Now there was nobody I could even talk anything over with—travel by broomstick, a trip to Witch’s Mountain, how we actually had two witches and a warlock in residence at Pepperdine Elementary School at the very same time, or even who Miss Blossom really was. Oh, I could go on writing to Spook, but as I said before, it wasn’t the same as having her right there.
When I crawled into bed that night, I just lay there with my eyes wide open staring at a shaft of moonlight coming through my window, thinking about Miss Switch arriving at that window in the very same moonlight, and wondering if it would ever happen again. I had no idea how much time had passed when I heard a rustling in Fred’s cage.
Fred was usually a pretty sound sleeper. Once he’d started yawning and put himself to bed, I never even heard a peep or a flutter from his cage until morning, except for the couple of times he’d taken it upon himself to be my guardian angel. I never even bothered to close the door to his cage because the door to my own room was always closed at night. So what was going on now?
The next thing I knew, Fred was flying from his cage. My room was pretty much flooded with moonlight, so I could see him fluttering across the room like a small, dark shadow.
Just as he had done the night he and Guinevere, Hector, and Caruso had had their quarrel and ended up good friends, he flew over and perched on the side of Caruso’s bowl. Then he gave a soft cheep and flew over to land right in front of Hector’s and Guinevere’s cages. He stood there for a few moments, his head tilted, and cheeped again. After that, he fluttered up, circled around, and started right for me! I snapped my eyes shut. A moment later, I felt him land right on my blanket, hop over to my shoulder, and give me a tiny peck on my cheek! I waited until I’d heard him flutter away before I opened my eyes to see him hop back into his cage and settle himself down for the rest of the night.
Once again Fred had come to my aid and made me realize what a lamebrain I’d been. Just because my pets could no longer talk to me didn’t mean I couldn’t talk to them, or that they wouldn’t understand what I said. I knew I could go right on talking to my pets, and muttering over my homework and my computer every night with Fred perched on my shoulder, taking it all in.
Of course, I intended to go on looking for a toadstoolius spookus returnicum. I had concluded, however, that toadstools of the type I’d been dealing with via Miss Switch, or any toadstools, rarely appeared in the Pepperdine Elementary School playground in the daytime. Considering the generally unsavory nature of your run-of-the-mill toadstools, this was probably just as well. But I knew I’d have to steel myself to go toadstool hunting at midnight if I ever wanted to find anything useful. I wondered how Fred would feel about going along with me in my pocket. I’d have to ask him.
And who knew what other interesting toadstool specimens I might find—toadstoolius billius swansonius spitballius terminatium, for example. Or a homework aid such as toadstoolius mathematicus incorrectus nomorum. The possibilities were endless. And assuming I could ever figure out which was which, I could become a veritable toadstool expert.
And then I began to think of the question that Miss Switch had asked me, if I thought there was a remote possibility science might overtake witchcraft. Not a chance, I had replied. But who knew what genus of toadstools I might find that would bring the magic of science closer to the magic of witchcraft?
Take, for instance, the toadstool that would allow you to elevate a broomstick and fly it—no engine, no propeller, no kidding—toadstoolius broomstickus nomotorus airborneum. Or how about a toadstool that would help put me in touch with Miss Switch anytime I wanted—toadstoolius computowitch dottus commus miss switchius websitum. Those two would certainly be witch’s aids that would make Miss Switch’s eyes pop!
You might ask if I ever expected to actually find any of these things. Well, I had no idea. All I knew was that I intended to scour the Pepperdine Elementary School playground (even at midnight, if that’s what it took), and never give up trying. And I did know something else. It was that first thing in the morning, I, Rupert P Brown III, great and dedicated scientist, a firm believer that just about anything is possible, would have a long talk about all of this with my pets. Who else?
