swings her arms about but the jeering is coming from all sides and makes her head swim.

  She steps forwards and gets a jab in the back.

  Even though she knows it’s only a game, Polly begins to feel panic swelling in her chest. The witches’ voices sound louder and louder in her ears, and the jabbing seems to get harder and harder.

  ‘Monster, monster!’ She hears Malorie’s voice close to her ear. ‘Big, ugly, hairy monster,’ she hisses. ‘You can’t get me.’

  Polly’s head begins to fizz. She doesn’t like this game anymore. She reaches for the scarf over her eyes, but someone pulls her hand away.

  ‘You’re not free yet!’ Malorie says in her ear. ‘You have to catch someone first!’

  Polly feels her breathing get faster. Her heart is pounding. Finally, the bell rings and the whirlpool of witches around her scatters.

  Polly jerks the scarf down from her eyes and sees Rosemary, Willow, Capsum and Gretel running back to the tree to collect their lunchboxes.

  Polly stands there, breathing hard, her head spinning. She looks up at Malorie, who is smiling.

  ‘Coming?’ she says sweetly.

  All around Polly, witches and warlocks are making their way back to class.

  As Polly’s head clears, she looks at Malorie. Even though Malorie is smiling and holding her hand out towards her, Polly sees, quite clearly, that Malorie is not her friend.

  Not really. Not a true friend.

  Buster is her friend. Buster, who is kind and lovely and likes Polly no matter what. True friends don’t care two hoots about magical pens, or being famous or popular. And they would never make you pretend to be someone you’re not.

  Polly suddenly has the sinking feeling that by choosing Malorie, she has broken her very best friend’s great big heart in two.

  Her hands shaking, Polly slowly unpins the badge on her chest. She knows Malorie is watching as she turns the badge upside down and pins it back on her uniform.

  The ‘W’ is now an ‘M’.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Malorie says, her mouth dropping open in horror.

  ‘I’m a friend of monsters,’ Polly says, sounding calmer than she feels. ‘And if that’s not OK with you, I’m afraid we can’t be friends.’

  She takes Malorie’s beautiful mood pen out of her pocket and holds it out.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Malorie hisses, her eyes flitting from side to side.

  Students are stopping on their way back to class to watch this small spectacle.

  ‘Monsters are bad. They are noisy and smelly and they hurt witches,’ insists Malorie.

  ‘No,’ Polly says. ‘There are bad monsters and there are good monsters. Just like witches and warlocks. They are just different to us, that’s all! And you should never treat anyone badly just because they aren’t like you. That’s. Not. Fair. And those monsters in the gallery never meant to hurt us, and you know it. You know the truth, Malorie. You’re just pretending that you don’t.’

  ‘You’re mad, Polly,’ Malorie says, backing away and shaking her head. ‘You’re completely mad. I tried to help you. I thought you would be grateful!’ she spits. ‘You could have been the most popular witch in school. But now – you know what? No-one will like you. No-one will ever want to be your friend!’

  She throws up her hands. ‘Good luck being all alone again, Polly!’ she yells, as she runs off through the small crowd that has gathered.

  Polly watches her go and takes a deep breath to steady herself. Then, shoving her hands in her pockets to hide the shaking, she slowly walks back to class.

  A witch bumps into her. Polly keeps walking. The witch bumps into her again.

  ‘Hey!’ says Polly. ‘Careful!’

  But when she turns to look at the witch who is hovering nearby – a witch from another year level whose name Polly doesn’t even know – she notices a curious thing.

  The witch’s hand is hanging by her side in a most unnatural way. Her thumb and little finger are curled up into her palm and her three middle fingers are pointing to the ground.

  Polly gasps. Is that an ‘M’?

  Polly glances up at the witch’s face. She winks at Polly before she jogs off and is lost in the crowd. Polly blinks.

  Another warlock walks past. He widens his eyes at Polly, ever so slightly. Polly looks down at his hand. Like the witch, he too is pointing three fingers down to the ground.

  Polly can’t believe it. As she moves through the jumble of students making their way back to class, she spots more and more witches and warlocks catching her eye, and when she looks down at their hands they are all making the sign of an ‘M’.

  ‘M’ for monster.

  Polly can’t hold back the smile. You are wrong, Malorie Halloway, she thinks. I am not alone. I am not alone at all!

  Polly runs all the way home from the bus stop, dumps her bag in the kitchen and runs outside to the tree. She scrambles up the wide knotted trunk, her toes finding their way into the familiar holes, and within moments she has reached the branches which stretch out like open arms. This is the place that has sheltered Polly and Buster’s precious friendship from the world for so long.

  It has only been a few days since she was last here with Buster, but so much has happened since then. She can’t wait to tell Buster how she stood up to Malorie Halloway once and for all.

  Polly tips back her head and cups her hands around her mouth.

  she calls, and then leans back against the trunk to wait for him.

  But Buster doesn’t come.

  Polly calls again and again. But it doesn’t take her long to know, deep in the very bottomest part of her belly, that even if Buster can hear her, he isn’t coming to the tree this afternoon. Maybe not tomorrow, or the next day either.

  Maybe he’ll never come again?

  He is too hurt and too sad, and she is the one who has made him feel like that. She feels silly to think he would have forgiven her so easily. Polly slides back down the tree trunk, rushes down their front path and through the gates to the house next door.

  Buster’s mum answers the door. ‘I’m sorry, love,’ she says kindly. ‘He’s just not feeling himself at the moment. Give him a couple of days, all right? He’ll be back to his old cheery self by then.’

  ‘Can you please tell him that I came?’ Polly asks, her tummy squirming with worry.

  ‘Of course, pippikin. If you want, you can try calling past again tonight after dinner. Bruce and I will be at the meeting, and Buster will be on his own
. He might like the company.’

  ‘Meeting?’ Polly asks.

  ‘Oh yes. At the Town Hall. I imagine your ma will be there too?’ Patsy says. ‘The Committee has called a meeting with the Mayor.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘That Mrs Halloway and her crowd really do have a spider in their underwear about us monsters. If everybody just minded their own business, we’d all get along fine.’

  Polly feels her cheeks heat up. ‘It’s all my fault,’ she says, her head hanging down. ‘Because of that spell I did in the gallery.’

  Patsy lifts Polly’s chin with her big hairy paw. ‘You did a good thing for a friend, Polly. You stood up for Buster when his classmates were bullying him – we know that. But witches and monsters choose to believe what they want to. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about a thing, my lovekin. It’s all just a fizzle in a cauldron. It will blow over soon, I’m sure.’

  Polly nods hopefully. Then she trudges back down the bumpy path, through the wild and overgrown garden to her own home.

  Winifred is waiting for her.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she asks.

  She is sitting on the front doorstep, twisting her long black ponytail around her fingers and chewing on an aniseed root.

  ‘Nowhere,’ Polly mutters.

  ‘I bet you’ve been at Buster’s house,’ Winifred says. ‘You’re just lucky I don’t tell Mum.’

  ‘Tell her what you want,’ Polly says.

  She is tired of all this secrecy now. Buster is right. A friend is a friend. You should stand up for them no matter what. Polly only wishes she had done this before. Now maybe Buster will never want to be her friend again.

  How could she have possibly chosen mean Malorie Halloway over dear, kind Buster? Polly feels awful.

  She tries to pass Winifred, but her sister blocks the way.

  ‘Mum!’ Polly calls.

  ‘Mum’s out,’ Winifred says. ‘I’m in charge.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Polly frowns.

  ‘Committee meeting,’ says Winifred. ‘She’s left us some tripe and pine-needle stew. I ate the rest of the toast.’ She grins.

  ‘Winifred!’ Polly says. ‘Mum bought that for me.’

  Winifred shrugs. ‘You’re too spoiled anyway.’

  Polly pushes past her sister and runs upstairs to her room. She slams her door loudly so that Winifred gets the message. Then she flumps down onto her bed. She can hear Gumpy sniffing hopefully at the door, but she doesn’t get up to let her in.

  Polly sighs and looks up at the star stickers she pasted to her ceiling all those years ago. It’s not dark enough for them to glow properly, but they feel comforting all the same. She remembers her dad lifting her onto his shoulders and walking her around the room so she could stick them on the ceiling, one by one.

  ‘They’re magic stars,’ he had whispered to her. ‘You can’t see them during the day, but they shine at night. Just like real stars. If you ever wake up in the night and feel scared, you just have to look up at those stars and know that I am close by. Always.’

  A hot tear slithers down her cheek. ‘No, you’re not,’ she says angrily to the stars.

  She gazes up at the ceiling as if the stars might answer her, even though she is old enough to know there is nothing magic about glow-in-the-dark stickers. Polly knows it’s silly to feel angry at her dad for dying, but she can’t help it. If he was here, she is sure everything would be different.

  Polly reaches over to her bedside table and pulls a carved wooden box out of the top drawer. Then she slides her fingers under the ledge of the table and pulls a small gold key out of the join. She unlocks the box and opens the lid. There’s a jumble of coloured feathers and shells and smooth pebbles that Buster has given her over the years. But at the back of the box lies the little purple silk pouch stitched with gold stars. It’s the only thing she still has of her father’s.

  After he died, Polly’s mother had given the pouch of stones to Polly, even though Winifred had wanted them for herself.

  ‘He always said that if anything ever happened to him, this pouch should go to Polly,’ their mother had explained to Winifred.

  Polly picks it up, undoes the drawstring and tips the contents onto her palm. Three smooth gemstones topple out, one blue as the sky, one pink as blush and one a clear and gold-hued amber. The blue one has three linked circles carved into it, and the pink one has three painted white stripes, but it is the amber one that is by far the most intriguing.

  Polly holds it up to the light and peers inside. Embedded into the stone is another smaller stone shaped like an eye with a black centre. Sometimes, when she moves it slowly, it looks as if the eye is watching her, but Polly knows this is just a trick of the light. Polly drops the stones back into their pouch, and slips the pouch into her pocket.

  This is as close as she will ever get to her father now.

  The light softens into pink and Polly watches the shadows of the leaves quivering on her walls. Once she knows it’s late enough, she jumps out of bed and shoves her desk chair up underneath the door handle. She’s not sure it will keep her sister out completely, but it will slow her down. Then she opens her window and climbs out onto the sill. She is a good tree-climber but all the same, when she looks down at the drop below, her heart leaps up into her mouth.

  Taking a deep breath, she lowers herself onto the only branch she can reach. It is too weak for her weight and it cracks immediately, dropping Polly through the air until she hits another branch, which catches her. Polly clings on, breathing heavily and rubbing at the long scratch on her arm that’s beading with blood. She spits onto her hand and rubs it along the graze, but it only stings even more.

  Polly hisses under her breath, then inches down the long branch towards the trunk of the tree. From here she feels confident enough to clamber down between the branches, until she is finally low enough to jump to the ground. Just as her feet hit the earth, the back door swings open and Winifred is there, framed in light.

  ‘Polly!’ she calls out. ‘There you are!’

  Polly’s first instinct is to run, but there is something strange about the look on Winifred’s face that makes her hesitate.

  ‘Polly, wait!’ she says. ‘Stop! Buster’s in trouble.’

  Polly narrows her eyes. She is used to her sister’s nasty tricks. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she says, but the jumping frogs in her tummy are telling her otherwise.

  ‘It’s true,’ Winifred says, grabbing Polly’s sleeve, her eyes wide and serious. ‘Just listen to me. I was talking to Tabitha on the phone just now, and she told me the meeting went really badly. Her mum said that the Committee witches are out of control. That horrible Mrs Halloway has been saying things about Buster. She says Malorie says Buster comes to your window all the time. That he’s planning to hurt you. She says it was Buster who was going to attack Malorie at the gallery. The Mayor refused to believe her, so Mrs Halloway stormed out of the meeting in a rage. That’s when Tabitha’s mum left too. But now Mrs Halloway is leading a group of witches, and they are on their way to Buster’s house. You have to warn him, Polly. Get him somewhere safe until his parents get home.’

  Polly stares at her sister. ‘You don’t even like Buster! Why would you want to protect him?’

  ‘Look, I might not be his friend but I don’t want him to get hurt,’ Winifred says. ‘I’m not that horrible!’

  Polly can see a glimpse of the sister Winifred used to be. The one who was kind and truthful. The one who played with her and Buster when they were young. And she knows with all her heart that Winifred is telling the truth.

  ‘Hurry, Polly!’ she pleads, pushing Polly out into the night. ‘Go! I’ll cover for you when Mum gets home.’

  Polly spins around and races down the side path. From the front gate she sees the horde of witches storming down the street towards them, Malorie Halloway’s mother in front, her silver-streaked hair whipping about in the wind and her long red nails clutching her cape at her throat.

  She spots P
olly and shrieks. Polly runs faster than she ever has, up Buster’s front path and towards his tall wooden door.

  ‘Buster!’ she yells, slamming the door with her fists. ‘Buster! Open up!’ She can see the light on at his bedroom window. ‘Buster!’ she shouts. ‘I know you’re mad at me, but you have to let me in. You’re in trouble!’

  Polly races along the side of the house. She tries the back door, but it is locked. Next to it is a small, dark window. Polly pushes at the dusty window and, to her surprise, it shifts a little. She pushes harder and it slowly creaks upwards. She hoists herself up onto the sill and squeezes through the narrow space until she tumbles onto the floorboards on the other side.

  ‘Ow!’ she cries.

  She stands up, rubbing her knee and waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Sliding her hand along the wall, she inches towards a crack of light that she hopes will lead into the main part of the house. She has no idea whose room she has tumbled into until she hears a low growl.

  Maggie.

  She turns around slowly and sees Maggie’s eyes glinting in the dark. Polly’s heart starts to pound.

  ‘It’s OK, Maggie,’ Polly says, as calmly as she can, ‘it’s just me, Polly. Buster’s friend. I was over the other night, remember?’

  Maggie growls again. In the distance, Polly can hear the noise of the witches approaching the house, shrieking and cackling.

  ‘It’s OK, Maggie,’ Polly says, inching forwards.

  She is desperate to find Buster, and time is running out. Maggie shuffles up behind her and sniffs her neck. Polly can feel her breath on her skin and smell the stink of her oily hair.

  ‘It’s OK, Maggie,’ Polly repeats nervously, patting Maggie’s scaly arm. ‘It’s OK.’

  She reaches the door and slowly opens it, letting the hall light spill into Maggie’s room. Maggie cowers in the light and her eyes are so large and so fearful that Polly understands why Buster’s mother feels the need to protect her.