The best-known magic used by witches is called “the law of similarity”. In this, a wax model stands in for the victim of the witch’s anger. Whatever is done to the model, the human victim will feel.
The witch’s most powerful magical tool is the familiar, a creature who acts as a sort of demonic servant. The cat is the most common sort of familiar but other animals have been used, such as pigs and even crows.
David lost track of time as he sat there reading the book. But by late afternoon, he had learnt just about everything he wanted to know about Groosham Grange, as well as quite a bit that he didn’t. The book had one last surprise. David was about to pick it up and return it to the shelf when it fell open on another page and his eyes alighted on an entry that leapt off the page.
G ROOSHAM G RANGE
See publisher’s note.
Curiously, David turned to the end of the book. There was a brief note on the last page, written by the publisher.
When she was writing this book, Winny H. Zoothroat set out for the county of Norfolk to research Groosham Grange, the legendary “Academy of Witchcraft”, where young novices were once taught the art of Black Magic.
Unfortunately, Miss Zoothroat failed to return from her journey. Her typewriter was washed ashore a few months later. Out of respect to her memory, the publishers have decided to leave this section blank.
An academy of witchcraft! The words were still buzzing in David’s head as he left the library. But what else could Groosham Grange have been? Fluent Latin, wax model-making, weird cookery and very un-Christian religious studies … it all added up. But David had never wanted to be a witch. So why had they chosen him?
He was walking down the High Street now, past the shops which were preparing to close for the day. A movement somewhere in the corner of his eye made him stop and glance back the way he had come. For a moment he thought he had imagined it. Then the same misshapen, limping figure darted out from behind a parked car.
Gregor.
Somehow the dwarf had reached Hunstanton and David knew at once that he must be looking for him. Without even thinking, he broke into a run, down the hill and out towards the sea. If he was found, he knew what would happen to him. The school would kill him rather than let him tell his story. They had already killed twice for sure. How many other people had ended up in the cemetery at Skrull Island earlier than they had expected?
It was only when he had reached the sea front that he stopped to take a breath and forced himself to calm down. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Nobody at the school could possibly know that he was still in Hunstanton.
A few feet away from him, Gregor giggled. The hunchback was sitting on a low brick wall, watching him with one beady eye. He pulled something out of his belt. It was a knife, at least seven inches long, glinting wickedly. Still giggling, he licked the blade. David turned and ran again.
He had no idea where he was going. The whole world was swaying and shuddering each time his foot thudded against the cold concrete pavement. All he could hear was his own tortured breathing. When he looked back again, the dwarf was gone. Hunstanton lay in the distance behind him. He had reached the end of the promenade.
Sagging tents and warped wooden kiosks surrounded him. The funfair! He had wandered right into the middle of it.
“Fancy a ride, sonny?”
The speaker was an old man in a shabby coat, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He was standing beside the ghost train. Three carriages – blue, green and yellow – stood on the curving track in front of the swing doors.
“A ride?” David glanced from the ghost train to the sea front. There was no sign of Gregor.
“A test run.” The old man squeezed his cigarette and coughed. “Bit of luck you turning up. You can have a free ride.”
“No thanks…” Even as David uttered the words, Gregor appeared again, shuffling
The witch’s most powerful magical tool is the familiar, a creature who acts as a sort of demonic servant. The cat is the most common sort of familiar but other animals have been used, such as pigs and even crows.
David lost track of time as he sat there reading the book. But by late afternoon, he had learnt just about everything he wanted to know about Groosham Grange, as well as quite a bit that he didn’t. The book had one last surprise. David was about to pick it up and return it to the shelf when it fell open on another page and his eyes alighted on an entry that leapt off the page.
G ROOSHAM G RANGE
See publisher’s note.
Curiously, David turned to the end of the book. There was a brief note on the last page, written by the publisher.
When she was writing this book, Winny H. Zoothroat set out for the county of Norfolk to research Groosham Grange, the legendary “Academy of Witchcraft”, where young novices were once taught the art of Black Magic.
Unfortunately, Miss Zoothroat failed to return from her journey. Her typewriter was washed ashore a few months later. Out of respect to her memory, the publishers have decided to leave this section blank.
An academy of witchcraft! The words were still buzzing in David’s head as he left the library. But what else could Groosham Grange have been? Fluent Latin, wax model-making, weird cookery and very un-Christian religious studies … it all added up. But David had never wanted to be a witch. So why had they chosen him?
He was walking down the High Street now, past the shops which were preparing to close for the day. A movement somewhere in the corner of his eye made him stop and glance back the way he had come. For a moment he thought he had imagined it. Then the same misshapen, limping figure darted out from behind a parked car.
Gregor.
Somehow the dwarf had reached Hunstanton and David knew at once that he must be looking for him. Without even thinking, he broke into a run, down the hill and out towards the sea. If he was found, he knew what would happen to him. The school would kill him rather than let him tell his story. They had already killed twice for sure. How many other people had ended up in the cemetery at Skrull Island earlier than they had expected?
It was only when he had reached the sea front that he stopped to take a breath and forced himself to calm down. It was a coincidence. It had to be. Nobody at the school could possibly know that he was still in Hunstanton.
A few feet away from him, Gregor giggled. The hunchback was sitting on a low brick wall, watching him with one beady eye. He pulled something out of his belt. It was a knife, at least seven inches long, glinting wickedly. Still giggling, he licked the blade. David turned and ran again.
He had no idea where he was going. The whole world was swaying and shuddering each time his foot thudded against the cold concrete pavement. All he could hear was his own tortured breathing. When he looked back again, the dwarf was gone. Hunstanton lay in the distance behind him. He had reached the end of the promenade.
Sagging tents and warped wooden kiosks surrounded him. The funfair! He had wandered right into the middle of it.
“Fancy a ride, sonny?”
The speaker was an old man in a shabby coat, a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth. He was standing beside the ghost train. Three carriages – blue, green and yellow – stood on the curving track in front of the swing doors.
“A ride?” David glanced from the ghost train to the sea front. There was no sign of Gregor.
“A test run.” The old man squeezed his cigarette and coughed. “Bit of luck you turning up. You can have a free ride.”
“No thanks…” Even as David uttered the words, Gregor appeared again, shuffling
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