Molly Moon's Incredible Book of Hypnotism (6 page)

The image of the bad-tempered professor in the library crossed her mind. Molly felt slightly guilty. This must be the
best
textbook about hypnotism in existence, written by one of the world’s most famous hypnotists. The poor professor’s research would be incomplete without Dr. Logan’s thoughts upon the subject, and he had come thousands of miles for it.
No wonder he was so angry. Well, Molly thought, she’d put the book back after she’d finished with it. Then he could pore over it for years. And with her conscience appeased, she drifted off to sleep.

She didn’t give the professor another thought. And
that
was her big mistake.

T
he next morning Molly was woken from a deep sleep by Petula trying to jump on her bed. When Molly looked down, Petula dropped a stone on the floor as a present. She seemed much chirpier. Molly pulled her up onto the bed and scrunched her ears.

“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Petula. You’ve really helped me, you know.”

Petula tapped Molly’s chest with her paw as if to say, “No, y
ou’re
the one who’s helped me.”

So they were friends.

Molly swung her legs out of the bed and went to the window. She could just see the church clock over the slated village roofs. It was nine o’clock. The other children were already out on their Saturday-morning walk.

Miss Adderstone liked to drive the children in the minibus to the far side of a hill called St. Bartholomew’s Hump, ten miles away. Dropping them there, she expected them to walk up the Hump and back over hilly countryside to the orphanage. This gave Miss Adderstone three and a half hours to herself, which she always spent in town, having her corns clipped and her bunions seen to, and then perhaps somewhere for a couple of glasses of sherry.

Which meant that Molly had roughly three hours until everyone returned.

Wasting no time, she put on her dressing gown and left the room. It was lovely to be able to slide down the banister with no one around. Petula bounded after her, rushing into Miss Adderstone’s apartment through her dog flap, and out again with her leash in her mouth. She followed Molly down to the ground floor. Molly walked through the hall, then skidded across the polished wood floor of the assembly room. Down to the kitchens they went, down the slope past the cutlery drawers and the plate racks. Edna could be heard clanking metal saucepans as she started to prepare lunch. Molly walked stealthily on, in her head turning over the lessons she had learned from Chapter Three, “Hypnotizing Others,” and Chapter Four, “Pendulum Hypnosis.”

In the attic room Molly had already made an imaginary journey into Edna’s head. There she’d found a disgruntled person, full of resentment, bored by life and tired of working. Molly thought she knew how to hypnotize Edna. It shouldn’t be too difficult. After all, grunting Edna was very like an animal. And if it all went wrong, Edna would just think she was strange. Molly walked into the old-fashioned kitchen with its cracked white-tile walls, its broken sinks, its two gas ovens, and its flagstone floor. Petula followed.

Edna was taking chicken heads out of a bag and putting them into a huge saucepan of boiling water.

“Er, hello, Edna,” Molly said. “That smells nice.”

Edna jumped and then shot Molly a dirty look. “You’re bleedin’ creepy, you are, creepin’ about like that,” she said.

Molly tried again. “What’s that you’re making?”

“Bloody soup, of course,” grunted Edna, pulling a feather off one of the chicken heads. For once Edna’s language was correct; the soup really was bloody, with all the chicken heads in it.

“Yum,” said Molly, her stomach turning. “A navy recipe?”

“’Spect you’ve come for something to blasted eat. Better not be bleedin’ infectious.”

“You look bleedin’ uncomfortable,” said Molly suddenly.

“Course I
look
bleedin’ uncomfortable,” Edna retorted. “I
am
bleedin’ uncomfortable. This kitchens too ‘ot.” She pulled at her white apron and flapped her arms, reminding Molly of a big, fat turkey.

“Why don’t you sit down,” suggested Molly. “I’ll stir the blasted soup, and you can make yourself comfortable. Come on, Edna. You bleedin’ deserve it.”

Edna looked suspiciously at Molly. But something in Molly’s words made her feel at ease.

“If you sit down, you’ll feel more comfortable,” Molly coaxed.

And, lazy as Edna was, she agreed. “Yeah, I can’t see why not. After all, you’ve been in blasted bed for a day and a half while I’ve been slaving away down ‘ere.”

She sat down in the kitchen chair, her legs splayed out like a doll’s.

“I bet that feels more comfortable,” Molly said, taking the spoon from Edna. “You must be bleedin’ exhausted.”

Edna nodded. “I am … phew.” She leaned back and exhaled noisily.

“You’re doing the right thing,” said Molly, looking at Edna calmly. “Taking breaths like that, deep breaths, will make you feel much—more—relaxed.”

“Mmn, I s’pose you’re right,” agreed Edna, puffing out a grumbly breath and closing her eyes.

Molly’s voice slowed. “If you—take a—few—breaths—
you’ll see—how relaxed—you feel … and how much—you needed—to sit down.”

“Yes,” said Edna, “I
did
bloomin’ well need to sit down.” But then she opened her eyes. “‘Ang on a minute, you’re bleedin’ infectious. I shouldn’t be letting you near that food.”

This was annoying. Maybe hypnotizing Edna wasn’t going to be such a breeze. Maybe she should have brought some sort of pendulum with her to focus Edna’s mind.

“It’s all right, the boiling of the blood-y soup will kill—any—germs,” said Molly. And in an inspired move, she began to stir the soup slowly and rhythmically. The wooden spoon circled to the rhythm of her words. Edna watched the spoon. “Don’t—you—think,” said Molly, “the boiling soup will kill—the—germs? Nothing—to—worry—about.” Edna seemed about to say something, but her eyes were overcome by the movement of the stirring spoon.

“Mmmnnn, I s’pose you’re bleedin’ right,” she sighed, and sat back again.

“I ex-pect—your—shoul-ders—and back—are feeling—much—more—comfort-able,” said Molly.

“Mmmn,” agreed Edna, “they are.” Then she said, “Molly, you’ve got very big eyes, you know.”

“Thank you,” said Molly, turning her green eyes on
Edna’s. “
Your
eyes—probably—feel—ver-y—heav-y—now—you—see—how—much—you—need-ed—to relax.”

Edna’s eyes started to flutter as she looked at Molly’s eyes and watched Molly stir.

“And this—room—is—so—warm—and—comfortable—if—you—just—sit—there—and—I’ll—stir—the—soup—round—and—round—and—round—and—round.” Molly stirred, trying not to look at the chicken heads bobbing about in the pot.

“Round—and—round—I’ll—stir—and—Ed–na—you—should—just—re-lax—and—to—re–lax—even—more—per-haps—you—should—shut—your—eyes….”

Edna did not shut her eyes but she did look very distant and dreamy. Inside, Molly was so excited that she wanted to shout, “Yes! I’ve nearly done it,” but instead she said calmly, “I—will—count—backward from—twenty, and you—will—feel—more—and more—relaxed—as—I—count—back-ward.” Molly stirred and concentrated on her most soothing voice. “Twenty … nineteen.” Edna’s frown disappeared. “Eighteen … seventeen.” Edna’s eyelids hovered. “Sixteen … fifteen … fourteen … thirteen …”

At thirteen Edna’s eyelids suddenly clamped shut, and all at once the fuzzy, tingling feeling started to creep up Molly’s body.

“The fusion feeling!” Molly gasped. Then, noticing
that this made Edna’s eyes flutter again, she counted more. “Eleven … ten … nine … Now—Edna—you—are—so—deeply—relaxed—that—you—are—in—a—trance…. Eight … so relaxed…. Seven … deeply relaxed.”

Molly stopped stirring the soup and walked over to Edna. “Six,” she said, only a foot from her. “Five … and as I count down now, you, Edna, will be more and more in a trance until, when I get to zero, you will be completely willing to do as I say … four … three … two … one … zero…. Good,” said Molly as she looked at Edna sitting quietly in the chair. She had done it! The low, steady voice that had given her the name Drono was obviously the perfect voice for hypnotism. Perhaps her eyes had something to do with it too. They felt as if they were glowing.

For a moment Molly was at a loss for words. She’d been concentrating so hard on
how
to hypnotize Edna that she hadn’t thought about what to tell her to do. So she said the first thing that came into her mind.

“From now on, Edna, you will be really, really, really nice to me, Molly Moon. You will defend me if anyone tells me off, or punishes or bullies me.” That was definitely a good start. “And when I come into the kitchen, you will let me make tomato ketchup sandwiches…. You will buy me delicious things to eat
from the town, because you like me so much, and … and … you will stop making cheese-and-nut-sauce fish. In fact, you will refuse to make fish
anymore
unless it is
fresh
that day, and—” Molly hesitated, then added recklessly, “and you will become
very
interested in … Italian cooking. You will get Italian cookbooks and try your hardest to become the
best
Italian chef in … in the world … and you will cook lovely Italian food from now on for everyone. Except for Miss Adderstone, whom you will give normal food—but you will make it much, much spicier. Also, without knowing it, you will make Hazel Hackersly’s food very spicy too, and Gordon Boil’s and Roger Fibbin’s…. Is that clear?”

Edna nodded robotically. It was a wonderful sight. Molly wanted to laugh, but then her stomach gave a loud rumble and she said firmly, “And now, Edna, you will drive me to town and buy me a proper breakfast, and you will remain under my command.”

Edna nodded and stood up, and with her eyes still closed walked straight into the door.

“But obviously, Edna,” said Molly quickly, “you have to open your eyes to walk and to drive.”

Edna opened her eyes and nodded. Her expression was distant and glazed, just as Petula’s had been.

“Okay, Edna. Let’s go.”

So Edna, dressed in a white apron, a chef’s hat, and
white clogs, walked out of the building like a zombie. Molly picked up a coat to cover her pajamas, and outside, Petula picked up a piece of gravel to suck.

On the way down to Briersville Edna drove with a very peculiar expression on her face—as if someone had just dropped an ice cube down her dress. Edna was not altogether there, it seemed. She drove down the main road in zigzaggy jerks, nearly hitting an oncoming truck. Then she shot two red lights and drove through a flower bed in a pedestrian-only park. Finally she stopped the car on the pavement outside a café, and staring blankly ahead of her, she led Molly and Petula inside. From the door Molly worriedly checked the street, very relieved to see that no policeman had spotted them.

Inside the café, two construction workers looked up from their bacon sandwiches and studied Edna. In her white outfit she looked odd anyway. On top of this she was moving like a windup doll. Quickly Molly encouraged Edna to sit down.

“Can I help?” asked a chirpy waiter, who had a carnation in his buttonhole.

“Er, yes please,” said Molly, since Edna was staring straight at the salt shaker with a surprised look on her face and was beginning to drool. “I’ll have four tomato ketchup sandwiches, not too much butter, and a half
glass of orange squash concentrate, with no water added.” Molly’s mouth watered. It was lovely to be able to order her favorite things.

The waiter looked bemused. Orange squash concentrate was a sweet syrup to make an orange drink with. People didn’t normally drink it straight up.

“Shall I bring some water for you to mix with it?” he asked.

“No thanks,” said Molly. “But a bowl of water for our dog would be great.” Petula sat at her feet loyally, cocking her head to one side as Edna blew a raspberry.

“And for the lady?” asked the waiter.

“I love bleedin’ Italy,” said Edna, sucking a fork.

“It’s nice to be out of the hospital for the day, isn’t it?” Molly said to Edna kindly. The waiter smiled sympathetically.

Twenty minutes later, after the most embarrassing breakfast of Molly’s life, they were driving back to the orphanage. Past Shoot It, the camera shop, past a bicycle shop called Spokes, past the antiques shop with its curly painted name, Moldy Old Gold. Molly thought of things she’d always wanted and felt on top of the world. Miss Adderstone probably had mountains of orphanage money stacked up in her bank account. All Molly had to do was hypnotize Adderstone into taking
her shopping. Molly looked across at Edna, who was smiling with her mouth wide open. She was completely under Molly’s spell. Would everyone be as easy to hypnotize as Edna? So far Molly seemed to be a natural.

“Edna,” said Molly, “when we get back, you will walk down to the kitchen, and as soon as you pass the door, you will wake up. You will forget about our trip to town. You will not remember that I hypnotized you. You will tell Miss Adderstone that I came downstairs for an aspirin and that you think I’m still very ill. Do you understand?”

Edna nodded, her mouth hanging open like a puppet’s. Then, slamming her foot down hard on the accelerator and her hand on the horn, she urged the car up the hill.

Professor Nockman was woken from a frenzied sleep full of pendulums and swirling motifs by a car beeping loudly in the street outside his room in the Briersville Hotel. He rubbed his eyes and ran his tongue along his plaque-covered teeth. “It’s noisier than Chicago here,” he grumbled to himself as he untangled the scorpion medallion from the mesh of his string vest and reached for a glass of water.

After his frustrating experience at the library, the professor had extended his stay in Briersville. He
decided that if he badgered that pathetic librarian often enough, she’d find the hypnotism book. Or, he hoped, he might see someone reading it. Briersville was a small enough town.

Since Thursday he’d been prowling the streets, stalking people carrying books. Mothers with small children had crossed the road to avoid him, and one group of teenagers had called him a weirdo, but he didn’t care. He was determined to get ahold of Dr. Logan’s book.