Jana Hunter - Sleepover Club Witches

“She’ll be back,” said Frankie without moving. Actually Frankie hadn’t moved since she’d rolled over and pretended sleep. “Fliss can’t bear to miss a sleepover.”

“Maybe she’s gone to tell the papers,” I offered hopefully.

“Tell her mum, more like.”

But Fliss wasn’t doing either. In fact, she hadn’t gone very far at all.

We went on wondering where she was for a bit, but there’s only so much time you can waste worrying at a sleepover. So soon we were telling jokes and sharing black sweets, there on the pavement, as if it was the most normal sleepover in the world. And we got so carried away by our street camp-out that by the time the ghost appeared, Fliss was the last thing on our minds.

“Whhhhoooo-ooooo…”

“Omigosh it’s…!”

“Hooo-whhooooo…”

“Quick!”

“Run!”

And in a crazy jumble of sleeping bags, trapped feet and panic, the four of us did the Sack Race of the Century right up to Frankie’s front doorstep, screaming loud enough to wake the dead.

Which only goes to prove, you can’t keep a Sleepover girl down.

Fliss may be the world’s most finicky fusspot but she can still play a wicked ghost when she wants. Frankie said it was the moans that made her so spooky, but I reckon it was the sleeping bag over the head. You should’ve heard our screams as we tried to bunny-hop our way over to Frankie’s. Reckon the whole of Cuddington did. All the dogs in the neighbourhood went mad, barking and howling, especially Pepsi, Frankie’s dog. Frankie’s mum said we nearly gave her a heart attack.

Hey, have you ever noticed how screaming makes you starving hungry? It does, you know, because after the Sack Race of the Century everyone was ready for Round Two of the sleepover feast.

Luckily we had masses of stuff.

As well as all the sweets, we had almost-black sausages on sticks, Marmite sandwiches, black grape squash and Fliss’s Black Forest cake. We laid everything out in the middle of Frankie’s bedroom floor and made a magic circle round the edge of it with her stone collection. It looked dead good. Then we did a little witch dance around it, holding hands and chanting, “Feast, Feast, Feast…”

Pepsi went barmy, especially when Frankie held her paws so she could dance with us on her back legs.

“Ta-daa!” went Rosie. “It’s Pepsi the doggie dance star!”

“Woof, woof!”

“Take a bow, Pepsi,” said Frankie and Pepsi actually bent her daft black head.

“Woof! Woof, woof!” She loved it.

After that we got down to some serious eating. When we’d demolished the lot, we flopped on the floor, stuffed, and told each other Hallowe’en jokes. They were daft, but they made you laugh. Here are some of my favourites:

Question:Why does a witch ride a broomstick?

Answer:Because a vacuum cleaner’s too heavy.

Question:What’s a witch’s favourite computer programme?

Answer:Spellcheck

Question:What big, green and smells?

Answer:A witch’s nose.

Good, aren’t they? My very very best, favourite was:

Lovestruck witch to handsome prince:What do I have to give you to make you kiss me?

Prince:Chloroform!

That one cracked us all up.

Lyndz laughed so much she got the hiccups. “Hic! What a lovely surprise for the handsome prince when he came round!”

“Talking of surprises…” I said. “That reminds me.”

“What?”

“Molly’s in for a massive surprise tonight.”

“What is it?”

“Tell us!”

I giggled. “A huge hairy spider, hiding in her pyjamas.”

“ Wicked !”

“Serves her right!”

Frankie put her witch mask back on. (She’d only taken it off so she could eat.) “Heh, heh heh. There came a big spider, that sat down beside her…” she cackled.

“A spider in your bed is so creepy,” shuddered Fliss dramatically. “I’d just die!”

“A spider won’t stop Molly messing up our sleepovers,” Rosie pointed out. Told you Rosie was dead practical and down-to-earth. “We’ve got to do more than that to stop her.”

“Rosie’s right. Molly’s got swimming practice every Saturday ’til the school gala. We’ve got to stop her.”

“We could snip the straps off her swimming costume,” giggled Lyndz, who wouldn’t really hurt a fly.

“Or drain the school pool,” laughed Rosie.

But Frankie was deadly serious. “Why don’t we put a spell on Molly?”

We all stared at her.

“Like what?”

“We could make her so allergic to water she comes out in boils!”

“Er…” I think Frankie was getting a bit carried away with that spooky mask.

“We have to do something , Kenny! Molly’s trying to mess up our whole Sleepover Club.”

Frankie was right about that, and I could see the others agreed. This was serious. If we didn’t put a stop to Molly’s tricks the whole club was in danger.

“We-ell…” I said in the end, “I could gatecrash her swimming session tomorrow.”

“And do what?”

“Just swim.” (Secretly I was hoping to find a way out of putting nasty spells on my sister, even if she did deserve it.) “I’m a better swimmer than Molly and that really gets her goat.”

“Hmmm…” said Frankie.

“I can tell her I’ll be there every Saturday unless she stops trying to ruin our sleepovers.”

“Maybe…”

“They’ll let me into the school pool ’cos I’m Molly’s sister.”

Frankie thought for a moment longer. “Okay, go to the swimming pool tomorrow… And Kenny?”

“Yeah?”

“Make sure you show Molly who’s boss.”

“ Right. ”

Next morning I got to Molly’s school bright and early.

Outside it was cold and foggy, but inside the pool had that lovely warm, fuggy, chlorine smell. Mind you, I wasn’t warm enough to jump in yet. Besides, it was so fogged with steam, I couldn’t see Molly at all. So I just stood by the edge, covered in goose pimples, trying to make out one school swimming costume from another.

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