Four silly stories about the world’s foulest witch rolled into one book!
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James Sutherland Books
Hidden away in her grotty little cottage in the woods with only her scrawny cat, Scratch, for company, Frogarty the witch leads a relatively peaceful, if unpleasant, existence.
Mean spirited and indescribably ugly, she is as happy as can be, provided she has her trusty spell book to hand, along with plenty of revolting ingredients to put in her cauldron.
Modern society, however, is no place for an old-school wicked witch and whenever it happens to encroach on Frogarty’s peculiar little world, comic mayhem and madcap violence are guaranteed to follow!
Frogarty Spittleflap was a witch and an ugly one at that. Many people believe that beauty is only skin deep and that it is our personalities, our inner beauty that really matters; although this may often be true, it is irrelevant in this instance because Frogarty was just as horrid on the inside as she was on the outside.
Short and squat in stature, her features were gruesome to the extent that a single glance in her direction was often enough to make a strong man physically sick. We must not pity her though, reader, because Frogarty was also mean. She was so mean that even her pet cat, Scratch, despised her and only hung around their little cottage in the woods in the hope of scrounging a few leftovers from one of Frogarty’s foul meals.
Have we talked about Frogarty’s diet yet? Perhaps it’s better if we don’t – it could be that you’ve just had your supper and might begin to feel a little queasy if we were to go into too much detail... Are you sure? Ok – if you insist...
Well, reader, Frogarty did not eat the kinds of things that you or I might enjoy. She had probably never even heard of sausages or spaghetti bolognaise or fish and chips or chicken nuggets – she only ate horrible things. To give you an idea what is meant by ‘horrible things’ just have a look at the menu that she drew up for the day on which our story begins.
Live maggots with a rich, creamy woodlouse sauce.
Rotten owl’s egg, nestling on a bed of bogies.
Caterpillar soup, with a hint of toenail.
Braised slugs with toadstool mash.
Pan fried squirrel, marinated in armpit sweat.
Badger Burger with earwax relish.
Fly pie with toad slime custard.
“Rhubarb crumble?” I hear you cry. “But surely there’s nothing horrible about that?”
I’m afraid there is, reader. You see, when normal people make rhubarb crumble, they do so using the rhubarb stalks, which are very tasty indeed. Frogarty, on the other hand always throws the stalks away, preferring to make her rhubarb crumble using only the leaves, which are poisonous. So there you have it – there is nothing whatsoever on Frogarty’s menu that would be considered fit for human consumption.
Having polished off the last few forkfuls of braised slugs, Frogarty leaned back in her rickety rocking chair to consider her choice of desert. Fly pie had given her terrible wind last time she had eaten it and she’d already had jellied earwigs twice this week. All things considered, there was but one option available: rhubarb crumble.
“Hmmmmmm,” she slavered, licking her grey, shrivelled lips with anticipation as she shuffled through to her larder. “I love rhubarb crumble, me!” But when she looked in the box where the rhubarb leaves were kept, it was empty!
“Gaaaaaaaargh!” she shrieked in dismay. “Who’s pinched me rhubarb?”
Because he was the only other inhabitant of the cottage, Frogarty had a habit of blaming Scratch, her cat, whenever anything went missing. Where was that meddlesome moggy? Fortunately for him, Scratch was nowhere to be seen.
“I shall have me rhubarb if it’s the last thing I do!” Frogarty cried as she bustled through to the living room to obtain her book of spells. Grasping the ancient volume, she plonked her fat bottom down on the rocking chair and studied the index.
"Aha!” she exclaimed. “Here we go – Instant Rhubarb. Page nine hundred and seventy-three.” Drooling, she hurriedly turned to the correct page and began to read.
To make instant rhubarb, first take the tongues of three camels... Frogarty stopped. Frogarty frowned. She did not have the tongues of three camels, having used up the last of her supply last Tuesday. There was no alternative; if she wanted rhubarb, she would have to buy some, just like any normal person.
“Grrrrr,” she grumbled. “I shall have to go to the supermarket. I hate going to the supermarket.”
Her hideous features twisted with irritation, she reached for her pointy hat and stomped out through the front door of the cottage, slamming it behind her. As she trudged through the woods, animals, birds and even insects fled in terror in all directions. They knew the horrid old hag and understood all too well how mean she could be; if one did not wish to end up as an ingredient in one of her spells, it was wise to avoid contact with Frogarty at all costs.
Arriving at the edge of town, she paused and scratched the huge wart on the end of her chin. It was a bright and sunny day. Frogarty hated bright and sunny days. From her position behind a bush she shuddered as she studied the supermarket’s window panes glinting in the sun. Frogarty hated supermarkets even more than she hated bright and sunny days. Her one consolation was that the rhubarb would be situated in the fruit and vegetable section of the store, and that this was located very close to the front doors. At least she wouldn’t have to venture very far into the awful place; no – she would be back in her cottage, deep in the nice, dark woods in no time, enjoying a huge bowl of rhubarb crumble...