Whether it’s the headache pills or the toad in her drawer, Polly’s fever has subsided by the time her mother checks up on her later that afternoon.

‘Thank goodness for Doctor Firestone,’ she mutters, plumping up Polly’s pillows.

Polly says nothing.

‘Now, there’s a visitor for you downstairs,’ her mum says, smiling. ‘Do you feel up to it?’

‘A visitor?’ Polly says.

Surely Buster wouldn’t come to the front door? But she knows if Buster had turned up at their door, Polly would have heard about it from up here.

‘Who is it?’ she asks nervously.

‘Malorie Halloway. That’s nice, isn’t it? I’m so pleased you’re starting to make friends at school,’ she says.

‘Malorie?’ Polly says, her heart beginning to leap about in her chest.

Polly has never had a school friend over before. She skims the room with fresh eyes to check there is nothing babyish or uncool on display that might embarrass her. When her mother leaves the room to fetch Malorie, Polly quickly shoves a raggedy old doll and a fluffy black toy cat under her bed.

Then she checks her reflection in the dressing table mirror, drags a brush through her hair and hops back into bed just as her mother and Malorie appear in the doorway.

‘Well,’ her mother says, smiling more broadly than Polly has seen her smile in years, ‘I’ll leave you two little witches alone then. Malorie, send my regards to your mother, won’t you? Though I expect I’ll be seeing her at our next Committee meeting.’

‘Thanks, Mum,’ Polly says, awkwardly patting down the doona over her legs.

‘Shall I bring you up some nettle tea and beetle biscuits?’ Polly’s mother asks, hovering in the doorway.

‘No, thank you, Mrs Proggett,’ Malorie says politely. ‘I don’t eat anything after school. I might spoil my dinner.’

‘Oh, of course!’ Polly’s mother says, and Polly hears her muttering to herself as she drifts into the hallway. ‘Such lovely manners!’

As soon as Polly’s mum has closed the door, Malorie dashes over to Polly’s bed and pulls out a newspaper from her schoolbag.

‘Have you seen the papers, Polly?’ she giggles. ‘We’re famous!’

‘Oh!’ Polly says, taken aback. This is the last thing she was expecting to hear. ‘Um, no.’

Malorie flattens the newspaper across Polly’s knees, and turns to the second page.

‘Look!’ she says.

Polly picks up the paper with trembling hands. The first thing she sees, at the top of the page, is a big black-and-white image of her face, cropped out of last year’s class photo. It was the year she was missing a tooth and had cut her hair short, but it’s unmistakably her.

There’s a smaller photo below of Malorie, sitting on a big floral couch in a very pretty lounge room. When Polly looks closer she sees Malorie has curled her hair and could quite possibly even be wearing lipstick.

Lipstick? Polly thinks.

Then her eyes flick to the heading:

YOUNG WITCH SAVES FRIEND

Polly’s heart begins to pound. She looks up at Malorie.

‘You’re a hero, Polly!’ Malorie says, tapping the newspaper to encourage Polly to keep reading.

Polly looks back down at the article and begins to read slowly, her finger tracing the words.

An innocent school excursion went horribly wrong when a group of young students from Miss Madden’s Academy of Witchcraft and Spells, an elite school for witches and warlocks, was visiting the National Gallery yesterday. Believing themselves to be the only students at the gallery that day, they were horrified to discover that a group of obnoxious monsters from Darklands School for Monsters had turned up soon after they arrived.

‘We knew they were going to cause trouble,’ young Malorie Halloway, a Year Five witch from Miss Madden’s Academy, explains. ‘As soon as they got off the bus they were yelling at us and calling us names.’

‘But that’s not true,’ Polly says, looking up at Malorie.

Malorie shrugs. ‘Just keep reading!’

Poor Malorie, still in shock after the terrible incident, goes on: ‘Our teacher did what she could to keep us away from the monsters, but my best friend Polly Proggett and I had to go to the bathroom. The ones upstairs were already full so we went downstairs. That’s when we saw the monsters. They were acting wild and crazy and they didn’t have a teacher with them. I was scared they were going to hurt us. I wanted to run away, but then they saw us and started coming for us. That’s when Polly did the spell.’

‘The Spell’, as everyone is now calling it, consisted of blasting thirteen almost fully grown monsters against the far walls of the gallery, allowing Polly and Malorie to escape unharmed.

Professor Freidreich, a leading spell expert from the University of Printania, explains the unlikelihood of such a young and inexperienced witch having these capabilities.

‘It’s most uncommon,’ he says. ‘Spells of this magnitude usually take many years of training to master. Occasionally, a high degree of emotion can trigger such a force — such as a mother rescuing her baby from danger. This is the only explanation that seems reasonable. I can merely speculate on the depth of friendship between these two witches for such a powerful protector spell to have been triggered in the young witch. It’s quite a feat, really. Quite remarkable.’

While this may well be a heroic feat from young Polly Proggett, Malorie’s mother, Mrs Deidre Halloway, provides us with some more sobering thoughts to end on: ‘It’s not right,’ she says from her lounge room in New Hanwood, ‘that the government allows monsters to mix freely with our witches and warlocks. It must be stopped. This was a near crisis that was luckily averted by some quick work on Polly’s part. But what if she hadn’t been there beside my young Malorie? Who knows what those monsters would have done to my daughter! Or any of the young witches or warlocks at the gallery, for that matter. It’s terrifying to even think about.

‘I believe this is all the proof we need that it’s well and truly time to crack down on monsters. They are a menace to our society. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.’

Do you agree with Mrs Halloway’s opinion? Phone in to the Warlock Times and we will publish your thoughts on the Monster Dilemma tomorrow.

Polly looks up slowly. Her head is spinning.

Is that really what Malorie thinks happened?

But even as she’s thinking this, Malorie leans over to give Polly a massive hug.

‘Thank goodness for you, Polly! You’re my best friend,’ she sighs.

Despite her confusion, Polly’s heart soars. Best friend? Did she really hear that right? Polly can’t contain the huge smile that stretches across her face. Polly has never had a witch as a best friend before.

‘I brought you a present,’ Malorie says. ‘To thank you for everything you did for me. It’s not much but …’ As she is talking, she reaches into the pocket of her school uniform.

Polly gasps when she sees what Malorie is giving her. ‘Your mood pen? No, I can’t take that!’

Malorie’s mood pen is famous. It’s the newest fashion in stationery, but Malorie is the only witch with parents rich enough – and indulgent enough – to buy one for her. A mood pen’s ink changes colour, depending on what mood you are in.

As Polly tests it out on the edge of the newspaper, it changes from sparkly pink to purple, then lilac.

‘That means you’re happy,’ Malorie says, grinning. ‘Which I think means you should absolutely take it.’

‘Oh, wow! Really?’ Polly says. ‘I mean, are you sure …?’

Polly feels like the right thing to do would be to hand it back to Malorie. It was, after all, a very expensive gift from her parents. But watching the ink change colour as she doodles over the newspaper, she finds she can’t quite let it go.

And for a moment, Polly feels so happy it’s as if her chest might burst. A new best friend and a mood pen! She can’t imagine how life could be any more perfect.

‘Of course you should have it, Polly,’ Malorie says. ‘Gosh, it’s nothing compared to what you did for me yesterday. You’re a hero! Everyone says so. We all missed you at school today!’

‘Really?’ Polly says. ‘We?’

‘Of course!’ Malorie says. ‘Everyone’s dying to see you – now that you’re a hero! I was the only one allowed to come and visit you, though. You know, seeing as I’m your best friend.’

‘Thank you!’ Polly mumbles.

It’s so hard for her to believe this is all real. It feels like a dream. A very strange dream indeed. Only the day before, Polly had no friends at school. And now everyone wants to know her.

This is what it must feel like to be popular, she thinks. She decides she likes the feeling very much.

‘Oh! I haven’t even asked how you are,’ Malorie says.

‘Better.’ Polly shrugs, then smiles. ‘Thanks to him.’

She opens her bedside drawer a crack for Malorie to peer inside.

‘Ew! Is that a toad?’ Malorie grimaces. ‘You didn’t have Doctor Firestone over, did you?’ Malorie claps her hand over her mouth.

Polly laughs, nodding wildly.

‘Did she do the smoke thing?’

Polly nods again, laughing even harder.

‘And the crystals?’

‘Yes!’ Polly squeals. ‘And the chanting!’

‘Oh no! Not the chanting? The one that sounds like a grunt …’

‘Mixed with a cow mooing!’

‘Yes!’

The two witches roll around on the bed, snorting hysterically. Polly’s stomach hurts from laughing.

But then suddenly, mid-laughter, Malorie stops and sits up. She puts her finger on her lips, eyes wide.

‘Shhh!’ she says. ‘Did you hear that?’

Polly listens. There is a rattling at her window. Her stomach sinks.

‘I can’t hear anything,’ she lies.

‘Listen! There’s definitely something there,’ Malorie says. ‘Open the curtains!’

‘It’s nothing!’ Polly insists. ‘Just the tree outside my window. It bangs against the glass sometimes.’

Then they hear a low, gentle calling.

‘That. Is. Not. A. Tree,’ Malorie says slowly.

Polly sighs and crawls over to the window. She pulls the curtain open a crack, but Malorie is right behind her.

Buster’s big hairy face is pressed to the window.

‘Is that a … monster?’ Malorie says in disgust. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘He just lives next door,’ Polly says. ‘I can’t help it if he keeps coming around.’

She feels angry at Buster for humiliating her like this. For spoiling this moment. She never asked him to come around!

‘Go away!’ she shouts. She yanks the curtain closed.

‘Oh, how awful!’ Malorie says. ‘Was that the monster from the gallery? The one that was waving at you? Have you told your mother he just turns up at your window like that?’

‘No!’ says Polly quickly. ‘No. It’s not like that. He’s not dangerous or anything. He doesn’t mean any harm. He just … hangs around a bit.’

Her voice peters out. She looks up at Malorie, wondering how much she can tell her.

‘We used to … play together. When we were little. His family’s quite nice, really,’ she ventures. ‘His mum is kind. She looks after other monsters. The ones that no-one else wants.’

She is almost pleading now. Hoping that Malorie will see things a little differently, hoping she will see Polly’s point of view.

But Malorie’s expression grows stony. Her pretty top lip curls into a sneer, and she tosses her plaits over her shoulders.

‘Polly, I don’t think I can be best friends with someone who mixes with monsters,’ she says coldly. ‘Imagine what the witches at school would say.’

Polly panics. She feels Malorie’s interest in her slipping away with every second, and with it, any chance of being popular. ‘Don’t tell anyone, Malorie. Please don’t. I won’t play with him again. I promise.’

Malorie looks at Polly, unblinking. ‘Promise?’ she says.

‘Yes, I promise,’ Polly pleads. ‘I don’t like monsters either!’ she says, a little too forcefully. ‘In fact, I hate them!’

A slow smile moves across Malorie’s face.

‘All right,’ she says. ‘Then I suppose we can still be best friends.’ She stands up and brushes down her skirt. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow at school then?’ she says briskly, and before Polly can entice her to stay a little longer, Malorie is out the door.

Polly sits back on her bed, deflated. Then she hears a shuffling at her window and a gentle cracking of branches.

Oh no! she thinks. Was Buster listening?

She rushes to open the curtain to try and explain.

There, on her windowsill, is a bedraggled posy of flowers, damp and wilted from the heat of Buster’s paws.