Mary Norton - Bed-Knob and Broomstick

"Oh, dear," exclaimed Carey. "I can't bear it!" Then reluctantly, in jerks, it began to move once more toward the witch doctor. Miss Price bent her head still lower and clenched her hands. Carey could see her knuckles shining in the firelight. The broomstick hesitated; then, with a rush, it slid across the sandy ground straight into Miss Price's lap. She gripped it firmly. She threw up her head. The witch doctor leapt to his feet. He gave three jumps, one awful howl, and moved toward Miss Price; in his hand gleamed something long and sharp. Gripping the broomstick, Miss Price faced him sternly. Her feet were tied; she could not move.

Carey cried out and hid her eyes, but Paul, sitting up on his heels, shouted excitedly: "A frog! A yellow frog! Miss Price! You did that lying down!" Miss Price glanced at Paul, a sideways thankful look. She gasped. Then she held out her two arms toward the witch doctor as if to ward him off with the broomstick. He stopped, with knees bent, about to jump. Then he seemed to shrink and dwindle. He sank downwards into his legs as if the heat of the fire was melting him. The children held their breaths as they watched. Every part of him was shrinking at the same time. It reminded Carey of what happened to a lead soldier when you threw it on the fire, but instead of a blob of silver, the witch doctor melted into a minute blob of gold, a tiny yellowish object, barely distinguishable upon the sandy ground.

"You see!" screamed Paul. "She did it! She couldn't do it quickly, but she did it!" Carey leaned forward, trying to see better. Suddenly the blob jumped. Carey shrieked. Paul laughed. He was very excited. "It's only a frog," he crowed, "a tuppenny-ha'-penny little frog ... a silly old frog." Carey slapped him.

"Be quiet," she hissed. "We're not safe yet." There was a strange silence among the dancers. They seemed afraid-afraid of the frog, afraid of Miss Price, afraid even of the children.

"Carey!" called Miss Price. She was untying the creepers that bound her feet. Carey ran to her. Charles and Paul followed.

"You'll all have to hold on to the broomstick. It will be hard, but it won't be for long. We must get to the bed. When I shriek, you must all shriek, and that will help the broomstick to rise." "Four people on a broomstick," gasped Carey.

"I know. It's dangerous, but it's our only hope. Paul can come on my knee, but you and Charles must just hang on. Now don't forget: when I shriek, you all shriek." Miss Price took Paul on her knee. She gripped the tip of the broomstick with both hands. Carey and Paul took hold of the wood. Miss Price shut her eyes a moment as if she were trying to recall the spell. The frog had disappeared, but the dancers, watching them suspiciously, suddenly began to move forward. Hurriedly Miss Price gabbled her verse: "Frog's spawn; toad's eye. Newts swim, bats FLY .

As she said "FLY," her voice rose to a resounding shriek. The children joined in. The broomstick rose a little off the ground. Carey and Charles were hanging by their hands.

"Bats FLY-Y-Y," shrieked Miss Price again as a hint to the broomstick. It made a valiant effort. It wobbled slowly upward. The natives ran forward. Knives flashed, but Carey and Charles were just out of reach, dangling. Then Carey saw a man was fitting an arrow to a bow.

"FLY-Y-Y," shrieked Miss Price again.

"For goodness' sake!" added Charles. His pajama trousers were slipping off. He felt very vulnerable.

Whether or not this unexpected addition to the spell acted as a spur, it is hard to say, but the broomstick gave a sudden leap forward and upward.

The circle of firelight and the gesticulating dancers dropped away below them, and they were above the moonlit trees, and there ahead lay the glimmer of the sea. The broomstick swayed and plunged but kept its course, making for the point of the reef. Carey and Charles hung on for dear life. Their arms felt numb and almost pulled from their sockets, and a cold wind whistled through their night clothes.

Above the lagoon, the broomstick swerved; sickeningly it began to circle downwards. Carey and Charles floated up sideways as the broomstick dived. Carey strained her eyes. She could only see breakers, breakers and spray and moonlit waters. Was the bed submerged? "Oh," she cried, as the broomstick gathered speed, making straight for the waves. Then suddenly she saw the bed. It was not yet under water. It stood just where they had left it on the rising strip of sand.

But as they landed, she saw a great wave swell up, gather height, and curl.

"Wish, Paul, wish," shrieked Carey madly. Then the wave broke over them. Gasping, spluttering, soaked to the skin, they clung to the slippery bed rails.

Paul must have wished. The bed rolled and lurched, then spun into space. The darkness thinned as they whistled through it. A pale light grew around them, deepening to gold, and rose and blue and yellow-flowers, twisted into nosegays and tied with blue ribbon. . . . Carey stared, and then she recognized the pattern. It was the early sunlight shining on Paul's wallpaper. . . .

9 ACCOUNT RENDERED They were home, but what a mess! All their pajamas were ragged and dirty, their dressing gowns lost, and the bed was soaked. Poor Miss Price was a sorry sight. Her sun helmet was soft and soggy. She had no shoes or stockings, and her coat and skirt dripped puddles on the floor. Of her belongings, all she had left was the broomstick. Haggardly, she peered out of the window.

"It's too light to fly," she muttered. Then an awful thought seemed to strike her. "It must be after nine o'clock." She sat down limply on a chair. As she sat, she squelched. "Goodness me, Carey, here's a nice to-do!" Charles went to the window. It was open, just as they had left it.

"There's no one about," he said. "Just use the broomstick as far as the ground and then make a run for it." Miss Price stared at him blankly. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed, "this is terrible." "Yes, Miss Price, you must," urged Carey, "make a run for it." Miss Price looked at her naked bony feet. "If I should meet the gardener . . ." she pointed out helplessly.

"You must risk it," said Carey.

"Listen!" whispered Charles, raising his head.

Yes. Unmistakably there were footsteps coming upstairs.

"Quick, Miss Price." Carey pushed the broomstick into Miss Price's unwilling hand. They helped her over the sill.

"Oh, dear," Miss Price muttered to herself as gingerly she clung to the coping. "This is not the way to do things." "I know," whispered Carey, giving Miss Price a little shove, "but it can't be helped." They watched Miss Price float slowly down; then they watched her pick up her skirts and the broomstick and make for the shelter of the bushes. They drew a sharp breath of relief as she reached cover, and then they turned-to face the eyes of Elizabeth.

"Breakfast," said Elizabeth, standing in the doorway, "has been on the table this half-hour-" She paused. Then her mouth fell open. She was staring at the floor. Carey, looking downwards, saw a large black puddle spreading slowly from the bed towards Elizabeth's feet. Elizabeth's eyes followed the stream to its source. Her mouth opened wider, and her gaze traveled slowly from the bed to the children. It took in their appearance from top to toe, the smudged faces, the wet hair, the peeling noses, the torn pajamas clinging limply to the sun-scorched limbs.

"Well-" said Elizabeth slowly, "I never!" Then she shut her mouth with a snap. Her eyes glared. Color mounted slowly to her pallid cheeks. "This," said Elizabeth, "is the end." Deliberately she looked round once more. She picked up a corner of the eiderdown. It was dark red instead of pale pink. It hung heavily between her thumb and forefinger. Regular clocklike drips drummed gently on the polished floor. She let it fall. She stared at it a moment unbelievingly, and then once more she looked at Paul and Carey. She smiled, a grim, menacing little smile that did not reach her eyes. "All right," she said calmly and, turning, left the room.