Horror Holiday (8 page)

Wilf looked down at his feet. “Maybe if I caught a big fish instead. One with a really stern expression. That would still be quite brave, wouldn’t it?”

“Not really,” said Maud. “Being brave means forcing yourself to do things you don’t want to do. It means pushing yourself on, even when part of you resists.”

Wilf was silent for a moment. Then he looked up and said, “Alright. Let’s do it!”

“Monstrous!” said Maud. She held her hand up for a high-five, and Wilf gave it a weak slap.

There was no turning back now. They had to find the Beast, and they had to do it before Penelope did.

T
he sun had gone in, and wisps of mist were descending again, making the forest look scary … but exciting, too. They followed the tracks out
of the clearing and among the leafless black trees. Then Maud noticed something strange about the prints – they were completely identical and spaced evenly in a straight line.

“Weird,” said Maud. “Does the Beast hop along on one leg?”

Wilf shrugged. “I’ve never seen it.”

They pressed on, deeper into the forest. The mist grew thicker with every step they took. Soon it was so thick that Maud could barely see a few feet ahead of her. She stepped over thick roots
and ducked under low branches, keeping her eyes on the trail. Then she heard a sudden howl – low and mournful – echoing through the trees. She felt a trembling in the pocket of her
coat.

“Don’t worry, Quent,” said Maud. “It’s probably just Warren stubbing his toe again.”

“It doesn’t sound like him,” said Wilf. “In fact, it doesn’t sound like a human or a wolf. We ought to go back now. Maybe we could look for the Beast later, when
the mist clears?”

“No,” said Maud, trying to sound brave. “This proves we’re close. We have to keep going.”

The forest grew even thicker, and Maud could barely see ten paces ahead. The black branches of the trees meshed so close to her head that it felt as though she was walking down
a crooked corridor. She cried out as her knee bumped into something, and she stumbled forward. It was the trunk of an overturned tree. At first Maud thought last night’s storm might have
pushed it over, but after looking closer she knew that wasn’t right. It had been ripped apart at the base. Huge gashes streaked the bark, and splinters the size of daggers were strewn across
the ground. Something very strong had destroyed that tree. Very strong … and very angry.

Sharp bursts of pain shot into Maud’s arm as Wilf grabbed her. “Ouch! Your claws are out!”

“Sorry,” said Wilf. “Look! There’s something in the grass!” He pointed to a patch of tall weeds.

Maud peered into the undergrowth. When she realised what she was looking at, she walked over and bent down to pick it up.

“It’s not a beast,” she said, smiling. “But I think it might help us find one.”

She wiped the grime from the cover of the old leather book. It was Penelope’s
Weather Spells for Beginners
.

“Penelope must have dropped it!” said Wilf.

Maud flipped through the book. Some of the pages were damaged from the downpour the night before, but she could still see a snow spell, a rainbow spell and a spell to banish mist. What luck!

Maud glanced at the words etched on the back. “No wand or training required,” it read. “Just say the rhyme and change the clime. So simple even an ogre could make it
work.” She flipped to a page headed “Mist Banishment Spell by Malicious Mildred, aged 105”.

Pointing towards the thick fog ahead, she began to read:

Maud wiggled her fingers, and the mist evaporated in front of them, revealing bare black trees. She moved her hand around, and the mist fell away, as if she were aiming a
gigantic leaf-blower.

“Monstrous!” said Wilf.

Maud smiled and walked on, pointing her hand downwards so she could follow the huge prints. They led around an oozing swamp and a large patch of straggly reeds, and came to an abrupt halt at the
edge of a clump of dark green pine trees.

“Where could the Beast have gone?” asked Maud.

“Maybe it’s here,” said Wilf, glancing nervously around. “Maybe it’s hiding in those trees.”

Maud listened, but there was complete silence.

“I don’t think so,” said Maud. “I’m sure we’d be able to hear something.”

“Maybe the Beast can fly,” said Wilf. “Maybe this is the spot it took off from.”

Maud pointed her hand upwards. She held her breath, imagining the glinting talons she might uncover. But the mist flew away to reveal an empty sky.

Wilf got down on his hands and knees and sniffed the ground.

“There’s a scent over here,” he said.

Following Wilf’s nose, Maud found a new set of tracks leading into the pine trees, but they were much smaller than the beastly footprints they’d been following.

“These are shoeprints,” said Maud. “Could Penelope and Warren have got ahead of us?”

Wilf stuck his nose into one of them and inhaled. “No, it doesn’t smell as bad as my brother.”

“Then we need to find whoever made them, and fast,” said Maud. “They probably have no idea of the danger they’re in.”

Wilf padded alongside the prints, picking out a path through the pine cones and fallen needles. Maud followed, blasting the fog out of their way. Wilf actually seemed to be enjoying the hunt
now. His dad would have been proud.

The prints led them to a gap in the trees. Maud caught her breath. In front of them, a neat stone path wound through a bed of red and pink roses to the door of a small white cottage. It was
clean and well kept, with a thatched roof and a trellis in front covered with bright yellow flowers. Maud thought it looked like a pretty holiday home, but what was it doing in the middle of this
bleak, desolate swamp?

P
lumes of sweet-smelling smoke rose up from the stone chimney.

“Looks like someone’s in,” said Maud. “We’d better go in and warn them about the Beast.”

Maud dashed up the path. She clacked a large bronze doorknocker and soon heard someone shuffling slowly around inside.

The door creaked open, and an old lady emerged. She was wearing a soft, white dressing gown with pink, fluffy slippers, and had thin, white hair curled neatly around her head. She peered down at
Maud and Wilf, her bright blue eyes made owlish by thick spectacles, and smiled warmly.

“Hello, dearies,” she said. “What brings you out here?”

“We’re camping,” said Maud.

Maud thought she saw the woman’s eyes narrow for an instant.

“How lovely, dear,” said the woman, smiling broadly again.

“There’s something we need to warn you about,” said Wilf.

“Well, you’d better come in then,” said the old lady. “I’m Mrs St John. Would you like a cup of tea and something to eat? I’ve scones, shortbread, chocolate
fingers …”

“That sounds great,” said Maud, her mouth watering. She felt she could eat several platefuls after the previous night’s cookery disaster.

Mrs St John led them through a bright hallway with a wooden dresser and a large cupboard into a cosy kitchen with a low ceiling and an open fire. They sat down at an oak table, covered in
placemats with watercolours of moles, badgers and hedgehogs on them. Mrs St John shuffled over to the sink and filled an old copper kettle.

“Monstrous!” said Wilf. “I love tea, but Dad doesn’t like me drinking it. He says it’s not wolfish enough.”

“You’ll have to bear with me,” said Mrs St John, slapping the kettle on the stove. “I don’t usually have guests round.”

Maud wasn’t surprised Mrs St John didn’t get many visitors. It was a lonely and gloomy spot to live in, especially for a sweet old lady. Did she have to flee the Beast every time she
popped out to the shops? And why weren’t there bars on the windows or bolts on the doors?

“This is a very pretty house,” said Maud. “How long have you lived here?”

“All my life,” said Mrs St John. She took some scones out of her larder and arranged them on a plate. “My family’s lived here for generations.”

“Don’t you get lonely?” asked Maud.