Witches in Secret Read online

  “Three o’clock. Dad’s home tomorrow afternoon and he wants to do his party piece. He does it every year. It’s awful really but you’ll have to pretend it isn’t.”

  Goodrun laughed. “What does he do? Sing? Stand on his head?”

  “No. Worse than that. All will be revealed, tomorrow. See you.”

  At six o’clock Nettle made a cheese and spaghetti supper which was heaps better than her awful porridge. Then they both watched television again until the ten o’clock news, when Nettle made some cocoa and they went to bed.

  As she lay in bed Goodrun could hear Nettle moving about in the next room, opening and shutting drawers and doors. Then she heard her cross the landing towards the bathroom. Goodrun’s heart was in her mouth. She heard Nettle rattle the door, then pad back to her bedroom, tutting and clicking her teeth and muttering about the silly door being stuck. Then Nettle’s bedroom door closed and the house was quiet. Apart from a few mad dreams, she did not remember any more until she woke up next morning. The luminous dial on her clock said half past eight but outside the window it was pitch black.

  Goodrun shivered. Something was wrong. She could feel it in her bones. She got up, dressed, and went downstairs. Nettle was already up and pottering about in the kitchen in a long, pink woolly cardigan which came down to her ankles. Her cheeks were as pink as her woolly and she looked very excited.

  “It’s an eclipse,” she said, squeezing a lemon into a glass. “They’ve just announced it on the radio.” She swallowed the sharp fruit juice without batting an eyelid. “But not the usual sort,” she said. “It’s localized.”

  “What do you mean? Localized?” asked Goodrun.

  “It has only affected our village, The whole of Hook is in darkness. Tee hee! I’m going to watch it on television.”

  Goodrun made herself a dish of cornflakes and milk and followed her agitated aunt into the sitting room. It felt so peculiar with the outside darkness pressing up against the windows. Nettle switched the television on and as she did so there was a loud crack, followed by a green explosion and the bitter smell of sulphur.

  It made Goodrun jump.

  “What’s happened? Is it broken?”

  “No,” said Nettle, zapping between the programmes with her remote control. “It’s my horrible sister! Out of the way, Drab!” she cried as a tall, thin witch, with a grim, green and warty face began to materialize. She wore a long black coat with a white fur collar, a small black beret pulled down to her eyebrows, and, with her hands behind her back and chin jutting forward, she stood in front of the television glowering malevolently like a mean and hungry vulture. She looked so horrible she made Goodrun’s blood run cold but Nettle did not seem at all bothered.

  “Move over!” she said, irritably. “I can’t see.”

  “How did you do it, you old maggot?” hissed the vulture.

  “Do what?” said Nettle. “I don’t do anything these days, Drab. Only a bit of knitting now and then.”

  “Knitting? What’s that?” Drab scratched the warts on the side of her nose. “I don’t know about knitting. Is it wicked? Has it to do with the eclipse?”

  “No. Be quiet.” She turned up the volume on the television.

  “An eclipse,” said the newscaster, “is where the moon comes between the sun and the earth, blocking out the natural light from the sun. This is a very rare occurrence and only happens every fifty years or so. But today’s phenomenon is even rarer because it is a localized eclipse. Whatever is blocking the light is causing a shadow and the village of Hook is now in complete darkness.”

  “Black as your hat!” screeched Drab, who kept fizzing into the air and hopping over the furniture. “The cover of darkness for the darkest of deeds.” Her green face glowed.

  “Will you shush!” said Nettle.

  “Several severe cases of bad temper have been admitted to hospital,” said an on-the­spot reporter. “There have also been cases of irritation and an outbreak of bad language. A plague of practical jokes and silly pranks has caused several vicars to fall in the canal and an entire school of teachers had their ankles tied together. Visitors are advised to stay away from the area while it is covered in darkness. It is not known how long this eclipse will last since such a phenomenon has never happened before.”

  “You did it, didn’t you?” cried Drab, bouncing on the sofa and pointing at Nettle. “You sly old crow!”

  “I had nothing to do with it,” said Nettle. “I’ve retired, as you well know. When I was a young witchling I tried to block out the light and create perpetual darkness, but I was no more successful than anyone else!”

  “But I’ve checked with the Witches Council,” said Drab, “and they say it’s a spell from down here. You’re the only witch I know down here.”

  “Pills and pokers!” cried Nettle. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve been saying? It has nothing to do with me.”

  Drab scratched furiously. Goodrun could see she did not believe her sister at all. Then she said. “Well, if you won’t tell me, you won’t. And I’m not going to miss all the fun. I’m going to enjoy myself while this eclipse lasts.”

  She flung open the cottage door. “Wait for me!” she cried, and within seconds had merged into the deep dark day. Goodrun breathed a sigh of relief as she shut the door after her. Aunt Drab was an awesome witch.

  Nettle was still watching television and a well-known astronomer was being interviewed.

  “. . . and the most interesting thing about this eclipse is its shape,” said the astronomer. “I’ve seen it through my telescope and it looks very much like an old bath!”

  A bath? If Goodrun had not been holding onto the door handle she might well have fainted away.

  Chapter 12

  “A bath?” Nettle screwed up her wrinkled, little eyes. “There must be something wrong with his telescope. In all my years I’ve never heard of an eclipse that looked like a bath.” She switched channels. “And they’re saying the same. It must be a mistake.”

  Goodrun felt sick. She felt hot. She felt cold. There was no mistake. It was a bath. It was Nettle’s bath but, thankfully, she did not know it — yet.

  “I’ve done it again,” she thought, mis­erably. “That bath will be stuck there forever if I don’t do something about it. And the village will be shrouded in darkness forever and nobody will want to live here.”

  The old witches’ favourite saying pierced her thoughts: “Darkness breeds fear.” Goodrun’s brain was on fire and her mind was ducking and weaving inside her head. “The witches will use the eclipse for mischief, I know they will. And it will be my fault! I’ll have to call Mother. No! I can’t! And I daren’t tell her about the curse. Oh, what am I going to do?”

  She curled up in an armchair, cuddling one of the cushions, staring without seeing at the television. She had never felt so awful in all her life. Nettle, on the other hand, was laughing and stamping, and smacking her bony hands together at every new an­nouncement. Her eyes never left the screen and her beads dangled noisily as she leaned forward to hear the latest news flash.

  “. . . traffic has come to a complete halt in the village of Hook. All the traffic lights have failed and the high street is jammed in all directions. Something has also triggered off the burglar alarms, car horns and police sirens. Everybody in Hook is advised to wear earplugs.”

  “That’s sister Drab’s doing,” she cried, whacking the arm of the chair and sending up a cloud of dust.

  “The outbreak of bad temper has worsened,” continued the newsreader, “and doctors are working overtime, trying to deal with hundreds of people who are suffering from severe argumentitus. Several fights have broken out, especially among the doctors which has not helped. Reports are coming in of several tragic cases of SFP, Silly Face Pulling, some of which are coupled with rude noise symptoms. Local residents are advised to stay indoors during the crisis. We shall bring you further reports during the morning. As yet we have no indication when the eclipse will pass. Now on to foot
ball.”

  “I almost wish I was there,” sighed Nettle. “But it’s just as good on television, don’t you think, Goodrun?”

  But Goodrun was not there. Uncon­cerned, Nettle turned back to the television, flicking from channel to channel, eager to find out more about the crisis, the eclipse and her wicked sister Drab.

  Meanwhile, Goodrun was pacing about in the kitchen deep in thought. If she could only get to the bath she might be able to bring it back. But then she might not. It was Evilyn who sent it off on its crazy journey but it was she, Goodrun, who had threat­ened Evilyn to find it, or else. She was sure Evilyn would not have bothered to look until the curse, and then . . . Zoopt! It would have brought them together. So, thought Goodrun, wherever the bath was . . .

  Nettle came out to the kitchen twice to make coffee and toast but Goodrun was too nervous to eat or drink. The time ticked slowly by. At one o’clock the sky was as black as ever and Goodrun’s brain was as blank as ever. She needed some fresh air. Outside, the garden, the trees and the sky were covered in heavy shrouds of black velvet.

  She took a step forward and, ouch! Something hard cracked her shin. She stumbled and fell into a large sharp object that had stomach-punching handles and spinning finger-catching wheels. She fum­bled about in the dark trying to untangle her arms and legs from the angry, wobbling bicycle.

  “Scabs!” she said, crossly. “Stand up, can’t you!”

  At last she set the bike upright and then something else toppled over and thumped her on the back — an old beezum broom.

  “Scabs and maggots!” she cried, stamp­ing her foot. “That hurt!” Somewhere above, Aunt Drab squealed with laughter. Goodrun took a deep breath and tried to calm down. “I must not lose my temper.”

  She stood the broomstick against the wall. Then she had a brainwave. Wasn’t she an expert flyer? Wasn’t it her best subject? Nobody could sit on a broomstick as well as Goodrun Badmanners Smith. She would fly up to the bath and release Evilyn from the curse on condition that she return the bath to its proper place. But she wanted to bring Evilyn back, and one broom could not carry two witches. What about the bike?

  “Goodrun Smith, you are amazing!” she told herself. “Bike and broom power! Look out, Evilyn, Here we come!”

  She laid the broomstick across the handlebars and climbed onto the saddle. “Thank goodness it’s dark,” she thought, as she turned the pedals. The front wheel be­gan to lift off the ground. It was a heavy, old-fashioned bike with a basket in the front, and it was hard-going But she kept pedalling. Swiftly and silently she floated up into the sky, relying on muscles for speed and broom power to steer her in the right direction.

  Chapter 13

  For once, Evilyn was really pleased to see her sister. “I’ll do anything, anything,” she whined, “if you get me out of here.”

  Goodrun was in no hurry. “If you’d put the bath back in the first place, as I asked you to,” she said, pedalling slowly round the bath, “this wouldn’t have happened. You made me angry and I put a curse on you.”

  “Take it off then,” said Evilyn, “and I’ll zap the bath back straightaway.”

  “No.”

  “Oh, please,” begged Evilyn. “I won’t play any more tricks.”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because for one thing, I don’t want to travel in daylight and, another, I’m not going to lift my curse until that bath is back in Aunt Nettle’s bathroom. It can stay where it is until we are back home, then you can zap it back, OK?”

  “OK. Now get me out of this thing.”

  Goodrun silently released the curse, then back-pedalled alongside, while Evilyn climbed out.

  “Where do I sit?” she wailed, half in and half out of the bath.

  “You can sit in front,” said Goodrun, pushing her sister’s skinny bottom into the handlebar basket.

  “Ouch! Ooh! It’s too small.” Evilyn’s knees were forced up under her chin. With legs dangling and elbows sticking out, she screamed and squealed as Goodrun began the descent. “Don’t go so fast. Hasn’t this thing got any brakes?”

  Goodrun ignored her and pedalled on. As soon as they landed she tipped Evilyn out of the basket and stood over her.

  “Now!” she said, firmly, “Zap it back.”

  Evilyn snapped her fingers and the sky lightened immediately. The sun came out and, once again, it was an ordinary summer’s afternoon. But Goodrun had not finished. She yanked Evilyn onto her feet and dragged her indoors.

  “Just checking!” she said, as she pushed her into the bathroom. The gleaming white bath, properly fixed in its proper place, grinned back at them. “Thank goodness for that.”

  “Can I go now?” whined Evilyn. “It’s nearly three o’clock. I’ve been stuck in that thing for hours.”

  Goodrun gasped. “Three o’clock? I’m supposed to be at a party.”

  “Lucky you,” moaned Evilyn, arching and rubbing her back. “Newts feet! I ache all over. I can’t wait to get home.”

  Aunt Nettle hobbled slowly up the stairs. She looked very unhappy.

  “It’s all over,” she said, miserably. “Everything’s back to normal. You see, it wasn’t perpetual darkness. I knew it wasn’t witches’ work.”

  Evilyn looked as if she was about to say something, but a long, thin look from Goodrun made her change her mind. Nettle heaved herself onto the landing.

  “Ah well, I suppose I’d better get on with my bestowal work. Oh, hello Evilyn. I didn’t know you were here.” Evilyn’s green eyes glinted. “Did you say bestowal, Auntie dear?”

  “Yes. I shall soon be bestowing my spells on one of my nieces.”

  “Let me help you, Auntie,” said Evilyn.

  “I thought you were tired,” said Goodrun, elbowing Evilyn in the ribs.

  “Tired? Whatever gave you that idea? I’m going to help Auntie. Aren’t I, Auntie?” Evilyn ushered the old lady into her bedroom. “And I could make you some tea if you’d like me to.”

  “Creep!” hissed Goodrun.

  She looked at her watch. Exactly three o’clock. She was late. She hurriedly washed and changed (she wasn’t going to make that mistake twice) and when she took out her clean socks she also took out the newspaper cutting. “I’ll take that to show Daisy, or Mr and Mrs Blazer. Who knows, they may have heard of Broomshill.”

  She knocked on Nettle’s door.

  “I’ll be at the Blazers’ house if you want me, Auntie!”

  Nettle opened the door a crack. “I don’t expect I will, dear,” she whispered. “Not while Evilyn’s so willing.” And Nettle winked, a huge naughty wink.

  Daisy was waiting anxiously by the front door.

  “Come and meet my mum and dad. Wasn’t that eclipse peculiar?”

  Daisy’s cottage, unlike Nettle’s, was beautiful. Much like the one Goodrun had dreamed of. Mr and Mrs Blazer were nice too.

  Mrs Blazer had a super tea ready and an iced cake with candles. Goodrun felt comfortable with these nice people and was beginning to feel her new life might work out after all.

  After tea Daisy said, “Now it’s time for Dad’s party piece. And remember what I said. You’ve got to pretend it’s good.”

  Mrs Blazer put three chairs in a row and she, Goodrun and Daisy sat down. Mr Blazer went outside for a few minutes. Then he called out, “Are you ready?”

  “Yes,” said Daisy.

  The door opened and a man in a black cloak, carrying a silver-topped cane and wearing a silk top hat and white gloves, strode into the room. The audience of three applauded wildly.

  “Is that it?” asked Goodrun.

  “No,” said Daisy. “There’s more.”

  Mr Blazer was an amateur magician, but not a very good one. He pulled cards from the air but everybody could see he already had them tucked in the back of his hand. He conjured a rabbit from his top hat but it was obviously a glove puppet. He had a silver, dancing globe that only did what Mr Blazer told it, but Goodrun could see the elastic. She clapped
when Daisy and her mother clapped and laughed at Mr Blazer’s terrible jokes. His final trick was to make his cane disappear.

  “Hey presto!” he said, throwing it up into the air. It came twanging down in the middle of the birthday cake. Goodrun felt so embarrassed but the Blazers thought it extremely funny.

  “I won’t be able to do that again,” said Mr Blazer.

  “I wish he wouldn’t do it at all,” whispered Daisy.

  “Why does he?” asked Goodrun.

  “Because he enjoys it. My uncle used to be a conjurer and Dad’s got all his old stuff. This is my uncle, look.” And Daisy took a picture off the piano.

  Goodrun felt as if the floor had suddenly been taken away. As if her head was full of cotton wool. As if her eyes were stinging. She blinked. She screwed them up tight and opened them again. They were wet, and making the picture misty but she recognized it immediately. It was the same picture as the cutting. The cutting that was in her pocket. The cutting of . . . There was a lump in her throat.

  “His stage name was Marvo the Magnificent,” said Daisy. “What’s the matter, Goodrun? Oh, you’re crying.”

  After that everything happened so quickly. Mrs Blazer made her sit down and Goodrun showed her the newspaper cutting. Then Mrs Blazer had to sit down. She too looked as if she were crying. Then Mr Blazer came back in his ordinary clothes, looked at the cutting and the photograph and kept saying, “Would you believe it? Would you believe it?” And Daisy kept hugging Goodrun and calling her cousin!

  When they had all calmed down, Mrs Blazer explained that many years ago her brother had left Broomshill, where the family used to live, and gone to Australia. They knew he came back to England and started his own business and they knew he married. But that was all they knew. When he died, all his personal belongings, his furniture, his papers, his stage clothes and conjuring equipment had been left to his sister, Amelia Smith.

  “That’s me!” said Mrs Blazer. “I am Cornelius’ sister. That means you, Goodrun, are my niece and Daisy is your first cousin.”