horn and no one would be able to stop
me.’
‘Oh yes they would,’ snapped Serise. ‘Someone would shoot you.’
Anil looked at his watch again. ‘It’s nearly time for the bell,’ he said. ‘Ten...nine...’
‘No they wouldn’t!’ said Jack. ‘Rhinos have armour-plated skin, don’t they? And anyway they’re really rare so you’re not allowed to shoot them, not even
if they charge right into car parks and start crushing all the cars with their enormous great feet, and—’
‘...two...one...’
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGG GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!
All the children jumped several centimetres into the air and clutched at each other in terror, and several of them screamed.
Slacker Punchkin shook his head sadly.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘There’s no escape, now. We’re doomed.’
Emily began jumping up and down.
‘I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die!’ she shrieked, but Winsome put her arm round her.
‘You’ll be all right,’ Winsome said. ‘Miss Broom would be sent to prison if she did anything bad to us. You know that really. Come on.’
The rest of Class Six looked at each other, and the sound of their knocking knees could be heard even above the chattering of all the other classes as they filed into school.
And then Class Six sighed, and they slowly and reluctantly began to trudge down the school path towards their new classroom.
And towards their new teacher, Miss Broom.
The witch.
Miss Broom didn’t actually look that much like a witch. Instead of being as tall as a drainpipe and as thin as a stick insect she was shortish and had big bosoms. Her
face wasn’t green, her teeth weren’t black, and her nose wasn’t warty, either. She didn’t even have a beard.
‘I expect she shaves it off every morning,’ whispered Serise to Jack, behind her hand.
Miss Broom turned to the whiteboard and wrote:
Miss Wilhelmina Broom
in big letters, and Class Six took the opportunity to have a good look at her back. She showed no signs of having a tail, and her hair wasn’t witchy, either: it was bouncy
and sand-coloured instead of all black and jagged.
It was only her eyes, really, that gave the game away. They were shining amber like a tiger’s, and when you looked into them, instead of seeing your own reflection, you might see anything:
a full moon rising over a graveyard; a flock of fanged bats; a cauldron simmering by candlelight; a knitted tea cosy—
‘
A knitted tea-cosy?
’ Anil had echoed incredulously, earlier, when Class Six had been comparing notes. ‘Are you
sure,
Emily?’
‘I suppose it might have been a woolly hat,’ Emily had admitted timidly.
‘You mean, like a football hat?’ Jack had said. ‘Hey, what colour?’
Emily had looked even unhappier.
‘United’s colours,’ she’d whispered.
Everyone had exchanged appalled glances, and Anil had shaken his head.
‘Being a witch is one thing,’ he’d said, trying to be fair. ‘I mean, you probably can’t help being a witch, any more than I can help being really good at maths. But
supporting
United
...’
And that had been the moment when Class Six had really truly and utterly believed that they were doomed.
Miss Broom turned back from the whiteboard and smiled at all the children. It was a strange, creepy sort of smile that made everyone feel as if spiders were running down their backs towards
their underpants, but at least Miss Broom didn’t appear to have fangs.
‘Well, aren’t you sitting nice and quietly,’ said Miss Broom. ‘Now, let’s find out all your names.’
And she began to call the register.
Six small owls emerged from a hole in the front of her desk while she was reading out the names. They flew low over the children’s heads and perched along the top of the bookshelves. The
owls had bright amber eyes just like Miss Broom, but the pictures in their enormous eyes showed
me.’
‘Oh yes they would,’ snapped Serise. ‘Someone would shoot you.’
Anil looked at his watch again. ‘It’s nearly time for the bell,’ he said. ‘Ten...nine...’
‘No they wouldn’t!’ said Jack. ‘Rhinos have armour-plated skin, don’t they? And anyway they’re really rare so you’re not allowed to shoot them, not even
if they charge right into car parks and start crushing all the cars with their enormous great feet, and—’
‘...two...one...’
BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNGGGGG GGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!!!!!!!!!!!!!
All the children jumped several centimetres into the air and clutched at each other in terror, and several of them screamed.
Slacker Punchkin shook his head sadly.
‘That’s it,’ he said. ‘There’s no escape, now. We’re doomed.’
Emily began jumping up and down.
‘I don’t want to die I don’t want to die I don’t want to die!’ she shrieked, but Winsome put her arm round her.
‘You’ll be all right,’ Winsome said. ‘Miss Broom would be sent to prison if she did anything bad to us. You know that really. Come on.’
The rest of Class Six looked at each other, and the sound of their knocking knees could be heard even above the chattering of all the other classes as they filed into school.
And then Class Six sighed, and they slowly and reluctantly began to trudge down the school path towards their new classroom.
And towards their new teacher, Miss Broom.
The witch.
Miss Broom didn’t actually look that much like a witch. Instead of being as tall as a drainpipe and as thin as a stick insect she was shortish and had big bosoms. Her
face wasn’t green, her teeth weren’t black, and her nose wasn’t warty, either. She didn’t even have a beard.
‘I expect she shaves it off every morning,’ whispered Serise to Jack, behind her hand.
Miss Broom turned to the whiteboard and wrote:
Miss Wilhelmina Broom
in big letters, and Class Six took the opportunity to have a good look at her back. She showed no signs of having a tail, and her hair wasn’t witchy, either: it was bouncy
and sand-coloured instead of all black and jagged.
It was only her eyes, really, that gave the game away. They were shining amber like a tiger’s, and when you looked into them, instead of seeing your own reflection, you might see anything:
a full moon rising over a graveyard; a flock of fanged bats; a cauldron simmering by candlelight; a knitted tea cosy—
‘
A knitted tea-cosy?
’ Anil had echoed incredulously, earlier, when Class Six had been comparing notes. ‘Are you
sure,
Emily?’
‘I suppose it might have been a woolly hat,’ Emily had admitted timidly.
‘You mean, like a football hat?’ Jack had said. ‘Hey, what colour?’
Emily had looked even unhappier.
‘United’s colours,’ she’d whispered.
Everyone had exchanged appalled glances, and Anil had shaken his head.
‘Being a witch is one thing,’ he’d said, trying to be fair. ‘I mean, you probably can’t help being a witch, any more than I can help being really good at maths. But
supporting
United
...’
And that had been the moment when Class Six had really truly and utterly believed that they were doomed.
Miss Broom turned back from the whiteboard and smiled at all the children. It was a strange, creepy sort of smile that made everyone feel as if spiders were running down their backs towards
their underpants, but at least Miss Broom didn’t appear to have fangs.
‘Well, aren’t you sitting nice and quietly,’ said Miss Broom. ‘Now, let’s find out all your names.’
And she began to call the register.
Six small owls emerged from a hole in the front of her desk while she was reading out the names. They flew low over the children’s heads and perched along the top of the bookshelves. The
owls had bright amber eyes just like Miss Broom, but the pictures in their enormous eyes showed
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