Pwf & The Goblins' Revenge pdf

PONGWIFFY AND THE GOBLINS’ REVENGE

KAYE UMANSKY

ILLUSTRATED BY CHRIS SMEDLEY

CHAPTER ONE – An Early Morning Crawler

Witch Sharkadder was sitting at her dressing table Getting Ready, and it was a serious

business. It involved a great deal of preening and pouting in fly-flecked mirrors. It involved

the smearing on of various horrid substances which were stored in dozens of mysterious

little pots and bottles. Getting Ready needed time, concentration, and above all, quiet. Even

Dead Eye Dudley, Sharkadder's cat, knew better than to interrupt when Mistress was

Getting Ready.

Sharkadder had been at it for some time now, and had completed the basic

groundwork. All facial cracks were filled in, and every inch of her long nose was thoroughly

powdered. Her eyelids were painted an evil shade of green and sprouted an alarming pair of

spiderleg eyelashes. There were wild splodges of rouge on both cheeks.

Now for the best bit. The final touch. The Lipstick. Sharkadder poured over the

delicious possibilities. What should it be today? Hint of Gore? Boiled Beetroot? Squashed

Plum Purple? Finally she selected her favourite, Toad Green. Pursing her lips, she leaned

forward and carefully...oh, so carefully...began to apply it. Then...

"Yoo hoo! Shaaaaaaaarky! It’s me, Pongwiffy. Can I come in?"

This cheery shout was accompanied by wild battering at the door.

Sharkadder jumped like a scalded cat and smeared a greasy trail of Toad Green from

chin to earlobe. As the familiar smell wafted in, Dead Eye Dudley peered over the edge of

his basket and opened his one good eye.

"Don't let her in," advised Dudley. "You'll be sorry."

It was too late. The door crashed open and Witch Pongwiffy stood on the threshold.

"Fancy Dress!" she announced.

"Fancy what?" said Sharkadder.

"That's my latest idea for the Hallowe'en party," explained Pongwiffy, scuttling in

and slamming the door behind her. "A Fancy Dress parade. I just had to tell you about it. I

say, Sharky, there's this horrible trail of green slime on your face, did you know? I think

something's just died on it. Look, I've brought you a peace offering. A lovely bunch of

flowers. I'll just put them in a jug or something."

Beaming, she produced three drooping dandelions from behind her back, thrust

them under Sharkadder's pointed nose, then pushed past and started crashing about in

cupboards, looking for a jug or something.

"You've got a cheek," hissed Sharkadder, inspecting the damage in a mirror. "Coming

around here, after everything. You've got a nerve."

"Isn't it a lovely morning?" continued Pongwiffy, pretending she hadn't heard. "I

woke up and said to Hugo, Hugo, I said, this is just the sort of morning to go and visit my

best friend."

"Go visit her, then," suggested Sharkadder coldly.

"Don't be silly. I meant you, of course," explained Pongwiffy.

"Me?" said Sharkadder indignantly. "Your best friend? After what you called me the

other night? Ha! Don't make me laugh."

Huffily, she reached for a dirty rag and scrubbed away at the green smear.

"Did I call you something the other night?" asked Pongwiffy, sounding surprised.

"You know you did. An Over-painted Bone Bag With A Face Like A Dead Haddock. I

think that was the term."

"Oh, that! You didn't take any notice of
that,
did you?" pooh-pooed Pongwiffy,

ramming the dandelions any oldhow into an ancient baked bean tin. "I didn't mean it silly.

I'd never want to insult my oldest friend. My
dearest
friend. There. Your flowers. Don't they

look nice now they're arranged?"

"No." Sharkadder said frostily. "They don't. I wasn't born yesterday, Pongwiffy. You

want something, don't you?"

"Certainly not. I just want to make up, that's all. Look, I apologise. Sorry sorry sorry.

There. Now, I'll just pop the kettle on, and we'll have a nice cup of bogwater and a chat, eh?

I've missed you, you know, Sharky. I always do when we're not speaking."

Sharkadder sniffed and tossed her hair sullenly. But she was beginning to come

around. You could tell.

"I can't wait to tell you all my news," said Pongwiffy, rattling the cups around. "I've

been terribly busy working on a brilliant new spell. Guess what? The rubbish is safe! I've

finally solved my security problems. Want to know how?"

"Not really," said Sharkadder. She didn't share her friend's enthusiasm for smelly old

rubbish. But then, she wasn't Official Dumpkeeper. Pongwiffy was, and she really loved her

work. The Dump was her pride and joy. Her hovel, Number 1, Dump Edge, stood right on the

edge of it.

“I’ll tell you anyway," said Pongwiffy. "I've invented this amazing magical Wall Of

Smell. It's an invisible wall that goes all the way round The Dump. It's so disgusting that

nobody can get anywhere near it without a special magic formula which only I know. So ya

boo sucks to the raiding parties! They won't get as much as a chair leg this year, I promise

you. The famous Witches' Hallowe'en Bonfire will reach even dizzier heights! Aren't I a

rotten old spoilsport?"

"You certainly are," agreed Sharkadder.

"When The Dump's in danger, I'll stick at nothing," announced Pongwiffy. "I'm not

sharing my rubbish with any old Troll, Spook or Houri. That's Witch rubbish, that is, and it's

going on the Witch bonfire, or my name's not Pongwiffy."

Pongwiffy was rightfully proud of her dump. It had a fine reputation. It had been

voted Top of the Tips for three years running. As dumps go, it was the best for miles around.

That, of course, made it a prime target for raids. Every year, on the run up to Hallowe'en, it

was regularly attacked by all sorts of unsavoury types, looking for choice items to sling on

their Hallowe'en bonfires.

At Hallowe'en, there are a lot of parties going on, and a great big bonfire is a MUST.

The fact remains, however, that the Witches' Hallowe'en blaze is far and away the best. It's

the envy of all, and Pongwiffy likes to keep it that way by all the foul means at her disposal.

On the run up to Hallowe'en, therefore, Dump Security becomes A1 Priority. It suddenly

bristles with NO TERSPASSERS and PIRVIT KIP-POWT signs. It is patrolled regularly by both

Pongwiffy herself and a small, fierce Hamster who goes for the ankles. That's fair enough so

far.

But using Magic?

That was cheating.

"It's cheating," said Sharkadder. "The Skeletons won't like it. Neither will the Ghouls.

I can't see the Werewolves taking it lying down. There'll be trouble, mark my words."

"Nothing I can't handle," said Pongwiffy confidently. "Hey, I can't wait for tonight's

meeting, can you? We're discussing the party, remember? And, Sharky!
Guess whose turn it

is to organise it this year?
Mine! And you know what a great organiser I am. I tell you,

Sharky, this party will pass into legend. Pong's Great Hallowe'en Party! No, correction.

Pongwiffy and
Sharkadder's
Great Hallowe'en Party. Because I want you to help me. You

will, won't you? Oh, say you will!"

Sharkadder was tempted. Despite herself, she had missed Pongwiffy. Dead Eye

Dudley gave a loud warning cough.

"Listen," continued Pongwiffy. "I found this wonderful book in the rubbish tip. It's

called
How To Make Your Party Swing.
That's where I got the fancy dress idea. Sharky, I'm

going to make this party swing so high it'll overbalance altogether. I mean, let's face it, the

rest of the coven wouldn't know a swinging party if it swung back and bashed 'em in the

chops. They need up-to-date sort of Witches like you and me. I'm going to put forward my

revolutionary suggestions at the meeting tonight. I bet everyone's dead impressed. No one's

ever thought of fancy dress before. Probably haven't even
heard
of it, ha, ha..."

Prattling away, Pongwiffy made a confident bee-line for the cupboard and got out

Sharkadder's biscuit tin, which was clearly marked "Private". She poked around and ate the

last chocolate one. She went to Sharkadder's special cake tin and cut herself a huge slice of

the fungus sponge which Sharkadder was saving for tea. She found Sharkadder's secret

hoard of gingerbread frogs and helped herself to nine. Dudley stationed himself before his

tins of Sharkomeat and prepared to fight to the death.