The Secret of Platform 13 by Eva Ibbotson Page B

is very little magic done with gobstoppers anywhere in the world – and in the end a kind witch who worked as a school cook got on her bicycle and found an all-night garage which sold sweets and brought one for Raymond who sucked it, moving it from cheek to bulging cheek all through the second part of the show.
    This began with Odge’s aunt and her sewing circle. There were seven of these Old Women of Gloominess, and though all of them were fierce and hairy , O dge’s aunt was definitely the fiercest and the hairiest. The ladies struck each other with baldness, they made newts come out of each other’s nostrils; they gave each other chicken pox . . . And in the bushes, Odge sighed.
    ‘Do you think I’ll ever be like that?’ she asked.
    ‘Of course you will,’ said Ben stoutly. ‘You’ve just got to get a little older.’
    Gurkie’s tree spirits came next. To get a spirit to leave his tree is not easy, but Gurkie had such a way with her that one by one they all stepped out: the old, gnarled spirit of the oak, the tall, grey slightly snooty spirit of the ash; the wavery spirit of the willow . . . The dance they did was as ancient as Stonehenge – only three humans had been allowed to watch it in a thousand years – and Raymond Trottle sat there, moving his gobstopper from side to side – and yawned.
    And now came Cor’s big moment. He walked to the edge of the lake and the wizards and the witches, the banshees and the trolls all held their breath.
    The wizard closed his eyes. He waved his wand and spoke the monster-raising spell . . . and nothing happened. Once more he raised his wand, once more he said the spell . . .
    Still nothing . . . Cor’s shoulders sagged. He was too old. His power was gone. For the third and last time, the wizard drew on his strength and spoke the magic words. He had turned away, the watchers were shaking their heads – and then there appeared on the waters of the lake a kind of . . . shudder. The shudder was followed by a ripple . . . then a whole ring of ripples, and from the centre of the ring there came . . . slowly , very slowly . . . a head.
    It was a large head, and human – but unusual. The head was followed by a neck and the neck was followed by shoulders and a chest, but what came after that was not a man’s body , it was the body of a horse.
    And everybody remembered what it was that was different about a nuckelavee.
    It wasn’t that it had a man’s head and a horse’s body . Animals that are partly people, and people that are partly animals, are two a penny where there is magic. No, what was unusual about the nuckelavee was that he didn’t have any skin.
    As the monster looked about him, wondering who had called him from the deep, they could see the blood rushing about inside his arteries, and his windpipe taking in air. They could see the curving shape of his stomach as it churned the nuckel’s food, even the creature’s heart, patiently pumping and pumping, was as clear as if they were seeing it through glass.
    No one could take their eyes off him; they were entranced! To be able to see a living body in this way – to be allowed to study the marvellous working of the muscles and nerves and glands – was an honour they could hardly believe, and a young cousin of the troll called Henry Prendergast decided then and there to become a doctor.
    Of course, they should have known what was to come. They should have known that Raymond Trottle would spoil this amazing and wonderful moment – a moment so special that none of them forgot it as long as they lived. They should have known that this boy with his bulging cheeks and piggy eyes would hurt and insult this awe-inspiring creature, and he did.
    ‘Eeek!’ said Raymond. ‘Ugh! It’s disgusting; it’s creepy . I don’t like it!’
    Well, that was that, of course. The nuckel sank – and from the onlookers there came a great groan for they knew it would be a hundred years before the monster showed himself again and