The Only Thing Worse Than Witches

The Great and Terrible Things About Mothers

THE GREAT THING ABOUT MOTHERS IS THAT THEY are always there to comfort you and clean you when you come home reeking of sewage.

The Terrible Thing About Mothers is that they never believe you when you try to tell them about evil teachers who make you dig in garbage for a paper clip.

“Oh, what a wild imagination,” they say. “Now stop playing in trash. It’s dirty. There are germs….” And then they drone on and on for hours about tiny bacteria and microorganisms and the benefits of antibacterial soap.

Rupert frowned as he listened to his mother’s germ rant.

After the stern talking-to, Rupert’s mother ushered him into the tub and shoved him under the water, clothes and all. Then she took a washcloth and scrubbed his arms where the mud caked his skin.

“Mom,” Rupert said. “I’m eleven years old. I can do it myself.”

His mother tsked. That was not a good sign.

“Rupert Archibald Campbell, obviously you don’t make good choices if you decided that the best way to spend your afternoon was rolling around in the dirt like a pig.”

“It wasn’t my choice — Mrs. Frabbleknacker made me do it.”

His mother shook her head disapprovingly. “Not this nonsense again.”

“It’s not nonsense, Mom!” Rupert insisted. “She’s really evil. Super evil.”

“The only thing that’s super evil around here is your stench. Now, you need to take responsibility for your own actions.”

“But Mrs. Frabbleknacker hid a paper clip in a dump, and she wouldn’t let us leave until someone found it!”

His mother laughed. “Oh, Rupert, you have the wildest imagination. Sometimes I wonder where you come up with such stories.”

Rupert sunk down in the tub in defeat. He started thinking about a conversation he’d had with Allison Gormley, Kyle Mason-Reed, and Hal Porter a few months ago, back when Mrs. Frabbleknacker let her students talk to each other. Hal and Allison had mentioned that their parents wouldn’t believe them when they tried to tell them about Mrs. Frabbleknacker’s horrible lessons. Their parents had just laughed, too — and then patted them on their heads and sent them outside to play. Why was it so hard to get their parents to believe them? There must be some universal, understood code among all parents that makes them think their kids are always making up stories or telling jokes, Rupert thought.

“Don’t worry,” his mother said. “I’m almost done with you. I just want to get this muck off your arms, now that I’ve started scrubbing. Then I promise I’ll leave you alone. What do you want for dinner — pizza? I’ll even let you eat in the tub.” She winked at him.

“I think I’ll take it in my room, please,” Rupert said. He didn’t want to think about dropping a slice of pizza in the grimy bathwater, but his mind instantly went there. He knew that if Mrs. Frabbleknacker were here, she would make him eat the bathwater pizza, and that was an even worse thought.

“I can give you microwavable pizza, microwavable lasagna, microwavable quesadillas, microwavable popcorn, microwavable rice, microwavable chocolate soufflé, microwavable cheese, microwavable toast, or microwavable cheese on toast. Which do you prefer?”

Rupert groaned. “Does everything in our house have to be microwavable?”

“Oh, Rupert, you know I’m too exhausted to cook by the time I get home from work.”

“So, how was work today?”

Rupert’s mother hummed absently. “The day was lovely. Except… ” She froze and looked at nothing in particular with glazed, distant eyes. “Mrs. Marmalin had to chase a witch out of the quilting shop with a broom.”

Rupert nodded. “I ran into Mrs. Marmalin on the way up here. She told me.” His mother wrung out the dirty washcloth in the sink. “What did the witch look like? What did she say? Did she do any spells? Did she hex you?”

His mother laughed.

“I just can’t believe you actually met a witch. I mean — I’ve obviously seen the pack flying around Gliverstoll, but I’ve never talked to one!”

“And let’s hope you never have to,” his mother said with a shudder. “Remember what I said about the witches, Rupert. This one in particular had a downright dreadful temper. She kept calling herself the ‘Queen of the Sea,’ and threatened to slap us with a dead fish.”

“Cool! Then what happened?”

“Rupert!” his mother said, in a scolding sort of voice. “I will not indulge your curiosity! I’ve told you a thousand times: stay away from the witches—”

“But why?”

“They are dangerous! And horrible! And terrible!”

“Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“Wisdom is just another word for obedience,” his mother said, reciting a fortune cookie.

“Didn’t you tell me last week that another word for genius is obsession?”

“Rupert!”

Rupert folded his arms. “All right, all right. I’ll stay away from the witches.”

There was a long pause, and Rupert hoped his mother had let the subject drop.

His mother finally put the grimy washcloth on the bathroom floor and stood up. “I suppose that’s as good as I’m going to get. I’m leaving so you can take a real bath.” His mother turned to leave the bathroom, but then she paused with her hand on the doorknob. “Rupert, why don’t I see any of your friends around the house anymore? Did something happen? Are you fighting?”

Rupert frowned. Now that his mother mentioned it, the loneliness seemed real. And it all boiled down to Mrs. Frabbleknacker. She was the horrible, rotten reason that none of them talked to him anymore — because she forbid them to talk before class, she forbid them to talk during class, and she forbid them to talk after class.

“Everything’s fine,” Rupert lied. “We’re just really busy, now that we’re in fifth grade.”

His mother sniffled. “My little boy is growing up!” And with the soft creak of the closing door, she was gone.

Rupert watched the dirt swirl around in the bathwater. Dirt and grime. Grime and dirt. Rupert churned it with his finger. When he got bored, he hung his body over the side of the bathtub, thinking about what had happened. Millie Michaels found the paper clip — but then Mrs. Frabbleknacker made her stay while the rest of the class got to go. Poor Millie. She thought she had won the lottery, only to have the rules changed.

Rupert leaned forward out of the bathtub, accidentally dripping water everywhere as he grabbed the newspaper that was sitting in the rack beside the toilet. He flipped right to the comics section for a bit of cheering up, but on the adjacent page, a notice in the classified section caught his eye:

Rupert tore the article out of the paper. Then he folded it and placed it in the sole of his shoe.

A witch’s apprentice. As he thought about the job, excitement bubbled in his stomach (or maybe that was the dump sludge finally catching up with him).

This was perfect. Beyond perfect. The most perfectly perfectest perfecty thing to ever fall beside Rupert’s toilet.