The Hairy Hand by Robin Bennett

Author:Robin Bennett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: childrens stories, kids stories, scary, spooky, magic, fantasy, funny, gruesome, buried treasure, adventure
ISBN: 9781999884451
Publisher: Andrews UK
Published: 2019-02-10T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

The Plogs get even more dreadful, if that’s possible, and they meet some Wargs

Unfortunately, Sept’s attempts to improve his parents did not seem to be working. And if he hoped they would be sensible with their new money, he was about to be disappointed.

The Plogs became even louder and started bullying everyone around them. When Gertrude did not get her way, she would pull the horrible Black Book out of her dirty apron pocket and wave it about, promising to use all the terrible spells she knew on people who annoyed her. And, although Sept was sure she didn’t know any spells herself, the book scared the hell out of him and he could tell it scared the Hand, too.

They also started dressing in what they thought were the best clothes and jewels lots of money could buy. Plog found an old military uniform that had been left in a second-hand clothes shop and bought it on the spot. It was bright purple, with gold frogging down the front and huge brass buttons - like doorknobs - he polished so that they gleamed and caught the sun in a way that frightened horses.

At about this time, they started to called themselves the Count Ludwig and Countess Ludwiga von Waffleater and they put on accents when they went anywhere new to sell what the Hand found. Gertrude Plog decided that if people thought they were very important people from a faraway land they would treat them with the great respect she thought they deserved and they would also get a better price for the goods.

They were annoyed when Sept refused to play along.

But Sept had other things on his mind.

‘Gurt avening toe yew, mere servant.’ Gertrude Plog held a hand out covered in gaudy jewelry.

‘You what?’ said the young man in the hotel reception.

‘Ma waif, say’ed gerd efening, grersey poor person.’ Plog was very helpful these days. At this point he tried out a bow he had been practising recently in the bedroom mirror. It was meant to be regal and add to his air of military grandeur but he really went for it this evening and banged his head on the reception desk by mistake. The pointy button of the bell connected very painfully with his forehead and went off, making everyone look up from what they were doing. The receptionist was still non-plussed. Sept tried to pretend he wasn’t there.

‘Come again?’

‘Vee require your vinest rooooom fur mein uzbund und aye und somefink smoll und not too hexpensif fur dis boy, wot is our son and hair!’ Gertrude Plog carried on gamely. The receptionist now looked like he was trying to do complicated sums in his head whilst, at the same time, wanting to pee very badly indeed.

‘Sorry sir and madam,’ he said eventually, ‘I still can’t get the ’ang of what you are saying... something about your son’s hair being too expensive, perhaps?’

Plog glanced nervously around the reception area. It was the most expensive hotel in town and all the people who frequented it were posh.

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