The Werewolves Who Weren't
Page 23
Sam stared about. The emptiness made it appear bigger. Only quiet met them.
‘Told ya, nobody down here now,’ Wheedle said. ‘The few remaining ogres and trolls and the rest of impkind are roaming free upstairs.’
Daniel shuddered. ‘All that despair, all that darkness and grief, running around above.’ He put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam guessed it was as much to gain hope from Sam as it was to encourage him.
‘Yes, but …’ Bladder said. ‘Look at these things.’
The group moved to the centre of the cavern. Some of the mounds had collapsed, so they walked over as many as they stared up at. Daniel’s wings lit a silver glow over the thousands, perhaps millions of little sighs spreading everywhere. It turned them to long, terrifying shadows.
Wheedle leaned forward and picked up a tiny one. In the angel glow it looked slightly different, not so dark, the sigher’s grief not so deep. A regret, not a despair. ‘No more ogres and boggarts,’ Wheedle said, ‘but you’re right, Sam, no more gargoyles neither. Wonder what this little guy would have looked like. You know, that’s the wonderful thing about a gargoyle’s hatching, every one is a surprise.’
Bladder clutched at his chest. ‘Blasted indigestion.’
Daniel frowned. ‘You’re getting this a lot?’
The gargoyle burped. ‘Yep.’
Daniel placed his hand on Bladder’s chest and the lion sighed. ‘Ahhh, better.’
Daniel’s frown did not leave.
‘Come on, better get you back up to your house, Sam,’ Daniel said. ‘The Kavanaghs are wanting to enjoy your return.’
The troupe returned to the human world, feelings mixed and swirled between them all. A little hope, a little relief, a little sadness.
They pulled themselves up through the grate and back to the roof.
Wheedle looked at the grey nugget in his hoof and sighed a few times. Sam leaned in and sympathised with the sad bull-faced statue.
‘What’d you do, angel? That’s the best I’ve felt for ages.’ Bladder tossed his mane. Fairy dust flew from his stony fur and tickled Sam’s nose.
Sam sneezed all over Wheedle’s hand. ‘Sorry.’
‘S’all right,’ Wheedle said, and wiped the snotty bead down the front of Sam’s T-shirt.
The nugget wiggled.
‘It moved.’ Wheedle dropped the bead, which jumped around on the floor, click-clicking on the bricking.
A tiny claw shunted out the side of the bead, and another from the other side. One back leg, then two. The half-formed thing sat up. The top end of the sigh flipped off, revealing a tiny grey face, somewhere between a monkey and dog.
‘Sam, you didn’t just sneeze that awake?’ Wheedle asked.
The newborn gargoyle stared around at its new family.
Yonah cooed.
‘Sam, did you just do that?’ Bladder asked. ‘Oh boy, oh boy, ooooh boy.’
T.C. SHELLEY studied Creative Writing and Literature at university. She has been teaching English for over twenty years and her first school was classified as the most remote in Australia. She loves an audience and long before she took up teaching was writing and performing her poetry and short stories. She began writing novels to entertain her daughter, who wisely suggested that she try to get them published. Shelley lives with her husband, her daughter and two dogs in Perth, Western Australia.
Sam’s story is far from over …
Discover his third adventure
COMING 2021
The future of monsterkind is in Sam’s hands
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
This electronic edition published in September 2020
Text copyright © T.C. Shelley, 2020
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ISBN: PB: 978-1-5266-0080-6; eBook: 978-1-5266-0081-3
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