Amelia Fang and the Barbaric Ball. Laura Ellen Anderson

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      Hawaiian graveyard shirts you like so

       much. We really must find a way to unstick

       all that goblin slime from last year’s

       ball too . . .’

      (Goblins were notorious for leaving slime

       trails – stickier than the stickiest super glue,

       they were impossible to remove!)

       ‘Not another Barbaric Ball,’ moaned Amelia Fang, slumping back into her chair. ‘They’re always full of old monsters wearing too many frills and far too much Eau de Decay.’

      Amelia had just turned ten and would

       much rather be hanging out with her best

       friends, Florence and Grimaldi.

      ‘Amelia Fang! I won’t have any of that

       bat-chat from you,’ said the countess sternly. ‘Firstly, Eau de Decay is the finest perfume in all of Nocturnia. It’s made from fermented

      bat spit with a hint of rotten banana, after all! And secondly, the Barbaric Ball is a family tradition. It’s our chance to show everyone how fang-tastic we are.’

      Hosted by the Fang family for generations, the Barbaric Ball was THE annual event in Nocturnia. Only the most ghoulish and

      ghastly were invited, and the ball was Countess Frivoleeta’s pride and joy.

      ‘But I get so bored,’ Amelia grumbled. ‘It would be much better if someone my own age were there!’

      ‘You know the ball is only for grown-ups,’ said the countess.

      ‘Then surely I don’t

      have to go?’ said Amelia hopefully.

      ‘Of course you have to go. You must learn the ropes so that you can carry on the Barbaric Ball tradition!’ said her mother, with a gleeful grin.

      ‘But what if I don’t want to?’ mumbled Amelia. ‘I want to study Pumpkinology when I grow up, and help poorly pumpkins.’

      Countess Frivoleeta burst out laughing.

      ‘Darkling! Don’t be silly. Oh, you’ll make my eye make-up run!’ She checked her face in the mirror behind her, then blew herself a kiss. (You may have heard that vampires don’t have reflections. That is pure glitter, and no one loved theirs more than Countess Frivoleeta.) ‘You’d ruin your delicate vampiress hands with all the digging. Now, sit up straight, ready for dinner,’ she continued. ‘Wooo!’

      Amelia sighed as a ghost floated solemnly into the room, carrying a tray of something that looked like a pile of big bogies.

      It was useless for Amelia to try to speak to her mother about what she wanted. Being a Fang meant countless vampiress etiquette lessons, cobwebbing practice and never-ending preparations for the Barbaric Ball. Sometimes Amelia wished she belonged to a different family.

      ‘Your Flabbergasting СКАЧАТЬ