Singin' in the Drain

by Steven Butler

  Dunk stopped outside the door at the far end of the hallway. The painted sign on it read: HALITOSIS AND HER AMAZING HINKA-CIRCUS.

  Neville smiled; that sounded quite fun.

  ‘’Ere we are then,’ Dunk said, nodding politely. ‘Just go in … She won’t hear if you knock.’ Then the hefty troll turned and trudged off back towards the stage, whistling to himself.

  ‘Thanks,’ Neville called.

  ‘Ain’t no nevermind,’ Dunk called back.

  Neville waited for a moment, then stepped up to the door and listened. Inside, he could hear a huge commotion clattering about. Oh no, he thought. Neville had never actually seen a hinkapoot before. He remembered his mooma describing them as scrawny and little, but that didn’t stop them from having massive claws and razor-sharp teeth.

  Ignoring what Dunk had said, Neville knocked softly on the door and waited. There was no answer, just the sound of something smashing.

  ‘GET DOWN FROM THERE!’ a troll-lady’s voice on the other side of the door screamed. ‘NO! DON’T EAT THAT!’

  Why was everything so scary in the Underneath? Neville braced himself and thought of Captain Brilliant, then grabbed hold of the rusty old doorknob and twisted it.

  ‘Hello,’ he said in a pathetic whimper as he pushed the door slightly. ‘Hello–ooooooooooaaaaaaagggghhhhh!!!!’

  Something small and green skittered round the surface of the door and jumped on to Neville’s face. He ran flailing into the room as the small thing gripped hold of both his ears and held on tight. Neville could feel the pinch of tiny dull teeth trying to bite the end of his nose.

  ‘HELP!’ he shrieked, but the second he opened his mouth, a small foot wedged itself in there. ‘HMELPH!’

  ‘OH, MY GRACICLES!’ The troll-lady’s voice gasped. ‘HOLD STILL!’

  Neville didn’t dare open his eyes. The thing on his face started chittering and squeaking wildly as a pair of troll-hands reached up and scooped it off.

  ‘Grimble, that’s not nice … Naughty Grimble.’

  Neville stood there, frozen in horror, with his eyes clamped shut.

  ‘It’s OK,’ said the voice. ‘You can look now.’

  Neville wasn’t sure he wanted to.

  ‘Really,’ she said. ‘I’ve got him; he won’t jump on you again.’

  Neville very carefully opened one eye and peeked at the troll before him. She was a round troll-girl with palm leaves for hair and large magnifying-glass spectacles.

  ‘Hello,’ she said, and smiled a shy smile. ‘I’m Halitosis. Sorry about him.’ She held the hinkapoot out at arm’s length for Neville to see.

  ‘I’m Neville,’ said Neville, gawping at the odd green thing struggling in Halitosis’s hands. It was wearing a little collar with a tag that read GRIMBLE. ‘Abominatia sent me.’

  ‘Oh, squibbly,’ Halitosis said. She gently put Grimble down on the floor and did a funny hand gesture like the dog trainers at Napoleon’s puppy classes. ‘STAY!’

  Neville couldn’t help but stare. The hinkapoot was the strangest thing he’d ever seen – a kind of cross between a troll and lots of types of animals. It was about as high as Neville’s knee and was covered from head to toe in light green and dark green stripes. It had a long body with little hands, feet and a face just like a miniature troll, but out of the top of its head popped a set of enormous rabbit-like ears.

  ‘CHEE-CHIK-BUHH-BRAA-CHIK! ’ it hollered in a tiny voice.

  ‘OH!’ Neville yelped. ‘It’s um …’

  ‘He can be a bit rampageous sometimes,’ said Halitosis. ‘But he’s very friendly. Grimble just thought you were food, didn’t you, Grimble?’

  The little thing looked at Neville and licked its lips.

  ‘They eat anythin’,’ Halitosis said, giggling.

  ‘Oh, b-brilliant,’ Neville stammered. He squirmed and backed away, only to hear more chittering right by his ear.

  ‘CHIK-CHI-CHI-CHIK! ’

  ‘ARGH!’ Neville spun round to see another hinkapoot hanging off a set of coat pegs, waggling its ears at him. ‘EWW!’ He spun back to Halitosis and realized, with growing nervousness, that the room was crawling with hinkapoots. They were sitting on the top of an old wardrobe and crawling over the floor and walls. One was even swinging on a milk-bottle lantern above Neville’s head.

  ‘CHIK-CHUH-GRA-BRIK-BRIK! ’ they all chirped together. Neville almost jumped out of his pyjamas with surprise.

  ‘Don’t get jangled,’ said Halitosis reassuringly. She picked up a cane from a broken table and knocked it three times on the floor. The hinkapoots instantly jumped into formation and created a hinkapoot pyramid with Grimble at the top. ‘I have all of them under control.’

  ‘Ha!’ Neville chuckled, suddenly mesmerized by the little creatures. ‘I can see that.’

  ‘Now,’ said Halitosis in a big voice, ‘let’s show Neville what you can do.’

  She tapped three more times on the floor and the hinkapoots darted about, spinning cartwheels and leapfrogging over one another. Then they formed a circle round Neville’s feet and did flips in both directions.

  ‘They’re amazing,’ said Neville, desperately trying to ignore the urge to cringe.

  ‘Thanks.’ Halitosis scuffed her feet shyly. ‘So … um … why did Abominatia send you?’ ‘Oh, I’m supposed to help you get the hinkapoots ready. They’re starting soon.’

  Panic spread across Halitosis’s face as if she’d been slapped by an invisible hand.

  ‘NOW?’ she barked. ‘OH, POOK! NOW?’

  ‘Yes, I think so,’ said Neville. ‘Why, what’s wrong? They look ready to go, if you ask me.’

  ‘We have to get them dressed … QUICK!’ Halitosis shrieked. ‘If we’re late, Abominatia will explode. She’s crazy.’

  Halitosis dashed to the wardrobe and started pulling out armfuls of tiny, hinkapoot-sized clothing.

  ‘What do you think?’ she said, holding up two different types of outfit. ‘Ruffly or not ruffly?’

  ‘Erm.’ Neville didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have a clue what kind of clothes looked good on a hinkapoot. ‘Ruffly?’

  ‘Good choice,’ said Halitosis. She threw a bunch of ruffles to Neville and grabbed some for herself. ‘All we have to do is get them on.’

  ‘What do I have to do?’ said Neville.

  Halitosis gave Neville a playful look and shouted, ‘CHARGE!’

  Without stopping to think, Neville copied Halitosis and grabbed a hinkapoot off the wall. It wriggled in his hands and CHIK-CHIK-ed angrily.

  ‘Like this,’ Halitosis said, showing Neville how to smooth down the hinkapoot’s ears and slide the little ruffled collar over its head. ‘Just show it who’s boss.’ She then took the dressed little creature and dropped it into a big wicker hamper.

  ‘OK,’ Neville said. His heart was beating fast. Dressing hinkapoots was fun and dangerous all in one go and made him feel a bit like his hero, Captain Brilliant. ‘CHARGE!’

  Halitosis and Neville jumped about the room, grabbing hinkapoots from all directions.

  ‘THERE!’

  ‘GOT ONE!’

  ‘BEHIND YOU!’

  One by one the hinkapoots were dressed and deposited in the basket. They wriggled and chirped inside, but the lid stayed put and none escaped, to Neville’s relief.

  ‘All done,’ Halitosis said with a big grin. ‘I’m so excited. They’re goin’ to try a new trick tonight.’

  ‘What’s the trick?’ asked Neville, rubbing a stinging hinka-bite on his knuckle.

  ‘It’s never been performed before in all the history of hinka-circuses,’ Halitosis said. She wriggled her fingers as if she was casting a magic spell. ‘The Tremundous Hinka-hurl.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Every hinkapoot stands on the next one’s shoulders until they’re all in a big tower. Then Grimble climbs to the top and they throw him as high as he can go … Higher than any hinkapoot’s gone before.’

  ‘Wow,’ Neville said. His nerves wer
e slowly creeping away and he was starting to feel genuinely excited about the show. He only wished he could sit in the theatre and watch it.

  Halitosis grabbed hold of one of the basket handles and nodded to indicate that Neville should grab the other.

  ‘It’s showtime,’ she said.

  They were just in time. As Neville opened the dressing-room door and started pulling the basket up the hall, the ticker-dinger-thinger went …

  BOOOOONNNNGGGG!!!

  Meanwhile

  ‘LAST CHANCE … AGAIN!’ Abominatia growled. She poked her twig-like finger into the end of Gruntilda’s nose and scowled. ‘SING IT AGAIN AND THIS TIME SING THE RIGHT NOTES, YOU SKWARKER!’

  ‘I did sing the right notes,’ Gruntilda whined. ‘Everyone knows I’ve got a voice like a chooneychuff. That’s why I got the part of the grumptious stepsister.’

  ‘If you ever want to be as hoop-di-doo-cious as your moomsie, sing it again,’ Abominatia shouted. She whacked Gruntilda on the top of her head, making her branchy hair creak. ‘After all, Moomsie knows best.’

  ‘Ow,’ Gruntilda moaned, then instantly started singing her love song for the show.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Abominatia with a vinegary smile. Then she turned away and grimaced. The sound of her daughter screeching was unbearable.

  PLACES!

  Neville and Halitosis heaved the basket into the wings of the stage and panted. Hinkapoots were heavier than they looked.

  ‘That’s squibbly,’ Halitosis said to Neville. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see them do their trick,’ Neville said.

  ‘I know!’ Halitosis laughed, pulling a nervous face. ‘It’s right at the end. Don’t miss it.’

  ‘Promise,’ Neville said.

  With that Halitosis ambled off, leaving Neville to have a look around.

  A lot of the acty-trolls were already gathered on the stage, warming up, as Neville wandered out. He soon began to enjoy the sensation of being unseen behind the front curtain and hearing the audience chattering excitedly and the band rehearsing on the other side. This was going to be fun.

  Thicket was doing squats in the corner and flexing his bulging arms. He was wearing a cape made from an old bath towel, with holes for his thorn briars, and a dented crown on his head made from old bent keys.

  ‘Grotsome,’ he said, winking and smiling at the girl dancers as they giggled past. ‘Totally grotsome.’

  Neville rolled his eyes and turned away. Where had Rubella got to?

  ‘Magicky, spookery, trickedy!’ Gristle Pilchard was still dangling on the end of a rope, practising her lines and waving both her wand and her walking stick. Neville looked at her curiously. In addition to her sparkly dress and wings, she’d stuck on a tufty wig and a long curly beard.

  ‘Why does she have a beard?’ Neville asked Dunk as he trudged by. The technicky-ratchetydoo-dah-troll looked at Neville as if it was the most stupid question ever.

  ‘She’s the furry bog-mother,’ said Dunk. ‘She’s got to be furry.’

  Neville nodded and laughed. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Anyway, it’s nearly showtime, Nev,’ Dunk said. ‘’Elp a troll out and straighten that cloth, will ya? It’s all wonksome.’

  Neville looked to where Dunk was pointing. He was right. The massive cloth painted like a troll ballroom had a huge bulge in the middle of it.

  ‘No problem, Dunk,’ Neville said. He felt extremely grown-up and brave, doing jobs for the technicky-troll. ‘Won’t be a minute.’

  Walking over to the cloth, Neville gave the bulge a great big push to try and flatten it out.

  ‘OY!’ came Rubella’s voice. ‘BUNGLE OFF!’

  ‘Oh, Rubella,’ Neville yelped. ‘Is that you?’ He bent down and wriggled underneath. ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’

  ‘NO, DON’T COME UNDER!’ ordered Rubella. ‘YOU MUSTN’T –’

  It was too late. Neville squirmed under the heavy cloth and gasped. Rubella was wearing her turnip costume and a very unhappy scowl on her face.

  ‘You look … um …’

  ‘I look like a blunkin’ nogginknocker!’ Rubella bellowed. She was wearing a huge round ball with holes for her hands and feet. It had been painted to look like the rough purple skin of a turnip and even had little roots drooping down between her chubby ankles.

  ‘I was going to say “squibbly”,’ said Neville, desperately trying not to laugh at her little hat with green leaves sprouting out of it.

  ‘I hate you!’ Rubella sobbed. She attempted to smack Neville across his head, but couldn’t reach because of the armholes. ‘AAAAAARGH!’

  ‘MY DUNKLINGS!’

  The stage went silent. Neville grabbed Rubella’s hand and pulled her out from behind the scenery cloth. Everyone was staring at Abominatia as she walked on to the stage with Gruntilda trailing behind in her bed-sheet ballgown. The bony girl took one look at Rubella and snickered.

  ‘IT IS TIME!’ Abominatia announced. ‘I’M SURE YOU’LL ALL BE WONDERBUNKIN’ AND AMAZEROUS …’

  Everyone smiled and nodded.

  ‘AND IF YOU’RE NOT …’

  Everyone stopped smiling.

  ‘I’LL KILL YOU!’

  Everyone looked worried. Very worried.

  ‘PLACES, PEOPLE! OPENIN’ POSITIONS! GO!’

  Meanwhile

  ‘I’m so exciterous, I think I might burst my barnacles,’ Clod said, taking his seat next to Malaria and Pong with an armful of food from the snackety stand. The theatre was packed. ‘I honk pan-troll-mimes, I do.’

  Clod grinned at Pong, who was wearing a little version of his dooda’s trollabaloo suit and waving a paper WHINGERELLA flag.

  ‘Calm yourself down, my brandyburp.’ Malaria chuckled and planted a kiss on Clod’s cheek. ‘It ain’t even started yet.’

  ‘I can’t ’elp it,’ said Clod. ‘It’s just so spectactical.’

  Suddenly, the lights dimmed as the technicky-trolls extinguished the milk-bottle lanterns and the band started to play a jiggish tune. Everyone in the audience cheered and whooped.

  It Begins

  Backstage, everyone was in position. Neville stood next to Dunk at the side of the stage and felt butterflies in his belly.

  ‘Just do everything I say, and it’ll all be fine and peachous,’ Dunk whispered.

  This is it, thought Neville. He scrunched up his toes and pulled on the rope that Dunk had pointed out to him moments before. As if by magic, the front curtain rose to reveal an enormous painted cloth of rolling hills of junk. The old troll Bowel stood out in front, coughing and scratching his toadstools nervously.

  The audience ooooh-ed and aaaah-ed as Bowel took a big step forward, waved and smiled a toothy grin. Then he began to sing.

  ‘MOOMAS AND DOODAS, LITTLE LUMPS

  AND OLDY TROLLS AS WELL.

  HAVE A SEAT, PRICK UP YOUR EARS.

  WE’VE GOT A TALE TO TELL.’

  Bowel swayed from side to side as he sang, and the audience clapped wildly.

  ‘IN A JUNKISH LAND, SO FAR AWAY,

  LIVED A GRUNT CALLED WHINGERELLA,

  AND HER GRUMPTIOUS HONKIN’ STEPSISTER

  AND A DASHLY PRINCEY FELLA.’

  Suddenly, the audience booed and hissed. Dunk turned a handle on the wall and something rose out of a trapdoor in the stage. It was an upside-down mop with a dress on it like a person.

  ‘BOOOOOOO … HISSSSSSSS … BOOOOOOO!’

  Neville laughed to himself. Rubella wasn’t lying when she said no one liked Whingerella. No actor would even play her.

  Bowel gestured to the mop-Whingerella.

  ‘OLE WHINGEY HAD A STEPSISTER,

  TOO GRUMPTIOUS TO DO CHORES,

  LIKE MOPPIN’, FOLDIN’, BREWIN’ TEA

  AND LICKIN’ CLEAN THE FLOORS.’

  Gruntilda walked out onstage and fanned herself daintily.

  ‘It’s so hard being this good-looksy.’ She sighed and batted her eyelashes.

  ‘ALL DAY WHINGEY
GRIZZLY-GRIPED

  AND SAT ON HER BEHIND.

  WHILE HER RAVISHLY HELPY SISTER

  WAS WONDERBUNKLY KIND.’

  The audience ahhh-ed the grumptious stepsister until Gruntilda stepped forward and started to sing.

  ‘WHERE, OH WHERE IS MY WARTY PRINCE?’ Gruntilda screeched at the crowd. Everyone groaned and covered their ears. ‘WON’T HE COME TO ME?’

  ‘NOT LIKELY,’ a troll in the crowd shouted and the audience burst out laughing.

  Backstage, Neville pulled the rope that changed the scenery from the rolling junk hills to Whingerella’s kitchen. He turned round and saw Rubella glowering at him in the dark.

  ‘I don’t want to do this,’ she hissed.

  ‘You can’t back out now, Rubella,’ Neville said. ‘Besides, do you want Gruntilda to think she’s beaten you?’

  ‘No,’ Rubella said miserably, and straightened her turnip hat.

  ‘ONE NIGHT THE GRUMPTIOUS STEPSISTER

  WAS SWOONIN’ AND A REELIN’

  WHEN – CRASH! – THE FURRY BOG-MOTHER

  CAME FLYIN’ THROUGH THE CEILIN’.’

  Bowel presented an arm to the top of the stage and waited. He gestured again, but nothing happened. An awkward silence filled the theatre.

  ‘CAME FLYIN’ THROUGH THE CEILIN’!’ Bowel shouted again.

  A sparkly shoe covered in milk-bottle tops fell from somewhere above the stage and bounced off Bowel’s head with a dull thud.

  ‘CAME FLYIN’ THROUGH THE CEILIN’,’ Bowel bellowed at the top of his voice.

  ‘Oooh!’ a little voice shouted from high in the air. ‘IS IT ME, DEARLY?’

  All at once, Gristle Pilchard came plummeting down through the air and swung so fast across the stage that she vanished into the side-curtains like a geriatric rocket. The audience roared with laughter at the sight of her feet waggling in the air wearing only one shoe.