Trolls on Hols (4 page)

Warren kept his nose pressed against the window. ‘Do you think they will catch their death?' he asked.

‘Warren!'

‘I'm only asking. It might get cold tonight.'

‘They're trolls,' said Mrs Priddle. ‘They're used to the cold.'

There was a silence. Mrs Priddle drained the last of her hot chocolate. Warren and Mr Priddle gazed at her reproachfully. The rain fell harder, drumming on the roof.

‘Oh, go on then,' sighed Mrs Priddle. ‘I must be out of my mind.'

‘I'll tell them,' said Mr Priddle. He took the golfing umbrella and went outside.

The Trolls came in and stood by the door. Rain dripped off them, collecting in puddles at their feet.

‘Thank you,' said Mr Troll, shaking himself like a dog.

‘It's only for one night,' warned Mrs Priddle. ‘You'd better get out of those wet clothes.'

‘Good idea,' said Mr Troll, pulling off his soggy vest.

‘Not here!' shouted Mrs Priddle. ‘Go in the bathroom and change. I'm afraid you'll all have to squash in one bed.'

‘That's all right,' said Mrs Troll. ‘We're used to squishing. We can squish in with you if you like.'

Mrs Priddle shuddered. ‘Please, no! Just go to bed. Maybe in the morning we'll find this was all a nightmare.'

The Trolls retired and before long the only sound to be heard was the rumbling of Mr Troll's snores. Ulrik lay awake listening to the rain pattering on the roof. Holidays were quite different from what he'd imagined. You seemed to spend a lot of time arguing and getting wet. Still, tomorrow was a new day; maybe if it stopped raining they'd go to the seaside.

The next day the clouds had blown away and the sun shone in a clear, blue sky. After a breakfast of scrambled eggs and burnt toast (Mr Priddle said the grill needed fixing) Ulrik and Warren asked if they could go off to explore by themselves.

The two of them wandered down the hill past the wood where the crows called to them. Ulrik could see Boggy Moor emerging from the morning mist. It looked wild and deserted, a bit like Troll Mountain, though obviously without the mountain.

‘Let's play Hide and Seek,' Warren suggested.

‘Is that the same as Roar and Seek?' asked Ulrik. ‘I used to play that with my friends.'

‘It's easy peasy. I hide and you've got to find me.'

‘And when do you roar?'

‘You don't roar!' said Warren impatiently. ‘There's no roaring in this game, OK?'

‘OK. But how am I meant to find you?'

Warren rolled his eyes. ‘Look, it isn't complicated. You just close your eyes, count to fifty, then come and look for me. Got it?'

‘Yes,' said Ulrik. ‘Where will you be?'

‘Arghhh!' cried Warren.

Ulrik frowned. ‘I thought you said there wasn't any roaring.'

‘Just shut your eyes and count!'

Ulrik did as he was told and counted to fifty out loud. When he opened his eyes he was alone. He scanned the hill, trying to guess where Warren would have gone. Apart from the barn and the woods there weren't many places to hide. He decided to try the barn first.

Pushing open the door, he breathed in the sweet smell of straw and muck. It smelled a bit like their
house in Mountain View. At the far end of the barn someone was bending over, surrounded by sheep.

‘Found you!' cried Ulrik.

But when the person turned round, it wasn't Ulrik. It was Farmer Ogwen, who gave him a gap-toothed smile. He was wearing the same shabby clothes as yesterday and he'd forgotten to shave.

‘Hello,' said Ulrik. ‘I was looking for Warren. Have you seen him?'

‘Not in here.'

‘We're playing Hide and Sneak. I've got to find him but roaring's not allowed.'

Ogwen raised one bushy eyebrow. ‘Just as well. You might have scared me.'

Ulrik shrugged modestly. ‘Dad says my roar's getting fiercer. I'm having lessons.'

‘Good for you.'

Ulrik decided he liked Ogwen's soft, sing-song way of talking. Most people he met for the first time backed away as if he was going to bite them, but Ogwen seemed quite at ease. He went back to colouring one of the sheep with the blue marker in his hand.

‘Aren't they meant to be white?' asked Ulrik.

‘What's that then?'

‘Sheeps. You're colouring them blue.'

The farmer chuckled to himself. ‘Oh, not blue all over. That's my mark, see? Anyone finds this sheep, they'll see that blue mark and they'll know she belongs to me.'

‘Oh, I see! Like my feetball socks,' said Ulrik.

‘Are they blue?'

‘No, they're red, but they've got my name inside, so peeples at school know they're mine.'

Ogwen nodded. ‘Same thing. Sheep are like socks, always getting lost.' He gave Ulrik a wink. ‘You want to give me a hand?'

Ulrik nodded. He liked colouring. They did it at school, though mostly on paper rather than sheep. Ogwen showed him how to make a large splodge on the sheep's fleece using the blue marker. Once he'd got the hang of it, he did several
more. Some of the sheep had red spots, which Ogwen explained was a mistake that needed to be corrected. Ulrik was so involved in what he was doing that he didn't notice Warren come into the barn.

‘Ulrik! I thought you were coming to look for me,' he complained.

Ulrik swung round. ‘Oh, sorry, Warren. I forgot.'

‘It's my fault,' said Ogwen. ‘He's been helping me.'

Warren leaned on the side of the pen sulkily. ‘I've been waiting for hours. You never would have seen me. I found this great place in the woods.'

Ogwen looked up sharply. ‘The woods?'

‘Yes,' said Warren. ‘Why?'

‘You don't want to go there. It's close to the moor. I should have warned you.'

‘What's wrong with the moor?' asked Ulrik.

‘Wrong? Surely you know about Boggy Moor?'

They both shook their heads. Ogwen beckoned them over with a grimy finger and lowered his voice. ‘There's things happen on the moor, boys – bad things. No one goes there, not after dark. You take my advice.'

‘Why?' asked Warren in an awed whisper. ‘Why don't they go there?'

The farmer shook his head. ‘Take it from me, it's not safe. You keep away from the moor. Keep away.'

He shook a bony finger in warning and then turned back to his sheep.

‘What do you think he meant?' asked Ulrik as they left the barn.

‘I don't know,' said Warren. ‘He's probably just pulling our leg. Trying to scare us.'

‘Yes,' said Ulrik. ‘Probably.' He glanced back at the wood, and the bleak moor beyond.

‘Anyway, I'm not scared,' said Warren.

‘Nor me,' agreed Ulrik. The caravan was in sight now and they broke into a run.

Mr Priddle said that since the sun was shining they should spend the day on the beach. He had hoped the Trolls might have other plans but it turned out they had no plans at all.

The six of them squashed into the Priddles' car, with Warren reluctantly forced to sit on Mrs Troll's lap since he was the smallest. Once at the beach car park, they unloaded their bags, buckets and spades and followed the steep path down to Sunny Bay.

Down at the beach Ulrik noticed that everyone stopped what they were doing to stare at the Trolls. Shouts and laughter died away on the air. People drew back to let them through, pointing and whispering among themselves.

Mr Priddle set down his bags by some rocks.

‘Let's stop here,' he suggested. ‘The tide's coming in.'

A little girl ran past and stopped in front of Ulrik. She pointed a chubby finger.

‘Dad! Dad! It's the big bad beast!'

Ulrik bent down to give her his friendliest smile, but before he could say anything, the girl's dad came running and gathered her up in his arms.

Looking around, Ulrik saw people were beginning to desert the beach. Some gathered up their belongings while others panicked and simply left their towels and rugs behind as they fled. Within five minutes of their arrival the beach was empty except for the Trolls and the Priddles.

Mrs Troll stared open-mouthed. ‘What's wrong with everyone?'

‘It's you!' said Mrs Priddle. ‘Didn't you see the way they looked at you?'

‘Well, haven't they seen trolls before?'

‘Of course they haven't! This is Wales.'

‘But we weren't trying to fright anyone,' said Mr Troll. ‘I haven't roared once.'

Mr Priddle looked up and down the deserted beach. ‘Well, it looks like we've got the place to ourselves. We might as well enjoy it.'

He began to set up the windbreak, hammering the poles into the sand while his wife spread out three beach towels. Once this was done, the trolls watched in surprise as the Priddles began to undress, stripping off their tops and shorts.

Mrs Priddle caught them staring. ‘Aren't you getting changed?'

‘Are we, Mum?' asked Ulrik.