Roald Dahl. THE WITCHES

“Qvick!” shrieked The Grand High Witch. “Put on your vigs! Put on your gloves! Put on your shoes!”

There was a great rustle and bustle of putting on wigs and gloves and shoes, and I saw The Grand High Witch herself reach for her face-mask and put it on over that revolting face of hers. It was astonishing how that mask transformed her. All of a sudden she became once again a rather pretty young lady.

“Let me in!” came the boy’s voice from behind the doors. “Where are those chocolate bars you promised me? I’m here to collect! Dish them out!”

“He is not only smelly, he is also grrreedy,” said The Grand High Witch. “Rrree-moof the chains from the doors and let him come in.” The extraordinary thing about the mask was that its lips moved quite naturally when she spoke. You really couldn’t see it was a mask at all.

One of the witches leapt to her feet and unfastened the chains. She opened the two huge doors. Then I heard her saying, “Why hello, little man. How lovely to see you. You have come for your chocolate bars, have you not? They are all ready for you. Do come in.”

A small boy wearing a white tee-shirt and grey shorts and gymshoes entered the room. I recognised him at once. He was called Bruno Jenkins and he was staying in the hotel with his parents. I didn’t care for him. He was one of those boys who is always eating something whenever you meet him. Meet him in the hotel lobby and he is stuffing sponge cake into his mouth. Pass him in the corridor and he is fishing potato crisps out of a bag by the fistful. Catch sight of him in the hotel garden and he is wolfing a Dairy Milk Bar and has two more sticking out of his trouser-pocket. What’s more, Bruno never stopped boasting about how his father made more money than my father and that they owned three cars. But worse than that, yesterday morning I had found him kneeling on the flagstones of the hotel terrace with a magnifying-glass in his hand. There was a column of ants marching across one of the flagstones and Bruno Jenkins was focusing the sun through his magnifying-glass and roasting the ants one by one. “I like watching them burn,” he said. “That’s horrible!” I cried. “Stop doing it!” “Let’s see you stop me,”he said. At that point I had pushed him with all my might and he had crashed sideways on to the flagstones. His magnifying-glass had splintered into many pieces and he had leapt up shrieking, “My father is going to get you for this!” Then he had run off, presumably to find his wealthy dad. That was the last time I had seen Bruno Jerkins until now. I doubted very much that he was about to be turned into a mouse, although I must confess that I was secretly hoping it might happen. Either way, I didn’t envy him being up there in front of all those witches.

“Darling boy,” cooed The Grand High Witch from up on the platform. “I have your chocolates all rrready for you. Do come up here firrrst and say hello to all these lovely ladies.” Her voice was quite different now. It was soft and gentle and absolutely dripping with syrup.

Bruno was looking a bit bewildered, but he allowed himself to be led up on to the platform, where he stood beside The Grand High Witch and said, “Okay, where are my six bars of chocolate?”

I saw the witch who had let him in quietly put­ting the chain back on the door-handles. Bruno didn’t notice this. He was too busy asking for his chocolate.

“The time is now vun minute before half-past thrrree!” announced The Grand High Witch.

“What the heck’s going on?” Bruno asked. He wasn’t frightened, but he wasn’t looking exactly comfortable either. “What is this?” he said. “Gimme my chocolate!”

“Thirty seconds to go!” cried The Grand High Witch, gripping Bruno by the arm. Bruno shook himself clear and stared at her. She stared back at him, smiling with the lips of her mask. Every witch in the audience was staring at Bruno.