Samuel Blink and the Runaway Troll by Matt Haig

Author:Matt Haig
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Young Readers Group
Published: 2008-05-15T00:00:00+00:00

Close shave number 4: the attic

Samuel went to open the wardrobe.

When the light flooded in, Troll-Son noticed something in the wardrobe. It was the red sweater and blue jeans Samuel had worn when he had stayed in Trollhelm.

“Samuel Blink clothes,” he said.

Samuel ignored this, and tried to think what he should do. The first thing was to work out precisely where Aunt Eda and Uncle Henrik were, so he went onto the landing and tried to listen. After a while, he realized Uncle Henrik was doing the washing-up in the kitchen while Aunt Eda was getting ready to hang the laundry on the line.

Samuel went back into the bedroom and gasped as he saw Troll-Son, out of the wardrobe—dressed in his red sweater and blue jeans. He was standing in front of the mirror, trying to brush his hair in a side part—exactly like Samuel’s.

“What are you doing?” asked Samuel.

“What…are…you…doing?” copied Troll-Son.

“Why are you in my clothes?”

“Why…are…you…in…my…clothes?”

“Stop copying me,” Samuel said crossly.

“I be sorry, Samuel Blink.” Troll-Son began to take off the sweater.

“No, there’s no time. We need to get you out of this room. They’ll find you if you stay in here. You’ve got to go to the attic.”

“Attic?”

Samuel pointed upward.

“Be it in the sky?”

“No, it be…is up a ladder. Now quick, while Aunt Eda and Uncle Henrik are both downstairs. Come on. Follow me. But be as quiet you can. No burping!”

So Samuel beckoned Troll-Son out into the hallway to the ladder that led up to the attic. Troll-Son looked petrified, but agreed to follow Samuel up into the dim-lit room full of dust, cobwebs, old tea chests and framed pictures of Uncle Henrik from his ski-jumping days.

“Right,” said Samuel. “This is where you’re going to stay until we can think of a better option. There’s an old mattress over there that you can sleep on, and I’ll make sure I’ll bring you food when I can…”

Troll-Son nodded, but looked scared.

“Samuel? Samuel?” It was Uncle Henrik, from downstairs. “Do you want another hot drink?”

“I’ve got to go,” Samuel whispered, and headed back down through the latch. “I’ll be back later.”

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