My Unwilling Witch Gets a Makeover Read online

  To my sister, who knows all about making-over

  H.O.

  For Jasmine

  S.W.

  Copyright

  Text copyright © 2007 by Hiawyn Oram

  Illustrations copyright © 2007 by Sarah Warburton

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Little, Brown and Company

  Hachette Book Group

  237 Park Avenue, New York, NY 10017

  www.HachetteBookGroup.com.

  Visit our website at www.lb-kids.com

  Little, Brown and Company is a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Little, Brown name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.

  First eBook Edition: February 2010

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ISBN: 978-0-316-07202-1

  Contents

  Copyright

  Contract of Service

  A Short History of How You Come to be Reading My Very Private Diaries

  This Diary Belongs to:

  One Night to Fright Night

  Later

  Later

  Even Later after It All Went Horribly Wrong

  Morning of No Nights to Fright Night

  After Midnight the Midnight after Fright Night

  Later—Nearly Dawning

  A Preview of My Unwilling Witch Skates on Thin Ice

  A Preview of My Unwilling Witch Starts a Fun ParkLater

  A Preview of My Unwilling Witch Gets Cooking

  Ultimate Girl Band Sweepstakes!

  CONTRACT OF SERVICE

  between

  WITCH HAGATHA AGATHA, Haggy Aggy for short, HA for shortest of Thirteen Chimneys, Wizton-under-Wold

  &

  the Witch's Familiar,

  RUMBLEWICK SPELLWACKER MORTIMER B, RB for short

  It is hereby agreed that, come

  FIRE, Brimstone, CAULDRONS overflowing,

  or ALIEN WIZARDS invading,

  for the NEXT SEVEN YEARS

  RB will serve HA,

  obey her EVERY WHIM AND WORD and at all times assist her

  in the ways of being a true and proper WITCH.

  PAYMENT for services will be:

  * a log basket to sleep in * unlimited slime buns for breakfast

  * free use of HA's broomsticks (outside of peak brooming hours)

  * and a cracked mirror for luck.

  PENALTY for failing in his duties will be decided on the whim of THE HAGS on HIGH.

  SIGNED AND SEALED

  this New Moon Day, 22nd of Remember

  Witch Hagatha Agatha Rumblewick Spellwaker Mortimer B

  And witnessed by the High Hag Trixie Fiddlestick

  A SHORT HISTORY OF HOW YOU COME TO BE READING MY VERY PRIVATE DIARIES

  In a snail shell, they were STOLEN. Oh yes, no less. My witch, Haggy Aggy (HA for short), sneaked into my log basket and helped herself.

  According to her, this is what happened:

  On one of her many shopping trips to Your Side she met a Book Wiz. (I am told you call them publishers, though Wiz seems more fitting as they make books appear, as if by magic, every day of the week.)

  Anyway, this Book Wiz/publisher wanted HA to write an account of HER life as a witch here on Our Side. Of course, HA wasn't willing to do that. Being the most unwilling witch in witchdom, she is far too busy shopping, watching TV, not cackling, being anything BUT a witch, and getting me into trouble with the High Hags * as a result.

  The Book Wiz begged on her knees (apparently) and offered HA a life's supply of shoes if she came up with something. So HA did. She came up with THIS—MY DIARIES. ALL OF THEM!!!!

  Of course, when I wrote the diaries, I was not expecting anyone to read them. Let alone Othersiders like you. But as you are, here is a word to the wise about how things work between us:

  1. We are here on THIS SIDE and you are there on the OTHER SIDE.

  2. Between us is the HORIZON LINE.

  3. You don't see we're here, on This Side, living our lives, because for you the Horizon Line is always a day away. You can walk for a thousand moons (or more for all I know), but you'll never reach it.

  4. On the other paw, we know you're there because we visit you all the time. This is partly because of broomsticks. A broomstick has no trouble with any Horizon Line anywhere. A broomstick (with one or more of us upon it) just flies straight through.

  And it has to be like that because scaring Otherside children into their wits is part of witches' work. In fact it is Number One on the Witches' Charter of Good Practice (see copy glued at the back).

  On the other paw, it is NOWHERE in the Charter for a witch to go over to Your Side to make friends and try to be and do everything you are and do—as my witch, Haggy Aggy, does.

  But then, that's my giant problem: being cat to a witch who doesn't want to be one. And as you will see from these diaries, it makes my life a right BAG OF HEDGEHOGS. So all I can say is, if HA tries to make friends with YOU, send her straight back to This Side with a spider in her ear.

  Thank you,

  THIS DIARY BELONGS TO:

  RUMBLEWICK for short, RB for shortest

  ADDRESS:

  Thirteen Chimneys,

  Wizton-under-Wold, This Side

  Bird’s Eye View: 331 N by WW

  TELEPHONE:

  77+3-5+1-7

  NEAREST OTHERSIDE TELEPHONE:

  Ditch and Candleberry Bush Street,

  N by SE Over the Horizon

  BIRTHDAY:

  Windy Day 23rd Magogary

  EDUCATION:

  The Awethunder School for Familiars 12-Moon Apprenticeship to the High Hag Witch Trixie Fiddlestick

  QUALIFICATIONS:

  Certified Witch’s Familiar

  CURRENT EMPLOYMENT:

  Seven-year contract with Witch Hagatha Agatha, Haggy Aggy for short, HA for shortest

  HOBBIES:

  Catnastics, Point-to-Point Shrewing, Languages

  NEXT OF KIN:

  Uncle Sherbet (retired Witch’s Familiar)

  Moldy Old Cottage,

  Flying Teapot Street,

  Prancetown

  One Night to Fright Night

  NIGHTS TO FRIGHT NIGHT

  Dear Diary,

  Haggy Aggy has gone to Witch Rattle’s for a Bad Temper Competition—giving me a chance to catch up on a few things of my own.

  The good news is this: there’s only one night to go till Fright Night—and I can hardly wait!!

  Probably you don’t know about Fright Night (how would you; you’re a diary), so I’ll tell you.

  Fright Night is the night we dress up as ghastly ghouly characters like witch-hunters and vampire dogs and gather in the Narrow Avoid to celebrate who we are by trying to scare each other witless!

  The witch and her Familiar who scare the most of us—by dawn—win.

  Then—when the High Hags have counted up the scores, their Familiars have served us hot comfrey tea, and our wits have returned—we fly back to the Hags’ Headquarters. There the Hags present the trophy to the winners in a supernova ceremony with shooting stars and a bonfire of old broomsticks. It truly is the best night ever.

  I’m hoping to go as a Giant Witch-Eating Tarantula and my costume is spelled up, ready, and impatient. But so far HA is saying she thinks she’ll give the whole thing a miss.
Give Fright Night a miss? I ask you: what kind of a witch gives Fright Night a miss?

  (Answer: only mine, dear Diary, only mine!)

  TADPOLES

  IN SOCKS!

  What’s THAT hurtling down the garden path in a cloud of pink? Looks like HA. Better go and see what THIS is all about.

  Later

  Dear Diary,

  The hurtling cloud was her. As it turns out, she hasn’t been near Witch Rattle’s Bad Temper Competition. (“Oh, RB,” she defended herself, “why should I? I always win. Witch Rattle and her friends wouldn’t know a Bad Temper if it knocked them off their broomsticks.”)

  Instead, she’s been shopping on the Other Side. And I’m sorry to say, but this is what she’s been shopping for:

  ROSE, PEACH, GERANIUM, CARNATION,

  PALE, SHOCKING, TOADSTOOL,

  PENICILLIN, CAT’S TONGUE,

  BAT’S TONGUE—whatever—PINK.

  Skirts, tiddly tops, dresses, stockings, petticoats, hats, shoes, buckles, bangles, and neckwear—

  ALL IN PINK!

  She’s already packed all her black into her flying trunk and made me send it to the broomstick shed.

  “OUT OF MY

  SIGHT, RB!”

  she said.

  “BLACK IS YESTERDAY.

  PINK IS THE NEW BLACK!”

  I tried to reason with her. “But witches wear black,” I said. “It’s what they do. It’s UNIFORM. There’s never been a witch in witchdom in top-to-toe pink.”

  “Well, why not?” she said. “What’s wrong with a witch in pink?

  I adore pink.”

  With that she opened a box of cocoalots topped with PINK sugar roses she’d bought on her PINK shopping spree, turned on Otherside TV, and flung herself onto the sofa like a giant pink powder puff.

  I pushed a cup of comfrey tea and a slime bun in front of her—in the midge-sized hope she’d choose them over Otherside rose-topped cocoalots—and went outside in a snit to feed the frogs.

  Of course, unlike every other witch in the universe, SHE does not keep frogs for the cauldron.

  Oh no, not my Haggy Aggy. Since she decided to disallow all living creatures from our potions, she (or rather we, as I do all the work) keep them as PETS! And, as every frog in Wizton knows this, each night more sneak into our frog run trying to look like they’ve always been there.

  I was busy shooing today’s sneak-ins back into the woods when Bella leaped onto my hat. She started kissing me all over

  (YUKKLE!)

  and promising to do anything I asked of her if I’d let her come inside and watch TV with Haggy Aggy.

  I was just saying,

  NO—IF I LET YOU,

  THEN ALL THE FROGS WILL WANT

  TO COME AND WATCH TV TOO,

  when HA started yelling “RB! Come at once. You just have to see this!”

  So, with Bella still clinging like a frog-shaped leech, I went back inside.

  “This” was an Otherside Beauty Program and HA was bouncing about on the sofa screaming, “LOOK, RB! I can’t believe it! It’s such a lucky meeting of coincidences! They’re giving that Othersider a makeover! AND THAT’S WHAT I NEED, RB—AND THAT’S WHAT I’M GOING TO GET—A TOTAL MAKEOVER. Do you know why? I’ll tell you. SO I CAN BECOME AN OTHERSIDE SUPERMODEL

  AND BE ADMIRED ALL OVER

  THE UNIVERSE FOR MY

  BEAUTEOUSNESS!”

  YIKES AND TRIPLE was all I could think.

  A witch—MY witch—wanting to be ADMIRED ALL OVER THE UNIVERSE FOR HER BEAUTY?

  I shook my ears for webs and earwig nests. Was I hearing right? I was, because next she opened one of her new pink handbags and handed me a printed card picked up on her shopping spree. Here it is for your EDIFICATION:

  Have you got what it takes to walk the walk and be admired worldwide for your beauty?

  Then come in for your free photoshoot now

  AND LET US LAUNCH YOU ON

  YOUR SUPERMODEL CAREER!

  The Great Bones

  Supermodel Agency

  II Blaggit Street, Yarborough, NN 11

  “There. See,” she said. “I overheard two Girls in Froth Accessories reading that and talking about it. As they were going along for their free photoshoots, I followed them. And for your information, in case you are wondering, a FREE PHOTOSHOOT is when they capture any number of pictures of you using motor eyes with motor memory.”

  At this, Bella (the Clinger, sliming up as usual) hopped onto HA’s shoulder and started to yukkle her. “And so,” she croaked, “did you get to be supermodelly? I’m sure you diddly did, being you are alreadily beauteous.”

  (Said so slurpily I thought I was going to stomach launch.)

  “Unfortunately,” HA pouted, stroking Bella with her spelling finger, “they turned me away before we got started. They snickwittered between themselves and then one of them said I should go and get myself a makeover and come back another day.”

  “Ribbitt, ribbitt, NO!”

  slurped Bella.

  “Not nice photoshootles.”

  “Maybe,” said HA, taking a mirror from another of the new pink handbags, “but nonetheless RIGHT. Just look at me. Do I look like a supermodel to be admired worldwide for my beauteousness? NO! I look like a witch!”

  At that point, she went on to tell us that she didn’t know what a “makeover” was. But—having seen the

  “TOTAL MAKEOVER SHOW”

  on TV, now she does. (And so do I. Because she made me sit there and watch THE WHOLE THING.) And that’s why she’s so excited.

  As a result, dear Diary, she’s told me to drop EVERYTHING and find her the best makeover artist in the galaxy by the time she wakes up from a beauty nap!

  Anyway, got to fly, as I’m meeting Grimey in the Deep Ditch for a catnip-ade. Maybe he’ll have some ideas on the whereabouts of tip-of-tree-top makeover artists. He has ideas about most things, does my friend Grimey.

  So, whiskers crossed!

  Later

  Dear Diary,

  Just got back from the Deep Ditch and thankfully HA is still in nap land. (With—can you believe this?—Cling-a-long lying on her pillow!!!)

  I must say, as I always do, Grimey is not my best friend for nothing. First he cheered me up by telling me about his witch’s plans for Fright Night. She and he are only going as Inside-Outers!!

  Scary or what???

  His Witch (Witch Understairs, a proper witch if ever there was one) has invented a spell especially for the occasion. He gave me a copy. Here it is. If Grimey just knew how lucky he is.

  WITCH UNDERSTAIRS’S INSIDE-OUT SPELL

  Wearing a hat five sizes too big, chant the following, waving a fresh willow branch over and shaking an admixture of dried ground slug slime and finely crushed fossil shell upon the One to Be Spelled.

  To you who for a day or night

  Would be a horror-filling sight

  On hearing this your flesh will hide

  And take its Outside Self inside

  While to your surface shining bright

  Will come these bones—alive and white…

  The skull, the ribs, the scapula

  The clavicle and fibula

  The phalanges—all twenty-six—

  The stirrup bones like tiny sticks

  The femur, that’s the longest one

  The humerus, oh yes, what fun

  The elbow, radius, and wrist

  And that’s not all upon the list…

  The pelvis, sacrum, tibia, knee

  Patella and the vertebrae

  Maxilla and the mandible

  That lets us eat and have our fill,

  The tarsals and the meta-t’s

  The ulna, carpal, what a wheeze

  And since it is you’re Inside Out

  Your inner thoughts come hand about

  Like elvish folk and tad-size trolls

  Upon your outside bones they stroll

  Your likes and hates, your hopes and fears

  The u
gly thoughts you’ve had for years

  Now show themselves so all can see

  The Inner Horror that you be!

  Small print: This spell only works on those expressly willing, for whatever terrifying purposes, to turn themselves inside out.

  When we’d admired the chill and wit-snatching factors of the spell, I told him about HA’s latest unwitchlike longing to have a makeover and become admired for her supermodel beauteousness.

  “I mean, I ask you,” I said. “If she wanted to be admired for her whiskers and wart count, I’d UNDERSTAND. I’d be right behind her. I’d find her the best wart-wizard around and GIVE her some of my OWN whiskers. BUT BEAUTEOUSNESS??? And, another thing, what if the Hags get wind of this?”

  “They mustn’t,” said Grimey. “Under any happenstance. The High Hags would not consider the pursuit of beauty to be the practice of a willing witch. And they’ll only blame you for not stopping it.”

  “They will,” I said. “As usual. And all this on the day of the night before Fright Night? I don’t know, Grimey, is she trying to RUIN MY LIFE?” Grimey sighed, sympathizing with my precarious position.

  “Even so,” he said, “your first duty is to obey her whim and word. So if she’s told you to find her the greatest makeover artist in the galaxy by the time she wakes up from her nap, then that’s what you must do. And I’ll help.”

  After following a few ideas, all destined for shallow graves, we arrived at this supernova notion:

  GRIMEY IS GOING TO DO

  THE MAKEOVER!!!