Singin' in the Drain

by Steven Butler

  Slowly, step by step, the line moved along, and Neville and Rubella eventually passed through the big double doors of the town theatre. Neville hadn’t been inside this building since his first-ever trip to the Underneath and he’d forgotten how big it was.

  The high walls were made from row upon row of tin cans that shone dully in the gloom and, high above, a chandelier made from hundreds of twisted knives and forks gleamed impressively. Neville felt a tingle of excitement creep down the back of his neck. He loved going to the theatre … even if this one was a stinking troll-theatre.

  ‘Rubella,’ Neville whispered. ‘It’s amazing.’

  ‘Shut up,’ hissed Rubella. ‘A princess needs to find her inner grumptiousness.’

  Neville had to hold back a groan. The only way Rubella could find a grumptious inner princess was if she ate one.

  Ahead of them, the line of trolls went down the side of a steep bank of wonky, muddled chairs and tatty sofas that descended towards a big stage.

  ‘LOOK!’ Rubella gasped, pointing to the troll at the front of the queue. Neville recognized him instantly. It was Thicket with a thorn briar growing out of his back and a bolt through his left nostril. ‘You better have trained me proper, Nev.’

  Neville gulped and distracted himself by looking at the stage. It was enormous and lit from either side by two massive glass jars filled with giant buzzing insects. They were like huge wasps, but their stripes glowed like purple fire and cast eerie pools of light on the stage as they jostled about.

  ‘Rubella,’ Neville whispered again, ‘what are those things?’

  Rubella stopped in the middle of a particularly high note and grimaced at Neville.

  ‘WHAT?’

  ‘Those big waspy things,’ said Neville. ‘What are they?’

  ‘Scrawnets!’ she snapped. ‘Everyone’s seen a scrawnet before. NOW STOP RUININ’ MY CONCENTRATION! If I don’t get the part of the grumptious stepsister, it’s your fault … AND YOU KNOW WHAT I’LL DO!’

  Neville clamped his mouth shut and took a step away from his singing troll-sister. This was bad … really bad.

  Meanwhile

  Behind the curtain at the back of the stage, Gruntilda peeked through a rip at all the other trolls gathering to audition. There were so many of them.

  ‘Now, Gruntilda,’ a voice said behind her, ‘it’s time to make the Bunt family proud.’

  Gruntilda turned and smiled a snake-like smile at her mooma.

  ‘I can’t wait, Moomsie,’ Gruntilda sneered.

  ‘Good … Then get out of my way!’ replied Gruntilda’s mooma, sweeping past her with a flourish and slinking through the curtain on to the stage. ‘It’s showtime!’

  Abominatia Bunt

  The whole theatre went silent as the tall, thin troll stepped on to the stage and struck a dramatic pose in the spotlight. She was like no troll Neville had ever seen before.

  Where the Bulches were round and squashy, this troll-lady was long and spiky. She wore a tight black dress made from bin liners that went all the way down to the floor and rustled as she walked. Her hair was a tower of Venus fly- traps piled high on her head, and ivy grew from her shoulders, hanging down on either side of her neck like the trollish version of a feather boa.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Neville asked quietly. Something about the troll-woman made him feel very nervous.

  ‘Who d’ya think, foozle fart?’ said Rubella, planting her fists on her boulder-sized hips. ‘That’s Gruntilda’s mooma. She’s blunkin’ famous.’

  Neville spotted Gruntilda shuffling about in the shadows behind her mooma.

  ‘WELCOME!’ the woman announced to the crowd. She gestured with her arms as if she wanted to hug the entire theatre and tossed her ivy from side to side. ‘I’M ABOMINATIA BUNT AND I’M SO HAPPY TO SEE YOU ALL.’

  ‘Yeah, right,’ Rubella grumbled under her breath.

  A few nervous murmurs came from the crowd, while some others waved or nodded. One overeager young troll even threw a bunch of swamp-flowers at her. Abominatia looked down at the bouquet as if she’d just discovered an unexpected foozle dropping in her path. ‘How lummy.’ She grimaced and kicked them aside. ‘Shall we get started?’

  She clapped her hands, and four important-looking trolls stepped out on to the stage. Neville recognized one of them. It was Glottel Potch the town mayor.

  ‘Those are the judges,’ whispered Rubella.

  A short, pot-bellied troll, wearing a sewn-together catsuit, sweatband and legwarmers, dashed on to the stage from the wings.

  ‘RIGHTY-HO, UNDERLINGS,’ he shouted to the crowd, flailing his arms dramatically. He was holding a clipboard. ‘MY NAME IS MUCUS, CHOREOGRAPHER AND ASSISTANT TO MRS –’

  ‘MISS!’ Abominatia screeched. She looked like someone had just punched her in the stomach.

  ‘Sorry,’ said Mucus. ‘MISS! ASSISTANT TO MISS BUNT. WHEN I CALL YOUR NAMIES, YOU HAVE TO COME UP THROUGH THE CURTAIN HERE AND SHOW US WHAT TALENT-TOOTERS YOU ALL ARE … OK?’

  The crowd remained silent and just stared at the chubby little troll.

  ‘OK, then …’ he said with a fixed smile on his face. ‘First up, we have …’

  NEXT!

  ‘NEEEEEEXXTT!’

  One after another, trolls were called up onstage to show off their talent to Abominatia. She was luxuriously draped on a sofa at the front like a Hollywood star from one of Neville’s mum’s magazines. Next to her were Gruntilda, Thicket and the panel of important-looking trolls.

  Neville took a seat at the back and watched with a mixture of fear and delight as everyone waited for their turn.

  ‘NEXT!’ Abominatia screamed at a jittery troll-girl when she was halfway through her love song, ‘My Toadstools Grow For You!’ The girl burst into floods of tears and ran offstage.

  Neville heaved a sigh of relief. Most of the other trolls auditioning had been absolutely terrible. He’d already watched priddle players twangling noisily, a slurch charmer, an old troll named Bowel reciting troll-poetry, a troll-girl trying to balance a fridge on the end of her nose and a teenage troll-boy, who juggled the rest of his family. It had all seemed to be going quite well until he’d accidentally thrown his grandmooma through the side-wall of the theatre.

  A young troll with ears of corn sprouting from his shoulders ambled onstage next.

  ‘Hello and what’s your name?’ Abominatia asked wearily.

  ‘Erm … Stump,’ said Stump.

  ‘And what are you going to do for us, Stump?’ Abominatia half said, half yawned. She looked utterly bored and pulled a left sock from her pocket and started chewing on it.

  ‘Well … um … I do tricks with Dumbly.’

  ‘Who’s Dumbly?’

  ‘Dumbly’s my pet –’

  Before Stump could finish, an enormous dungle lumbered on to the stage. It clattered to the centre, where it scraped its hooves and tossed its horned head from side to side viciously.

  Mucus threw his clipboard into the air, screamed and dived over the back of his sofa.

  Gruntilda laughed hysterically.

  ‘This is Dumbly,’ Stump announced to the entire theatre. Then he turned to the immense beast and held up his hand. ‘SIT, DUMBLY, SIT!’

  Dumbly didn’t sit. It just snorted great nostrilfuls of steam at the young troll.

  ‘ROLL OVER!’ Stump said. ‘ROLL OVER, DUMBLY!’

  Dumbly didn’t roll over either. Instead, it lowered its horns and started growling. Neville crossed his fingers and squinted. This was the first time he’d ever seen a real-live dungle and it didn’t look like it was going to end well.

  ‘JUMP, DUMBLY!’ Stump yelled. ‘OY, YOU BUNGLER! JU–’

  Dumbly suddenly charged across the stage and butted Stump high into the air. As the crowds of auditioning trolls started cheering, the young troll landed with an oomf back to front on the dungle’s shoulders.

  ‘ABOMINATIA!’ Stump called as his pet galloped off through the hole left by the juggled grandmooma. ‘I’M YOUR
WHOPPSIEST FAN!’

  ‘NEXT!’ screamed Abominatia.

  There was a long pause, one of the curtains twitched and then a mountain in a green-and-purple flamenco dress clomped onstage. Neville caught his breath. It was Rubella …

  The Audition

  ‘Hello,’ said Abominatia, glaring at Rubella as if it caused her pain.

  ‘’Ello,’ said Rubella, fiddling nervously with the frills on her sleeve. Neville watched his troll-sister through his fingers, praying to Captain Brilliant that she would perform well.

  ‘And what are you going to do?’

  ‘Well … um …’ said Rubella. ‘I’m goin’ to do a bit of everythin’.’

  ‘Everything?’

  ‘Yep.’ Rubella nodded. ‘I’m a singing-ballerina-princess type.’ She batted her crusty eyelashes at Thicket in the front row.

  ‘Rubella Bulch, a ballerina?’ Gruntilda giggled. ‘More like a barrel-ina!’

  Rubella scrunched up her face and scowled. ‘Just you watch, Gruntilda.’ Then she leapt into action.

  The entire theatre went silent as everyone watched Rubella jiggle this way and that. She swung her hips in circles and shimmied her colossal belly up and down, all the while hammering out high notes like an over-boiled kettle.

  Neville didn’t know what to think. He couldn’t tell if Rubella’s performance was absolutely awful or absolutely brilliant.

  ‘MY PEEPERS!’ cried the old troll Bowel as one of the bottle-tops on Rubella’s dress flew off and pinged him in the face.

  ‘OOOOOOOOH-EEEEEEEEH-OOOOOOOOH!!!’ Rubella whipped off the purple skirt to reveal some sparkly pants made from tinfoil and sticky tape, as she went into a series of high kicks.

  ‘YEAH!’ cried Neville, trying to drum up support for his troll-sister. ‘GO ON, RUBELLA!’

  Rubella didn’t need to be asked twice. In no time she was tapping out rhythms with her uncut toenails, while flapping her arms up and down.

  Neville couldn’t believe it … the crowd started cheering for her.

  ‘WAAAAAAAA-WEEEEEEEE-WAAAAAAAA!!!’

  As her grand finale, Rubella dived through the air as if trying to catch an invisible ball – and smashed straight through the centre of the stage.

  Everyone waited. The entire theatre held its breath and stared at the great hole in the floor and the cloud of dust rising from it. Then, after a long pause, Rubella poked her head up through the hole and smiled a big I’m-proud-of-myself smile.

  Everyone, including Thicket and Mucus, burst into wild applause.

  ‘SHE’S AMAZEROUS!’

  ‘THAT WAS INCREDIBUMP!’

  ‘AAAAAARGGGHHHH!!!!’

  Abominatia and Gruntilda looked appalled.

  ‘That’s quite enough of that,’ Abominatia barked. ‘SILENCE!’

  The auditorium went quiet. Everyone, including Rubella, who was clambering out of the hole in the stage, gazed at the rake-thin director. She looked furious and one of her flytraps had wilted and was dangling in front of her face, snapping wildly. She brushed it away, smoothed her bin-liner dress and smiled.

  ‘Thank you, Rubungle,’ Abominatia said to Rubella. ‘That’ll be all.’

  ‘It’s Rubella,’ said Rubella, but Abominatia wasn’t listening. Rubella stomped offstage, dragging her purple skirt behind her. ‘GUH!’

  ‘And now the moment I’m sure you’ve all been waiting for,’ Abominatia announced to the whole theatre. She started to fan herself as if she couldn’t cope with the excitement. ‘My grumptious grumplet is going to do her audition. The most talent-tooting troll in the whole of the Underneath … GRUNTILDA BUNT!’

  Gruntilda jumped to her feet and flung her arms into the air as if expecting a wave of applause. ‘Thank you,’ she shouted. ‘THANK YOU!’

  No one clapped.

  Gruntilda humphed loudly, pulled a face at the audience and skulked up on to the stage.

  ‘’Ere we go,’ a voice suddenly whispered in Neville’s ear. Neville spun round to see Rubella sitting in the row behind him, having just sneaked back through the theatre. ‘Little Missy Princess Plop.’

  ‘You were great, Rubella,’ Neville whispered. ‘I think.’

  ‘I know,’ Rubella said with a grin. ‘This yearly, I have to beat that bag-o-bones.’

  Neville winked at his troll-sister, then turned back to look at Gruntilda on the stage. The skinny troll took a deep breath, struck a pose and started to sing.

  ‘OW!’ Neville yelped, covering his ears. The noise was a whiny, high-pitched squeal, like someone blowing on a broken whistle.

  ‘BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’

  All the trolls in the audience began to groan and hold their hands over their ears.

  ‘LA-LA-LA-LAAAAAAA-LA-LA-LAAA!’

  Gruntilda’s face turned bright red. She looked like a cocktail stick with a tomato jammed on the end.

  ‘FUH-FUH-FUH-FUH-FUH-FUH-FUH!’

  Neville couldn’t believe it. He thought Rubella was a bad singer, but Gruntilda was DREADFUL. He watched as one of the important-looking judges toppled backwards off his seat.

  ‘OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!’

  She finished her song with a howling, painful top note that echoed off the tin-can walls and made them shake. Neville thought his ears were going to drop off, it was so horrible to listen to.

  Then there was silence …

  Everyone looked at Gruntilda in total shock. She did a wobbly curtsey, giggled and skipped offstage with a look of utter triumph on her ratty little face.

  ‘WONDERBUNK!’ Abominatia shouted, standing up and clapping wildly. ‘SUCH TALENT!’ She walked back on to the stage and turned to face everyone. ‘THANK YOU, ONE AND ALL. NOW THE JUDGES WILL GO AND CAST THEIR VOTES TO DECIDE WHO PLAYS WHAT IN THIS YEARLY’S PAN-TROLL-MIME. THE RESULTS WON’T BE LONG … IT’S GOING TO BE HUMDIFFEROUS!’

  Neville had never felt so relieved. Gruntilda was so bad that Rubella was sure to get the best part. Maybe he wouldn’t get his ears yanked off after all.

  Meanwhile

  In a small storeroom at the side of the theatre, Abominatia Bunt stamped back and forth, rustling as she went. She was fuming with rage.

  Snatching up a scorecard from the table, she looked at it again and howled. She was so angry her bony hand was shaking. How? How did that rhinoceros Bulch girl beat her wonderbunkin’ daughter?

  Then something suddenly occurred to her, and she stopped stamping. I’m the only underling that’s seen the final result.

  Making sure that no one was looking, Abominatia ripped the card in half and stuffed the pieces deep into a box of tatty old costumes.

  ‘Bye-bye, Bulchy,’ she whispered sneeringly to herself. Then she checked that her flytrap hair tower was beautifully in place, smoothed her bin liners and slunk off, muttering, ‘No one outperforms a Bunt. NO ONE!’

  Results

  The waiting was unbearable. Neville stood in the corner of the stage while Rubella scuffed backwards and forwards, murmuring to herself. Everyone was keen to find out who was in the pan-troll-mime and which unlucky fuzzbonks didn’t make the cut.

  ‘Come on,’ Rubella grumbled. ‘Hurry up.’

  Neville looked at his troll-sister and sighed. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the great big lardy-lumper. She was desperate to be the grumptious stepsister.

  ‘It’s all right,’ Neville said, as Rubella trudged past. ‘I’m sure it won’t be much longer.’ At least he hoped it wouldn’t. The longer Rubella had to wait, the grumpier she got, and if it turned out to be bad news … Neville gulped. He didn’t want to think about it.

  Suddenly, the troll-girl who’d balanced a fridge on the end of her nose jumped up and pointed. ‘LOOK!’

  Everyone turned to see what was happening.

  Abominatia swished her way round the back curtain and smiled at everyone with the kind of smile you’d give someone who didn’t realize they had food dribbling down their chin. It was a mixture of pity and disgust.

  ‘Ladies and gentl
egeorges,’ she said, brandishing a scrap of paper. ‘Here are the results of the pan-troll-mime auditions.’

  Neville watched as the troll-skeleton walked over to the side of the stage and pinned the paper to the wall with a rusty nail.

  ‘Goodly luck,’ she sneered, and swished off back behind the curtains.

  ‘Quick!’ Rubella snapped at Neville as everyone jumped up and crowded towards the notice. Neville darted ahead and reached it before anybody else.

  ‘What’s it say, Nev?’ Rubella shouted above the din of trolls scrabbling over each other.

  Everyone went silent as Neville pulled the paper off the wall and cleared his throat.

  ‘Ahem … um …’ Neville really wasn’t sure he wanted to do this, but he looked down at the paper nonetheless and read aloud:

  ‘Whingerella – Who cares?

  The Narra-troll – Bowel Bumble

  The Furry Bog-mother – Gristle Pilchard

  The Prince – Thicket Ulcer-tooth’

  ‘Totally grotsome,’ shouted Thicket, punching the air and jumping. ‘I knew it!’

  ‘How chuffly,’ cried Gristle Pilchard. Neville couldn’t see her, but he could just about make out her walking stick waving in the air near the back of the group. ‘Congruntulations, Bowel!’

  ‘Squibbly,’ Bowel shouted back. He hobbled out of the group and did a little bow. ‘I’ve never been a narra-troll before!’

  ‘Who else?’ shouted Rubella. ‘Who’s the grumptious stepsister?’

  Neville glanced down the list, found where it said ‘Grumptious Stepsister’ and froze. Oh no! Gruntilda’s name had been written next to the part. Rubella was going to be so angry.

  ‘WHO IS IT, NEV?’

  Neville could feel beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. Things couldn’t get any wor–

  Before he’d even had time to think Things couldn’t get any worse, they did. His entire body started to tremble as he spotted Rubella’s name at the bottom of the list – and saw the role she’d been given in the pan-troll-mime.