The Swivel-Eyed Ogre-Thing

by Barry Hutchison

  FOR FIONA,

  my trusty partner

  in adventure

  B. H.

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Shark-Headed Bear-Thing

  Copyright

  Benjamin Blank had just scoffed down a Lump Hog sandwich for supper and was halfway up the stairs to bed when the screaming started. It shrieked from somewhere just outside the house, shaking the shuttered windows and squealing in through the gaps in the old stone walls.

  Ben spun on the spot, his eyes wide, his ears practically twitching with excitement. Screaming usually meant only one thing – adventure!

  In the room below, Ben’s uncle Tavish took a break from loading the supper plates into his latest invention – a heavy iron and brass cube he called the Automated Plate and Cup Washing Device – and shot Ben a stern look.

  “Don’t even think about it. It’s bedtime!” he said.

  “Come on, Uncle Tavish, just a quick peek,” pleaded Ben, as a sudden crash from outside was followed by another burst of screaming. Ben hopped on to the handrail of the spiral metal staircase and slid all the way to the bottom.

  By the time he jumped off, Ben was gripping his sword. The weapon may only have been made of wood, but he could still do some real damage with it. At least, he hoped so. He’d only built it that morning, and hadn’t yet had a chance to put it to the test.

  “Well … fine. If you must,” said Tavish. His mechanical arm whirred and a metal finger pointed Ben’s way. “You can look. Nothing more. But if it’s a giant I want you straight back in here,” the blacksmith warned.

  “Aw, but Uncle Tavish…”

  “No buts, Benjamin,” said Tavish, and Ben knew there was no point in arguing. Tavish only ever called him “Benjamin” when he was being serious. “I’m not having you out fighting giants. Not on a school night.”

  Ben mumbled his agreement, then twisted the brass handle and pushed open the wooden door that led outside. He bounded on to the main street of the village of Lump, his sword raised and ready. Ben skidded to a stop and gasped in surprise. For there, right in front of him was…

  Nothing at all. The street was deserted. The screaming had stopped. An eerie stillness had fallen across the village.

  Ben glanced along the street in both directions. Lump had grown a lot in the past month, ever since the neighbouring village of Loosh had been destroyed and everyone from there had come to live here. Wooden huts now lined Lump’s wide streets, providing temporary shelter for the Looshers until their own homes could be rebuilt.

  The huts creaked softly in the breeze as Ben tiptoed past. Night had fallen, and the only light came from the faint shimmer of the half-moon, and the few torches flickering here and there on the walls of nearby houses.

  “Hello?” said Ben, and his voice floated off into the dark. He could hear the horses whinny and neigh over in the stables, but otherwise all was silent. He scratched his head and slid his sword back into the belt of his tunic. Whatever the screaming had been about, it all seemed to have calmed down now.

  “Huh,” he sighed. “Well that wasn’t as much fun as I expected.”

  He turned back towards his house, and that was when he saw it. Not a giant but something else, emerging slowly from the shadows between two houses.

  It crept along the street on all fours, its broad shoulders hunched, its curved horns lowered and pointing his way. Its breath swirled like steam through its flared nostrils, and its black hooves trip-trapped on the uneven surface of the road.

  “Hey, a goat,” said Ben, and he took a step towards the animal.

  MEHHH!

  With an angry bleat the goat charged. It thundered forwards, all hooves and horns and wild, wiry hair. Ben hurled himself sideways with scant seconds to spare. The goat trampled past, bucking and twisting as it skidded to a stop. Ben rolled to his feet and held his hands out in front of him.

  “Nice goaty,” he soothed. “Good goaty.”

  But the animal wasn’t buying it. Lowering its head again it bounded towards him. It was fast. Much faster than Ben. He hammered on the door of the closest hut as the goat’s hooves chewed up the distance between them.

  “Hello?” he cried. “Anyone home? I’d really like to come in, please!”

  No one answered. The goat was almost on him now. Ben tried the door handle. Locked. Just his luck.

  “Up here,” called a familiar voice. Ben glanced up to see a small girl in a forest-green tunic reaching down to him. He caught her hand and scrambled up on to the roof. Below him, the goat hit the door like a battering ram, smashing it from its hinges and making the whole hut tremble and shake.

  The goat barrelled through the open doorway and disappeared out of sight. From up on the roof, Ben heard it bleat with rage as it kicked and butted the inside of the hut to pieces.

  Ben looked across to the girl who had helped him. Paradise Little was so short Ben had once mistaken her for an elf. She was skinny, too, but Ben knew she was still pretty tough. For a girl, at least.

  “Saved your life,” she gloated.

  “I had everything under control,” Ben insisted.

  Paradise gave a snort. “Yeah, right. If I hadn’t grabbed you you’d have been a pancake.”

  Ben decided it probably wasn’t the best time to get into an argument. “So where is everyone?” he asked. “Actually, let me guess. Hiding.”

  If the people of Lump were good at anything, they were good at hiding. Whenever danger reared its ugly head, you could always rely on the Lumpites to run screaming in the opposite direction, then barricade themselves safely out of harm’s way.

  There was a smash of breaking wood from below and the hut gave another shake. “What about Bibbly Codd?” Ben asked.

  “About half a mile that way,” said Paradise, who had an amazing knack of knowing where things were. She pointed along one of the paths leading away from Lump. “And getting further every second.”

  “He’s making a run for it? I thought he was a goat tamer?”

  “He is,” Paradise said. “He’s just a rubbish one.”

  “Great, so what do we do now then?”

  “I suggest we stay up here,” called another voice from nearby. “A goat’s life expectancy is only around fifteen years. It’ll die of old age long before we do.”

  Ben looked over to where a boy in a red robe had tied himself to another roof with a length of rope. Like Paradise, Wesley Chant was new in town. The three of them had quickly become friends, even though Ben and Paradise spent half the time pretending they weren’t.

  Wesley was a trainee wizard. At least he used to be, until he was kicked out of wizard school for having less magical ability than a sandwich.

  “You’re not seriously suggesting we stay up here for fifteen years?” Paradise said.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course not!” replied Wesley. “I mean, that thing must be pushing a decade already. We shouldn’t be up here for more than five years. Six tops.”

  “Well, I suppose it’d mean we’d miss school tomorrow,” said Ben, then a sudden snap from below made the hut lurch sharply to one side. Paradise let out a yelp as she began to slip. Ben grabbed for her. His fingers brushed against hers, but then she was gone. She tumbled from the roof just as the goat butted its way through the flimsy wooden wal
l. It stood there, its eyes locked on her, its breath coming out in angry snorts.

  “Um, hi,” she said. Then she ran. From the safety of his rooftop, Wesley watched her go.

  “Oh, that is a shame,” he said. “I’m going to miss her.”

  “You might, but the goat won’t,” said Ben. “We’ve got to help her.”

  Wesley groaned. “I knew you were going to say that.”

  With a well-aimed leap, Ben landed on the goat’s broad back. It bucked like a bronco and kicked with its hind legs, forcing Ben to hold on to its deadly horns.

  “Now,” he said, “we can either do this the easy way, or the hard waaaaaaaaaaay!”

  The goat rocketed forwards, throwing Ben’s legs out behind him. Ben clung tightly to the animal’s horns as it dragged him along, tossing and flicking him this way and that.

  “Oh no, you couldn’t have just chosen the easy way, could you?” Ben cried.

  Up ahead, Paradise did her best to dodge, but the goat was already hot on her heels, hissing and panting like one of Tavish’s steam-powered inventions. Her boot found a rock and she fell hard. The goat thundered towards her.

  Muscles straining, Ben dragged himself up on to the animal’s back. He dug his knees into its ribs and yanked hard on a horn. With an angry cry the goat veered sharply right. Ben looked up to see his own front door looming dead ahead of them, too close to stop or turn away.

  “Right, Ben, time to come in,” called Tavish, opening the door at just the wrong moment. He stopped and stared when he saw the goat hurtling towards him, Ben bouncing along on its back.

  “Just coming!” bellowed Ben. Uncle Tavish leapt back as the goat charged past into the house.

  CLANG! It hit the Automated Plate and Cup Washing Device head-on and came to a sudden crunching halt.

  Ben was launched like a stone from a catapult. He sailed over the goat’s horns, hit the floor hard and rolled to a clumsy stop against the far wall. For a moment he slumped there, upside down and breathing heavily.

  Ben looked across to the goat, which now lay unconscious on his living-room floor. He looked up at Uncle Tavish, who was also staring at the goat, wondering where it had come from and why it had taken such a dislike to his Automated Plate and Cup Washing Device.

  Grinning, Ben flipped himself over, got to his feet and dusted himself down. “Wow,” he breathed. “School nights don’t get much more exciting than that!”

  “Troll!” cried a panicky voice from somewhere outside. “Run for your lives, there’s a troll in the village!”

  Ben’s eyes widened with excitement. “Then again,” he said, “maybe they do.”

  Ben raced outside to find Wesley dangling upside down from the roof of his hut, the rope tangled around his foot. His robe had fallen over his head, revealing a pair of bright red underpants with silver moons and stars sewn on.

  A dark figure around Ben’s height, but much broader across the shoulders, stood by the hut, peering up at the boy wizard. Wesley flailed around helplessly, flapping and squirming at the end of the rope.

  “Help!” he cried, his voice muffled by the robe. “Don’t let it eat me!”

  Paradise dusted herself down and joined Ben outside his house. “First a goat and then a troll,” she said. “What’s next? A Shark-Headed Bear-Thing?”

  “Nah, already taken care of them,” Ben said. He turned to her and grinned. “Oh, and by the way … saved your life,” he said, then he drew his wooden sword and hurried in the direction of the troll.

  As they approached, the troll spun to face them. Its whole body was covered in bristly black hair, and its yellow eyes narrowed as it spotted them. “Here,” it said. “I know you. You were the ones what ruined my bridge, weren’t you?”

  Ben glanced at Paradise. He was no expert on trolls, but this one did look awfully familiar. “Um … might have been,” he admitted.

  “It was,” growled the troll, lumbering closer. He jabbed a clawed thumb in Wesley’s direction. “It was you two an’ him what done it. That was my bridge an’ you snapped it clean in half!”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  The troll cracked its knuckles. “Then you legged it without playing Fart or Death.”

  “Because it’s a ridiculous game,” Paradise pointed out.

  “It is not, it’s brilliant!” the troll argued.

  “You see,” explained Ben, “these monsters had kidnapped the mayor and—”

  The troll held up a finger to silence him, then opened its arms wide. Ben’s hand tightened on his sword, but then he realised the creature was not moving to attack.

  “Give us a hug,” it said.

  Ben blinked in surprise. “Um … what?”

  “Put it here. Don’t be shy,” urged the troll, beckoning Ben closer. “Get in for the real thing.”

  “I’m not sure…” began Ben, shifting uneasily. “I mean…”

  “Oh just hug him!” wailed Wesley. “Before he gobbles us up.”

  The troll stepped closer and pulled Ben in before he could resist. He squeezed, and Ben’s nostrils were filled with a smell like rotten eggs.

  “There you go,” said the troll. “That’s the way.”

  With a final squeeze he released Ben and stepped back. Paradise looked from one to the other and back again.

  “So what was that about?” she asked.

  “You three,” the troll said, “saved my life.”

  “We did?” asked Paradise. “How?”

  The troll glanced nervously into the darkness on either side. “Can we go inside first?” he asked. “It’s not safe for me out here.”

  “Well you’re not coming to my house. You’ll stink the place up and leave hair everywhere,” said Paradise.

  “And it was destroyed by a goat,” Ben reminded her.

  Paradise groaned. “I’d forgotten about that.”

  “We’ll go to mine,” said Ben. “But if my uncle asks questions, leave the talking to me.”

  He looked over to Wesley, who was still hanging upside down from the hut roof, his inside-out robe still draped over his head. “You coming, Wes?”

  “What, with the troll?” he spluttered. “N-no, I think I’ll just stay here.”

  “You sure? It looks a bit … uncomfortable.”

  “What, this? No, it’s great! I’m loving it,” Wesley insisted. “I might start dangling upside down by one leg more often. It’s surprisingly comfortable. You go, don’t mind me!”

  “I’ll come back and cut you down in a minute,” Ben promised.

  “No rush!” said Wesley. “In your own time. Just you go.”

  Silence followed.

  “Don’t you worry about me at all!”

  More silence.

  “Oh,” said Wesley. “You’ve already gone, haven’t you?”

  And they had.

  The troll gave a low whistle. “Nice goat,” he said, as Ben led him and Paradise into the house. “Had it long?”

  “Just a few minutes,” said Ben. “Bit worried what might happen when it wakes up.”

  “Won’t wake up for hours yet,” said the troll.

  “How do you know?” asked Paradise.

  “Trust me. One thing what I know about is goats. I’m an expert on ’em. After all, I am a tro—”

  “Uncle Tavish!” said Ben, cutting the troll short just as the blacksmith’s head popped up from behind the Automated Plate and Cup Washing Device. “I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is… Um…”

  “Scumbo,” said the troll.

  “Scumbo?” said Ben. “Seriously?”

  “What’s wrong with ‘Scumbo’?” asked the troll, sounding slightly offended. “Issa good old-fashioned tro—”

  “Trophy!” cried Ben. He forced a laugh. “A good old-fashioned trophy name, is what he was about to say. The, er, the kind of name that would look great on trophies.”

  “That’s terrible,” whispered Paradise.

  “Shut up,” muttered Ben. “I’m doing my best.”r />
  Tavish looked long and hard at Scumbo, then he looked at Ben. “Benjamin,” he said. “Is that a troll?”

  “Yes,” said Scumbo.

  “No!” said Ben. “Haha. Oh Scumbo … you kidder. No, of course it’s not a troll. I know you’d never let me bring a troll into the house.” He shot Scumbo a meaningful look.

  “He just has … an unfortunate medical condition,” said Paradise.

  “That makes him all hairy,” said Ben.

  “And troll-like,” added Paradise.

  “It’s a tragedy, really,” Ben added. He lowered his voice. “Probably best not to talk about it.”

  Uncle Tavish nodded slowly.

  “Right,” he said. “It’s just that I heard someone shouting ‘troll’ a minute ago, and now you’re here with someone who looks quite a lot like a troll. No offence, Scumbo.”

  “None taken.”

  “Have you ever actually seen a troll, Uncle Tavish?” Ben asked.

  “Well … no. At least, not in a long time,” the blacksmith admitted.

  “Brilliant! I mean… Oh, right. Well, they look nothing like him,” Ben said. “They’re really big and scary.”

  “Not all stunted and smelling like feet,” Paradise added.

  “Here, who you calling stunted?” Scumbo demanded. He raised an arm and took a big sniff of his own armpit. “And I don’t smell like… Actually no, you’re right, I smell like feet.”

  “And look at the state of his teeth!” added Paradise. She prised open Scumbo’s lips and showed off a copper-coloured graveyard of tooth stumps. “Trolls have much better dental hygiene than that.”

  “Exactly! You know what they say about trolls’ teeth,” said Ben. He started to back away up the staircase, and gestured for the other two to follow suit.

  “No,” frowned Tavish. “I don’t.”

  “Don’t you? Well there’s something for you to find out, then,” said Ben, flashing his most innocent smile. “Wesley will know. Go ask him.”