A long time ago, two young witches lived in an ancient ruined church in a grungy town in the middle of nowhere. Their names were Brunhilda and Doris and, together with their great-aunt Zelda, they were known far and wide as The Horrid Witches. They were not popular.
      For as long as anyone could remember, the two sisters had never seen eye to eye. Brunhilda had always thought Doris was a hopeless witch. 'You should become a road-sweeper, the way you handle that broom of yours,' she'd say and zap her sister with a witchy spell that turned her nose purple with orange spots. Because Doris wasn't very good at magic she had to wait until the spell wore off before she could leave the house.
      One day, the two young witches were summoned to their great-aunt's room. Years earlier, she had attached a long cord to the bells at the top of the steeple which wound down the tower, along the narrow corridor and emerged from a little hole beside her bed. One ring meant that she wanted to see Brunhilda; two that she wanted to see Doris. She had pulled the cord three times, which meant she wanted to see both sisters. Bickering, the girls climbed the long staircase and fell into their great-aunt's room tugging at each other's hair.
      "Let go!" shouted Doris.
      "No, you let go!" Brunhilda yelled back.
      Sighing, Great Aunt Zelda picked her wand up from her little bedside table and pointed it at the girls.
      "Skaram skaroom," she cried. "Skarip skarup! Make these sisters both shut up." She waved her wand at the two young witches and instantly they were quiet. Brunhilda tried desperately to pry her lips open but they would not budge. She stamped her feet in frustration.
      "Stop that," snapped Great Aunt Zelda, "or I'll close up your nostrils too!" and cackled in the usual witchy sort of way. She fell silent and both Doris and Brunhilda noticed how small and frail their great-aunt suddenly appeared. "OK. Come and sit down," she said, and the witch sisters sat down on opposite sides of her huge bed.
      "As you know, I've done my best to look after you both since I found you on my doorstep all those years ago. No doubt whoever left you though a nun or vicar's wife was here to take care of you." She paused at the thought. "No such luck!" she snorted. "No, I raised you in the witchy ways. Done my best to teach you spells and potions. I still remember buying stabilisers for your first brooms...      
      "Anyways. I called I called you up here today to tell you I'm not long for this world." The two girls jumped to their feet to protest, even though they could not speak. "Now settle, you two. It's true. Now sit down." The sisters sat down on the bed, tears in their eyes. "It's true," Great Aunt Zelda continued. "I'm old. Older than anyone else in this town. More than double the years what any of them other OAPs is. Old as the hills.
      "I've had a good life. Lived through the golden years of witchin', you know. That's right. Once, this city was full of us witches. There were more witches and warlocks and spooks then there were regular folk! All that's changed. Now it's just us three, and soon, you two will be the only witches left in this grim town."
      The two girls looked at one another in disbelief for a moment.
      "That's right. So you'll have to look after each other. No more fighting. No more bickering."
Doris tried to speak but could only mumble behind her fastened lips. "Mmmm! Mmmm mmm mmm?" she said.
      "What's that, dear?" asked Great Aunt Zelda, clicking her fingers. The spell instantly lifted and the girls could speak again.
      Doris said, "What happened to all the other witches, Auntie?"
      "Disappeared. We weren't needed no more. Time was a witch was a valuable member of society." The girls gawped at her, eyebrows raised in shock. "Don't look at me like that! It's true. We kept kids from wandering alone at night. We made potions for healing the sick—for a price, of course. We put to use all those things other folk'd just throw away: newt eyes, bat tongues... even celery."
      "Yuck," Brunhilda and Doris said in unison.
      "But regular folk don't need us now. We're old hat. They've got newspapers and scary books to frighten their kids, medicine and doctors to cure their sick..."
      "What about the other stuff?" asked Brunhilda. "The newt eyes? The bat tongues?"
      Great Aunt Zelda scanned the room, checking for eavesdroppers. "Hamburgers," she whispered, "and fat, juicy sausages."
      "Ew!" squealed the two young witches. Great Aunt Zelda nodded, but all of a sudden the strength seemed to drain right out of her.
      "OK, my dearies. Your auntie's tired now. Give me a kiss and remember what I've said." Brunhilda and Doris kissed their great-aunt on the cheek and tiptoed back down the long staircase in silence.
      Great Aunt Zelda smiled a quiet smiled and drifted into a sleep that lasted for eternity.

---

For a long, long time the two remaining Horrid Witches kept the promise they had made to their great aunt. Together, they opened a business in the old church which they decided to call Auntie Zelda's Problem Solvers in honour of their great aunt. At first, business was slow. Very slow. No one came into their shop for a whole month, until one day, when the sisters had just about had enough, an old man poked his head around the door.
      "Um. Ex-excuse me," the man said. Doris jumped at the sight.
      "Customer!" she yelled. "Customer, customer! Brunhilda!"
      The man looked nervous. "If it's a bad time—"
      "No!" Doris screamed before composing herself. "Um. No. Not all."
      Just as the man was taking a step into the shop a trapdoor flew open in the middle of the room and Brunhilda's head emerged.
      "Rats!" she shouted.
      "Good grief," the man said and shuffled backwards quietly.
      "Rats," continued Brunhilda oblivious to the man. "We've run out again. Get your skinny bones down to the river and pick some up. Take Scratcher if you want." Brunhilda kicked the trapdoor shut. "What is it, you spongehead?"
      "C-cl-client," Doris squeaked.
      Brunhilda spun around and focussed her glare on the man cowering in the doorway. Instantly, her mood changed.
      "Ah, sir. How can I help? I must apologise for my sister's incompetence: she was dropped on her head when she was a baby. A number of times."
      "Oh, er. How unfortunate," the man mumbled.
      "Brunhilda Black," she said, extending a warty hand. "Proprietor and Problem Solver. In a fix? Get a witch!"
      "We-we're still working on the catchphrase," said Doris.
      "Shut it, sis. Now, how can we help you?"
      "Yes, do come in," said Doris.
      "Please, sir, make yourself comfortable," Brunhilda cried, dragging the man into the room. "Take a pew," she said pointing at a pew. "You look as white as a sheet. Is that the problem? We could fix that in no time flat! A couple of earwig ears and snails teeth brewed up will have you looking a picture of health."
      "Cheaper than a holiday," Doris chipped in. Brunhilda glared at her sister.
      The man sat down gingerly and removed his cloth cap. His hair was greying underneath and his shiny forehead seem to glow in the dark of the church.
      "So it's your hair!" said Doris. "You're worried about going bald? Easy-peasy! A squirrel tail, a goldfish's—"
      "No, no, no!" said the man impatiently. "It's not that at all." He sighed loudly and dust rose up from the bookshelves in front of him in a gigantic cloud. "It's... complicated, you see. I've tried everything. You're my last hope."
      "I'll get us a nice cup of tea," said Doris, "and you can tell us all about it."
      "Yes, we're all ears," said Brunhilda, "take your time: we charge by the hour."
Doris made a pot of tea while the man explained his story. He said his name was Doug McPhees and his problem was about his wife's snoring.
      "It's awful!" he sobbed. "I'm at my wits' end. I can't sleep. We've even had complaints from the neighbours!"
      "Good gibbons!" said Doris.
      "Aye, it's bad," said Mr. McPhees. "We've tried everything: pills, sprays you put up your nose, sprays you put in your ears! Soft pillows, hard pillows. We've changed her diet. We've gone to bed earlier, we've gone to bed later. But nothing's worked. And it's getting worse: louder than ever. I can hardly hear out my left ear anymore—that's the one she snores into, by the way."
      "Hmmm," said Brunhilda tapping her chin with her finger. "It's sounds like you have quite a predicament. But we like a challenge! Leave it with us. We'll collect our fee once we've come up with an answer!"
      "Oh, thank you!" said Mr. McPhees. "Um. It won't involve... you know."
      "What?" said Brunhilda grumpily.
      "Um. Rats tails or... anything?"
      "Don't be silly, Mr McPhees. We wouldn't dream of it," Brunhilda said and pushed him out the door. She waved him goodbye and closed the door with a flourish. "Rats tails," she said. "As if!"
Doris nodded in agreement. "I know! We can't use those, what would we put in the tea?"
      "Exactly."
      "Another cup?"
      "Yes, I think so. I've got to think long and hard about this and that's thirsty work. Once you've made the tea you can start on the caterpillar toenails. And this place could do with a good spring clean; did you see that dust?"
      "Yes, sister."
      "Well, get a move on!"
      Doris hurried to the kitchen while Brunhilda eased into the armchair, swung her feet onto the desk, closed her eyes and fell asleep.

---

"Brunhilda! Brunhilda!"
      "Wh—"
      "Hild! Wake up, wake up! I've had an idea!"
      "What? What time is it?"
      "Thursday! It's Thursday morning!"
      Brunhilda leapt to her feet knocking over a cup of rats tail tea and several piles of spell books. "Thursday?" she cried. "Thursday? You let me sleep all day and night, you... cabbagehead!"
      "I-I'm sorry," Doris said, meekly. "You looked so peaceful."
      "Oh, you will be sorry! We need to solve Mr. McFish—"
      "Mr. McPhees," corrected Doris.
      "Whatever. We need to solve his problem pronto! He's our first client. Get this wrong and we're doomed. Them lot," she said pointing out the window, "don't much like us as it is." She thumped the desk. "Oh, bats tails! What are we going to do?"
      "Well, I have an idea."
      "What?"
      "An idea about Mrs. McPhees's snoring."
      "Really?" Brunhilda said sceptically. "I don't believe in miracles." She scanned Doris from head to foot with pity. "Oh, let's hear it then."
      Doris told Brunhilda her idea and even drew a diagram on a sheet of paper. Brunhilda mulled it over for a minute or two. "Hmmm," she said. "I've heard worse." Doris grinned. "But not much worse. Clean this mess up," Brunhilda said pointing at the broken teacup and soaked books on the floor, "then fetch Mr. McFish—"
      "McPhees."
      "Just get him!"

A short time later, Mr. McPhees found himself back in the witches' office nervously playing with his cap.
      "Cup of tea, Mr. McPhees?" asked Doris.
      "Um. No, thank you, love. The cup I had yesterday made me feel most peculiar."
      "Oh? That was finest sewer ra—"
      "Doris?"
      "Yes, Hild?"
      "Shut up." Doris sniffed and slumped on a small stool in the corner. "So, Mister... um... McFing, I've thought about our problem and I believe I've devised a solution."
      "Oh?" said Mr. McPhees.
      "Oh?" said Doris.
      "Yes." Brunhilda pushed her chair back and opened a drawer in the large desk. She pulled out a small box and placed it on top of the desk. "Do you know what this is?"
      "It's a matchbox," said Mr. McPhees.
      "Take a closer look," Brunhilda said, pushing the box open.
      Mr. McPhees leaned forward and peered into the matchbox. "I don't see anything."
      Brunhilda tutted and handed Mr. McPhees a magnifying glass. "Maybe your wife's snoring is also affecting your eyesight." Mr. McPhees picked the box up. "Careful!" warned Brunhilda. He brought the magnifying glass to his eye and inspected the box.
      "It appears to be a tiny creature," Mr. McPhees said finally.
      "Quite right. It's a sound mite."
      Doris jumped up. "But that was my ide—"
      "Not now, Dor," Brunhilda said angrily and zapped her with the wand she was holding underneath the desk.
      "Ow!" Doris cried.
      "Ahem. It's a what?" said Mr. McPhees.
      "A sound mite. It eats noise," Brunhilda said serenely.
      "What!"
      "Observe." Brunhilda picked the box up and walked over to a gramophone player in the far corner of the room. She placed a recording of an old witchy sing-along on the turntable, wound the mechanism with a big brass key and placed the needle on the record. Immediately, the sound of an accordion emanated from the horn which sat on top of the rusty old music box.
      "Ooh! I like this one," said Doris.
      Brunhilda rolled her eyes. "Anyway. As I was saying, this," she said pointing at the minute creature in the matchbox, "is a sound mite. It eats sound waves. Can't get enough of them!"
      "I've never heard of a sound mite before," said Mr. McPhees.
      "No? Have you ever been sat reading the newspaper only for your wife to shout, 'Didn't you hear the door?'"
      "Well... yes, but—"
      "Sound mites. Newspapers are full of 'em! Children's toys, too. But this one trained. It doesn't wander off whenever it feels like it, it stays put."
      "He's called Eric," said Doris."
      "Anyway. Watch!" Brunhilda moved the box towards the gramophone and instantly the volume decreased. She moved it closer and the sound diminished even further.
      "He's eating it all up," Doris said. "They've got amazing appetites."
      Brunhilda placed the matchbox inside the gramophone's speaker and the sound died completely. Only the scratch, scratch of the needle on the record could be heard. Brunhilda turned the gramophone off and retrieved the matchbox.
      Brunhilda turned towards Mr. McPhees. "Well?"
      "Um, I'm not quite sure I understand, Miss. Black."
      "Isn't it obvious?"
      Doris leapt up. "It's simple!" she cried. "Just stick it up her nose!"
      "Well, really!" Mr. McPhees said.
      "As my sister so eloquently put it: that is our proposed solution. Nasal insertion of the sound reduction device."
      "I see," Mr. McPhees said, rather taken aback. "And how do you suppose I put it there? She very sensitive about her snoring, our May."
      "I thought this might be a suitable deployment system," Brunhilda said and plucked a red rose from the vase on the table.
      "Yeah!" Doris said. "When you give it to her she'll want to give it a big sniff and Eric'll shoot straight up her nose! You'll never hear a peep from her again." Brunhilda glared at her. "At night, I mean."
      Mr. McPhees looked at the two witch sisters doubtfully. "Is this safe?"
      "Of course," said Brunhilda. "Sound mites only eat sound. It's perfectly safe. Complete satisfaction or your money back."
      "Well—"
      Brunhilda coughed. "Speaking of money..."

---

Early the next day, the Horrid Sisters were woken by a tremendous knocking—a banging, even—at the front door.
      "Doris! Get that!"
      Doris made her way downstairs and sleepily unlocked the door. She opened it to find Mr. McPhees on the doorstep in his nightgown and cap.
      "Mr. McPhees! Do you even wear your cap in bed?"
      "What? Oh, um. I had to come right round to tell you!"
      "Tell us what?"
      "The mite worked!"
      "Little Eric?"
      "That's right! I didn't hear a thing! Oh, thank you. I've had the most wonderful night's sleep of my life. I'm going to tell everyone about this place. You've saved my life!"
      Mr. McPhees skilled off down the street whistling as he went. And he was as good as his word: within a week everyone had heard about the two helpful witches in the old church; within a month they had appeared in newspapers up and down the country. They had many adventures from that day forward, but they never forgot... Doris, at least, never forgot about their very first client and his problematic wife.

Many years later the witches were sat having breakfast when Doris turned to her sister and said, "Do you remember Eric?"
      "Who?" scowled Brunhilda.
      "Our sound mite."
      "Oh, yes."
      "I was thinking, it's probably about time."
      Brunhilda put her spoon down and moved her bowl of Snail Flakes to one side. "Time for what?" she said impatiently.
      "Well, you know. Time for him to... do his business."
      "Hmm?"
      "Well, after all what goes in, must come out."
      Brunhilda walked over to the log they kept of customers. "Let's see, McFish, McFish, McFish... Ah, here he is. Yes, I think you're probably r—"
      Just then the ground started to shake. The rumble was very faint at first but grew louder and louder and louder until the whole church was shaking. Jars of strange things fell off the shelves and Scratcher the dog cowered under the desk. Doris looked out the window and saw tiles falling off the houses in the street.
      "Good gibbons!" she cried.
      After a few minutes, the sound abruptly stopped. No one ever knew where it came from, but everyone agreed: it was quite the loudest burp any of them had ever heard.

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