The Wayward Witch and the Feelings Monster Read online

  Suddenly there is a pounding at the front door. Maggie jumps in fright and pushes past Polly and out into the hallway.

  ‘No, Maggie!’ Polly yells, and grabs Maggie’s arm to pull her back into the safety of her room.

  Maggie wheels around and sinks her teeth into Polly’s hand. Then she scuttles down the hallway and into the laundry, where it is dark.

  Polly clutches her hand to her chest. She can barely breathe for the pain.

  The banging comes again. ‘Open up, Polly Proggett!’ comes Mrs Halloway’s shrill voice. ‘We know you’re in there!’

  Polly takes in big gulps of air to try to ease the pain in her hand. Then, feeling light-headed, she dashes up the stairs two by two until she gets to Buster’s room.

  He is curled up on his bed with his back to her, grey and pale. ‘Go away!’ he grumbles, his voice twisted in hurt and sadness.

  ‘Buster!’ Polly says. ‘Buster! I’ve been a terrible friend and I’m sorry, I really am. But you have to listen to me right now. There are witches at the door that will hurt you if they can get to you. We have to get away.’

  Polly rushes to the window and looks out into Buster’s garden. The witches have surrounded the house. Deidre Halloway is below the window and when she sees Polly’s face, she shrieks, ‘Polly! Let us in! You are in danger! We know there are dangerous monsters in that house. Let us in! Let us in!’

  Polly looks down at the bite wound on her hand. She knows this is all the proof that horrible Mrs Halloway is looking for. They might even say it was Buster who bit her! Polly shudders at the thought. She can never let those witches get in.

  This is all her fault. Buster has only ever been a friend to her, and now their friendship has put him in danger. Those witches would never be here, at Buster’s house, if it weren’t for her!

  She feels anger boil inside her as she pushes open the window and climbs out onto the windowsill.

  ‘It’s not true! None of it is true, and you know it!’ she shouts at the huddle of witches below. ‘It wasn’t your daughter I was protecting with that spell in the gallery, Mrs Halloway. It was Buster, my friend. My best friend! But you and Malorie twisted the whole story around to make witches hate monsters even more. The only dangerous thing in this town is you, and your horrible Committee. I am going to make sure every witch and warlock in this town knows it!’

  ‘Polly Proggett, you will let us in!’ Mrs Halloway hisses, her face blooming red with rage.

  As Polly watches, Mrs Halloway dips her hand into her cape and pulls out a wand.

  She points it up at Polly.

  The witches on either side of her gasp and jump back.

  ‘No!’

  Polly shouts, and before she realises what is happening, the anger that started deep in her belly has bubbled right up into her chest, through her lungs and up into her head.

  Stop! Polly thinks to herself, but it is too late.

  Little sparks begin shooting out of her fingertips. She tries to calm herself, but she is too angry, too ferocious, and a jolt like electricity passes from her toes to her head.

  and spreads towards the scowling witches below, who are all thrown to the ground.

  Polly feels her head grow fuzzy and her body crumples, falling into the darkness below.

  Polly has only passed out for a moment but when she wakes, she senses something very strange has happened. She has her cheek against Buster’s fur and he has his arms wrapped tightly around her. All around them is the night sky.

  She feels like she is floating upwards, and when she opens her eyes she sees that, sure enough, the ground is far below them.

  ‘Buster,’ she croaks, but he is busy humming and doesn’t answer. When she looks up at him, he smiles, and she sees he is as big as a rowboat and as pink as a cherry. And as light as a blossom on the wind.

  They are floating up, up, up into the starry sky.

  Buster stops humming and begins to sing, ‘Me and you, you and me, that’s the way it will always be …’

  It’s the song they invented when they were younger.

  Polly understands. She has been forgiven, and that’s all that matters.

  They are high in the sky now. Polly knows that with one moment of doubt or fear, they could both plummet to the ground.

  Polly begins to sing along with Buster. She knows they need their happy song to help Buster stay up.

  They float above treetops and church steeples, and when Polly dares to look down, she sees people, like tiny matchsticks, pointing and waving and running along the streets below them. The sound of their shouting is now too far away to be heard.

  Up ahead is the clock tower of the Town Hall, and this gives Polly an idea. It has a nice flat top she is sure is big enough for the two of them. Gradually she stops singing. Buster looks around like he is waking from a dream and Polly sees doubt flood through him.

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise we were so high!’ he says, and immediately he begins to shrink.

  ‘Slowly, slowly, Buster!’ Polly urges, as they begin to fall. ‘We’ll be OK. Look! There is somewhere for us to land, just up ahead. Think happy thoughts for a little while longer. Snow angels!’ she cries.

  ‘I do,’ says Buster wistfully. ‘And yellow ones.’

  ‘That’s right,’ Polly says, as they begin to float upwards again. ‘And pink ones and green ones. All kinds of pretty birds singing at your window when you wake in the morning. And it’s sunny outside.’

  Buster smiles. ‘And you are in the tree, waiting for me.’

  ‘As it’ll always be,’ says Polly.

  She leans her head against Buster’s chest as they drift slowly down onto the roof of the clock tower, landing gently just as Buster shrinks back to his normal size.

  It’s cold up so high. The wind is fierce and it has begun to drizzle. Polly shivers, so Buster wraps his big hairy arms around her like a fur coat and sits with his back to the wind.

  ‘I’m so tired,’ Polly rasps, her throat sore from all the singing, and her head still spinning from the spell.

  Buster strokes her hair with his big paw.

  ‘You came to rescue me,’ he says. ‘Little witch Polly standing up for big old Buster the monster again. That made me so happy.’

  ‘You rescued me, too,’ Polly murmurs. She peers down over the edge of the clock tower. ‘I don’t know who is going to rescue us now, though.’

  Her head has stopped spinning, but now it’s aching from the spell. And her hand is throbbing where Maggie bit her. It’s all she can do to close her eyes and breathe through the pain.

  ‘Polly?’ Buster whispers. ‘Polly, I think someone’s coming.’ She hears his heart begin to beat faster. ‘On a broomstick,’ he says nervously.

  Polly opens her eyes and there, not far in the distance, is a witch speeding towards them on her broomstick, long hair snaking out from her tall black hat, her cape flapping behind her. She’s flying higher than Polly has ever seen a witch fly. Polly gasps when she recognises who it is.

  ‘Miss Spinnaker!’

  and hovers just beside the clock tower, her cheeks red and her eyes bright from the cold. Her hair, freed from her usual messy bun, whips about her face in the wind and the rain.

  ‘Well, why am I not surprised to find it is you up here, Polly Proggett?’ she says, raising her arched eyebrows high. ‘It seems that trouble has a habit of following you about these days, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Polly rescued me from the mean witches,’ Buster says, pulling her in tighter towards him. ‘Don’t be cross with her.’

  ‘Oh,’ says Miss Spinnaker, looking at Polly a little more closely. ‘You’ve been bitten!’

  Buster notices the bite for the first time. ‘Polly!’ he says. ‘Was that Maggie?’

  ‘It’s OK, she didn’t mean it,’ Polly says quickly. ‘She just got a fright when those witches came banging on the door looking for Buster. They scared her.’

  Miss Spinnaker nods. Polly can see her teacher is putting everything togeth
er without her having to explain it all, and at that moment she loves Miss Spinnaker more than ever.

  ‘Well,’ she says, ‘we’d best get that fixed up before Mrs Halloway finds out. On you hop,’ she says, patting the broomstick behind her. ‘You’d both better come back to my place so I can fix you up before you go home.’

  Within minutes, Miss Spinnaker pulls up in front of a little white cottage with a garden full of herbs and a wonky front gate.

  They follow Polly’s teacher into the house and down the little hallway into the kitchen. It’s the first time Polly has ever been in her teacher’s house, and for some reason it makes her feel embarrassed. Like she has just caught a glimpse of Miss Spinnaker in her underwear or something.

  Polly looks around the tiny kitchen. It is perfectly neat, but crowded with wonderful trinkets and floral teacups and newspapers and books piled up carefully.

  At school, Miss Spinnaker seems so gracious and wise, so Polly had always imagined she might live somewhere very grand, like a palace. Not a little white cottage with a herb garden and a wonky front gate.

  Miss Spinnaker gestures towards the rickety wooden table, and turns to the stove to put an old iron kettle on to boil. A sleek black cat jumps up onto the bench and Miss Spinnaker runs her hand down his body and kisses the top of his head.

  Polly and Buster sit down. There is a bowl of ripe ju-ju fruits on the table and Buster stares at them longingly.

  ‘Help yourself,’ Miss Spinnaker says, as she jangles over to inspect Polly’s wound more closely.

  Buster takes three, but Polly gives him a dark look, so he puts one back in the bowl.

  Polly is impressed at how different her teacher looks out of the classroom and after her broomstick ride. Her long red hair is wild and her green eyes flash like emeralds.

  Just like a real Black Witch, Polly thinks admiringly.

  ‘Now, let’s have a better look at this wound,’ Miss Spinnaker says, peering down at Polly’s hand. The skin around the puncture marks is red and swollen. ‘A monster’s bite can become infected very quickly if left untreated,’ she explains. ‘Just as well she didn’t bite you harder. She could have taken your whole hand off!’

  ‘It’s really not a serious bite,’ says Polly.

  Miss Spinnaker puts a hand on Polly’s forehead. ‘All the same, you have a slight fever already.’

  ‘She did another spell, too,’ Buster says, his mouth full of ju-ju fruit. Purple juice trickles down his chin.

  ‘Polly!’ says Miss Spinnaker. She frowns and puts both hands on her hips.

  ‘It just came out of me,’ Polly whimpers. ‘I didn’t mean to. Mrs Halloway pointed a wand at me!’

  Miss Spinnaker gasps. ‘What?’ She shakes her head and her mouth sets into a hard line. ‘A fully grown witch pointing a wand at a child? What is this world coming to?’

  ‘I did try to stop the spell from coming out,’ Polly says. ‘But I was scared and angry …’

  ‘She was protecting me again,’ Buster says, leaning his head affectionately on Polly’s shoulder and sucking purple juice off his fingers.

  ‘It wasn’t as big as the one in the gallery,’ Polly continues.

  ‘Polly. That’s two spells out of school grounds now. You know very well what three means?’

  Polly hangs her head. ‘I know,’ she says. ‘Expelled from school.’

  Miss Spinnaker nods. Then she softens. ‘Well, at least you appear to be less affected this time. That’s a good sign, I suppose. It hopefully means you’ll be able to control yourself soon. I would hate to see you expelled from the Academy.’

  She bustles over to a wide cupboard by the sink. Inside are dozens of tiny glass jars of all different shapes, colours and sizes, filled with all manner of strange ingredients.

  Miss Spinnaker hesitates for a moment, then pulls out five little bottles and carries them over to a big black cauldron sitting on her kitchen bench. She shoos the cat away and he jumps down onto the floor.

  ‘Actually, I have been thinking a lot about you lately.’ She turns to look at Polly again. ‘I am not absolutely sure, but I have a strong feeling you might be a Silver Witch.’

  Polly scrunches up her face. ‘A Silver Witch?’

  ‘Cool!’ says Buster, and he reaches for another fruit.

  ‘Buster!’ Polly whispers. ‘You’ve already had two!’

  Buster puts his hands back on his lap.

  Miss Spinnaker unplugs a glass stopper from each bottle and carefully measures out ingredients into a beaker before tipping them into the cauldron. Polly recognises grout juice and bramble mix, as well as thistle weed and ground seaswell, but she can’t make out what the other things are.

  ‘Did your father ever give you anything special before he died?’ Miss Spinnaker asks, stirring the mixture with a long wooden spoon.

  A swirl of different images flit through Polly’s mind. The star stickers. A tricycle. Dragon beads. Polly shakes her head. Nothing in particular is coming to her, but the memories rushing into her mind squeeze at her heart.

  Miss Spinnaker stirs slowly, staring down into the pot. Steam has begun to rise up into the chimney. ‘No? Nothing precious, that he told you to keep always?’

  She turns to Polly and smiles as if she knows the answer already.

  Polly looks into her teacher’s eyes and suddenly she knows what it is, too.

  Polly hears her father’s voice. Sees his kind face. She reaches into her pocket, her fingers touching the smooth silk of the little pouch hidden in there. She thinks about how insistent her mother was that the pouch of stones was for Polly to keep. Polly, and no-one else.

  She draws it out slowly and tips the three stones onto her palm. They gleam gently in the bright kitchen light.

  ‘Aren’t they from me?’ Buster asks hopefully.

  He pulls a couple of pebbles out from his front pocket and lays them down on the table. Then he pulls out a piece of bark and a stick, and puts them next to the stones. Just in case they might be special, too.

  Miss Spinnaker scoops some of the bubbling grey mixture from the cauldron into a small white bowl. Then she pulls out a packet of bandages from a cupboard above the stove and hurries back over to Polly.

  While she waits for the healing potion to cool, she studies Polly and Buster’s stone collections.

  ‘Those are lovely stones, Buster,’ she says kindly, but it’s clear she isn’t really paying any attention to his collection of treasures.

  Buster sighs a little in disappointment.

  It’s Polly’s stones that make her teacher’s eyes gleam. ‘Hmmm. You do know what these are, don’t you, Polly?’ she says, unable to hide the excitement in her voice.

  She passes her hand over the three stones and they begin to glow.

  ‘Wow,’ says Buster. ‘They are special stones!’ He pokes at his small brown stones, which now look particularly ordinary.

  ‘I have activated these stones, Polly,’ says Miss Spinnaker, ‘but I can’t touch them. Only you can, because they were given to you. Pick them up.’

  Polly does as she is told. She is surprised to feel how warm they have become.

  ‘Good. Hold them tight in your palm and close your eyes. They will tell you what you need to do.’

  Miss Spinnaker pulls up a chair and sits down beside Polly. She puts her hand on Polly’s shoulder. ‘I should warn you that this might feel a little frightening at first. You’ll get used to it, but the first time can feel a little … scary. Like your first spell. And you might feel a bit sick afterwards. But don’t worry, I’ll be right here beside you.’

  Polly closes her eyes. The stones in her palm grow warmer and warmer. Soon, she feels the heat travel into her skin, up her arm and into the rest of her body.

  ‘Well done, Polly,’ she hears Miss Spinnaker say. ‘Now just relax and focus on what comes into your mind.’

  Polly feels Miss Spinnaker’s cat weave between her legs but she brings her focus back to the stones. Her head becomes full of image
s. They flash in front of her eyes one by one, faster and faster. She hears her blood throbbing in her ears. This is nothing like dreaming, nothing like imagination. It’s like a watching a film she can’t turn off.

  Her breath becomes faster and the stones grow hotter and hotter in her palm. Suddenly they become too hot to hold, and Polly drops them onto the table as her eyes spring open. She is panting, and sweat trickles down the sides of her forehead.

  ‘Good work, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says. ‘You are very brave to have stayed in there so long.’

  Polly looks at her teacher. Her heart is still pounding. ‘It’s up to me, isn’t it?’ she gasps. Her skin is covered in goosebumps and her stomach is beginning to curl.

  Miss Spinnaker takes her hand to encourage her to go on. Polly doesn’t know if she is more terrified or more thrilled.

  ‘It’s up to me. I started this. With the spell in the gallery. I started this war of witches against monsters. It’s up to me to stop it now, isn’t it?’

  Polly’s teacher nods slowly. ‘If that’s what the stones told you then I’m afraid so, Polly. Every generation has a Silver Witch who is uncovered just when she is needed. I had an inkling it might be you. I took the day off school today to meditate on who it might be. Your face kept coming into my mind. Even so, I really didn’t think it could be someone so young. And someone so … unpractised!’

  She stirs the small bowl of healing potion on the table. As it cools, it has begun to thicken. Miss Spinnaker scoops out a blob of the grey goop and smears it across the wound on Polly’s hand.

  ‘It can’t be me,’ Polly says. ‘I’m hopeless at … everything!’

  ‘The stones don’t lie, Polly,’ Miss Spinnaker says, wrapping Polly’s hand in gauze. ‘If they say it is you, it is you.’

  ‘Maybe I didn’t understand them properly?’ Polly says. ‘You would be much better at this sort of thing than me. I can try again, if you like?’