The Unwilling Witch

 

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Contents

        
Title

        
Copyright Notice

        
Dedication

        
Author's Note

  
1.
   
Old Lady Who?

  
2.
   
Witch Way?

  
3.
   
Aftermath

  
4.
   
Trouble in Store

  
5.
   
Bully for Her

  
6.
   
The Perfect Brother

  
7.
   
Some Things Never Change

  
8.
   
Out of Control

  
9.
   
In a Real Mess

10.
   
Expert Help?

11.
   
Answers and Questions

12.
   
Duh

13.
   
Book Learning

14.
   
Don't Ever Leave Me

15.
   
Family Time

16.
   
Dingdong

17.
   
Bad Money

18.
   
Power and Fury

19.
   
Glub

20.
   
Teacher's Pet

21.
   
Pranks a Lot

22.
   
How Do You Do That?

23.
   
Sweeping the Sky

24.
   
Traps and Treachery

25.
   
Out on the Town

26.
   
Flight

27.
   
Fight

28.
   
Decision

29.
   
Back Home

        
Excerpt from
The Wavering Werewolf

        
Starscape Books by David Lubar

        
About the Author

        
Copyright

 

For Alison,

who scares me sometimes

 

Author's Note

I've always been a fan of monsters. As a kid, I watched monster movies, read monster magazines, built monster models, and even tried my hand at monster makeup for Halloween. Basically, I was a creepy little kid. It's no surprise that, when I grew up and became a writer, I would tell monster stories. I've written a lot of them over the years. My short-story collections, such as
Attack of the Vampire Weenies and Other Warped and Creepy Tales,
are full of vampires, werewolves, ghosts, witches, giant insects, and other classic creatures. The book you hold in your hands is also about a monster. But it is different from my short stories in a wonderful way. Let me explain.

Years ago, I decided I wanted to tell a tale through the eyes of a monster. That idea excited me, but it didn't feel special enough, by itself. Then I had a second idea that went perfectly with the first one. What if a kid became a monster? Even better—what if the kid had to decide whether to remain as a monster, or to become human again? The result of these ideas was not one book, but six. It seems the town of Lewington attracts a monsterriffic amount of trouble. To find out more, read on.

 

One

OLD LADY WHO?

I almost walked right past the woman.

She was huddled on a bench, so quiet that I didn't pay any attention to her at first. But her trembling caught my eye. She was scrunched up and shaking all over. I was on my way to meet my friend Jan at the edge of the park across from the mall. Usually, I got there first. This time, Jan would have to wait.

“Are you all right?” I moved closer, hoping I could figure out what was wrong.

She didn't answer me.

“Ma'am, are you okay? Do you need some help?”

She raised her head.

I saw a doll once with a face made from a dried apple—all deep, dark wrinkles and hard ridges. That was her, but she looked even older than that doll. Her eyes stared past me into the distance.

I tried to get her attention. “Should I go for help?” I reached out to touch her shoulder and let her know I wasn't running away. “I'm coming back. Don't worry—I'll bring someone who can help. You'll be fine.”

Her right hand shot out and clutched my wrist. It was so quick and unexpected, I shrieked in surprise.

“No time,” she whispered.

“There's time,” I told her. “There's always time. Let me get help.”

“The moment for passing is here.” She searched the park with her eyes as she spoke. “It must be now. Now or never. Now or lost forever.”

I tried to step back. I didn't want to hurt her, but I had to break loose. I expected to slip easily from her withered fingers, but they held me like her hand was a steel claw. “It's okay. I can get help. Just let me go. Please.” I tried to stay calm, but I hated the feeling of being trapped.

Her grip tightened. She pulled me closer, then raised her left hand toward my face. “Mine is done,” she said, slowly and clearly. “Yours has begun.”

As she touched me, a blast of power surged through my forehead. It was like walking in front of a giant water hose. The force washed over me with so much strength that I was thrown free of her grip. I hit the ground hard. I looked up, expecting her to be tossed over the back of the bench. I winced at the thought of those old, brittle bones breaking. But she was on her feet.

“Wait!” I couldn't let her move.

She faced me for a moment. “Wisdom and kindness,” she said. Then she sped away. The helpless, shivering woman fled down the path, fast as a young girl, gaining speed with each step, her black dress flapping behind her in the breeze like a flock of ravens.

 

Two

WITCH WAY?

She disappeared around a bend in the path. In my last glimpse of her, she thrust her arms out to the sides. Her feet seemed to skim the ground. As crazy as this might sound, she made me think of someone trying to launch a kite. I staggered to my feet, then chased after her. She couldn't have gotten far. I rushed past the bushes that were between us.

She was gone.

All I saw was a bird. A large black bird was taking flight. I watched as it pulled itself higher with each wing thrust. The bird became a small dark shape. Then the dark shape became a dot. As the dot vanished, I saw a flash of dazzling white light against the blue sky.

I stared up at the emptiness for a moment, then stumbled back to the bench. My wrist was sore where she'd grabbed me. The skin felt hot. My forehead felt hot, too. I tried to figure out what had happened. She'd muttered words about “passing,” but none of it made sense.

“Angie, are you okay?”

I looked up and saw Jan trotting down the path from the direction of the mall.

“I'm fine,” I called.

As she got closer, I noticed she was carrying a sign printed on a piece of poster board:
SAVE THE WHALES FOR THE CHILDREN.
Jan's parents were always rescuing animals or saving trees or fighting for other good causes. Jan helped them out by putting up posters.

“What were you doing?” she asked.

“Just resting.” It felt funny telling her that, because it wasn't the whole truth. But I wasn't sure what the truth was. As I looked away, avoiding her eyes, I spotted a mistake on the second line of the poster. It said:
WE ARE THERE ONLY HOPE
. Jan's parents are scientists. I guess they spent so much time studying really deep things like physics and chemistry that they never learned to spell.

“Hey, that's wrong,” I said.

“Where?” she asked. At least in this way, Jan is just like her parents. She's such a bad speller, it's a lucky thing she has a three-letter name.

I pointed to the second line. “There.” As I touched it, I felt a tiny shock. I jerked my finger away and looked at the line again:
WE ARE THEIR ONLY HOPE
. I could have sworn …

“Where?” Jan asked again.

“My mistake. Let's get going.” I still felt a little dizzy. Maybe that explained why I'd misread the sign. Just to make sure nothing strange was going on, I touched another word on the poster. No shock. Everything seemed normal. That was good—I liked normal.

“Sorry I was late,” I said to Jan as we walked toward the north side of the park.

Jan grinned. “I bet the store owners are lined up on the sidewalk, waiting for us. We'd better hurry and get there before they send out a search party.”

I laughed and started to feel better. This was more like the typical Saturday afternoon I'd expected. We reached the edge of the park, then crossed Commerce Street. We just made it to the mall side before the light changed.

To the right, I noticed Katrina Betz heading toward us, dressed in the same style long skirt and blue blouse that she always wore. I wondered whether she had a whole closet filled with identical outfits.

Jan and I said hi. I didn't really know Katrina, but I'm not one of those snobs who won't say hi to people who aren't popular. Katrina glanced up, then rushed past us. Instead of going into the mall, she turned toward the crosswalk and stepped off the curb without even looking at the light.

“Watch out!” I shouted.

To our left, a bus hurtled down the road, heading straight toward a meeting with Katrina.

 

Three

AFTERMATH

When they give us those word problems in math class, I never have a clue what's going on. You know—a bus is racing along at thirty-seven miles an hour toward a badly dressed girl who's crossing the street at four miles an hour. Then they ask how much the driver weighs or what's the length of the bus.

This wasn't math class. This was real life. My brain must have figured out that I could reach Katrina in time. I checked for cars, then raced into the street.

I caught up with Katrina and grabbed her shoulder. She slipped from my grip as I yanked back. But I guess I slowed her down enough. A blast of air and a hot puff of smelly diesel exhaust hit my face as the bus whipped past. We were so close, I don't think the driver even saw us.