The Witches

‘Sit down, dear Grandmamma,’ I said.

She collapsed into her chair.

‘Oh, my darling,’ she murmured and now the tears were really streaming down her cheeks. ‘Oh, my poor sweet darling. What have they done to you?’

‘I know what they've done, Grandmamma, and I know what I am, but the funny thing is that I don't honestly feel especially bad about it. I don't even feel angry. In fact, I feel rather good. I know I'm not a boy any longer and I never will be again, but I'll be quite all right as long as there's always you to look after me.’ I was not just trying to console her. I was being absolutely honest about the way I felt. You may think it odd that I wasn't weeping myself. It was odd. I simply can't explain it.

‘Of course I'll look after you,’ my grandmother murmured. ‘Who is the other one?’

‘That was a boy called Bruno Jenkins,’ I told her. ‘They got him first.’

My grandmother took a new long black cigar out of a case in her handbag and put it in her mouth. Then she got out a box of matches. She struck a match but her fingers were shaking so much that the flame kept missing the end of the cigar. When she got it lit at last, she took a long pull and sucked in the smoke. That seemed to calm her down a bit.

‘Where did it happen?’ she whispered. ‘Where is the witch now? Is she in the hotel?’

‘Grandmamma,’ I said. ‘It wasn't just one. It was hundreds! They're all over the place! They're right here in the hotel this very moment!’

She leaned forward and stared at me. ‘You don't mean… you don't actually mean… you don't mean to tell me they're holding the Annual Meeting right here in the hotel?’

‘They've held it, Grandmamma! It's finished! I heard it all! And all of them including The Grand High Witch herself are downstairs now! They're pretending they're the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children! They're all having tea with the Manager!’

‘And they caught you?’

‘They smelt me out,’ I said.

‘Dogs’ droppings, was it?’ she said, sighing.

‘I'm afraid so. But it wasn't strong. They very nearly didn't smell me because I hadn't had a bath for ages.’

‘Children should never have baths,’ my grandmother said. ‘It's a dangerous habit.’

‘I agree, Grandmamma.’

She paused, sucking at her cigar.

‘Do you really mean to tell me that they are now all downstairs having tea?’ she said.

‘I'm certain of it, Grandmamma.’

There was another pause. I could see the old glint of excitement slowly coming back into my grandmother's eyes, and all of a sudden she sat up very straight in her chair and said sharply, ‘Tell me everything, right from the beginning. And please hurry.’

I took a deep breath and began to talk. I told about going to the Ballroom and hiding behind the screen to do my mouse-training. I told about the notice saying Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. I told her all about the women coming in and sitting down and about the small woman who appeared on the stage and took off her mask. But when it came to describing what her face looked like underneath the mask, I simply couldn't find the right words. ‘It was horrible, Grandmamma!’ I said. ‘Oh, it was so horrible! It was… it was like something that was going rotten!’

‘Go on,’ my grandmother said. ‘Don't stop.’

Then I told her about all the others taking off their wigs and their gloves and their shoes, and how I saw before me a sea of bald pimply heads and how the women's fingers had little claws and how their feet had no toes.

My grandmother had come forward now in her armchair so that she was sitting right on the edge of it. Both her hands were cupped over the gold knob of the stick that she always used when walking, and she was staring at me with eyes as bright as two stars.

Then I told her how The Grand High Witch had shot out the fiery white-hot sparks and how they had turned one of the other witches into a puff of smoke.

‘I've heard about that!’ my grandmother cried out excitedly. ‘But I never quite believed it! You are the first non-witch ever to see it happening! It is The Grand High Witch's most famous punishment! It is known as “getting fried”, and all the other witches are petrified of having it done to them! I am told that The Grand High Witch makes it a rule to fry at least one witch at each Annual Meeting. She does it in order to keep the rest of them on their toes.’

‘But they don't have any toes, Grandmamma.’

‘I know they don't, my darling, but please go on.’

So then I told my grandmother about the Delayed Action Mouse-Maker, and when I came to the bit about turning all the children of England into mice, she actually leapt out of her chair shouting, ‘I knew it! I knew they were brewing up something tremendous!’