Trolls Go Home! by Alan MacDonald

Author:Alan MacDonald
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing
Published: 2007-09-08T04:00:00+00:00

‘Then we’ll have to make them believe. We need proof, Roger. Proof that they … I can hardly say the word …’ She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Proof that they eat children.’

‘What sort of proof?’ Mr Priddle asked. ‘I can’t just go next door and start poking around for evidence.’

Mrs Priddle fixed her husband with a steely look he knew all too well.

‘No, Jackie,’ he said. ‘No, I can’t …’

‘You’ve seen that big pile of earth in their garden. What else is it for?’ said Mrs Priddle. ‘That’s where they bury them, Roger. The bones. Think of it – there may be skulls and skeletons and all sorts.’ Mr Priddle was thinking and he didn’t much like the sound of it.

‘There’s our proof,’ insisted Mrs Priddle. ‘If we take a bag of bones to the police they’ll have to believe us.’

Mr Priddle lay down again. He had to get up for work in a few hours. ‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow,’ he murmured. But his wife’s hand gripped his shoulder.

‘No, Roger, tonight. I can’t put up with another night like this. My nerves won’t stand it. You have to go tonight.’

Fifteen minutes later the Priddles held a counsel of war in the kitchen. Warren had heard his parents talking and came downstairs to find out why everyone was up. When he heard about the raid next door, he begged to be allowed to take part. If his dad was going to creep around someone’s garden in the dead of night, he wanted to be there – especially if there was the chance of digging up some human bones. Mr Priddle made a show of protesting, but secretly he was glad of the company. The thought of sneaking into the trolls’ garden in the dark terrified him.

He was wearing his best black sweater and his face was smeared with dirt. Leaves and twigs stuck out of his floppy gardening hat. He had once seen a film where tough commandos dressed this way so that the enemy wouldn’t spot them in the dark (though he didn’t remember them wearing gardening hats). Warren’s face was masked by the navy balaclava his grandma had knitted him for Christmas. Both of them were armed with torches and spades.

‘Right,’ said Mr Priddle, trying to sound brave and determined. He glanced at the clock. Four a.m. Soon it would be getting light. He wondered if he would live to see the dawn.

The first problem was climbing over the fence without making a racket. Warren stood on his dad’s back and managed to get a foot on the top before jumping over.

‘Are you all right, my lambkin?’ whispered Mrs Priddle.

‘Fine,’ came the reply. ‘Come on, Dad! Hurry up. It’s easy!’

Mr Priddle tried to haul himself up on to the fence, but found his leg wouldn’t reach.

‘Give me a leg up, Jackie!’ he said.

‘No thank you. You’ve got dirty shoes on,’ Mrs Priddle replied.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.