AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm sure you're getting tired of me saying this, but believe me, it must be said. Please read my first Monkees story, "Monkee Magic" before reading this one, if you haven't already, because it explains quite a bit of things. I say this at the beginning of every story, because with every new story posted here, the old ones kind of get lost in the shuffle. Thanks.
Mike soared through the sky on his broomstick. He had finally mastered the art of flying one, which had to be part of every witch's and warlock's life. He flew through the night sky, looking down at the world below, enjoying every minute of it. Suddenly, dark clouds filled the air. Thunder and lightning appeared out of nowhere. Mike tried to get out of the storm, but it was no use. A bolt of lightning zapped out of the clouds, and hit the back of Mike's broom. That was all it took for him to lose control. He plummeted downward, straight out of the sky. The ground grew closer, closer, and closer until finally . . . . .
CRASH!
Once Mike crash landed on the floor, he woke up from his dream. That also woke Micky up.
"Mike, you all right?" he asked.
"Yeah," Mike said, standing up. "I'm okay. Just dreamin' again."
"What was it this time?"
"I actually mastered the art of flyin' a broomstick."
"That'll be the day."
"You think I can't do it?"
"Well, you always crash whenever you try."
Mike didn't answer. He just climbed back into bed and went back to sleep. The next morning at the breakfast, he was telling the others about his dream.
"I'm gonna be able to fly a broomstick one of these days," he said.
"Do witches still fly broomsticks?" Davy asked. "I thought they'd be a little more up to date by now."
"Well, some still use broomsticks," Mike said. "Aunt Kate told me I have a cousin that flies a vacuum cleaner."
"And you fly a broom," Davy said.
"Give me a break, Davy," Mike said, rolling his eyes. "A witch or warlock can take any old broom and turn it into a mode of transportation. You have to buy enchanted vacuums and the prices of those are ridiculous. I can't even afford a new broom!"
Davy laughed, and shook his head. Mike went over to the other side of the room, and picked up his spell book. There had to be something in there about the art of flying a broomstick. At noon, he decided to just take a broom, go out onto the beach, and attempt to fly it. Davy, Micky, and Peter were with him, giving him moral support. Plus, they wanted to see how it was done. Mike explained what he was doing as he was doing it.
"First you gotta straddle this sucker," he said. "Kinda like when you get on a horse. After you're standin' like this, you pick it up, hold it, and squeeze it."
"Squeeze it?" Micky asked.
"Yeah," Mike said. "That's how we witches and warlocks get it goin'. We transfer some of our magic into regular brooms to make 'em fly. Now stand back. My take offs need a little work."
"So do your landings," Davy said.
Mike glared at Davy. He squeezed the broom, and concentrated as hard as he could. The broom began to rev up, like a motorcycle. Then it a split second, it shot straight upward. Micky, Davy, and Peter stared at the Texan Monkee in surprise. It was obvious Mike needed more practice. The three of them ran after him, making sure he didn't get hurt. Mike flew straight into the park, gripping the broom for dear life. Micky, Davy, and Peter ran into the park after him.
"Mike! Why don't you just land that thing?!" Davy called.
"I don't know how!" Mike shouted. With that, Mike crashed directly into a tree.
"Ooohhhhhhh," Micky, Davy, and Peter grimaced.
Mike groaned, and climbed out of the tree, broomstick in his hand, and kitten resting in his wool hat.
"You've got a cat on your head," Micky said, taking it off.
"It was stuck up the tree," Mike said, brushing the leaves off of him. "I got it down. Good thing I crashed, huh?"
"More or less," Peter said. "Mike, I think I know the problem."
"What's that?" Mike asked, brushing himself off.
"You don't know what the heck you're doing," Peter said. "I mean, you have absolutely no control over that broom!"
"You're right," Mike said. "I need professional help. There's only one person to call."
The Monkees then started back to the Pad so Mike could get in touch with his aunt in Texas.
