Gerald Durrell - The Talking Parcel

When she had tiptoed to the edge of the forest, she stopped and turned on her flashlight for a moment, for she wanted to see what the Mandrakes were like. What she saw made her want to giggle. They were shaped like great, green Easter eggs with large eyes that were tightly shut, large ears, snub noses, and pouting sulky mouths on their trunks. From the sides of each trunk stuck two short, stubby branches ending in bunches of twigs and leaves, presumably the Mandrake’s equivalent to arms and hands. On their heads, like tangled wigs, were more short branches and a lot of leaves. As they slept they all snored gently, so that the whole forest vibrated.

Penelope switched off the flashlight and tiptoed through the Mandrakes and into the wood. She had to move with great cau­tion, using only the pale light of the moon to see by, for she did not want to walk into a Mandrake by mistake or tread on a twig that would wake them up. So step by step she made her way slowly and carefully through the snoring Mandrakes.

Presently, she came to a clearing in the forest that was flooded with moonlight, and from it six paths led in different directions. Then she noticed in the gloom, among the Man­drakes around the clearing, several greeny blue lights that pulsed but remained quite stationary, as if they were watching her. It was the Will-o’-the-Wisps, and soon she could hear their sniggering, soft voices talking to one another.

“That’s her, that’s her,” sniggered one.

“Yes yes, yes yes,” chorused the others.

“She can’t find her way-a-y ...” giggled the first one.

“No, she can’t, she can’t, she’s lost,” they chorused.

“Soon she’ll be eaten.”

“Yes yes, yes yes.”

“Eaten, eaten, eaten.”

“Yes yes, yes yes.”

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the Will-o’-the- Wisps slipped off through the trees and were gone. Penelope stood in the center of the clearing and wondered which one of the six paths to choose, wishing she had a compass with her. She closed her eyes and tried to remember the map of the Island and in which direction the rue field lay. When she opened her eyes, at the entrance to each path stood a Werewolf.

They looked like very large, shaggy Alsatian dogs, walking on their hind legs and using their front paws as cleverly as mon­keys. Their eyes glinted green in the moonlight and they were all panting, their red tongues flapping in and out, their white teeth gleaming. Before Penelope could move, the Werewolves converged on her swiftly and silently. A bag was thrown over her head and she felt herself lifted in hard, furry paws and carried off, the only sound being the hoarse panting of her cap­tors as they jogged along.

Presently, Penelope was put down and tied to what felt like a tree trunk. Then the bag was removed from her head and she saw she was in a large, gloomy cave lit by a big, flickering fire. She was bound to a tree trunk that had been planted upright in the cave’s earthen floor, and on either side of her were two other tree trunks to which were tied Peter and Simon. “Penelope!” exclaimed Peter. “What are you doing here?” “Why aren’t you with Oswald?” cried Simon.

Hastily, since the Werewolves had left the cave, Penelope related her story of the Firedrake and her subsequent capture.

“Well,” said Peter, “we got through the Mandrake Forest all right, and we found the rue—it grows on the seashore near here.”

“We put it into the sacks,” said Simon, “and then Oswald ap­peared and said you’d sent him. So we told him to go back and get the dinghy and you and Ethelred.”

“Parrot went with him,” said Peter, “and we were waiting for you to come back, when suddenly a whole host of those awful Wisps appeared, shouting ‘Here they are, here they are,’ and the Werewolves jumped on us before we could do any­thing. That was half an hour ago.”

“What are they going to do with us?” asked Penelope.

“Turn us into Werewolves,” answered Peter gloomily, “to increase their numbers.”

“Don’t be silly, how could they?” said Penelope, aghast.

“If they bite us, we’ll turn into Werewolves,” said Simon. “The guard told us. They’re having a special ceremony when the moon sets. They’ll bite us and that’ll be that.”

Penelope was silent, thinking of the fate awaiting them. “Well, we can’t get free, we’ve tried,” said Peter. “They cer­tainly knowhow to tie one up.”

“I’ve got a knife in my pocket, but I can’t reach it,” said Simon.

Just at that moment a Werewolf came into the cave. Seen in the flickering firelight they were even more fierce-looking and unattractive than they had been by moonlight, Penelope de­cided.

“No talking,” said the Werewolf in a harsh, growly voice. “I’ve told you before.”

“Oh, go and boil your head,” said Peter pugnaciously.

“Yes,” said Simon, “we’ve got every right to talk. Why shouldn’t we?”

“It’s the law,” said the Werewolf, lying down by the fire.

“How can it be the law when you haven’t had any prisoners before?” asked Penelope, indignantly. “Don’t be so stupid.”

The Werewolf put his ears back and snarled at her. “We’re not stupid,” he said. “We captured you all, and that was not stupid, so be quiet.”

There was silence for a time, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Then, suddenly, the Werewolf, who’d been lying doz­ing with his head on his paws, pricked up his ears. Then he sat up, staring at the mouth of the cave. The children could see something very strange creeping into the cave. It looked like a long, white caterpillar. The children and the Werewolf watched it, as it crawled steadily closer and closer to the fire. The Werewolf got up on all fours, the fur on his back standing up, and he growled at the strange, white caterpillarlike thing.

“Halt, who goes there?” he snarled.

“Arr,” said the caterpillar. “Arr, arr, friend.”

“Who are you?” said the Werewolf, now somewhat alarmed.

“I’m a Weretoad,” said a familiar voice. “I’m a Weretoad, and I’ve been sent ’ere with a very important present for the Chief of the Werewolves.”

As this strange apparition got close to the fire, the delighted children could see that it was indeed Ethelred with a large roll of cotton wool stuck to his back.

“What’s a Weretoad?” asked the Werewolf, puzzled.

“You mean to say you’ve never ’eard of a Weretoad?” asked Ethelred with scorn. “I don’t think much of your education, then.”

“I’m very well educated,” said the Werewolf indignantly. “Well educated? You? You, wot’s never ’eard of a Were- toad?” said Ethelred. “Lummy, if I was you, I’d be ashamed to admit I didn’t know wot a Weretoad was.”

“Well, what is it?” asked the Werewolf angrily.

“It’s just like a Werewolf, only different,” said Ethelred. “More dangerous, like, more evil and cunning.”

“You couldn’t be more dangerous or evil or cunning than said the Werewolf. “I don’t believe you.”

“Are you accusing me of telling lies?” inquired Ethelred. “I do ’ope not, for your sake. Us Weretoads can be real nasty if we’re put upon.”

“I’m not saying you’re lying,” said the Werewolf hastily. “I just said I didn’t believe you.”

“Well, that’s better, then,” said Ethelred. “Now where’s your Chief, eh? I’ve got this present for ’im.”

“What is the present?” asked the Werewolf suspiciously. “Look, it’s for ’im, not for you,” said Ethelred. “It’s a special magic potion for making Were-things twice as . . . er . . . um . . . er, twice as ‘Were’ as wot they are, see?”

“Twice as ‘Were’?” asked the Werewolf. “You mean more cunning, more dangerous, more evil?”