Mr Montague stopped the car, and the caravan creaked to a halt behind them. They had come to the end of a narrow country lane with thick hedges on either side. In front of them was a rusty iron gate. It was buckling outwards, as if something had tried to escape and failed. Beyond, Maud could see a clump of leafless black trees growing from boggy ground. A crow cawed, somewhere in the distance.

Maud tried to look on the bright side. At least the journey was over. That meant no more ‘Born to be Wild’ and no more stories about pink ponies having parties. Whatever horror lay beyond those gates, it couldn’t be worse than that.

“This can’t be our campsite,” said Milly. “There’s no spa. There’s no heated pool. I can’t even see any shops.”

“It does look at bit run-down,” said Mrs Montague. “Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

“I hardly think my Sat Nav would lie to me,” said Mr Montague.

He pressed a button on the black box, and a robotic female voice said, “You have reached your destination. Please watch out for potholes, fallen trees, marshland, swamps, flash flooding, insect attack …”

Mr Montague switched the machine off quickly.

“Yep,” he said. “We’re in the right place. Could one of you girls get the gate?”

“I’ll do it,” said Maud. She hopped out, squelched across the ground and dragged the rusty bolt aside. The gate creaked open. A muddy track led into dense fog between the hedges. Maud’s dad drove in, and Maud closed the gate again.

After she’d climbed back into the car, they continued down a track riddled with overgrown roots and fallen branches. A sign nailed to one of the trees read:

“Well, that settles it!” said Mr Montague cheerfully. “We’re in the right place.”

“You have to be joking,” said Milly. “I want to go home right this instant.”

“I think Milly might be right,” said Maud. “It does say to keep out.”

“Don’t be such a square,” said Mr Montague. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

It felt as though they were driving over a never-ending cattle grid. Behind them, the caravan bounced up and down and leaned from side to side, threatening to tip over and take them with it.

“If they don’t even have a proper road,” said Milly, “I’m pretty sure they won’t have a proper pool.”

Maud lifted Quentin out of her pocket so he could look out of the window. Mist was snaking around dead trees and thick clumps of nettles.

“So this is Oddington,” said Maud. “What do you think?”

Quentin’s fur stood on end.

“Yeah, me too,” said Maud.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched howl from deep in the woods. Milly squealed. Quentin burrowed deep into Maud’s pocket, his back legs kicking up small tufts of cotton wool. Mr Montague slammed his foot on to the brake. He peered into the fog ahead of them and checked his mirrors.

“I don’t know why anyone would walk their dog in this weather,” he said, driving slowly on.

The mist thinned out as the car spluttered on to smoother ground. They emerged in a clearing of flat, firm earth with a few tree stumps dotted about. It was surrounded by thick woodland on each side, and sloped down to a deep swamp.

Maud’s dad let out a sigh of relief as Mr Wild’s red truck appeared in front of them. “See?” Mr Montague said. “Nothing to worry about. We’ve arrived!”

Warren and Wilf were tossing a tennis ball back and forth, catching it in their mouths.

Mr Montague parked at the far end of the clearing, and Maud jumped out of the car and rushed over.

“Hi, Mau – oof!” said Wilf.

Warren had let the tennis ball drop to the floor and grabbed Wilf in a headlock.

“Grrrr!” said Warren.

Wilf pulled at Warren’s forearm and scrabbled his feet around. “Let me go!”

“Only when you admit you’re the weakest little brother in the whole world,” growled Warren.

“Stop it!” said Maud. “I don’t know why you’re showing off. There’s no one here to watch.”

“I was enjoying it, actually,” said a mocking voice that Maud knew all too well. Poisonous Penelope stepped out of a ragged black tent at the edge of the clearing.

Penelope was a witch with straggly purple hair and a pointed hat, and she was Maud’s least favourite classmate. She was wearing black wellingtons and a waterproof version of her usual black dress. “Hello, Montague,” she said.

“What are you doing here?” asked Maud.

“I’m Warren’s best friend,” said Penelope. “I always come. I’m surprised Wilf managed to find a friend this year, too. He’s so totally un-monstrous.”

Mr and Mrs Wild strode out into the clearing, wearing matching red wellingtons and checked shirts. “Glad you could all make it,” said Mr Wild. He turned to his fighting sons and let out a low, angry growl. Maud thought he was going to tell Warren off, but instead he said, “I’ve told you before, Wilf. You need to throw your weight to get out of a headlock. And stop whining.”

Maud picked up the tennis ball and threw it over Warren’s head. “Fetch,” she said.

Warren’s eyes followed it, and he bounded off, releasing Wilf.

“Good boy,” said Maud.

“Fight your own battles next time,” said Mr Wild, pointing his finger at Wilf. “You shouldn’t need little girls to help you.”

“Sorry, Dad,” said Wilf, rubbing his neck.

Mr Wild stomped back over to his truck.

“I’m glad you’re here,” said Wilf.

“That’s alright,” said Maud. “My parents are excited about it. I think they really like your mum and dad.”

She pointed to her dad, who had untethered the caravan and was now chatting to Mr Wild. He was saying words like ‘awesome’ and ‘groovy’, and making Mr Wild cringe.

“I’d better put my tent up,” said Maud. “Where’s yours?”

“We don’t have any,” said Wilf.

“You came camping without a tent?” asked Maud, surprised.

“Of course,” said Wilf. “Why hide under a tent when you could be out in the open, feeling the moonlight on your fur?”

Maud gulped. Keeping the truth about the Wilds’ secret from her parents was going to be even harder than she’d thought.

She headed back to the car, where Milly was still sitting in the back with her seatbelt on and her arms folded.

“Fancy helping me with the tent?” asked Maud.

“No,” said Milly. “I fancy getting out of this mud pit right now, and I’d like to know why no one is listening to me.”

“I’m sure you’ll find something to do,” said Maud. “Maybe you could build a swamp-castle.”

Milly ignored her, so Maud went round to the boot and hauled out the tent. She dragged it into the middle of the clearing and tested the ground with her finger. It was firmer than the surrounding bog, but it was still squidgy. At least it would be easy to get the pegs in.

As Maud unrolled the tent, Wilf ran to the other side and grabbed a corner. He stretched it over the ground and pushed a peg into the soil.

“Is your dad always so harsh?” asked Maud as they worked.

“He’s usually much worse,” said Wilf, clicking two of the poles together. “He thinks all wolves should be fierce and strong. He’s proud of Warren, but he says I’m so nice I couldn’t even frighten a postman. I wish there was something I could do to convince him that I’m a big bad wolf.”

Maud crawled inside the tent and shoved the poles upright. “I’ll try and help if you like, as soon as I’ve written my essay.”

“That would be monstrous!” said Wilf, stretching the waterproof flysheet over the top.

Maud got out and pulled the rope at the front until it was taut.

“Thanks, Wilf,” she said. “I think that tent’s staying put now.”

Just then, a violent gust of wind blew through the clearing, parting the wisps of mist. It lifted the tent straight up into the air, where it flew around like a huge kite, until finally plummeting into the stagnant bog at the bottom of the slope.

“Drat,” said Maud.

As she padded down to the bog and grabbed the corner of her soggy tent, she heard a cackle coming from behind her. Penelope was watching from the clearing, grinning.

“How do you like my holiday reading?” she asked, holding up a dusty hardback book called Weather Spells for Beginners. “I’m only on the first chapter and it’s going down a storm. Literally.” She broke into another fit of giggles.

“Hilarious,” said Maud, dragging her muddy tent back up the slope.

“Wilf told me you need to get full marks on your essay or you’ll drop down a year,” said Penelope with mock concern. “You know how much I’d hate to see you get thrown out of our class. But it’s not going to be easy with all this unpredictable weather around.”

Maud said nothing, but she knew Penelope was right. Writing a flawless Fright essay would be difficult at any time. But with a witch playing magical pranks on her, it was going to be practically impossible.