Horror Holiday (7 page)

She looked across the clearing to the spot she’d pitched her tent. Through the slanting rain, she saw it sink down into the mud with a loud glug.

“Drat!” said Maud.

Penelope chuckled with glee, the rain pouring off her hat.

There was a squelch from the other side of the clearing, as the witch’s black tent collapsed into the mud, too.

Penelope’s laughter tailed off.

“Well, I hope you enjoyed your joke, at least,” said Maud.

“I was just trying to lighten things up,” said Penelope. “I didn’t know it would rain so much.”

Maud scanned the clearing. The ground was so soggy, it would swallow her up if she tried to sleep on it. The only solid surface around was the roof of the caravan.

She sighed, waded through the mud and clambered up the front of the vehicle on to the roof, followed by Penelope. The rain was easing off now, but a cold wind blew through Maud’s soaked
clothes, making her shiver.

“Well, this is just perfect,” said Penelope.

“And whose fault is that?” asked Maud.

“Alright,” said Penelope. “There’s no need to go on about it.”

She took her hat off and laid it on its side to make a pillow. Within a few seconds, she was snoring loudly.

Maud took Quentin out of her pocket and tried to dry him with a tissue. His fur was so wet, it had clumped into spiky tufts, and he was shivering from the cold.

“You poor thing,” said Maud. “I’m afraid we’re not going to get much warmer tonight.” The roof of the caravan was curved, and it was impossible to find a
comfortable spot, but Maud stretched out as best she could. She looked up at the bright moon. The caravan was stuck in the bog, her tent was under the mud, and the Wilds were dashing around on all
fours. And this was just the first night.

So far, the holiday was off to a horrible start.

M
aud hurtled through the woods, crunching black leaves and scrabbling over dead branches. The Beast was closing in on her, its foul breath warm on
her neck. She heard its razor-sharp claws swish through the air, terrifyingly close to her head.

Maud stumbled. She tried to find her footing again, but it was too late. She was falling, easy prey for the vicious monster. She looked back just in time to see it open its slimy jaws.

“Wakey-wakey,” it said, in a strangely sweet voice. “Come on, sleepyhead.”

It sounded an awful lot like her dad. Maud opened her eyes.

Mr Montague was leaning out of the window of the caravan, shielding his eyes from the bright morning sun. “Must have been quite the storm last night, eh?”

“Don’t tell me you slept through it,” said Maud.

“I did get a sort of slipping sensation at one point,” said Mr Montague. “But I assumed it was indigestion.”

Milly stuck her head out of the window. She had bags under her eyes, and her hair was coated with pressed flowers.

“Well, I hardly slept at all,” she said, scowling. “There was a horrid, howling noise all night. And I dreamt huge swamp-slugs were crawling over the roof. It turns out I
wasn’t far wrong.”

Penelope sat up and rubbed her eyes. She pressed the dent out of her hat and put it on.

“What a wonderful night,” she said. “We must do it again sometime!”

Mr Montague craned his head round to look up towards the campsite.

“Well done for tying us to the tree,” he said. “Very resourceful, dear.” He clambered out of the window and leapt down into the mud, shouting out, “Geronimo!”
Then he squelched his way up to dry ground and grasped hold of the rope. “I hope you’re all ready for tug o’ war!”

Maud scrambled down from the roof and lined up behind him. Penelope climbed down too, but wandered straight past.

Mrs Montague followed Mr Montague through the window. “Out you get, Milly,” she shouted. “We’ve all got to muck in.”

Milly shook her head. “I’m not going near any muck. The only time I’m going to set foot out of here is when we’re safely home.”

“Oh, never mind,” said Mr Montague. “She doesn’t weigh much, anyhow.”

Mrs Montague took her place behind Maud and gripped the rope.

“On the count of three, everybody pull!” said Mr Montague. “One … two … three … heave!” Maud tugged the rope with all her strength. The caravan
budged an inch and then slurped back into the sticky mud.

“Let’s try again,” said Mr Montague, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “One … two … three … heave!”

This time the caravan crept up a couple of inches before sliding down again.

“Okay,” said Mr Montague, panting hard. “Nearly there.”

Mr Wild padded over to them, looking fresh as a daisy. “Morning, friends. Need a hand?”

“Sure, dude,” said Mr Montague. “That would be awesome.”

Mr Wild raised a bushy eyebrow and grabbed the rope.

“One … two … three … heave!” shouted Mr Montague.

Mr Wild casually pulled the rope with one hand, dragging the caravan out of the swamp and sending Maud and her parents crashing to the ground.

Mr Montague stood up and wiped the mud from his hands. “Thanks everyone,” he wheezed. “Good … er … team effort.”

Maud got to her feet and climbed back up into the clearing. The mud had set in the morning sun. Maud could see her footprints from the night before, now formed into deep
craters. Further away were Warren’s and Wilf’s tracks, which became paw prints as they transformed and bounded off into the forest. Maud might have been worried – but thankfully,
her parents never noticed anything.

Then she spotted that there was another row of tracks beyond those of the Wild brothers. Maud went over to examine them.

She gasped. They’d been made by something about three times the size of a human foot. At the front were four long talons that tapered to razor-thin points. They looked like a
dinosaur’s footprint she’d seen once in a museum.

Maud shuddered to think that whatever made these prints had passed so close to her while she slept.

“Look at this,” shouted Penelope. She was standing behind Mr Wild’s truck, which was listing to one side. “Here’s something you won’t be able to blame on
me.”

Maud raced over and looked at the tyres. Something had ripped them apart in neat, parallel slashes.

“Not again!” shouted Mr Wild. He kicked the side of his truck and let out a terrifying roar. “It took me ages to fix it last time.”

He went to kick the truck again, but Mrs Wild held him back. “That’s not going to help, dear,” she said.

Mr Montague picked up a scrap of shredded rubber. “How very strange,” he said. “But not to worry. I can drive you to a garage and pick up some replacements if you
like.”

“That’s very kind of you,” said Mrs Wild.

“I’ll stay and keep an eye on the little ones,” said Mrs Montague.

“Great,” said Mr Montague. He took a pair of clip-on sunglasses from his top pocket and clipped them on to the bridge of his glasses. Maud thought it made him look like a giant bug.
“Let’s hit the highway!”

Mr and Mrs Wild exchanged a glance and climbed into the car.

Mr Montague started up the engine, and Milly stuck her head out of the caravan window. “Brilliant! Are we going now?”

“Not yet, petal,” answered Mr Montague. “We’re off to find a garage. We’ll be back soon.” He stuck ‘Born to be Wild’ in the CD-player, and they
set off down the track.

Milly rolled her eyes, before slamming the window so hard the caravan wobbled.

“I’ll go and check on her,” said Mrs Montague. “The rest of you play nicely.”

“What do you think happened to the tyres?” asked Maud.

“Isn’t it obvious?” said Penelope. “It was the Beast of Oddington.”

Maud turned to see that Wilf and Warren had arrived back from their midnight romp, and were kneeling in the middle of the clearing, examining the clawprints. She wandered over
to them.

“I can’t believe the Beast of Oddington came through here last night,” said Wilf. All his hair was standing on end.

“What should we do?” asked Penelope.

“I packed a couple of fishing rods in the truck,” said Wilf. “We could go down to the lake, if you like.”

“I’d love to,” said Penelope. “But I’ve just remembered that fishing is totally lame.”

“I should get on with my essay,” said Maud sadly.

Penelope yawned. “Or we could do something completely monstrous instead. Like catching the Beast of Oddington.”

Maud looked at Penelope in surprise. Catch the Beast? That could make a great essay. Maybe even one good enough to get full marks …

“That sounds fun,” said Wilf, his voice wavering. “But I think I’d still rather go fishing.”

“Just as I thought,” sneered Penelope. “The little puppy’s too frightened to come. Poor little bow-wow. Is he going to make a puddle on the floor when he sees the scary
Beast?”

Maud made up her mind. “I bet we can find the Beast before you,” she said.

Penelope laughed. “Watch out, Beast of Oddington!” she said. “The loser patrol is on its way! You’re on!”

She and Warren set off into the forest.

“Well, now that we’re rid of them,” said Wilf, “let’s go get the fishing rods!”

Maud looked from the woods to Wilf, unsure. “I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t want to hang around with Warren and Penelope, but that doesn’t mean I
don’t want to look for the Beast. Just imagine if we discovered it first. What an adventure that would be! You’d convince your dad you’re just as brave as Warren, and I’d
get something to write my essay about.”