I.

How to Recognize a Witch

Somewhere in Oslo, Norway. The big living room with a dim fireplace.
Grandmamma (a heavy woman, tremendously old, sitting majestic in the big
armchair, smoking cigars): My darling, you know what a wonderful
storyteller I am and how enthralled you become by everything I tell you.
But now I want to tell you a truly truthful story about witches.
Boy: You swear you aren’t pulling my leg?
Grandmamma: You must listen to me carefully, my boy. This time it is not
a joke. You won’t last long in this world if you don’t know how to spot a
witch when you see one. So, real witches dress in ordinary clothes and
look very much like ordinary women. They live in ordinary houses and they
work in ordinary jobs.
Boy (asking eagerly): But Grandmamma, how can I recognize a real one?
Grandmamma: First, a witch is always a woman. Second, a witch is always
wearing gloves when you meet her, because she doesn’t have fingernails.
Third, a witch is always bald as a boiled egg.
Boy (shocked): Bold? How horrid!
Grandmamma: Disgusting! You should know a real witch is always wearing a
first-class wig. And that’s a serious problem for witches, my boy. The
wigs set up a frightful itch on the bald skin. They cause nasty sores on
the head. Wig-rash, the witches call it.
Boy: What other things must I look for to recognize a witch?
Grandmamma: Look for the eyes. In the middle of each eye where there is
normally a little black dot. If she is a witch, the black dot will keep
changing colour, and you will see fire and you will see ice dancing right
in the very centre of the coloured dot. It will send shivers running all
over your skin. And the last but not least, a real witch has the most
amazing powers of smell. She can actually smell out a child on the other
side of the street on a pitch-black night.
Boy: She couldn’t smell me, I’ve just had a bath.
Grandmamma: Oh, yeas, she could, the cleaner you happen to be, the more
smelly you are. To a witch you’d be smelling of fresh dogs’ droppings!
Boy: No way! I shall never have a bath again.
Grandmamma: Just don’t have one too often. Now it’s time you went to bed,
my darling.
Boy (kissing her on the check): Goodnight, Grandmamma.

II. The Meeting

The splendid hotel on the coast of England. The Grandmamma and her
grandson inside the reception hall.
Boy (exhausted, dropping luggage): Grandmamma, I know why we had to
return to England… But why have we stayed here?
Grandmamma: You know I’m always smoking those vile black cigars, my dear.
The doctor said everything I needed was the sea air for this time, that’s
why we are here. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine. Look what I
have for you.
 Grandmamma gives the boy a little cage with two white mice inside.
Boy (surprisingly stunned): Is this for me, grandmamma?
Grandmamma: Oui, mon cheri. Now go playing and have a good time.
The boy is exploring the hotel.
Boy (reflecting): I need to find a peaceful place for training my mice!
The boy is roaming about the hotel, then going down a long wide
corridor and at the end of it coming to “The Ballroom”. In front of the
doors, there is a large notice-board on a stand, saying:

RSPCC MEETING
STRICTLY PRIVATE
THIS ROOM IS RESERVED
FOR THE ANNUAL MEETING OF
THE ROYAL SOCIETY
FOR THE PREVENTION OF CRUELTY TO CHILDREN

Boy: What a lovely secret place it is!

The Boy comes in in the colossal room; there are rows and rows of
gold chairs with little red cushions on them. No soul in sight. He goes
to the back of the room, make comfortable behind a large folding screen
with Chinese dragons on it. He starts training his mice.
In a while, the ladies in pretty clothes with hats on their heads
come in, taking their seats in a hurry. Then in another pretty woman
comes and goes up the platform in front of the rows.
The Grand High Witch: You may rrree-moof your wigs, your gloves, and your
shoes!
The rest of the ladies take off their wigs, gloves and shoes. There
is a sigh of relief going up from all the witches in the room. The Grand
High Witch does the same, and then takes off her facemask, revealing her
crumpled and wizened face. The Boy is frozen in horror, begins shaking
all over.
The Grand High Witch (yelling): Miserable vitches! Every year you do not
enough to make away with those filthy children. To talk about them is
making me sick! So now, I have a giganticus plan for getting rrrid of
every single child in the whole of Inkland!
The Witches (crying in delight): Whoope! You are brilliant, O Your
Grandness!
The Grand High Witch (showing a little bottle): Shut up and listen! This
is Formula 86 Mouse-Maker. Vun droplet in each choc or sveet vill be
qvite enough to turn them all into mice!
The Witches (shouting): Hooray! Bravo!
The Grand High Witch (enjoying the triumph): Next, at six o’clock tonight
you shall come to my room to rrree-cieve two bottles of the Formula 86.
Do not forget! This meeting is over. Out you go!
The Witches stand up and begin gathering their things together.
One of the witches (in the back row): Wait! Hold everything!
The rest of the witches: What is the matter?
The same witch: Dogs’ droppings!
The Grand High Witch (fiercely crying): She’s absolutely rrright! Dogs’
droppings it is, strrrong and foul. Find it now!
The Witches (pointing at the Boy): It’s here, behind the screen!
The Grand High Witch: Brrring it here!
The Witches carry the Boy on to the platform. The Grand High Witch
holds up the small bottle, grinning at the Boy in the most horrible way.
The Grand High Witch: Now for a little medicine! Hold his nose to make
him open his mouth!
The Grand High Witch pours the entire contents of the bottle down
the Boy’s throat. The Boy starts shaking and trembling.

*The sounds of sizzling, squashing, flashing*

The Boy turns into a mouse.

The Grand High Witch: Leave the little stinkpot alone! It is not vurth
bothering about! It is only a mouse! Now we shall go to the afternoon
tea.

III. The Plan

The hotel room. Grandmamma seats in the chair, the boy streaks in
the room like a flash.
Boy: Grandmamma, it’s me, pick me up.
Grandmamma (murmuring): Oh, my poor sweet darling. What’s happened?
Boy: It’s witches, Grandmamma, I know what they’ve done and I know what I
am, but the funny thing is that I don’t honestly feel especially bad
about it. In fact, I feel rather good. I’ll be quite all right as long as
there’s always you to look after me.
Grandmamma (mopping tears from her face): Of course, I’ll look after you!
Grandmamma takes a new long black cigar out of her case in her
handbag and puts it in her mouth.
Grandmamma: Where did it happen? Where is the witch now?
Boy: It wasn’t just one. I was a hundred for sure! They’re right here in
the hotel this very moment!
Grandmamma (leaning forward and staring at the Boy): You don’t actually
mean to say they’re holding the Annual Meeting right here?
Boy: They’ve held it, Grandmamma. I heard it all! They’re all having tea
downstairs!
Grandmamma: And they caught you?
Boy: They smelled me out! They’re going to turn all the children from all
over England into mice!
Grandmamma: Oh, my Lord! We must do something about it.
Boy: I may have a bit of idea. The Grand High Witch told them to come to
her room at six o’clock tonight to give them all the bottles of that
magical potion. I could climb down her room somehow and get it.
Grandmamma: And get caught all over again. I won’t allow it!
Boy: At this moment all the witches are down having tea. They won’t be
back until six.
Grandmamma: And what if you did manage to get into her room? What then?
Boy: One bottle is enough to turn them all into mice!
Grandmamma: It’s fantastic! You’re genius, my boy! We’d get rid of every
witch in England in one swop! I think I know how you can come into her
room – we shall hurry!
 IV. The Triumph
The Dining room. Grandmamma takes a seat, puts her handbag on the
table.
Grandmamma: My darling, why did you tell me to get you here?
Boy: Even being a mouse, I can’t go creeping round on the tabletop
carrying a bottle and sprinkling Mouse-Maker all over the witches’ roast
beef without being spotted. But, I can do it in the kitchen while their
food is being get ready.
Grandmamma: It’s going to be very dangerous. Nobody welcomes a mouse in
the kitchen. If they see you, they’ll squash you to death.
Boy: I won’t let them see me. I can go scuttling round the high shelves,
pots, and pans. I can run very fast. I’ll be right here in seven minutes
or so. Wait for me!
Grandmamma: Be careful, my sweet darling!
Several minutes later. Tens of pretty ladies come in in the Dining
room. They take their seats at the grand table. The Boy returns, shinnies
up the table.
Boy: Hello, Grandmamma. I did it! I poured it all into their soup! Now
let’s look at their table!
Grandmamma: Well done, my boy! Let’s see what’s going next.
In a minute the witches are being served with their soups. They
start eating. Suddenly all the witches begin to scream and jump up of
their seats. Some stand on chairs, some are up on the table. All of them
wiggle about and wave their arms in an extraordinary manner. Then, all at
once, they become deathly still.
Boy: They were shrinking, Grandmamma, just like I did!
The Witches vanish and the mice appear. The other guests start
screaming and running away. Grandmamma, with her grandson in her handbag,
turns and marches out of the room.
Grandmamma: My little miracle, do you mind coming back to Norway? We
might live happily ever after there.
Boy: That would be perfect, Grandmamma! But, don’t you mind having a
mouse as your grandson for the rest of my life?
Grandmamma: I don’t mind at all. It doesn’t matter who you are or what
you look like so long as I love you!