Doomsday Ogre
More fully - The Hauntings of Granny Vesp: Doomsday Ogre
For: Anyone over the age of about 8, there's nothing gruesome but younger than that might not get the terrible puns!
Quick summary: Time traveling 10th century witch out of water investigates occult thefts with her plucky descendants in modern London.
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In slightly more words...
Sophie and her brother Tom are concerned when their Gran's flat explodes (without leaving any bricks). They grow even more concerned by her behaviour when she then moves into their basement.
Granny Vesp is not herself. Literally. Her body has been taken over by a powerful, plain-talking, 10th century sorcereress from whom they all descend, also called Vesp. Granny Vesp is in the body of Nurse Karen. Nurse Karen? Well, she's in a romance novel, sort of.
Vesp recruits her great-great-something-kids to help her scour London for dastardly magic users bent on stealing a hidden magical treasure. Expect laughs, groans, a lack of badgers and plenty of magic.
Reviews:
"Actually dad, I've read it three times. I love it." Girl Child number 1
"I thought it was great, can you write me one?" Boy Child
"Does this mean I can kick him in the shallyknackles?" Girl Child number 2
The Story Behind the Story
Granny Vesp literally stepped out of a dream, fully formed. I've always been a big fan of "Murder, She Wrote" and other cosy murders and I think the theme music from that was playing as I dreamt a title sequence of a magical old lady shining torches down alleyways with her two young assistants. I woke and scribbled The Hauntings of Granny Vesp, and went to work. Before I knew it I had written this adventure for my eldest girl's 9th birthday. I'm still on a promise to write one for the boy - If I get any rest from the other stories in my head!
Excerpt
It was a short walk to reach the sprawling, cement and glass, home of the National Archive. Just long enough for Gran to assume the position of a regular person, rather than elderly monkey.
The Archives turned out to be one of those buildings built like a layer cake of standy stone and dark windows. Its entrance was panelled with glass which reflected a big pool of water that somebody had decided this sort of building had to have in front of it. Currently, the way into that entrance was blocked. We came to a halt at a yellow tape barrier. On the other side lots of police were rushing around. I managed to stop Gran from ducking under the “do not cross” strip and waved at a uniformed policeman who was already watching us, ready to leap if I had failed. He sauntered over whilst Tom ran up and down the wall around the pond.
“Yes? Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see the Domesday Book. Where is it?” Gran snapped at him. I put a hand on her arm and she looked at it as if she’d just grown a mushroom from her wrist.
“We’re doing a project for school and my Gran said she would bring us to see it. Is something going on?”
“Nothing serious.” The policeman replied in a flat tone. “But I’m afraid the archive is closed to the public today because of a minor incident.”
“What were they mining?” Gran asked. The policeman gave her the sort of look I had given up on.
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“You said it was an incident with a miner. What were they mining? Was it dwarves? Tricky little blighters dwarves.”
“Er… no.” The policeman looked at me and I tapped my finger to the side of my head. I felt a little bad pretending that Gran was bonkers, but not that bad as she did appear to be bonkers at the moment. The Policeman took my meaning,
“No, love. I mean ‘minor’ as in small. One of the staff has been attacked and we need to investigate the area. But it wasn’t serious.”
Gran looked around him to the busy scene,
“Dwarf attacks are always serious!” She countered. “It’s not like you can hit someone gently with a hammer, is it?”
“What? No… there weren’t any dwarves. In fact the chap was tall and thin and he didn’t hit anyone, he just spat on the receptionist and she fainted. Not very nice, but nobody was seriously hurt.”
Gran looked back at the policeman with one of her new penetrating stares.
“Tall? Thin? Noxious Spit? That doesn’t ring any bells to you?”
“No. Should it?” The man looked pleadingly at me and I nodded slightly.
“Gran. It’s probably best if we let the police get on with their job. We can come back tomorrow.”
She pulled her arm away from mine and stepped to the side of the surprised officer.
“You there! In the skirt!” She shouted to one of the few people on the other side who wasn’t wearing a uniform. “Yes. Don’t pretend you can’t hear me. I want a word with you.”
The woman, who was clearly in charge somehow, gave our policeman a questioning expression but he simply looked lost. She dispatched the person she had been talking to and walked over.