TALES FROM WITCHWAY WOOD: Crash 'n' Bang
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Authors: Kaye Umansky
For Mo, Ella and the lovely team at Bloomsbury
Contents
Filth
‘And where d’you think you’re going?’ enquired Witch Sludgegooey. Her head was deep in the oven at the time, but she still heard the door squeak.
‘Rehearsal,’ mumbled the small Fiend hovering on the doorstep. This was Filth, Sludgegooey’s Familiar. He was clearly all set to go. Hair tuft gelled, nails painted black, desperate to be off and away.
‘It’s not Wednesday, is it?’ Sludgegooey emerged from the oven with the tip of her hat on fire. She snatched it off and beat out the flames with a wet dishcloth.
‘Extra one. Reviewing the pad.’
‘That’s musical language, is it? “Reviewing the pad”?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Making a list of what we play. Add some new tunes. Got to keep it fresh, man.’
‘Don’t call me
man
, Filth. Call me Mistress.’
‘OK, Mistress.’
‘Don’t say OK. Say
yes
.’
‘OK then, yeah. Yes.’
‘How many times must I tell you? Familiars are supposed to speak
respectfully
to their Witches. Less of the slang. What time will you be back?’
‘Dunno. I mean, not sure.’
‘Because I could do with a bit of help clearing up.’
Sludgegooey flapped her dishcloth at the mountains of washing-up, deserts of spilt flour and oceans of slimy liquids that urgently awaited attention. She had been baking all day like a mad thing – not because she enjoyed it but because it was the Coven Cake Sale on Saturday. Of course, Filth should have helped, but he had been shut in his room with the radio on, seemingly deaf to her loud knockings and demands for assistance.
‘Can’t the Broom do it?’ suggested Filth.
Sludgegooey’s Broom tensed up in its corner, clearly not keen.
‘It’s too much for the Broom. It can’t get inside the oven – it’s the wrong shape.’
The Broom gave a sharp nod of agreement. It swept. It flew. It didn’t do ovens.
‘I’ll do it,’ promised Filth. ‘Soon as I get back.’
‘Ah, but
will
you?’
‘For real. Yeah. I mean yes, Mistress.’
‘Well – all right. But I want you back by midnight.’
‘Cool.’
‘It might be. I’d take a scarf. You can borrow my spotty one with the egg stain.’
‘No, that’s all right,’ said Filth hastily. ‘Look, I gotta split. Laters, yeah?’
‘I
beg
your pardon?’
But Filth was already slouching off down the path, snapping his fingers, leaving Sludgegooey pondering once again on the wisdom of choosing a Fiend as a Familiar.
Of course, the real blame lay with the
Find A Familiar
catalogue, which had overstocked on Fiends and was promoting them heavily at the time. They had been described in glowing terms, as follows:
FIENDS
Whizzy, busy little helpers who run around chattering and cooking and putting shelves up whilst you, the Witch, relax on the sofa eating biscuits. Good value on the domestic front. Excellent DIY skills. Trained to assist in all areas of Magic including Incantations, Cauldron Dancing and Herb Recognition. Next-day delivery. OFFER OF THE MONTH! GET YOURS NOW!
Sludgegooey wasn’t domestic and loved slumping around on sofas scoffing biscuits, so that appealed. But it was the
offer of the month
bit that did it because, like all Witches, she loved a bargain. She had sent off for one and waited excitedly for it to arrive and start cooking. She waited . . .
And waited . . .
And waited some more. Finally she complained to the catalogue company, who claimed to have dispatched one ages ago. The man on the phone was quite sniffy and wouldn’t apologise, even when Sludgegooey threatened them with her latest curse – a particularly inventive one involving itchy ears, dreams featuring marzipan sharks and the weird smell of burning coming from your shoes.
The sniffy man remained firm. They’d sent one off. Not their fault it hadn’t arrived. A bill was in the post.
Sludgegooey said she had no intention of coughing up for a Fiend she didn’t have. The sniffy man referred her to the small print, which said she had to. Sludgegooey went into a sulk.