Horror High 2 Read Free Page A

garden gnomes. Mummies are pretty much indispensable – they’re handy for extra bandages in case of accidents and extra loo paper in case of emergencies and anyway, everybody loves their mummie. And the vampires keep the sick bay’s blood bank stocked up, of course. But what, I ask you, do werewolves do?’
    Jason-Jock was still in shock, but he stirred in his seat enough to crank an answer out of his numb skull. ‘We keep the feral cats away,’ he offered.
    â€˜Feral cats?’ drooled Skullwater. ‘I like feral cats. In fact I love feral cat, roasted with garlic and served with a spicy mint jelly. No, Mr Werewolf, you’ll have to do better than that. Far as I can tell, a werewolf is just a fat kid having a badhair day, so you’ll get no quarter from me. Here’s the deal – if you werewolves can start pulling your weight and proving yourself indispensable to the school, you can stay. If your cricket team can win the Interghouls Cricket Cup and demonstrate yourselves to be useful after all, you can remain at Horror High. You win – you stay. You lose – you stray. Now get out there in the nets and practise.’
    And that was that.

Jason-Jock tried explaining the situation to the pack of werewolves flocking nervously around him. They milled about in stunned silence, trying to absorb the news. Nobody spoke.
    When somebody did speak it’d have to be Fleabag O’Brian, the least qualified among them to have even a half-baked opinion. Nevertheless Fleabag opened his elongated jaw first. He looked like he was about to cry.
    â€˜Cripes. We’ll all end up living back at the pound. I hate the pound. All those stinky kids patting puppies, all those vets administering rabies shots, all those overflowing litter trays. All those nasty kittens …’
    Jason-Jock shook his hairy head. ‘No way. We’re not going to the pound. We’ve got to win the Cup.’
    Howls of derision and helplessness rose from the pack.
    â€˜Win?’ yelped Howler Binks. ‘We’ll never win.’ Howler was a fourth-rate batsman, very silly mid-on fielder and general hubbub spokesman of the conference. ‘We’re useless – and I’m the optimist of the team.’
    Jason-Jock wasn’t to be discouraged. ‘Okay, I admit we’re not much good – yet. But we haven’t got a choice. If we give up now, we’re kicked out of school. If we lose the Cup, we’re kicked out. Either way it’s the same result. Or we could try like we’ve never tried before.’
    The others agreed with the noble sentiment, but what were they to do?
    â€˜Okay,’ said JJ, ‘here’s the plan.Fleabag, go borrow all the cricket DVDs you can find at the video store – we’re going to study all the famous games of the past. Howler, you hit the library, same deal – get all the cricket books you can find, anything you think might be useful.
    â€˜Chomper, go through the sports shed for cricket equipment – we need to get our hands on some decent gear for a change; “borrow” some. Grubby, you take the video camera and secretly get some footage of the opposition teams so we’ve some idea of what we’re up against.’
    â€˜Okay,’ replied Grubby. ‘But what are you going to do?’
    Jason-Jock smiled mysteriously. ‘I’m going to consult my secret weapon …’
    Â 
    Jason-Jock’s secret weapon was a book. A book? Phooey. You were hoping it’d be a light sabre or a set of magic boxing gloves or at least an Uzi with the serial number filed off. Get real – where would a teenage werewolf get his paws on an Uzi? You need a licence for one of those.
    No, it was only a book, but a very special book, or so JJ thought. He believed every little thing that was written in it, the dense fool. It had been sold to him by an out-of-work bookseller posing as an out-of-work magician who