The Phredde Collection (47 page)

The rest of the week was spent eating our pizza and free ice blocks, decorating the school hall with black and orange Halloween streamers, making papier-mâché pumpkin lanterns, training hard, and getting ready for the dance. Oh, yeah, there was a bit of school work in there too. But the REAL stuff was on the oval.

‘One-two, one-two,’ yelled Mrs Olsen from the sidelines. She’d taken over as footy coach. She didn’t know much about football but, like she said, she knew a heck of a lot about vampires. ‘One-two, one-two, pick your feet up everybody…’

‘But, Mrs Olsen, my feet are already off the ground,’ objected Phredde. She was flying while the rest of us were jogging. Well, except for Bruce. He was hopping instead.

‘Then keep those wings flapping!’ ordered Mrs Olsen. ‘Yours are going to be the only pair of wings we
have on our side against all those vampire wings!’

I stopped jogging for a minute. ‘How come the Batrock Central kids can use magic if we aren’t allowed to?’ I puffed.

Mrs Olsen shook her head. ‘Prudence, Prudence, haven’t you learnt anything? Vampires aren’t magical creatures. A vampire can change into a bat because they’re a vampire. Vampires are no more magic than you are. Come on now! One-two, one-two!’

I began to jog again, but slowly, because I was thinking. And puffed too, of course. If none of us were allowed to use magic, then maybe my FLOINGGGGGGGGGGG! wouldn’t save me? And Phredde couldn’t PING! either, and neither could Bruce, so if the vampires attacked we’d be helpless.

Get a hold of yourself, Prudence, I told myself. No way were we helpless! Vampires didn’t like garlic, did they? And wooden stakes could stop them! We had lots of wooden stakes in the rose garden at home and as for garlic…

I grinned to myself. Those vampires were going to be amazed at what we cook up in Home Economics on Thursday afternoon!

The first step was to get the garlic.

‘Hey, Phredde,’ I said, ‘we’ve got to sneak out over the road!’ It was Thursday lunchtime and we’d just come out of class.

Phredde blinked at me. ‘Why?’

‘I’ll explain when we get there. It’s urgent!’ I hissed.

Phredde glanced around cautiously. ‘It’s not another zombie librarian
⁷
, is it?’ she whispered.

I shook my head.

‘Or are slime monsters about to devour the school foundations?’

‘Nothing like that! Just hurry!’

Phredde didn’t say another word till we were across the street. I peered back at the school, but no one seemed to have noticed we were gone.

‘Now what?’ asked Phredde.

‘PING! up a hundred kilos of invisible garlic into the Domestic Science room,’ I told her.

Phredde stared. ‘But it’s against school rules now to PING!’

Phaeries never break school rules. It’s just one of those things about being a phaery. ‘I know. That’s why I brought you over here. So we wouldn’t be at school.’

Phredde looked at me admiringly. ‘Hey, that’s clever. But why do you want a hundred kilos of invisible garlic?’

‘So we can put it in everything we cook for the dance. That way we’ll all stink of garlic and no one will get vampirised!’

‘Brilliant!’ cried Phredde.

PING!

‘It’s under the bench,’ she said. ‘I made it odourless as well as invisible. That way no one will notice it.’

‘Now THAT is brilliant,’ I said. ‘I would never have thought of that.’

Phredde grinned. ‘I bet you’re wondering how we’re going to know where the invisible odourless garlic is so we can use it?’

‘Yeah,’ I said.

‘No worries,’ said Phredde. ‘I just PING!ed it so that every time you or I wave our fingers like this,’ she said,
as her fingers went fingle, fingle, fingle, ‘we’re adding half a cup of invisible garlic.’

Phredde zoomed up and leapt like a butterfly on twenty-seven glasses of cola. ‘I can just see those vampires’ faces!’ she chortled. ‘Bazookered!’

‘Phredde…’

‘They’ll be sick to their stomachs!’ cried Phredde. ‘Their fangs will ache just smelling the stuff! They’ll…’

‘Phredde…’ I tried to cut her off. But it was too late.

‘You two!’ roared someone from across the road. ‘My office, now!’

It was Mr Ploppy Bottom.

Mr Ploppy Bottom marched off across the courtyard. We trailed behind him.

‘Now we’re in for it,’ whispered Phredde, as we tiptoed down the corridor. ‘He’s just been waiting for an excuse to have a go at me. And you too, because you hang around with me.’

‘How can you say something like that?’ I asked sarcastically. ‘Mr Ploppy Bottom isn’t prejudiced. He HATES anyone who’s prejudiced. He’s a NICE man.’

In fact just about everyone else thought he was nice too. Even Mrs Olsen—she thought he was too nice to believe bad things about vampires. But she hadn’t seen the way he looked at Phredde and Bruce.

‘Yeah. And I’m Arnold Schwarzenegger,’ said Phredde flexing her sultana-sized phaery muscles.

I lifted my hand to knock on Mr Ploppy Bottom’s door. He mustn’t have shut it properly, because my
knock pushed it open

‘What the…?’ Mr Ploppy Bottom stared at us with rage from his desk. ‘Who gave you the right to open my door!’ he yelled.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ I began.

‘Sorry! I’ll make you sorry!’ shrieked Mr Ploppy Bottom. He leapt out of his chair and ran through the door, almost pushing us out into the corridor in his haste. He slammed the door firmly behind him.

I glanced at Phredde. She shrugged. What on earth was the matter with him? I looked at him carefully. He wasn’t a zombie, was he? Or maybe he was a werewolf and he’d been changing and didn’t want us to see.

But Phredde and I had had a good look at him. He’d just been sitting there, then he’d come straight out.

And Mr Ploppy Bottom hated anyone who wasn’t human.

But it didn’t make any sense—he’d invited a vampire school for a sports day!

Maybe…maybe there was something in his office he didn’t want us to see! But we’d just been in and noone saw anything suspicious.

Or had they?

But there was no time to think now, what with Mr Ploppy Bottom glaring at us. Then suddenly his glare faded, like he’d just remembered he was a kind, sweet man with absolutely no prejudice against phaeries or friends of phaeries at all.

The beam came back. It was a shaky beam, but it was there. ‘Now,’ he said more quietly, ‘exactly what were you two doing out of bounds at lunchtime?’

‘Um, um,’ said Phredde, with a helpless look at me. Phaeries are no good at all at thinking up excuses.

‘It was my idea, sir,’ I said truthfully. ‘You see, Phredde hasn’t got a mobile phone,’ which was true ‘and so she has to use magic to call her mum’ which was also true ‘but she can’t use magic in the school grounds,’ which was true, true, true ‘so I suggested we go over the road away from the school.’

Mr Ploppy Bottom twitched a bit at the word magic. But at least the beam stayed in place.

‘And did you call your mother?’ he demanded.

‘No, sir,’ said Phredde.

‘You saw us and called us back before she could,’ I said. And I hadn’t said a word that was a lie.

‘Hmmm,’ said Mr Ploppy Bottom. He stared at us for a long moment. I wondered what was going through his head. Detention for twenty years?

Then suddenly he smiled. And you know something? It was the first REAL smile I’d ever seen on Mr Ploppy Bottom’s face. It had a touch of malice and a touch of triumph and just a few drops of real anticipation, like you get when you’re about to turn your favourite TV program on and you’re imagining how much fun it’s going to be. That sort of smile.

But why, I thought, is he smiling like that now?

‘Well, I’m not going to punish you,’ said Mr Ploppy Bottom. ‘You know what you’ve done wrong. No, there is no need to punish you at all.’

It wasn’t the words. His words sounded fine, just a teacher giving a couple of kids a telling off. It was the sound of the words that chilled me; it gave me little shivers down my back. And the way he stared at us with those pale, pale eyes. And the smile, like he knew a wonderful secret and his best wish in the world was about to come true.

‘You can go now,’ said Mr Ploppy Bottom. ‘Don’t forget your yummy ice blocks!’ he added kindly. ‘And here, have a boiled lolly. Take two boiled lollies each!’

So we did. And then we went.

Bruce was still a frog that afternoon. Maybe he’d decided he was going to change back to normal phaery shape just before the footy match, I thought. Or maybe he was going to drop out of the team.

Or maybe he just hadn’t worked out what he was going to do. Not that I cared in the least.

It was fun making the stuff for the party, with no one else knowing Phredde and I were adding a kilo of invisible, odourless garlic every time we twiddled our fingers. It was mostly dips and stuff—carrot dip and beetroot dip, which I love.

‘Hey,’ I whispered to Phredde as I twiddled my fingers over the beetroot. ‘What if the vampires think the beetroot dip is congealed blood and eat a bit and swallow the garlic?’

‘Kapow, vampires!’ giggled Phredde. She shot a quick look around then twiddled her fingers over a bottle of raspberry cordial. ‘Garlic cordial too!’ she whispered. We helped put the food in the fridge. It’d
be fine there till tomorrow night. And tomorrow we’d be too busy with the sports to cook anything.

Then suddenly school was nearly over for the day. It was time for the vampires to arrive!

Mrs Olsen glanced at her watch just as the hippos roared.

‘Time to go!’ she called. ‘But would everyone who’s volunteered to take a billet please stay behind? The…’ she shuddered, ‘the Batrock team should be here soon.’ Mrs Olsen shook her head. ‘They probably stopped for a snack on the way. A snack of hot, sweet bloo…’ She saw us staring and pulled herself together. ‘Oh, he’ll rue this day,’ she added (which is grown-up speak for
Someone’s going to be sorry about this!
) as we headed out of the Domestic Science room. ‘But do not worry!’ she assured us dramatically. ‘I will protect you!’ She swept down the stairs with her cloak flapping at her heels.

When we got out of class we found Mr Ploppy Bottom waiting for us in the playground. His beam shone out as soon as he saw us. ‘Not long to go now!’ he called, rubbing his hands together. ‘Another few minutes and our little visitors will be here!’

‘Yeah, fangs and all,’ muttered Phredde.

‘Mr
Plothiebotham
, I really think you do not realise how dangerous this is!’ protested Mrs Olsen. ‘I will of course do my best to protect everyone, but…’

Mr Ploppy Bottom’s beam grew so wide it looked like his face would split in half.

‘Now, now, no prejudice!’ he cried. ‘There is no need to be afraid of them, just because they have long white fangs and like to feed on living blood! Now, I’m afraid I must leave you! I have a meeting to attend.’ He gave
what sounded like a giggle of glee. ‘Have a nice evening, won’t you?’

I watched him march off across the playground.

And then the bus arrived.

There were about twenty of us poor suckers—no, sorry, THEY were the suckers—who’d volunteered for billets. We huddled together under the big oak tree at the edge of the playground as the Batrock bus trundled down the road, avoiding the pot holes and stopping politely to let a couple of kindergarteners cross. They were probably saving them for a snack tomorrow, I thought bitterly.

It looked like an ordinary bus. You know, boring. Sometimes I think grown-ups could show a bit more imagination when they make things like buses. How about a round bus, or one with invisible steps? Or all covered with spikes? I mean that would be cool.

But this bus was just a normal rectangular blob of a bus, pulling a trailer covered with a tarpaulin. It stopped behind the school buses.

I stared. Phredde stared too. In fact every one of us stared.

The bus was empty.

Well, not empty, of course. There was a driver. They hadn’t vampirised him, probably because the bus would have run off the road. And there were seats and stuff like that.

Just no kids. Or teachers either, vampire or human.

‘Where have they all gone?’ I demanded. Maybe some vampire hunter staked them out on the way here…

The driver climbed down the stairs and trundled over to the trailer. He untied the knots on the tarpaulin—and suddenly we saw them.

Coffins.

They made my skin crawl even though I’m pretty used to coffins, with Mrs Olsen keeping hers in the storeroom. There were some coffins with dark wood, some with pale wood and one that was painted with monkeys and elephants. Another was bright pink with silver sparkles. Actually that one looked really cool even if it WAS a coffin.

Were the Batrock Central kids in the coffins? Vampires sleep in coffins, don’t they? I know, because Mrs Olsen has a nap in hers every lunchtime.

My feet had dragged me over to the trailer before I knew what they were doing. And, anyway, I thought, as I reached for the pink lid, if a blood-crazed vampire rose up and bit my neck the FLOING! would protect me.

Probably.

Almost certainly, in fact.

Only maybe FLOING!s don’t work on Thursdays and…

I opened the lid.

Pink satin. A purple silk cushion with silver lace. Boy, that would be scratchy, I thought. But there was no vampire.

I glanced up just as Mrs Olsen stepped over to the driver, still all dramatic and protective looking. ‘Where are they?’ she demanded. Then she stopped.

There was a noise inside the bus. A sort of chirping sound, like a mob of sparrows having a birthday party, but higher and sharper. Now there was a new sound, like dozens of tiny wings flapping.

A great black cloud of bats poured out of the bus. Well, in fact, it only LOOKED like a great dark cloud. There were really only one, two…ten, fifteen…twenty smallish bats, and one bigger bat.

The bats fluttered above us for about ten seconds. Then one by one they landed, in the oak tree, on the basketball ring, all upside down of course, because that’s the way bats perch. One even clung to the top of the bus door.

There’s so many of them, I thought. And we had only one vampire to protect us!

Then the biggest bat landed right at Mrs Olsen’s feet and all of a sudden FLOOSH—there was a vampire, wearing a black hooded cloak with red satin lining, black sunglasses, long red fingernails, red, red lipstick (at least I hoped it was lipstick) and big white fangs.

I thought I was used to vampires. After all, Mrs Olsen is one. But Mrs Olsen doesn’t look like a vampire. Apart from her fangs, anyway, and the coffin in the storeroom where she has her nap at lunchtime and recess, and her pale skin and the flask of blo…red stuff she keeps on her desk. And sometimes she wears a cloak but only if it’s really sunny and even then she mostly just shelters under an umbrella or a pretty sun hat.

But this LOOKED like a vampire.

The vampire stretched, then looked around. ‘Bother,’ she said to Phredde, who was hovering with her mouth open. ‘I’ve forgotten my sewing. Be a lamb would you and pop into the bus and get it for me? I’m making a patchwork quilt. Second seat on the right.’ She looked back at Mrs Olsen and held out her hand. And then she stopped, and stared.

‘Natasha!’ she cried.

‘Anna!’ shrieked Mrs Olsen.

All at once they were kissing each other’s cheeks, hugging and kissing some more, then FLOOSH they
were two bats circling and squeaking at each other in these high-pitched, really happy batty voices.

Suddenly there was another FLOOSH and they were back again. It looked like Mrs Olsen had been crying, and there were tears on the other vampire’s face too.

‘Oh, Natasha, it has been so long,’ sobbed the Batrock vampire.

‘Three hundred years!’ sniffed Mrs Olsen. She turned to us. ‘We grew up together, just two little bats on the wind. And now she is here! Anna, Anna, what are you doing with these bloodsuckers?’

The other vampire laughed. ‘I’m their teacher! And, yes, the Batrock vampire families are a little old-fashioned, shall we say? But really, there’s nothing to worry about! Oh, Natasha, we have so much to catch up on!’

Mrs Olsen nodded. ‘Three hundred years! Come, Anna, I have a flask in the staffroom fridge! We have so much to talk about!’

Mrs Olsen smiled at us tremulously (another word I discovered while helping Mum do her crosswords). ‘I am sure the students will all be very nice,’ she told us.

The Anna vampire nodded. ‘Just ignore their old-fashioned ways,’ she said, ‘and you’ll be fine.’

I watched them stroll away, still yakking to each other. ‘Ignore their old-fashioned ways,’ I muttered. ‘How can you ignore a pair of fangs in your neck!’

‘So much for Mrs Olsen protecting us!’ cried Phredde. She was still holding the patchwork quilt, only half sewn together. A blood-red patchwork quilt…

It looked like we were on our own.