Trolls on Hols (9 page)

‘Bogles!' muttered Mr Troll.

‘I told you we should have asked,' said Mrs Troll.

‘That's my van! Get out of there!' bellowed the man.

‘I think it's his caravan,' sighed Mr Troll.

‘Yes,' said Mrs Troll. ‘And it doesn't look like he wants us to stay.'

Half an hour later the Trolls arrived back at the
farm. By now the sun was low in the sky and the shadows were lengthening. They had spent most of the day tramping the road between the village and Sunny Bay. Now they were returning, weary and homeless. ‘What are we going to tell Ulrik?' asked Mrs Troll gloomily.

Mr Troll shrugged. ‘Maybe the Piddles will have changed their mind. Maybe they'll let us sleep with them tonight.'

Mrs Troll shook her head. ‘I don't think so. Mrs Piddle was having a big temper.'

‘Yes,' agreed Mr Troll. ‘Peeples look funny when they're having a temper. Their faces go red as tomatoes. Does mine do that?'

‘No my lugly, it stays green.'

They found the Priddles by their caravan. Mr Priddle had dragged all the mattresses outside and was attempting to dry off the damp patches with a hairdryer. Mrs Priddle watched him with her arms folded and an impatient expression on her face. She didn't seem overjoyed to see the Trolls back again.

‘Well?' she said.

‘We tried everywhere,' said Mrs Troll. ‘No one wants us to stay.'

‘I can't say I blame them,' said Mrs Priddle.

Mrs Troll looked around. ‘Where's Ulrik?'

‘Ulrik?' Mr Priddle blinked in surprise. ‘I thought he was with you.'

‘No,' said Mrs Troll. ‘We left him with you. He was playing with Warren.'

They all turned to look at Warren, whose cheeks had gone so red that Mr Troll wondered if he was having a temper.

‘Warren? Have you seen Ulrik?' asked Mrs Priddle.

‘Um … well, I saw him a while ago,' admitted Warren. ‘But then he went off.'

‘Off? Off where, for uggness' sake?' demanded Mr Troll.

Warren avoided his gaze. ‘I don't know. He didn't really say.'

Mrs Troll looked at Mr Troll. ‘Oh Eggy! That's not like Ulrik to go off without telling anyone. What if he's lost? What if something's happened?'

‘Now, now, let's all try to stay calm,' said Mr Troll, tromping up and down and looking anything but calm.

Mrs Priddle turned to her son. ‘Warren, try to remember. This is important. Which way did Ulrik go?'

Warren bit his lip. If he said the woods, they would find Ulrik trapped in the hole and everyone would blame him. Better to put them off the scent. He frowned, pretending to think, then pointed up the hill.

‘That way.'

Mrs Troll clasped a hand to her mouth. ‘Eggy! The moor! He's out on the moor!'

Ulrick hugged his knees and shivered. Darkness was closing in and he could see the moon pale as a ghost overhead. He'd lost track of how long he'd been trapped in the hole. At first he'd thought it was only a matter of time before his mum or dad would come and find him, but hours had passed and no rescue had come. Surely by now Warren would have told them what had happened?

He'd given up trying to escape – the hole was too deep and the sides too muddy and slippery to
climb out. His voice was hoarse from shouting for help. All he could do was wait and hope that someone would find him. He hummed to himself, trying to remember a trollaby
¹
his mum used to sing to him as a troggler. Mrs Evans had said the beast came out after dark. Surely it wouldn't want to eat a plump young troll? Sheeps were much more tastesome. Abruptly he stopped humming. Had he imagined it? That awful howl carried on the wind. He listened. A second howl split the night air, this time longer and louder than the first.

Ulrik tried not to panic. If he stayed where he was maybe the beast would pass by. But what if it didn't? What if it smelt him out? Dogs could pick up your smell and maybe beasts were the same. He reached up, making one last desperate attempt to escape. His fingers touched something hard and he grabbed at it. Warren's stick fell into the hole at his feet.

Half a mile away, Mr Troll climbed on top of a rock and cupped his hands to his mouth. ‘ULRIK!' he roared. ‘Ul-rik!'

There was no answer. Mr Priddle shone his torch into the dark.

‘It's no use,' he said. ‘We'll never find him out here.'

The moor seemed to be endless. Craggy rocks loomed in the dark like giants and solid ground gave way to boggy marsh that squelched under their feet. Mrs Troll blew her snout loudly on her hanky. ‘My poor little Ulrik!' she sniffed.

Warren dug his hands in his pockets and shivered. ‘Can't we go back now?' he begged. ‘There's nothing out here.'

‘You go back if you're frighted,' said Mr Troll. ‘I'm not giving up till I find him.'

‘Nor me,' said Mrs Troll. But before they could go on they heard a sound that chilled them to the bone. It was the same blood-curdling howl that Ulrik had heard in the woods.

‘Jumping goblins!' said Mr Troll.

‘That's not a goblin,' said Mr Priddle. ‘It's some kind of animal. It came from the woods.'

A low moan escaped Warren.

Mr Priddle shone his torch on his son's face, which had gone deathly white.

‘It was only a joke,' Warren stammered. ‘I thought he'd be all right. I never meant …'

‘What the bogles is he blethering about?' growled Mr Troll.

‘Ulrik …' babbled Warren. ‘He fell down a hole in the woods. It was an accident!'

‘What?' said Mr Priddle. ‘Why on earth didn't you say this before?'

Warren whimpered. ‘I thought you'd be cross!'

‘I am cross!' shouted Mr Priddle.

‘I'm double cross!' roared Mr Troll. ‘I'm cross as a hot cross bun!'

Before anyone could stop him he seized Warren and dangled him upside down by one leg.

‘Arghhhhh!' shrieked Warren. ‘Daaad!'

‘For uggness' sake, Eggy, put him down!' scolded Mrs Troll. ‘It's Ulrik we need to worry about. He's all alone in that wood with a scaresome beast!'

‘By the bogles, you're right!' said Mr Troll, dropping Warren in a puddle. ‘We've got to find Ulrik before it's too late! Come on!'

He set off, bounding towards the woods at great speed with the others trying to keep up.

Back in the hole, Ulrik was certain the beast could smell him. Just now he'd glimpsed a pair of huge yellow eyes moving through the trees like searchlights. A menacing growl made his hair stand on end and reminded him that he wanted to go to the toilet. He gripped his stick tightly. If the beast came at him, he decided, he'd poke it in the eye. Or maybe it would be better to throw the stick and shout ‘Fetch!' – he'd seen that work on a dog once.

A rustle in the trees told him the beast was
approaching. He shrank back in the shadows of the hole. Heavy footsteps came closer. Whatever it was, it was big enough to make the ground shake. A shadow loomed over him and a bright light dazzled his eyes. Ulrik jabbed upwards with his stick.

‘Owwww!' yelped Mr Priddle.

‘Ulrik?' said a familiar voice. ‘Is that you?'

‘Dad!' cried Ulrik.

Mr Troll's strong arms reached down and caught hold of him, lifting him out.

His mum wiped away a tear and hugged him so tightly he could hardly breathe.

‘Thank uggness! Are you all right, my ugglesome?'

‘I'm fine,' said Ulrik.

‘He poked me in the eye!' complained Mr Priddle.

‘Sorry, I thought you were the beast,' said Ulrik. ‘I heard it!'

As if on cue another growl came from the moor.

‘Good gravy!' gasped Mr Priddle, forgetting his sore eye. ‘That sounded close!'

Warren tugged at his dad's sleeve.

‘Let's go back!' he begged. ‘Mum will be getting worried.'

Ulrik held up a hand for silence. ‘Listen!' he said.

They all heard it – a faint bleating carried on the wind.

‘Sheeps,' said Mr Troll.

Warren panicked. ‘It's coming for them!' he trembled. ‘It's after the sheeps – I mean sheep.'

‘But Dad,' said Ulrik, ‘we can't just leave them. They'll be eaten by the beast.'

‘They won't be the only ones if we don't get out of here,' muttered Mr Priddle.

But he was talking to himself – the trolls were already creeping forward through the trees towards the moor and whatever was out there.

Ulrik peered out from behind a tree at the edge of the woods. He could see the beast's dark head over the top of a stone wall. His mum and dad stole forward to join him.

‘Ready?' whispered Mr Troll.

Ulrik and Mrs Troll nodded.

‘No roaring,' hissed Mr Troll. ‘Let's take it by surprises.'

‘You're the one who's always roaring,' said Mrs Troll sniffily.

‘Shhh!' said Ulrik, gripping his stick.

‘After three,' said Mr Troll. ‘One, two, three …'