Horror Holiday (3 page)

Mr Von Bat sat back down behind his desk and pressed the tips of his fingers together. Maud and her parents each sat at a desk. “Well,” said the teacher, “Maud has been getting
on well enough. And I suppose she does have a certain talent when it comes to Fright classes.”

“Fright classes?” asked Mrs Montague. “What are they?”

“Art classes!” said Maud, shooting up from her seat. “He meant I’m
fright
fully good at Art.”

“Really?” asked Mr Montague, chuckling. “You must have improved since you drew that portrait of me. I thought it was meant to be some sort of demented scarecrow until I saw the
word ‘Dad’ written underneath.”

“And she did very well on the last spell test,” said Mr Von Bat.

“Spelling test,” corrected Maud.

“And she’s made good progress in History,” said Mr Von Bat. “She wrote a very pleasing essay on the history of vampires.”

“The history of what?” asked Mr Montague.

“Umpires,” said Maud. “I wrote about the history of cricket umpires. Fascinating subject.”
Wow,
thought Maud,
I’m actually getting good at
this.

“Oh,” said Mrs Montague. “That all sounds very … er … original.”

“Yes indeed, umpires,” said Mr Von Bat, wiping his brow. “So all in all Maud’s progress has been good. The only slight problem is that she started somewhat late in the
school year, so she hasn’t gathered enough credits to pass.”

Maud sat forward in her chair. This was the first she’d heard about credits.

“And what happens if she doesn’t?” asked Mrs Montague.

“Well, unfortunately, she’ll have to repeat the year,” said Mr Von Bat.

Maud gasped. Repeat the year? They couldn’t do that, could they? She’d be separated from Wilf, Paprika and all her other friends …

“Surely you could make an exception?” asked Mrs Montague.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t break the rules,” said Mr Von Bat. “Even for my amateur dramatics friends.”

“I could take extra Fright … I mean Art lessons,” said Maud. “Then I’d have enough credits, wouldn’t I?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Mr Von Bat. “The only way you can pass is if you get ten out of ten on your holiday essay. The topic is ‘The Fright of my
Life’.”

Maud felt like crying. It was almost impossible to get a perfect score. The highest mark she’d got before was a nine.

“Well, thanks for all your help,” said Mr Montague, getting to his feet. “I suppose it wouldn’t be the end of the world if Maud had to repeat a year.”

“And do let us know when your next Dracula performance is,” said Mrs Montague.

Maud wanted to say that Mr Von Bat had a Dracula performance every day, but she didn’t want to risk annoying him. He had done her a big favour tonight, and she’d have to keep him
sweet if she wanted to get full marks.

Maud led her parents out of the room and down the staircase.

“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it, dear?” asked Mrs Montague.

“I suppose not,” said Maud. But her mind was already racing about the essay. What could she write that would impress Mr Von Bat enough to give her a ten?

A cold wind was blowing in through the open windows, and some of the torches had gone out, leaving parts of the stairwell in pitch darkness. Maud took her mum’s hand and guided her slowly
down, sticking closely to the wall, where the steps were widest.

The school nurse, Mrs Quasimodo, was waiting for them at the bottom. She was wearing a clean white uniform over her scaly green skin. Maud wondered if she’d washed the bloodstains out
especially for parents’ evening.

Milly was standing next to the nurse, staring straight ahead and trembling. “Jars of eyeballs …” she muttered. “Pickled hands … slimy leeches …”

“What’s the matter, cupcake?” asked Mrs Montague, bending down to look Milly in the eye. “What happened to you?”

“She want to play doctors and nurses,” growled Mrs Quasimodo. “So I show her school surgery.”

“Vats of blood … buckets of fingers … flasks of noses …” continued Milly.

“I think you must have taken my sister to the Art room,” said Maud, pulling her family towards the door. “It sounds like she’s seen more of the nightmare paintings from
last week.”

Maud dragged Milly out of the school doorway, and her parents followed.
Free at last!
Maud thought, as they were walking back towards the car. She made out the figures of a tall man and
woman leaning against the red truck with the oversized wheels. They were wearing baseball caps, jeans, leather jackets and dark glasses. The man looked like he was over two metres tall and had a
neat brown beard. The woman took off her dark glasses, and Maud noticed she had bushy eyebrows that met in the middle.

Suddenly a dog jumped out of the back seat of the truck on its hind legs. No, wait … It wasn’t a dog – it was Maud’s werewolf friend, Wilf Wild.

Of course,
thought Maud.
No wonder those people are so hairy! They’re Wilf’s parents.

“Hi, Maud,” said Wilf. “Hi, Mr and Mrs Montague. Nice to meet you.”

Maud wondered if her parents would notice that there was something strange about him, but she doubted it. Wilf had thick hair on his face and hands, but he could still pass for an unusual boy.
At least they hadn’t seen him when there was a full moon, when he’d be running around on all fours and howling.

“How did your report go?” asked Wilf.

“Not great,” said Maud. “Mr Von Bat says I need to get ten out of ten on my holiday essay or I’ll have to repeat the year.”

“Ten out of ten?” asked Wilf. “I’ve never heard of anyone getting full marks.”

Maud’s eyes widened. “Never?”

“Nope, it’s impossible,” said Wilf. His eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Wait, I mean … sorry. If anyone can do it, it’s
you.”

Next to them, Milly was still mumbling away to herself. “Beakers of ears … metal drills … horrible shrieks …”

“Is she alright?” asked Wilf.

“She’s fine,” said Maud. “She just banged her head. Anyway, how was your report?”

“Mr Von Bat said I was a good all-rounder, but need to work on my Fright skills,” said Wilf. “He said I should try and be as fierce as Warren.” He scowled. “I hate
it when people say that.”

Maud hoped Wilf didn’t become more like his brother. Warren was a mean bully who went around growling at anyone who got in his way.

Over by the truck, Maud’s parents were chatting to Mr and Mrs Wild.

“This thing must have a beast of an engine inside it,” Mr Montague said, patting the front of the truck.

“1500 horsepower,” said Mr Wild. “That’s 1500 times as much as that horse-drawn carriage over there.”

“Wow!” said Mr Montague.

On the other side of the truck, Maud’s mum was talking to Mrs Wild about her amateur dramatics society. “We’re doing
Les Misérables
next, so as you can imagine,
I’m spending a lot of time making wigs.”

“If you need any spare hair, let me know,” said Mrs Wild. “We’ve still got a big bag left over from our last shearing.”

“Shearing?” asked Mrs Montague. “So you keep sheep, do you?”

“Oh no,” said Mrs Wild. “I try to avoid having snacks around. Too much temptation.”

Mrs Montague smiled, but she looked a little confused.

Finally snapping out of her daze, Milly scuttled over to Mr Montague and tugged at his sleeve. “I want to go now. I’ve had enough.”

“Looks like the little one is tired,” said Mr Montague to the Wilds. “But thanks for your offer. We’re looking to go away for the week, so it sounds ideal.”

Uh-oh,
thought Maud. “What sounds ideal?” she asked.

“Now, I know you were looking forward to the Classic Car Show,” said Mr Montague. “But Mr Wild has asked us to go camping in Oddington Marshes with them next week, and I think
it’s a great idea! It will be a lot cheaper than forking out for a hotel at the Car Show.”

“That sounds lovely,” said Mrs Montague.

“Monstrous!” said Wilf.

“Er … yeah. Monstrous,” said Maud. Out of the frying pan and into the fire! Now, not only did she have to write a perfect essay, she had to spend all holiday trying to keep
the truth about the Wild family from her parents. This was shaping up to be the least relaxing break ever.

The clouds parted, and the car park was bathed in bright moonlight. Maud looked up at the waxing moon. By the time of the holiday, it would be full.

A camping holiday with a pack of werewolves.

During a full moon.

Perfect.

M
illy was grumbling again. “Where are my heart-shaped sunglasses?” she shouted. “How am I supposed to go camping without my
heart-shaped sunglasses?”

Maud fished her torch out of the mess on the floor. Her half of the bedroom was a tangle of dirty clothes, monster masks and insect jars, while her sister’s half was spotless, with
everything tidied into her chest of drawers. But somehow Maud always seemed to find her things more easily. She’d already packed her exercise book, pens, waterproof, magnifying glass and
Spotter’s Guide to Worms and Bugs
, while Milly was still flapping around looking for her sunglasses.

“This is going to be the worst holiday in the history of the world,” said Milly. “I can’t believe we’ve got to go camping with your weirdo friends.”

“Would you rather go to the Classic Car Show?” asked Maud.

“No, I’d rather go to Corfu,” said Milly. “Like Mum and Dad promised. I can’t believe I won’t be able to sunbathe. I won’t even get to build a pretty
sandcastle.”

Maud was glad about that. Last time they’d gone to the beach, Milly had spent all day working on a perfect replica of Dream Castle from her favourite
Pink Pony Princess Party
book. Meanwhile Maud had recreated the castle from
Dracula
, with some help from Quentin in his vampire-rat costume.

Honk! Honk!

Maud stuck her head out of the window and saw her dad’s car approaching. He was towing a large, battered lump of metal. Maud squinted at it. Was that a caravan? It was peppered with dents
and scratches. The side panels were probably meant to be white, but they’d picked up so much grime they were now a dingy grey. Tattered beige curtains hung behind cracked and dusty
windows.

Mr Montague turned into the driveway and the caravan followed, tottering on its rickety wheels.

“You’ll never believe it,” he called up, getting out of the car. “I found this in the scrapyard. The things people throw away!”

Maud could easily believe he found it in the scrapyard. What she couldn’t believe was that he hadn’t left it there.

Milly joined Maud at the window.

“What do you think?” asked Mr Montague.

“I think you should let me stay in a hotel as a reward for doing well in my exams,” said Milly. “Then you and Mum will have more space in the caravan.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Mr Montague. “But there are no hotels near Oddington Marshes. Tell you what though, you can stay in the tent. Your mum’s
almost managed to get that funny smell out of it.”

“Come on, girls!” Mrs Montague called from downstairs. “Time to go!”

“Well, this is already a disaster,” Milly grumbled to Maud, as she shut the window. “I can’t find my sunglasses and I’m going to have to sleep in that smelly, leaky
old tent.”