You Can Run, But You Can't Hide

You can't hide from your past, as Constance Hardbroom is about to discover. Only this time, it brings consequences for everyone at Cackles..

Authors Note: This story starts the same time period as "The Inspector Calls" episode in Mildred's second year. Please forgive me for repeating some of the opening material from this episode, but I felt it was needed to set the scene a bit. I have taken a bit of artistic license by having Mildred discover her unique talent a year earlier than originally shown, but this is quite important to the overall plot later on. Please review and let me know what you think, but bear in mind this is my first attempt at a fan fic so it may not be perfect

*waves to fellow writers and Worst Witch fans, then shuffles back under rock again*

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to any of Jill Murphy's wonderful characters

Chapter 1

She had not, reflected Constance Hardbroom, had a worse day in years. She sat at her dressing table, her shaking hands attempting to pull her antique silver hairbrush through her thick, glossy mane of ebony hair, which had been released from its usual tight bun and cascaded down her back.

The flickering candle light bounced shadows off the bare stone walls. Constance put her aching head into her hands, desperately seeking a solution to the impossible situation that she now faced. She took the small bottle of Wide Awake Potion from the trinket box on her desk- she really had been burning the candle at both ends recently, but it was important that she remained alert, she could not afford to surrender to the fatigue that threatened to envelope her, for she knew the consequences that it would bring. She raised the bottle to her lips. Empty! The stress of the day had made her abandon her usual, careful routine and she hadn't brewed her normal potion. A jolt of apprehension hit her, she would sleep properly for the first time in months, there would be no avoiding the crushing exhaustion, no way of escaping the tortured areas of her soul. Angrily she threw the bottle to the floor, hearing the satisfying sound of glass breaking on the stone flagstones. She dropped her head onto the mahogany dressing table, tears sliding silently down her alabaster cheeks, sobs shaking her slender form. Why did it have to be tonight? Why would she be forced to walk through the darkest recesses of her mind again and face her demons, the one night that she would have given anything to be at peace?

At first she had welcomed the idea of an OfWitch inspection, thinking that it would be the perfect chance to reinforce discipline and remind girls and fellow members of staff of the high standards required of them. It would make a pleasant change to see some order and method in Amelia Cackle's haphazard filing cabinet, Davina Bat not wondering around in her dream world, carrying flowers in vases wearing personalised, hand-knitted cardigans, even Imogen Drill dressing appropriately, not in one of those revealing, mid-rift bearing tops. Constance mentally began to formulate a strict plan of action to ensure the school maintained its Guild Approved Status. Then, it was as if time halved in speed as those three fateful words escaped Amelia's lips, "Mistress Hecketty Broomhead". She felt the room spin, her breath caught in her throat, her knees buckled, forcing her into the nearest chair. A wave of suppressed emotion and fear hit her, overwhelming her momentarily. Her worst nightmare was starting again. The concerned faces of her fellow members of staff swam, distorted, in front of her vision.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle at that time, Mildred Hubble had started questioning her own sanity..

That picture could not have just moved. Mildred had been left in detention, writing 500 lines of "In the future I will endeavour not use my broomstick as a demolition tool" after crashing into the dustbins in the courtyard for the third time in the last fortnight. Banana-broom was now in a more sorry state than ever. She frowned and chewed on her bottom lip absent-mindedly. She had long since given up on the lines, especially after her supervising teacher, Miss Bat, had seen a rare variety of wild plant that had decided to grow in the courtyard and excitedly gone to make friends with her new arrival. She started to doodle on her paper. Her thoughts were running back to the other week when she had successfully managed to persuade Chief Wizard Helibore to reverse the spell that had been placed on Mr Rowan-Webbe who had been left to his fate in the school pond for the past forty years. She had smiled as she thought of the eccentric old wizard that she had befriended and sketched a little frog on the corner of the paper, allowing her daydream to continue. The next thing she saw made her drop her pencil in shock. The frog had undeniably just hopped from one side of the page to the other. Mildred pushed her stool away from the bench in utter disbelief. What had just happened? It must have been a trick of the light surely? She edged closer, and saw the little frog springing around the sheet of paper. Curious, she picked up the pencil in her trembling hand and quickly sketched a little lily pad and pond underneath the frog. She focused on the paper, willing the frog to react again to prove that she wasn't losing her mind. There was an audible splash and Mildred gasped as real droplets of water rained onto the desk. There was a little green frog now surveying her cautiously from a miniature lily pond on the bench. Mildred's heart started beating uncontrollably, blood pounded in her ears- had she just bought the picture to life?

By this time Constance was now striding down the corridor away from the staffroom, her breaths coming in short, panicky gasps. Her bemused colleagues were perusing her; desperate to know exactly what about their unknown visitor had visibly terrified the usually imperturbable deputy head. "Who is she, Constance?" demanded Imogen, her green eyes reflecting the concern she felt. She knew that this woman had to be something else to provoke this reaction in the normally composed and controlled potions mistress. Constance spun around and addressed her colleagues in a faint, trembling voice, "Mistress Broomhead was my personal tutor at Witch Training College, she taught me practically everything I know." The ashen-faced witch lent against the wall for support, "And she is by far the most demanding, relentless witch I have ever come across".

"We don't stand a chance!" shrieked Davina hysterically, attempting to escape to the comforting environment of her cupboard in the staffroom.

Imogen said nothing, but knew from looking at the slumped form of Constance that trouble was coming. Big trouble. It took a highly stressful situation for Constance to abandon her perfect posture.

"Now, let's be sensible about this, ladies" Amelia said in an unusually decisive tone, "There must be something we can do".

But by now, Constance was no longer listening. There was always an ulterior motive for everything with Mistress Broomhead. She knew it was not just the academy that was being targeted. After fifteen years of hiding, she had been found. Fear was coursing through her. Nobody had ever escaped from Hecketty Broomhead and lived.

To be continued...