S.N.O.T. Read online

  Title Page

  S.N.O.T.

  Nichol Williams

  Publisher Information

  First published in 2004 by

  Apex Publishing Ltd

  PO Box 7086, Clacton on Sea, Essex, CO15 5WN, England

  Reprinted in 2005

  www.apexpublishing.co.uk

  Digital Edition converted and distributed in 2011 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  Copyright © 2004 by Nichol Williams

  The author has asserted her moral rights

  All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition, that no part of this book is to be reproduced, in any shape or form. Or by way of trade, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition, including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

  Production Manager: Chris Cowlin

  Cover Design: Mohsin Ahmed

  The Patter of Tiny Feet

  ‘He’s a fine little fellow,’ Mr Humphries announced heartily as he lifted the small puppy into the air. Large doe eyes peered out at him from beneath folds of soft brown fur.

  ‘I thought so too,’ his wife replied in her usual clipped manner as she continued to read the evening paper.

  The dog in question was a mongrel and the same age as the infant who lay in the crib in the corner of the room softly gurgling to himself without the attention of his parents.

  Mr Humphries held the dog aloft to survey it better in the last of the amber rays which shone through the window. Suddenly depositing the animal on the floor he wiped the urine from his shirt, his nose wrinkled in disgust. Moving to where the infant lay peacefully in the crib he gazed in.

  ‘Do you think it’s about time we named him?’ he asked abstractedly, for his mind was still occupied in wiping his shirt.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she replied from behind the newspaper. After a momentary pause she added, ‘What about Fiddles?’

  ‘Fiddles?’ Mr Humphries replied in a puzzled tone staring at the very top of the auburn hair protruding from the paper. As realisation of what she was referring to slowly dawned on him he said, ‘No, not the dog, Olivia, the baby.’

  Mrs Humphries crunched the paper together as her hands dropped to her knees, her fingers still retaining the page she was reading. ‘Oh yes, the baby. Hmm, I suppose we should think of a name.’

  ‘What about Luke?’ he suggested, pulling his shirt away from his chest and sniffing his fingers. His head snapped back quickly from the stench and he mumbled under his breath, ‘God, that’s rotten.’

  ‘I think Jebediah is a good name,’ she replied, her lips pursed and her brows knitted as though in deep thought.

  ‘Jebediah, Jebediah Humphries,’ Mr Humphries repeated quietly over and over as he peered into the crib and watched the baby kicking his feet into the air.

  ‘All successful people have unusual names,’ Mrs Humphries threw in before resuming her concentration on the article she was reading.

  ‘Yes, little fellow, I have big plans for you,’ Mr Humphries said, tickling the infant’s toes. ‘You’re going to work at the Wizards Council like your daddy.’

  The baby laughed and gurgled, prompting his father to make a series of silly faces and noises for the amusement of the child. The baby’s tiny pink fingers stretched forward and grasped his large sausage-like finger and immediately drew it to his mouth. With a grimace the baby screwed up his face and poked out a tongue along with a substantial amount of saliva which bubbled around his mouth. Mr Humphries snatched a quick look in his wife’s direction and checked that she was still occupied before leaving the room to wash his hands, having forgotten he had wiped the dog pee off his shirt earlier with his fingers.

  Re-entering the room after getting washed and changing his shirt, he sat down beside his wife on the enormous cream sofa now chewed in several places by the new puppy. The dog waddled round the room unsteadily before finding a convenient place behind a large yucca plant to squat down and leave a steaming present for its new owners.

  ‘I think we should take on some extra help now we have little Jebediah,’ Mr Humphries said crossing his long legs.

  ‘Well, the paper has asked me if I’m going back to work soon,’ Mrs Humphries replied before tutting loudly at something she had just read. ‘Look at this,’ she said suddenly, jabbing the paper with the tip of her finger. ‘Elvira Duker has written a piece about the rehabilitation of Hobgoblins.’ An exasperated sigh escaped as she continued, ‘She really is a stupid Witch. Why they ever allowed her to write for them at the Cauldron Chronicle I will never know. The Witching Times got rid of her because she was hopeless and I doubt even the Weekday Wand would touch her and that’s a tabloid!’ she added, hardly concealing the scorn in her voice.

  ‘I think I’ll call the agency tomorrow to see if it can send someone... any preference?’ he added.

  ‘No dear,’ Mrs Humphries replied without actually listening to what her husband was saying.

  ‘Right then, I’ll call in the morning from the Council,’ he said, assuming the matter was now settled.

  Just then there was a loud rapping at the door disturbing the silence and serenity of their evening. Olivia Humphries was, it seemed, more than happy to leave the visitor on the doorstep and continue reading her paper.

  Mr Humphries opened the door to see a small grey-haired woman with pink rollers poking out from beneath an orange and brown paisley headscarf and dressed in a garish flower-print dress. Powder-blue slippers embroidered with a leaf design housed her feet. A white Persian cat with a miserable squat face that looked like someone had hit it at force with a frying pan was tucked under her arm. It was only the green eyes which narrowed until they were mere slits that gave any real indication that it was actually alive.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to invite me in you useless cockroach?’ the old woman snarled as she pushed past him into the house.

  ‘Olivia darling, your mother’s here,’ Mr Humphries called out with false brightness. His face then twisted into a look of horror as he followed the hunched back of the old woman shuffling into the room.

  His wife’s mother was somebody he could quite happily never see again as long as he lived. When they had moved to the village of Whipsey several years ago she had sold her own house in nearby Netterton and bought a cottage only three doors away. He was sure that this was just to make their lives a further misery, which now seemed to be the only thing she lived for.

  ‘Good evening mother,’ Olivia said casually without removing the paper from her face.

  ‘Good? There’s nothing good about this evening. Not when you can’t enjoy the twilight of your years in peace,’ she replied with a withering look in her daughter’s direction.

  The statement was enough to make Mrs Humphries put the paper down and ask in an exasperated tone, ‘What is it this time mother?’

  The old lady plonked herself down in the chair and placed the cat she had been holding under her arm onto her bony knees. ‘It’s a fine day when an old woman has to visit her own daughter to show she’s still alive and not rotting on the kitchen floor all alone.’

  Mrs Humphries folded up the newspaper neatly and placed it over the arm of the sofa, saying in a very dry voice with one eyebrow raised, ‘I saw you the other day.’

  ‘Ha!’ she spat. ‘You passed me in the queue at the but
chers you mean.’

  Olivia Humphries moved her mouth round in a circular motion like she was chewing the inside of her cheek before replying, ‘Yes, well you looked very much alive to me and, besides, with Jebediah here now, I’m very busy.’

  ‘Jebediah!’ her mother said incredulously. ‘You are joking? You’re not really going to call the boy that?’

  ‘Yes, why?’ Olivia asked in a tone that brooked no argument, her arms folding in a defensive stance and her eyes narrowing.

  Shrugging her skinny shoulders her mother replied with a sniff, ‘No reason, except anyone would think you hated the child.’

  Mr Humphries, who had followed his mother-in-law into the room, sat down beside his wife and commented, ‘People with unusual names are more successful in later life.’

  ‘Only because they get picked on for having such a ridiculous name,’ the old lady countered derisively.

  Mrs Humphries decided she’d had enough. She was not going to listen to any more. ‘Isn’t there anyone else you can annoy?’ she enquired sarcastically.

  The old woman smiled sardonically. ‘Mr Peterson has pulled out of the bridge night so I suppose I’ll have to watch television on my own without the comfort and companionship of my family.’ As she spoke a withered hand stroked the cat’s head, pulling the fur back and causing the animal’s eyes to bulge. Standing up from the chair, she peered into the crib and with one final sniff announced that she would be on her way. Her slippers made no noise as she ambled across the oak floor, calling over her shoulder as she went, ‘It’s allright, you don’t need to bother seeing me out, I can manage myself,’ adding a little quieter but still loud enough so they could hear, ‘Not that you would anyway.’

  As the door slammed shut Olivia Humphries jumped to her feet and began to pace the room muttering disjointedly, pulling at her hair. ‘She’ll have to go. Nobody would ever know. I could put Mugwort in her tea perhaps, or maybe put a disorientation spell on her and dump her somewhere far away like Timbuktu.’

  Her husband, who secretly agreed with everything she was saying, followed her at a distance, his hand gently resting on her shoulder as he said soothingly, ‘Now now dear, she won’t be around forever. You never know, she may even move to that rest home she’s always talking about; Witch Hazels or whatever it’s called.’

  This time it was his wife’s turn to give a derisive ‘Ha!’, which echoed round the room.

  The newly named Jebediah continued to lie peacefully in his crib, watching the blur of faces as they bobbed in and out of view every so often. Little did he know into what sort of family he had had the misfortune to be born.

  Bad Memories

  Jebediah groaned inwardly to himself as he stood in front of the bedroom mirror on the wardrobe door and desperately tried to spike his limp ginger-red hair into a fashionable style.

  At fourteen it was bad enough dealing with the usual teenage spots, of which he had his fair share, but, coupled with the colour of his hair and his tall, lanky frame, it all added up to a classification by the ‘it’ girls as a loser.

  Sighing deeply, he threw the comb down on the chest of drawers and headed out of his room.

  Walking into the kitchen, Rotten, his dog, lifted his head and spotted his master. Leaping up from his basket he ran forward and began turning round and round in circles, his tail wagging frantically with excitement and hitting everything in sight. Unfortunately, Rotten had never managed to control his bodily functions and so passed wind almost permanently, hence his name. A smell akin to putrid eggs and cabbage began to fill the room.

  Jebediah screwed up his face and made a quick exit into the lounge, with his hand covering his nose and mouth, and into clean air before he chanced taking a breath. Once there he shouted at the top of his lungs, ‘Grimble! Grimble!’ There was no response, prompting him to call out again, ‘Grimble! Where are you?’

  A faint muttering came from the stairs which creaked softly as a foot fell onto each step. A very ancient looking creature wearing a rather dirty old pair of what had once been white underpants hobbled into the room. He was busily engaged in scratching his bottom with one hand while the other picked at a large crooked nose.

  ‘Grimble,’ Jebediah began in a stern tone before saying accusingly, ‘why haven’t you started any tea yet?’

  ‘Bin busy I ave,’ the creature replied mutinously as he turned his back and waddled into the kitchen leaving Jebediah to stare after him angrily.

  Grimble had been employed by his parents shortly after Jebediah was born to help out in the home. He wasn’t a typical Kobold by any standards, taking pride neither in his work nor in his appearance. His immensely bushy beard, which almost skimmed the floor, was tangled and knotted. Morsels of food poked through while a mass of brown frizzy hair stuck out at odd angles giving him a wild appearance.

  Jebediah could hear the Kobold complaining as he went about his business, the sound of crockery being slammed down on the worktops drifting into the room where he stood.

  Sitting down at the large, pine, farmhouse table he flinched as Grimble flung down a plate filled with a very limp, unappetising, pulverised salad. Any feelings of hunger waned rapidly as he stared at the hastily prepared repast placed before him. Licking his lips he swallowed hard before taking the plunge and picking up a piece of wilted lettuce. Chewing rhythmically, it was a long time before the food at last slipped down his throat.

  A perfectly timed knock at the door gave him the excuse to leave the table. Racing out of the room he called out, ‘I’ll get it.’

  He needn’t have rushed as the Kobold had no intention of answering it himself.

  Wrenching the door open he came face to face with Alex, his best friend, who cheekily produced two bags of chips from behind his back and held them out. ‘I thought you might want something decent to eat,’ he said smiling broadly.

  ‘You’re a life saver,’ Jebediah whispered quietly as he ushered him inside and up to his room. Closing the door behind them he greedily snatched the bag of chips and threw himself down on the bed which made a series of twanging noises before falling silent. Cramming the chips into his mouth he savoured each and every one.

  ‘So,’ Alex said, settling himself down on the edge of the bed beside his friend, ‘what time are you leaving?’

  Jebediah dropped the chip he was holding back into the paper and wiped his greasy hands down the leg of his jeans. Sighing deeply, his features changed as he said simply, ‘Soon.’ The anxiety in his voice was apparent.

  ‘Eh, come on mate it’s not that bad. You’ve only got two years left and then you’re free,’ Alex said brightly, popping another chip into his mouth.

  ‘Yeah, but I only get one crack at the test and if I fail then that’s it, I’m no longer a Wizard which has never happened in my family before. It would be so... so embarrassing,’ he added.

  Alex stopped eating and looked at his friend earnestly. ‘Would it be so bad if you were ordinary like me?’ he asked.

  Jebediah opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, suitably ashamed of how the remark had sounded.

  They had been thrown together on their first day at school when they were five years old. Alex had been drawn to Jebediah, he said, because he knew there was something different about him and not just his name. His presumption had been proved right when, climbing a tree one day to retrieve a ball that had become caught up in some branches, Jebediah had lost his footing and slipped. Instead of plummeting to the ground as would any normal person, he merely floated gently to his feet. This, even to Alex who was only six at the time, had seemed strange. Jebediah had told him his secret on the promise that he didn’t reveal it to a single living soul and to this day he never had.

  Being a Wizard, however, meant that each year he was required to attend a summer camp in conjunction with magic training once a week. Girls attended Nixes fro
m the age of six until they reached eleven when they moved on to Nymphs, while boys were placed in Imps and then Goblins. It was very similar to what most people called Guides and Scouts where badges were awarded once a sufficient standard had been attained in a particular subject. The culmination was a test when they were sixteen which, if they passed, qualified them as a Witch or a Wizard, allowing them to practise magic freely.

  Finishing the chips, he screwed up the paper into a tight ball and took aim at the bin. It bounced off the edge and rolled across the floor. Stretching out his leg, he hooked it back towards him with his foot and tried again but only succeeded in hitting the wall.

  Bending forward, he dragged out a dark-blue holdall from under his bed and he placed inside three robes of the most violent shade of purple, which clashed hideously with his hair. These were quickly hidden by several rolls of parchment, his wand and a selection of dog-eared books. Moving over to the corner of his room, he leaned behind a unit housing his television and an ample amount of computer games and pulled out a battered broom. The mahogany handle was chipped and scratched and the tail-end twigs frayed.

  ‘When are your mum and dad gonner get you another one?’ Alex asked, nodding in the direction of the broomstick.

  ‘As I’ve only got my beginner’s badge for flying and it’s not likely I’ll get my advanced one anytime soon, probably never,’ he replied, brushing away the dust that had accumulated through months of disuse.

  ‘You just need a bit of confidence, that’s all,’ mused Alex as though it were that simple. Hoisting a pillow up behind his head he nestled back lazily.

  Making a noise somewhere between a snort and a gulp, Jebediah said gloomily, ‘I haven’t found a potion or spell for that one yet but when I do I’ll let you know.’