‘Wrestling them?’
‘He means rustling,’ explained Mr Priddle. ‘If you look on the moor you’ll find his truck. The stolen sheep are in the back.’
‘And this, said Ulrik, ‘is the beast of Boggy Moor.’ He trundled Bessie forward so that the policeman could see her and switched on the tape. Growls and howls came from the two speakers. Sergeant Morgan took off his cap and scratched his head.
‘Well I’ll be jiggered! So that’s what it was! The chief’s going to be pleased about this. Very pleased. We’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this for months. Of course I never believed in all this beast nonsense myself.’
‘Didn’t you?’ asked Mr Priddle.
‘Oh no, not for a moment. “Someone’s leading us a merry dance” – that’s what I said to the chief. But fancy it turning out to be Olwen Ogwen all the time! There’ll be a reward for this, you know.’
Mr Priddle’s face brightened. ‘A reward? Goodness! I had no idea.’
He felt a large hairy hand on his shoulder. ‘Ahem!’ growled Mr Troll.
‘Oh well, yes,’ said Mr Priddle hastily. ‘Strictly speaking it was Ulrik who did most of the work.’
Ulrik smiled shyly as the Sergeant shook him firmly by the hand.
‘Good work, young Ulrik. You come by the station and we’ll see about that five hundred pounds, shall we?’
‘Uggsome!’ said Ulrik.
A loud groan made them all look round. ‘Are you OK, Warren?’ asked Ulrik. ‘You’ve gone a bit green.’
Wish you were Here!
Mrs Priddle lay on her sunbed and sipped her fruit cocktail through a straw. The ice cubes clinked soothingly against the glass. Below her balcony she could hear children laughing and playing happily in the hotel swimming pool. Warren’s shrill voice rang out above the hubbub. ‘Mum! Watch me!’
Mrs Priddle waved back at him. ‘Lovely, darling! Well done!’
She sighed deeply – at last a proper holiday! The strange events of the previous night seemed like a dream. In any case, everything had worked out well. After hours of tramping the moor, Mr Priddle was ready to abandon his damp caravan and move into a comfortable hotel. She glanced at him now, lying on the sunbed next to hers.
‘So there never was any beast at all?’ she said.
‘Mmm? No. I told you, Ogwen invented the whole thing just to keep people off the moor at night.’
‘But what about the story in the paper? People claimed they saw it.’
Mr Priddle chuckled. ‘It just shows you the power of the imagination. Tell people there’s a savage beast on the moor and that’s what they believe. Actually, it was nothing more than a stuffed dog – Ogwen’s favourite Labrador, Bessie. It seems he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.’
‘Heavens! He sounds a total fruitcake,’ remarked Mrs Priddle.
‘I’m afraid so. I heard him tell the police the dog had come back to haunt him.’
Mrs Priddle shook her head. She had never trusted the farmer from the start – you could tell he didn’t clean his teeth properly.
‘Well, thank goodness it’s all over,’ she said. ‘No more sleepless nights, no more caravans, and best of all, no more trolls.’
‘Bliss!’ agreed Mr Priddle.
Mrs Priddle closed her eyes, hoping to doze off. She could hear seagulls calling and the put-put of a car coming slowly along the road. In fact it wasn’t a car, it was more like …
‘Oh good gravy!’ said Mr Priddle, sitting bolt upright.
‘What?’
‘That’s our caravan!’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Roger. We left it back at the farm.’
‘It is, and it’s turning in here!’
Mrs Priddle’s eyes snapped open and she jumped to her feet. Below her balcony she could see a large red tractor turning into the drive. At the wheel was Mr Troll, who had never driven a tractor before but was obviously enjoying the experience. He was towing the Priddles’ battered old caravan behind and Ulrik and Mrs Troll could be seen hanging out of the windows.
‘Oh no!’ groaned Mrs Priddle. She tried to hide but it was too late – Mr Troll had spotted them and waved excitedly.
‘Piddle! Look what I’ve got. We’ve cleaned it up for you!’
‘Cleaned it up?’ Mrs Priddle turned pale. She dared not think what that meant.
Mr Priddle waved his arms. ‘No! We don’t want it! Go away!’
‘What?’ asked Mr Troll, putting a hand to his ear and forgetting to steer. The tractor swerved violently to the left.
‘I said … look out!’ shouted Mr Priddle.
The tractor ploughed straight across the Hotel Majestic’s lawn, leaving deep muddy tracks in its wake. It was heading directly for the swimming pool. Sunbathers ran for cover, scattering in all directions. A waiter dropped his tray of drinks and vaulted a sunbed faster than an Olympic hurdler. The pool was emptying fast.
‘Brakes!’ bellowed Mr Priddle. ‘Use the brakes!’
‘Which one is brakes?’ Mr Troll called back. He had only just learned how to make the tractor go forward – stopping it was another matter. He chose a lever at random and pushed it, jamming his foot down on one of the pedals. The tractor leapt forward like a startled kangaroo. The Priddles shut their eyes, unable to watch. When it came, the splash was so enormous it drenched them five floors up.
Bubbling and hissing, the tractor went down in the deep end, dragging the caravan in with it. A moment later Ulrik bobbed to the surface, followed by Mr and Mrs Troll. They struggled to the side of the pool, where a crowd of spectators had gathered to watch.
Ulrik climbed up the steps and sat down.
‘Mum! Did you see me? I swimmed!’
‘Well done, my ugglesome!’
The manager of the Majestic pushed his way through the crowd, crimson with rage.
‘Is this your caravan?’ he demanded, pointing to the sunken wreck.
The Trolls looked at each other. ‘Well, no,’ said Mr Troll. ‘It isn’t.’
‘Then whose is it?’
‘It’s the Piddles’.’
Mr Troll pointed to the balcony – but strangely enough there was no sign of the Priddles at all.
Footnote
1Trollaby – soft crooning song, often about hunting goats.
Also by the Author
Other titles in the
Troll Trouble series
Trolls Go Home!
Trolls United!
Look out for
Goat Pie
PRIDDLES: Roger, Jackie and Warren
Description: ‘Pasty-faced peeples’
Likes: Peace and quiet
Dislikes: Trolls
MR TROLL: Egbert / Eggy
Description: Tall, dark and scaresome
Likes: Roaring, tromping, hiding under bridges.
ULRIK TROLL
Description: Big for his age
Likes: Smells, singing, Rockball.
MRS TROLL: Nora
Description: Gorgeous (ask Mr Troll)
Likes: Huggles and kisses, caves, the dark
GOAT
Description: Strong-smelling, beardy beast
Likes: Mountains, grass
Dislikes: Being eaten
First published in Great Britain in 2007 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc,
36 Soho Square, London, W1D 3QY
This electronic edition published in 2007 by Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Text copyright © Alan MacDonald 2007
Illustrations copyright © Mark Beech 2007
All rights reserved You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages
A CI
P catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library
eISBN 978 14088 1905 0
www.bloomsbury.com/trolls
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