Here it is, what you've all been waiting for ... the first chapter of Wilhelmina Wingely!
Wilhelmina Wingley
Chapter 1
Wilhelmina Wingely paced the narrow, dimly-lit hallway of The Bones Academy of Creepiness, waiting for her Halloween posting. The dark wall-panelling closed oppressively around her, exuding the strong stench of well-established mold – a smell that reminded Wilhelmina of the dank room at her grandwitch Hazel's where she had been living since she was three.
Even though Grandwitch Hazel was nearly blind, terribly absent-minded and guilty of sleeping through days and sometimes weeks at a time, Wilhelmina had great respect for her. After all she had taken her in when no one else would even show their face after Wilhelmina's parents had disappeared. Two of the most promising graduates of the Academy in their generation, they hadn't been satisfied with the level of magic they had achieved. They wanted more. Upon hearing that their powers would be stronger in the southern hemisphere they had joined the GreatWitch Migration of 1999 and had never returned. Grandwitch Hazel had told her not to take it personally for most witches, especially talented ones, lacked the skill of good parenting.
Feeling more and more frustrated, and quite honestly a little bit sorry for herself, Wilhelmina scuffed along and nearly tripped on the hem of her too long black skirt. She pulled it up and adjusted the belt. The skirt was faded and frayed along the bottom and badly outdated. It was the only thing left belonging to her mother who, in Wilhelmina's memory, had been tall and wispy, able to squeeze through the tiniest spaces and blend into the background of the darkest alleys. Wilehelmina's short and stocky build was a constant reminder that she was different. That, and the fact that every witch she knew had straight coal-black hair, where she had been cursed with hair the colour of a freshly dug carrot. She could have lived with the hair if it was straight but not even that wish was to be granted. She had tried every potion and spell she could think of to get rid of the stubborn frizz around her face but to no avail so she settled for wearing it in two clumpy braids that hung down to her not-so-willowy waist.
Every Halloween, Wilhelmina received a package, wrapped in plain brown paper, with no return address. It would contain the latest magical gimmick, always something amazing that her fellow students envied, but not even a note to ask how she was doing. If her parents thought these gifts made up for their deserting her they had another think coming. She had vowed to herself that as soon as she graduated she would find them and they'd better have a good reason for not taking her with them.
“Feed me!”Wilhelmina's stomach growled. She fished in her pocket and grabbed the first thing she came up with; the corner of a dried up slug-bean sandwich. The beans grew wild next to her grandwitch's cottage and since Gran hadn't been interested in cooking since she'd turned 125 they were the only thing that Wilhelmina's cooking skills included. As the name suggested, slug-beans held an attraction to slugs and it was pretty well impossible to pick them without including a few of the slimy creatures. A bit of salt tended to make them more palatable. Popping a morsel into her mouth she chewed until she couldn't stand the taste any longer then washed it down with a drink of lukewarm water from the fountain. She stuffed the remainder of the sandwich back into her pocket.
Wearily she plunked into a rickety wooden chair just outside Professor Von Strap's office. Particles of dust floated in the dim light that crept from under his door. “What's the big hold up?” she wondered out loud. She looked up and down the deserted hallway to see if anyone was coming, then tiptoed over and pressed her ear against the old wood just above the doorknob.
“Vanguard, Vance,” boomed the Professor's voice from inside, shaking the very floorboards that Wilhelmina stood on.
A shot of Arctic cold invaded the stale air when a ghostly apparition leaked from a crack in the ceiling above Wilhelmina's head and floated down in front of her. Vance Vanguard, in all of his handsomeness and dressed in his navy blue uniform, materialized. He elbowed Wilhelmina out of the way and entered the office through the closed door. Fuming, Wilhelmina flicked an icicle off her nose and stubbornly resumed her listening stance.
“Vance, you are to report to the haunted woods at the corner of Ash and Sycamore at 6:30 pm, sharp. Duties are scaring and screeching,” announced Von Strap.
“Thank youuuuuu, Professor. That's what I dooooo best,” purred Vance.
“And be reminded that I won't take kindly to a repeat of last year's fiasco. Don't leave your post early, even if some good looking ghost girls decide to take a walk through the park. For every minute that you're not there you'll lose twenty-five points on your final exam.”
Wilhelmina smiled with satisfaction at the put-down and strained to hear Vance's reply.
“Don't worry Professor. I've matured since last year.” He flashed his toothy smile at Wilhelmina as he popped out of the keyhole right in front of her.
“Give a real spooooook some rooooooom,” he breathed, purposefully clouding up Wilhelmina's black-rimmed glasses. Pocketing his placement card he disappeared in a frozen fog.
"Show off!" Wilhelmina coughed. She sprayed a fine mist of After-Spook into the air then stuffed it back into her fanny pack. He wouldn’t be smiling for long! Obviously he hadn’t heard that the haunted woods had its own resident ghost. The last student sent there was still in rehab.
“Wingy, Wilma,” called out the Professor.
He never got her name right! Wilhelmina clenched her teeth as she walked into his office.
Von Strap, feet propped up on his desk, was immersed in the familiar and not-so-pleasant edition of The Hunt for Toads and Frogs of Other Planets. The photographs scared even Wilhelmina, and that was hard to do.
“That's Wingely, Professor, Wilhelmina Wingely,” she announced, as she sat down on a chair in front of him.
“Whatever,” he smirked, picking his teeth with the sharpened bone of some small animal. He liked to make the students wait, sometimes for an hour or two.
Wilhelmina, determined to keep her cool, surveyed the small room. Hundreds of books were precariously piled from floor to ceiling along each wall. It looked like total chaos, but from past experience doing research she knew that if one book was removed without the professor's permission he would know.
The remaining space, not filled with books, was dominated by an old mahogany desk heaped with recent volumes of myth and folklore of the region. The only light, other than that of a small octagonal window at the back, came from Von Strap’s fog-glasses which cast an eerie green glow around his gaunt face.
Without raising his head, Professor Von Strap scribbled on a yellow card. “Dingley’s Department Store – Halloween section,” he stated, flicking the card across the desk.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“There must be some mistake!” she said, picking up the card and staring at it in disbelief.
“No mistake! I don’t make mistakes!” huffed Von Strap, rising from his chair and growing in height until he towered above her. “Report for duty at 4:00 pm.”
“But . . .”
“Dismissed!” roared the professor, looking down his nose at her, waving her toward the door and at the same time calling out, “Zambini, Zelda.”
“Wait, just one minute,” Wilhelmina interrupted, jumping to her feet. “You must have mixed up the postings. I didn’t spend three gruesome years at The Bones Academy of Creepiness to work at some scuzzy department store!”
“Don't question my authority!” boomed Von Strap. “Get on with it or I’ll report you to Head Office.”
Wilhelmina cringed. She was very happy with her own head. Unnerved, she stepped back into the shadows to compose herself.
Zelda Zambini, a too-cute, overly made-up first year witch, waltzed up to the desk, overflowing with self confidence and smelling like swamp water. She wore her ebony hair in soft waves and was dressed in a sequin-studded black dress which showed off her winsome figure to the best advantage.
“Zelda,” the professor beamed as he sat down. “It's so good to see you! If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like you to report to the old Hinton mansion at 6:30.”
“If it's not too much trouble,” mocked Wilhelmina, under her breath.
“I couldn't possibly go until seven, Professor. I have an appointment to have my nails done,” Zelda simpered, in her high pitched, nerve scraping voice. She wore an unnaturally innocent expression on her face as she twirled one of her ridiculous curls around her finger.
“No rush, my dear, whenever you’re ready,” said the professor. Zelda Zambini had come from a long line of talented witches. Actually, she had all of the makings of a witch prodigy. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Zelda was the Academy's ticket to fame.
Wilhelmina watched the interchange, sickened by the sweetness. She was tempted to give him an earful . . . of slugs. One last bit of self control instructed her to ignore the urge. Grabbing her broomstick, which she had left leaning against a stack of books, she leaped on, squared her shoulders and flew out of the room.
“You’ll be reminded that this is a no-fly zone,” Von Strap screeched, materializing directly in front of her, puffing up to twice his normal width, blocking the doorway to the street.
Wilhelmina stopped abruptly, thankful that this year her parents had sent her the newest model of broom with an anti-lock brake system. She hovered while Professor Von Strap stormed, about following rules and what happened to those who didn’t. On and on he ranted, steam shooting out of his ears and nose, until, rid of all his hot air he shrank down to his usual size.
“I've just about had enough of you, Wiggly. You’ve been nothing but trouble since you enrolled. I suggest that you take this posting seriously. It could be your last one!” he sneered.
Apologizing, somewhat convincingly, Wilhelmina climbed off her broom and exited the building.
“That's it!” she announced, to no one and anyone who could hear, as she stomped into the dreary courtyard. “I've had it!” Down the walkway and through the vine covered wrought iron gate she barged, muttering to herself. The familiar nerve-twitching started in her right foot and spread to her left foot. Her spine stiffened and her hands balled up into fists. Before she knew it, both feet were jumping up and down, her arms were flying in the air and she found herself in the middle of a full-blown tantrum! She kicked out at the nearest thing and that just happened to be the trunk of a kelioptrus tree. Wrong move! The tree lifted a root and kicked back.
“Owww! Stupid tree!” she yelled. Just when she was about to retaliate she felt someone's arms wrap around her from behind. Lashing out like a leashed tornado Wilhelmina screamed, “Let go of me!”
“Calm down Wil! It would be healthy for ya to take a deep breath.”
Recognizing the voice as that of her Scottish banshee friend, Aislin Abercrombie, Wilhelmina clenched her teeth and fought off the tantrum, gradually settling down enough to stop kicking.
“What’s got you so riled up?” asked Aislin, as she loosened her grip. “Your face has taken on a very unbecoming pink.”
“Oh, great!” Wilhelmina reached into her fanny pack, brought out her concealing powder and dusted her face with dull green.“I can’t talk now, I’m too upset!”
“Would this be having anything to do with Professor Big Trap?” Aislin asked, as she contorted her face into a good facsimile of the professor's most disapproving look then nonchalantly smoothed out some wrinkles in her white dress.
The fitting nickname made Wilhelmina giggle. “How did you manage to do that?”
“What?” asked Aislin.
“Three things. First you knew exactly what I was thinking, second, you're the only one who ever talked me out of a stage-four tantrum and third you made me laugh in the process.”
“Promise you won't be telling my secret?” whispered Aislin.
“Witch's word,” pledged Wilhelmina, holding her hands, palms out and joining her thumbs to make a W.
“It's my new Y pod,” Aislin said, waving a thin black box, half the size of her hand, in front of Wilhelmina's face.
“Which is?”
“Why Wil, it's the latest bit of technology around! My Auntie Clara gave it to me for passing my wailing test. Would you be wanting to try it? Here, put in the earphones. Now, you just point it at the person you want to analyze and push the red button.”
Wilhelmina followed instructions and pointed it at a first-year boy who was sitting alone on the curb. Her mouth dropped open when an image of the kid came up on the screen and immediately started telling her all about himself, from his past life as a bat to his embarrassing problem of bed-wetting. “Aislin this is rude! How do I turn it off?”
“Just put it somewhere dark. It's solar-powered,” said Aislin with a grin. “So what do you think, then?”
“I think it's an invasion of privacy!” answered Wilhelmina stuffing the Y pod into her fanny pack. A look of realization passed across her face. “Did you see everything about me?” she questioned, sticking her nose into her friend's face.
Aislin, not the easiest to provoke, informed her, “It doesn't work the same on everyone. It all depends on which part of the brain is the strongest. Yours would only show me the immediate past. That's why I knew that the Professor gave you a bad posting. I was able to control your temper because my wee sister has the same problem. I've been dealing with her tantrums for years. And last, but not least, I've always been able to make you laugh. Well, haven't I?” she asked, hopping around on one foot and making her eyes bulge out of their sockets.
“You'd better be telling the truth. If I find out that you've been snooping around private things in my brain I'll . . . I'll . . .”
Aislin stopped jumping and tried to transform herself into a crow but it went terribly wrong. The only part that changed were her feet. “Whoops, I guess I need to practice that some more,” she said, when she ended up in an ungraceful tangle on the sidewalk.
Wilhelmina couldn't control herself. She broke out in a gale of laughter, hardly able to catch her breath.
“Feel better?” asked Aislin, spitting out a feather and after much concentration, changing her feet back. Without waiting for an answer she grabbed Wilhelmina's arm and steered her away from the Academy. “Come on then, I'm on my way to the cemetery on Old Guard Hill. We'll talk on the way.”
“Awww! You too? Am I the only one with a rotten posting?” said Wilhelmina.
“You'll be knowing that I can't help it if my last name starts with an A. Now, stop being such a whiner, would you? Look on the bright side. Perhaps you'll be having a lot of fun.”
“Are you trying to be my fairy godmother? Well, I'll tell you, I don't need your advice, and if you think I'm going to enjoy hanging out at Dingley's Department store with some boring humans, you're in the wrong story.”
As they rounded the corner of a decaying, stone wall, two misshapen figures emerged from the always present fog. Wilhelmina felt a shiver of dread as the larger one shuffled closer. The hood of a tattered grey cloak partially hid his wart-covered face and wisps of greenish-grey hair hung over blood-shot eyes. The smell of rotten teeth drifted up as, wordlessly, he peered into her face. No matter how many times she saw them she never quite got used to the trolls who guarded the gates into the human world. The transport tunnel was in a different location every year so you just never knew when or where they were going to show up.
She and Aislin rifled through their packs to produce their placement cards. The troll snatched them impatiently and passed them across a blue beam that shone from a bracelet on his left arm. The other guard motioned them forward and, with an exaggerated limp, led them to a hedge of thorny trees which grew in a semi-circle behind a stone monument. As he placed his gnarled hand on the carved head of the largest of three stone ravens the dried leaves of the hedge rustled, revealing an opening which was as black as a starless night.
Aislin nudged Wilhelmina. “Go!” she whispered. Producing the desired effect she followed her friend into the tunnel. The light from the opening was cut off and a cold, damp wind gusted at their backs, pushing them further along the tunnel. Aislin threw back her head and voiced her most blood-curdling wail. The sound bounced crazily back and forth against the walls.
“Do you have to do that?” asked Wilhelmina, wincing and sticking her fingers in her ears.
“Oh, come on, Wil. Have you ever heard of a banshee without a wail?” asked Aislin.
Wilhelmina shrugged and rolled her eyes.
The wind, growing in strength, propelled them at great speed to their destination then ceased so abruptly that they had to grab onto the walls to keep their balance. The tunnel had transformed into a large culvert with a stream of water just deep enough to ensure that their shoes were quickly waterlogged and sloshing uncomfortably. Arriving at the exit, or entrance, depending on which way you were going, and shielding their eyes from the sun, Wilhelmina and Aislin poked their heads out and looked cautiously up and down a tree-lined suburban street.
Wilhelmina was dismayed to see that during the transport her broomstick had lost one of its power packs. She was instantly reminded of the fact that only a portion of her magic was allowed to come through the tunnel with her. She checked and found that the potions and powders inside her fanny pack had been badly shaken up. “Darn! My transformation powder has mixed with a batch of toad spit. Stand back, Aislin. I'll have to throw it out.”
Aislin took a few steps back and Wilhelmina threw the broken vials into the bushes. The immediate effect was a loud boom. When the smoke cleared the bush had disintegrated into dust leaving a featherless wild turkey in its place. The terrified bird ran for cover.
Aislin laughed. “I'd be betting that he has no idea what just happened.”
“I don't think it's funny. I may need those potions. I don't know how they expect us to do our best work with only a fraction of our magic,” Wilhelmina complained, sitting down on the grass to empty the water out of her shoes.
“That's what makes it more challenging, Wil,” said Aislin.
