by Kaye Umansky
‘That ain’t no chickens!’ bawled Hog. ‘It’s that Skellington! ’E wants ’is dog back! ’E’s throwin’ eggs at us!’
‘Give ’im the dog!’ screeched Stinkwart. ‘Push it out the sunroof!’
‘Don’t you dare!’ warned Plugugly, letting go of the steering wheel and shaking his fist. ‘You leave Fang alone, you – you wicked Goblin!’
‘Log pile comin’ up!’ screamed Eyesore, covering his eyes. ‘Plug! Watch the road!’
Plugugly swivelled round and grabbed the wheel. The car lunged to one side. More eggs splattered the windscreen.
‘Watch out!’
‘Arrrrgggh!’
‘Faster, Plug! Go faster!’
Oh yes. The car chase is coming along nicely.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
And The Winner Is . . .
In Witchway Hall, the votes were beginning to come in. Backstage, dressing rooms fell silent. Trembling contestants clustered around the monitors or hid in corners with their hands over their faces.
Only Scott Sinister was uninterested in the whole business. The monitor in his private dressing room was on, but he wasn’t even watching. Bored out of his mind, he reclined on a couch with chunks of cucumber balanced on his eyelids, dreaming of the moment he could hand over the trophy, make his excuses, hopefully avoid that awful Pongwiffy and hurry off back to his rich and famous lifestyle.
Out front, Vince’s camera was trained steadily on Ali Pali, who stood next to the scoreboard armed with earphones and a clipboard. Brenda, clearly underwhelmed by the whole thing, was reading a magazine.
‘Yes, folks, I’ve just heard that we’re now ready to hear the votes of the Troll jury,’ announced Ali. He raised his head and addressed the air. ‘Hello, Trolls, are you there?’
After a worrying moment or two, the air rang with a loud fit of coughing. Then a gruff, disembodied voice with an odd echo, which made it sound like it was coming from under a mountain (which it probably was), replied, ‘Yer, Ali, ’ere we are.’
The Tree Demon held up a board saying CLAP. Obediently, the audience clapped.
‘ ’ Ere are the votes of the Trollish jury,’ the voice went on. ‘The Banshees – nuthin’. Too depressin’.’
‘Banshees – no points,’ Ali solemnly relayed to Brenda, who popped a bubble and slotted a big zero into the scoreboard.
Backstage, the heartbroken Banshees howled and wrung their nighties.
‘Familiars – not bad at all. Good solo from the Haggis. Three,’ continued the Trollish voice. Faint cheers could be heard coming from the Familiars’ dressing room.
‘Familiars – three points,’ Ali told Brenda pointlessly.
‘Ghosts – quite effective. Two.’
‘Ghosts, two points.’
‘Ghouls – borin’. One.’
‘Ghouls – one point,’ interpreted Ali.
‘Gnomes – four. Quite appealin’ we thought that was.’
‘Gnomes – four points.’
‘It’s taking for ever,’ complained Pongwiffy, never known for her patience. ‘Can’t they speed it up a bit? Just give us the trophy, take our photograph with Scott, let us sing our song again and eat any celebration cake that’s going, then go home. We’re off to sunny Sludgehaven tomorrow, and Hugo and I haven’t even packed yet. That’s if I decide to take him. I still haven’t really forgiven him for entering the contest without permission.’
‘Shhh,’ hissed everyone. More points were being awarded. In fact, they were coming in thick and fast now. Ali and Brenda were finding it hard to keep up. Moreover, they were becoming increasingly odd.
‘Mummies – seven,’ intoned the Troll voice. ‘Vampires – thirteen. Werewolf – twenty-three. Witches – eighty-five.’
‘Yesssssss!’ went up the excited cry from the Witches, and Gaga did a celebratory pirouette.
‘I’m sorry, I’ll have to stop you there,’ Ali told the air sternly. ‘That is more than ten points in total.’
‘What?’ said the disembodied voice.
‘Ten points,’ explained Ali wearily. ‘Each jury gets ten points, remember? I’ve been through it a million times. I thought we were all clear.’
At this, there was a bit of invisible whispering, if there is such a thing. Then: ‘We’re Trolls,’ said the voice. ‘We’ll have as many points as we likes. We liked the Witches’ song. It’s catchy. We wants to give it eighty-five. And we liked the Wizards’ song as well, though not quite as much. So we give that eighty-two and a half.’
Backstage, a loud ‘hoorah!’ came from the Wizards’ dressing room.
‘You can’t do that,’ argued Ali. ‘There have to be rules.’
‘Yeah, well, we’ve just changed ’em,’ the disembodied voice informed him. ‘We don’t like the scoring system. We want more points.’
‘It’s too complicated,’ snapped Ali.
‘No it ain’t. A hundred an’ fifty’s a good top mark, not too big, not too small. While we’re about it, we’ll upgrade the Familiars to twenty-seven and a half, just because we’re Trolls and we can. An’ finally, we gives the talented Troll group Cliff and the Chips the top mark of one hundred an’ fifty. That concludes the votes of the Trollish jury. Wanna make somethin’ of it?’
‘You see?’ Sourmuddle scolded Pongwiffy. ‘You shouldn’t count your chickens. The Wizards have got nearly the same as us.’
‘How many more juries to go?’ asked Sharkadder, who had gone sweaty with nerves. Streaks of mauve make-up trickled down her flushed cheeks.
‘Lots.’
‘Well, I can’t watch any more. I’m going to lie down. Tell me when it’s over.’
Meanwhile, back with the Goblins, the eggs were coming thick and fast. They came whistling overhead from behind, falling in an arc over the roof and bursting open on the windscreen in runny yellow splats. Plugugly stabbed blindly at a random button on the dashboard in a desperate attempt to activate the wipers. The heater came on and the eggs began to scramble.
‘I can’t see!’ bawled Plugugly, wrenching the steering wheel. ‘How close are dey? I can’t see! I can’t – Ow!’
Everyone gasped, jerked upright and bit their tongues as they went down a pothole. Sproggit’s stick of rock went up his nose.
‘I dunno how close, do I?’ cried Eyesore. ‘I keep tellin’ you, I can’t see!’
‘Well, stand up an’ look out de sunroof! Hold on, goin’ right!’
Tyres screamed as the limo swerved hard to the left.
‘Ooooooh!’ wailed the Goblins, in chorus.
‘Slow down, Plug!’ begged Slopbucket. ‘We don’t want to be on this road. We can shake ’em off if we get on the back roads.’
This was an amazingly sensible suggestion for a Goblin. Slopbucket came up with it by accident, probably because his brains were being shaken up. It is a great pity that nobody took any notice.
‘Faster!’ shrieked Sproggit, gnawing the stuffing out of his straw donkey. ‘Fasterfasterfaster! Yahoooo!’
‘Which shall I do?’ screamed Plugugly. ‘Go fast or go slow?’
Nobody heard. They were all howling too loudly. They had seen something in front: the silhouette of a large, familiar building. It was still some way off in the distance – but it was coming ever closer.
‘Oh well,’ said Plugugly with a shrug. ‘I’ll do both!’
And the limousine went into a wild spin as he pressed both pedals at the same time.
In Witchway Hall, things were balanced on a knife-edge. The Troll jury’s refusal to conform had set the tone for the rest of the juries who, to Ali’s rising despair, ran roughshod over the rules and awarded haphazard points to whoever they liked. The scoreboard was now bizarre in the extreme. It said:
Banshees
0
Familiars
197½
Ghosts
152
Ghouls
151
Gnomes
158
Mummies
179
Trolls
150
Vampires
188
Werewolf
156
Witches
199
Wizards
199
Imagine the tension. All but one of the juries had now voted. Each had given their own song top marks, apart from the Banshee jury, who awarded ‘Oh Woe!’ zero points because they liked to make themselves miserable.
It was now the turn of the Mummy jury. Out of respect for their great age and the fact that most of them had royal connections, they had been left until last.
Ali Pali, annoyed that he had lost control of the scoring, but determined to see things through to the bitter end, strode to the centre of the stage and addressed the audience.
‘And now, ladies and gentlemen and viewers at home, it’s time for the votes from our final jury tonight. Coming live from a pyramid in Egypt –’ Ali paused to fiddle with his headphones – ‘sorry, I stand corrected, yes, sorry, coming dead from a pyramid in Egypt, we welcome the Mummy jury. Hello? Hello? Is that the Mummies? Mummies, are you there?’
‘Good evening, Ali,’ creaked a dry, ancient voice. It reminded you of sand and wind and embalming fluid. ‘This is Pharaoh Nuff the Third, spokesman for the Mummy jury. Viewers at home, greetings. Before we give you our votes, we would like to make a comment. In our ancient wisdom, we feel we must point out that the original scoring system was much fairer than the one introduced by the Trollish jury, which is, quite frankly, ludicrous.’
‘Hear hear,’ agreed Ali. ‘That’s just what I said. Thank you, sire. At last, someone with sense. A round of applause for Pharaoh Nuff the Third, ladies and gentlemen.’
‘Never mind all that,’ continued the dry voice, somewhat testily. ‘Let’s just get on, shall we? In the interests of ancient justice, we shall revert to the first system. So, with no more ado, here are the results of the Mummy jury. Banshees – no points. Familiars – three points . . .’
‘Oh no!’ groaned Pongwiffy, backstage. ‘One hundred and ninety-seven and a half plus three. That makes – um – how much does that make?’
‘Two hundred and a half points,’ said Greymatter grimly. ‘That takes them higher than us. If we get zero, we’re done for!’
At this, several Witches fainted. Nobody noticed, so they sheepishly came to again and joined the tense crowd round the monitor.
In his dressing room, Scott Sinister gave a little sigh, removed the chunks of cucumber from his eyes and reached for the trophy. Any minute now, he’d be on.
‘Ghosts – zero,’ went on the dry voice out front. ‘Ghouls – zero. Gnomes – one point. Mummies – well, much as we would like to, we cannot vote for our own. Very well done, though, Xotindis and Xstufitu, you did us proud. Trolls – zero. Vampires – two points. Werewolf – one point.’
There was an excited buzz. The moment everyone was waiting for had arrived.
‘That leaves three points,’ continued the dry voice. ‘We could have awarded one and a half each to the Witches and the Wizards, which would have resulted in an unsatisfactory tie. So, in our ancient wisdom, we have decided to award all three points to . . .’
You really don’t need to be told what happens next, do you? You’ve seen it coming.
There came the sound of squealing brakes and a screaming engine, mixed in with howling voices – and, to everyone’s horror, a large section of the right-hand wall of the auditorium imploded under the impact of a large, black, smoking, egg-splattered monster, which, in another life, had once been a gleaming limousine. Bricks and plaster sprayed down upon the audience as the ruined car tore across the hall, missing the front row of the stalls by a whisker. With a loud crump, it embedded itself in the opposite wall.
That caused plenty of commotion in itself.
Things got even crazier when the passenger door fell off and a Gaggle of howling Goblins poured out, like dirty water from an unblocked pipe.
At this point, the cart arrived through the hole in the wall, adding a wild-eyed donkey, a dishevelled Thing, a Skeleton with a grudge and a lot of eggs to the already volatile mixture.
Loads of things happened then. Dressing room doors crashed open and the various contestants came rushing out and made for the stage.
Pongwiffy spotted the Goblins.
Fang the Wonder Hound spotted Dudley.
Age-old enemies suddenly spotted each other and decided to break whatever wobbly truce was currently in place. With all those eggs around, it was a shame to miss the opportunity.
Ali Pali was running about in circles, trying to regain a semblance of control – but it was a losing battle. Brenda tucked up her pink evening dress and waded in amongst it all, seizing Gnomes and glamorously banging their heads together.
Through it all, Vincent Van Ghoul continued to film, while the Tree Demon ran here and there with his microphone, capturing the whole shocking thing on tape. Determinedly, the Witchway Rhythm Boys played on.
We won’t dwell on the fight between Sheridan Haggard and Scott Sinister, which happened much later on. Something about non-payment of castle rent. The Thing tried to break it up, but failed.
We don’t want to hear how everything got too much for poor Sharkadder, who came over all emotional and cried, then stamped her foot and blamed Pongwiffy.
Neither do we want to know what a spectacle Brenda made of herself. Or what Fang the Wonder Hound did to Dudley, aided and abetted by Hugo. Or how the Witches and the Wizards got into a slanging match, which ended in them going outside and having a Magical showdown, which resulted in Witchway Hall burning down.
We really don’t want to know what Pongwiffy did to the Goblins. It’s too disgraceful and would make a very unpleasant ending to the whole sorry affair. Suffice to say, it did for her guitar.
The fact remains that it happened, and everybody involved later felt rather ashamed of themselves and just looked sheepish when they passed each other in the Wood.
And what did the viewers at home make of all this?
They disapproved, of course. All that mess and mayhem and not even a clear result.
But they all agreed it was great spellovision.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The End
Moon’s up. I think I’ll go out,’ said Pongwiffy to Hugo, a day or two later.
They had just finished supper. Hugo had cooked a really nice pie. Through the broken window, the moon sailed high and the stars were coming out. Pongwiffy had her feet on her plate and was picking at her toenails with a fork. Hugo was doing the crossword puzzle, which was back in The Daily Miracle by popular demand.
It was a cosy scene. Everything had settled back to normal. Pongwiffy had made the Goblins return every last bit of rubbish, so the Dump was restored to its former glory. In fact, it was even better than before, being now full of discarded spellovisions. Nobody was interested any more. Like most new fads, it had burnt itself out.
Fang the Wonder Hound, now known as Ribs again, was back with Sheridan, who had moved out of Sinister Towers and was said to be writing a book now that his job as newsreader was no more. (However, it must be said that Ribs sometimes goes missing in order to visit his old friend Plugugly, who is always thrilled to see him.)
‘So vhere you go?’ asked Hugo.
‘I thought I’d pop out and get rid of the guitar.’
‘Ya?’ Hugo was surprised. ‘I thought you say it antique? Zat maybe it belong to zat old Raspberry man?’
‘Yes, well, maybe. Who cares? I keep tripping over it. And there’s only one string left and the neck’s gone all unstuck again.’
‘Oh, right,’ nodded Hugo. ‘No more music, zen?’
‘No. I’m bored with music now. It was fun for a while. But I think I’ve probably gone as far as I can with my guitar playing. Which is – well, if I’m being honest, nowhere, really.’
There was a longish pause while Hugo just sat tight.
‘You’re supposed to say, Oh no, Mistress,’ Pongwiffy
reminded him. ‘That’s what you’re supposed to say.’
‘A vise Hamster knows ven to keep his mouth shut,’ quoted Hugo.
There was another longish pause. Then they caught each other’s eye and burst into laughter.
‘You’re right,’ said Pongwiffy, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose on the tablecloth. ‘I wasn’t very good, was I? Come on, pardner. What say we both go out and dump the guitar.’
So that’s what they did. It arced over the rubbish dump and fell on the far side with a plink.
‘Good riddance,’ said Pongwiffy, dusting her hands. ‘Let’s get the cauldron out and do some Magic, eh? What do you say?’
‘Ya!’ agreed Hugo. And together they went back into the hovel.
On the far side of the tip, an old tramp happened to be passing by. The broken guitar fell at his feet.
‘Well, durn me,’ said a low, rasping voice. ‘If that don’t beat all. Whoever woulda believed it? After all these years.’
And Wild Raspberry Johnson bent down, picked it up and wandered slowly on.
Turn the page for another
Pongwiffy adventure!
WITCHWAY WOOD O’LUMPICK GAMES READ CAREFULLY!
The Witches proudly announce that the very first O’Lumpick Games will be held in three weeks’ time. You are cordially invited to join in. Yes, YOU. The Games are open to all.* You are required to form teams who will compete against each other in seven exciting events (see below). Each team may enter one contestant only per race. An exception is made for the Three-Legged Race, which needs two,** and also for the Relay Race, which needs four.
In the true O’Lumpick spirit, the Games will be played FAIRLY. Yes, really! Magic is Strictly Banned. So is Cheating, Skullduggery, Back-stabbing and Fighting. Mingling is compulsory. So is Good Sportsmanship, even if you lose, which you probably will.
The best three contestants in each event will be presented with medals by popular star of stage and screen Scott Sinister, who will also provide the commentary.
