The Grand High Witch whipped round as though someone had stuck a skewer into her bottom. “Who said that?” she snapped. “Who dares to argue vith me? It vos you, vos it not?” She pointed a gloved finger as sharp as a needle at the witch who had spoken.
“I didn’t mean it, Your Grandness!” the witch cried out. “I didn’t mean to argue! I was just talking to myself!”
“You dared to argue vith me!” screamed The Grand High Witch.
“I was just talking to myself!” cried the wretched witch. “I swear it, Your Grandness!” She began to shake with fear.
The Grand High Witch took a quick step forward, and when she spoke again, it was in a voice that made my blood run cold.
“A stupid vitch who answers back
Must burn until her bones are black!”
she screamed.
“No, no!” begged the witch in the front row. The Grand High Witch went on,
“A foolish vitch vithout a brain
Must sizzle in the fiery flame!”
“Save me!” cried the wretched witch in the front row. The Grand High Witch took no notice of her. She spoke again.
“An idiotic vitch like you
Must rrroast upon the barbecue!”
“Forgive me, O Your Grandness!” cried the miserable culprit. “I didn’t mean it!” But The Grand High Witch continued with her terrible recital.
“A vitch who dares to say I’m wrrrong
Vill not be vith us very long!”
A moment later, a stream of sparks that looked like tiny white-hot metal-filings came shooting out of The Grand High Witch’s eyes and flew straight towards the one who had dared to speak. I saw the sparks striking against her and burrowing, into her and she screamed a horrible howling scream and a puff of smoke rose up around her. A smell of burning meat filled the room.
Nobody moved. Like me, they were all watching the smoke, and when it had cleared away, the chair was empty. I caught a glimpse of something wispy-white, like a little cloud, fluttering upwards and disappearing out of the window.
A great sigh rose up from the audience.
The Grand High Witch glared around the room. “I hope nobody else is going to make me cross today,” she remarked.
There was a deathly silence.
“Frrrizzled like a frrritter,” said The Grand High Witch. “Cooked like a carrot. You vill never see her again. Now vee can get down to business.”
Formula 86 Delayed Action
Mouse-Maker
“Children are rrree-volting!” screamed The Grand High Witch. “Vee vill vipe them all avay! Vee vill scrrrub them off the face of the earth! Vee vill flush them down the drain!”
“Yes, yes!” chanted the audience. “Wipe them away! Scrub them off the earth! Flush them down the drain!”
“Children are foul and filthy!” thundered The Grand High Witch.
“They are! They are!” chorused the English witches. “They are foul and filthy!”
“Children are dirty and stinky!” screamed The Grand High Witch.
“Dirty and stinky!” cried the audience, getting more and more worked up.
“Children are smelling of dogs’ drrroppings!” screeched The Grand High Witch.
“Pooooooo!” cried the audience. “Pooooooo! Pooooooo! Pooooooo!”
“They are vurse than dogs’ drrroppings!” screeched The Grand High Witch. “Dogs’ drrroppings is smelling like violets and prrrimroses compared vith children!”
“Violets and primroses!” chanted the audience. They were clapping and cheering almost every word spoken from the platform. The speaker seemed to have them completely under her spell.
“To talk about children is making me sick!” screamed The Grand High Witch. “I am feeling sick even thinking about them! Fetch me a basin!”
The Grand High Witch paused and glared at the mass of eager faces in the audience. They waited, wanting more.
“So now!” barked The Grand High Witch. “So now I am having a plan! I am having a giganticus plan for getting rrrid of every single child in the whole of Inkland!”
The witches gasped. They gaped. They turned and gave each other ghoulish grins of excitement.
“Yes!” thundered The Grand High Witch. “Vee shall svish them and svollop them and vee shall make to disappear every single smelly little brrrat in Inkland in vun strrroke!”
“Whoopee!” cried the witches, clapping their hands. “You are brilliant, O Your Grandness! You are fantabulous!”