Holiday Hullabaloo Page 5

  ‘This is your fault,’ she hissed. ‘You obviously made a bad impression. Now I’ll never meet the Queen!’

  Meanwhile

  Joan had had enough. She was furious. All that wasted time playing croquet with Lord Clodly and Lady Bulchington.

  She hobbled off to the spare room to call her driver to take her back to Brisket Hall, her lovely mansion house.

  ‘This is Marjorie’s fault,’ she mumbled as she closed the spare-room door behind her. She’d get her revenge. Joan would make sure that Marjorie didn’t get a penny in her will. She’d leave her millions to Ermintrude, her pet budgie, instead.

  Joan was just about to pick up the telephone when she noticed something sticking out from under the bed. She reached down, her back and arms clicking and cracking as she went, and picked up a left sock. Joan only wore silk stockings and hadn’t seen a sock in years and years.

  She sniffed it curiously. ‘Oooooooooooooorrrh!’

  Horror

  ‘Oh, my jubbly little pluglet,’ said Malaria and scooped Pong up. ‘Your mooma’s so proud of her monkey-seal-pig.’

  ‘Absolunkly,’ beamed Clod. ‘And our little heroes here.’ He put an arm round Neville and Rubella. ‘Blunking marvellous.’

  ‘Nev didn’t do much,’ huffed Rubella. ‘Actually, he didn’t do anything at all.’

  ‘Well, he’s still my hero,’ said Malaria.

  Neville loved being called a hero. He couldn’t wait to tell Terrance and Archie at school on Monday. He’d be the coolest kid in town, he was sure of it. That is, until his dad saw the state of the car and grounded him for the next five hundred years.

  ‘Right, my brandyburp,’ Clod said to Malaria. ‘Let’s get out of these costumey things and have ourselves a nice left sock or two.’

  ‘Indeedy, Clod, my lump.’ Malaria put Pong down on the pile of toys and went to the mirror. ‘All this make-up nonkumbumps,’ she said. ‘It’s so oddly.’

  Malaria spat on to a bath towel she’d snitched and rubbed at her face … then she rubbed a bit harder … then a bit harder.

  ‘’Ere, Nev,’ she said. ‘This make-up ain’t comin’ off.’

  Neville jumped up from the bed and went to have a look. She was right. Malaria’s face was still as peachy and rosy as ever.

  ‘Try it again,’ Neville said.

  Malaria tried it again.

  ‘Nothing,’ she said.

  That’s when Neville noticed the towel. It was covered in make-up.

  ‘Oh, pook,’ said Neville.

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that, Nev,’ said Clod, who was also scrubbing away with a corner of the bed sheet.

  ‘Mooma,’ Neville said gingerly. ‘The make-up has come off. You’re not wearing any.’

  ‘What the –’ Malaria turned back to the mirror, took one look at her lovely, peachy complexion and screamed.

  ‘Don’t you remember?’ Neville shouted over the screaming. ‘When I lived Underneath, I grew toadstools and my skin turned grey. You’ve been living up here. The same must have happened to you.’

  ‘I can’t be rosy,’ Malaria wailed.

  ‘We’ll be fun-poked forever,’ blurted Clod.

  Rubella pointed and laughed at her parents.

  ‘I don’t know what you’re laughing at, Belly,’ Malaria whimpered. ‘Where are your turnips?’

  Rubella looked at her shoulders, saw that the turnips had vanished, then threw her head back and howled.

  ‘NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!’

  Clod lifted Napoleon, who had given up wriggling and was now snoring peacefully, off his head and ran to join Malaria at the mirror. There, where Napoleon had been curled up, was a head of glossy brown hair.

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!’ yowled Clod.

  Malaria grabbed at her toilet-paper wig and yanked it off.

  Neville gasped.

  Instead of Malaria’s thorny bristles, there flopped a beautiful hairdo of long golden locks. They dangled all the way down her back and glistened in the dim light.

  Malaria started tearing around the room and swatting at herself as if she were covered in hundreds of tiny, biting ants. Neville had to leap into the cupboard to avoid her. ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHH!’

  She jumped on the bed and demolished it.

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHH!’

  She ran straight through the wall into the hallway.

  ‘AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGHH!’

  She kept running and in a blind panic burst through the wall into the spare bedroom where Grandma Joan was staying.

  Malaria froze in her tracks. She stopped screaming and gawped at the scene before her. Neville ran in after her and gasped.

  There was Grandma Joan sitting on the end of the bed with a half-eaten left sock dangling from her mouth.

  Secrets

  ‘I knew there was something funksome about you,’ Malaria said, pointing a stubby finger. Joan stared back like a rabbit in the headlights of a car. ‘What’s this all about?’

  Clod, Rubella and Neville’s mum and dad reached the doorway.

  ‘Well, I’ll be bungled,’ said Clod.

  Grandma Joan gobbled down the rest of the sock and peered through her spectacles at Malaria. On the Mooma’s left shoulder was a large rip and one last remaining toadstool was poking out of it.

  ‘TROLLS!’ Joan shrieked. ‘OF COURSE! Lady Bulchington and Lord Clodly? I should have known. I smelled you the minute I stepped in through the front door!’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Neville.

  ‘How’d you know about trolls?’ asked Marjorie.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Herbert. ‘Is everything all right?’

  ‘No, it blunkin’ ain’t,’ interrupted Clod.

  ‘She’s one of us. She’s an underling,’ said Malaria.

  ‘WHAT?’ gasped Herbert. ‘My mummy is not a dirty, stinking troll, if that’s what you’re trying to say.’

  ‘OH, SHUT UP, YOU LITTLE FOOZLE FART!’ Joan shouted at Herbert. ‘OF COURSE I AM – WELL … WAS.’

  ‘HA!’ Rubella burst out laughing.

  ‘I’ve just been up here too long, which by the looks of things so have you,’ Joan continued, pointing at the Bulches. ‘I turned all overlingy … smooth skin and no turnips … bleeeuuucchh … disgusting!’

  ‘But you can’t be!’ blubbed Herbert. ‘You’re my mummy.’

  ‘I’m not your mummy.’ Joan scowled. ‘I ate your mummy.’

  Herbert turned green.

  ‘Only kidding,’ Joan chuckled. ‘I had your mumsie made into a pair of shoes with a matching handbag when you were a wee nipster.’

  Then Herbert turned white.

  ‘It c-can’t b-be true,’ he stammered.

  ‘Of course it’s not true, you grunty-gawper. I’m your mother,’ said Joan, picking at a piece of sock in her teeth. ‘You, m’boy, are half troll.’

  Herbert looked like he was going to be sick.

  ‘NOOOO!’ he bawled. ‘TELL ME IT’S NOT TRUE! TELL ME YOU HAD MY MUMMY MADE INTO A PAIR OF SHOES WITH A MATCHING HANDBAG … PLEASE!’

  ‘You are half a troll, boy,’ Joan said. ‘There’s underling blood in you. Get used to it.’

  ‘Who are you?’ said Malaria, getting angry and tossing her golden hair. ‘A troll would never leave the Underneath for good. Why’d you come up here in the first place?’

  ‘I had to escape,’ Joan smirked. ‘Don’t you recognize me?’

  Clod and Malaria glanced at each other. Their memory was so bad. They’d have no chance of recognizing a troll that didn’t look like a troll any more.

  Neville glared at the old woman. He wasn’t sure, but now he thought about it, there was something vaguely familiar about her. That wrinkled, foldy face, her nose like a pointed carrot. He balled his hands into fists. Think, Neville, think …

  ‘I knew you wouldn’t be able to tell who I was,’ Joan chuckled. ‘You’re all so stu–’

  ‘I’VE GOT IT!’ Neville shouted. He suddenly remembered Clod
’s story on the roof, and the day that Clod and Malaria had taken him for a trip round the town of Underneath. Clod had showed Neville a statue of Lady Jaundice. ‘YOU’RE THE TROLL THAT STOLE!’

  Rubella and his mooma and dooda all gasped.

  ‘Lady Jaundice,’ said Clod. He looked starstruck. ‘Good gracicles.’

  ‘I should’ve known one of you lot would come up here for a trolliday at some point,’ sneered Jaundice.

  ‘NOOOOO!’ yelled Herbert suddenly. ‘You’re telling me that not only is my mummy a grotty troll, she’s a criminal as well?’

  ‘It’s your lucky day,’ Rubella giggled.

  ‘Well,’ said Lady Jaundice, straightening her peacock-blue coat and grabbing her favourite fox fur. ‘I’d love to dangle about and chat with you bunch of snots, but I have far more important things to do at my mansion. The chef is preparing roast kitten stuffed with caviar as we speak.’

  With that, Joan blew a kiss at them and jumped head first towards the window.

  Into the Underneath

  ‘Oh no, you don’t,’ boomed Malaria, lunging forward. Jaundice had already smashed the window and was scrabbling out, but Malaria caught hold of her ankles and dragged her back inside with a bump. ‘You ain’t going anywhere. Half of Underneath would like to get their hands on you!’

  ‘GET OFF!’ Jaundice yanked her ankles free and started kicking and flailing wildly. ‘NO ONE STANDS BETWEEN ME AND ROAST KITTEN!’

  She flung her walking stick across the room, almost hitting Marjorie in the face. Her string of pearls snapped and clattered to the floor in a shower of little white droplets and the fox fur flew through the air and landed on Pong’s head. He cooed loudly and pulled it into little pieces.

  ‘Stop squiggling, you squirmer,’ Malaria grunted, grabbing Jaundice round the waist and holding on tightly. ‘I’m takin’ you to prison.’

  ‘Don’t let go, Mooma,’ Neville shouted over the din.

  ‘YEAH,’ Rubella joined in. She was laughing so hard, it looked like she might be in danger of wetting her hippo-sized pants. ‘Squeeze the old gurnip.’

  ‘My mother is NOT a gurnip!’ Herbert snapped at Rubella. Then he turned to Neville. ‘What’s a gurnip?’

  But Neville wasn’t listening. He watched with a mixture of fear and excitement as Jaundice picked Malaria up and threw her at the wall. Malaria crashed through it like a wrecking ball on the end of a crane and landed in the bathroom with a loud ‘OOOOOOOF!’ Neville’s eyes were practically popping out of his head. Who knew his grandma Joan was so agile and strong?

  ‘MY HOUSE!’ Marjorie screeched. ‘STTOOOPPPP!’

  ‘MY MUM!’ Herbert squeaked, even higher than Marjorie. ‘AAAAAAGH!’

  ‘You grumping old glumper,’ Clod shouted. He snatched up the bedside lamp and brandished it at Jaundice like a sword. ‘Let’s see who’s the strongly one now!’

  Jaundice laughed a high-pitched, insane, granny-type laugh and leapt towards the ceiling as Clod hurtled towards her. She swung over his head on the bedroom light and landed on the bed with a sickening crunch of old joints and bones.

  Before Clod had even realized it, he ran straight through the outside wall and vanished into the night air. Neville gasped in horror as his dooda tumbled into the darkness. Everybody (including Jaundice) held their breath. There was a moment of silence, followed by the sound of an enormous splash, as Clod landed in the fish pond.

  ‘Thank goodness!’ Neville heaved a sigh of relief.

  ‘Serves him right,’ Jaundice growled from the bed. ‘The great whelp.’

  ‘RIGHT!’ Malaria bellowed, sticking her head through the massive hole in the bathroom wall. ‘You asked for it … GET HER, RUBELLY!’

  Rubella, who had been watching from the doorway with a huge grin on her face, suddenly jumped into action.

  ‘MOVE!’ she snapped, shoving Neville, Herbert and Marjorie aside. Then she pointed at Jaundice. ‘I’ll squish you like mouldy potato, you … you –’

  It was too late. Jaundice leapt from the bed and flew straight over Rubella.

  ‘Stop jumping about, you old snot!’ Rubella screamed, swatting at the air above her head. ‘Stand still and let me squish you.’

  ‘Not on your nelly, you womping great chunker,’ said Jaundice. She landed behind Rubella and booted her in her enormous backside, sending her flopping on to the bedroom rug. Then, quicker than Neville had ever seen his grandma move before, she darted past him and ran into the hallway.

  ‘Mummy,’ whined Herbert. ‘Come back.’

  ‘Don’t let her get away,’ Rubella grunted. ‘QUICK!’

  Neville ran out of the room just in time to see his grandma skittering into the bathroom. There was the sound of clattering and smashing and then Malaria tumbled out into the hall.

  ‘She’s going to flush herself!’ Malaria yelled, scrabbling back to her feet. ‘Quick, Nev!’

  Neville reached the bathroom door and stopped. Herbert and Marjorie appeared behind him, panting and whimpering. The three of them gawped at the half-troll-half-grandma thing standing with one foot inside the toilet bowl and her hand poised just above the flush.

  ‘Mummy,’ said Herbert. ‘What about me?’

  ‘Who cares about you?’ the old troll gloated. ‘I’d rather take my chances down there than stay here with you bunch of muck suckers. I’m Lady Jaundice, the marauder of the mud-beds, the fiend of the fungus forests –’

  ‘The duchess of the dungle droppings,’ Rubella shouted through the hole in the wall.

  ‘I’M THE TROLL THAT STOLE AND YOU WON’T STOP ME!’ Jaundice screamed. Then she pulled the flush and vanished down the toilet with a great surge of water.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ asked Neville.

  ‘Well, you’ve got another think coming if you expect me to go down there after –’

  Marjorie hadn’t even finished her sentence when – ‘Yip,yip … yiiiippp!’ – Napoleon scampered between her legs, sprang up on to the toilet seat and with one final ‘Yiiiiippp!’ jumped in after Jaundice.

  ‘MY BABY!’ Marjorie howled. Without a second’s thought, she flew across the bathroom and dived head first into the toilet bowl. Neville could still hear her screaming as her fluffy pink slippers disappeared round the U-bend.

  ‘Oopsy,’ said Malaria. ‘That were unexpected.’

  ‘What did I miss?’ Clod reached the top of the stairs. He was dripping wet and covered in pondweed. ‘Where’s the old glumper?’

  ‘She flushed herself, and now my mum has just gone down the pipes after Napoleon,’ said Neville frantically. ‘We have to go after her!’

  ‘Nev’s right,’ Malaria said, far too casually to reassure Neville. ‘If she misses the lantern pipe, she’s in trouble.’

  ‘WHAT?’ shouted Herbert.

  ‘S’pose that’s the end of our trolliday then?’ said Clod. He pulled a glum face, picked up a newt from his shoulder and popped it into his mouth. ‘What a shame. I was enjoyin’ that, I was.’

  ‘COME ON!’ Herbert shouted again. His face was getting redder and redder. ‘You have to go after them!’

  ‘All right, Hergberg,’ said Clod. ‘Don’t get your panty-bloomers in a twizzle.’ Clod picked Herbert up and swung him on to his back. ‘Deep breath now, Herb.’

  Herbert sucked in a huge bellyful of air and held it with a look of utter terror on his face.

  ‘Here we go,’ said Clod. He placed a spade-sized foot into the toilet and pulled the flush.

  Neville could hardly believe the things he’d seen in the past ten minutes. First his grandma turning out to be a notorious thieving troll, then his dog and mother jumping down the loo and now his dad vanishing after them on the back of his hulking great dooda.

  ‘Right, Nev,’ said Malaria. ‘We’d better follow.’ Just like the others, she put one foot into the toilet then waggled the other one towards Neville. ‘Grab on.’

  Neville grabbed hold of Malaria’s thick ankle. Then Rubella waddled into the room and w
rapped her arm round Neville’s waist, and Pong clung to Rubella’s turnip-free back.

  ‘Get on with it,’ grunted Rubella. ‘I don’t want to miss what happens.’

  Neville held his breath.

  Here we go again, he thought as Malaria pulled the flush and the four of them shot off down the pipes like a strange and very grisly Christmas paper chain.

  The Dooky What?

  Neville landed in a soggy knot of troll arms and legs on a cold stone floor. They were in the vast chamber where all the trolls collected to squeeze up the pipes on grab night. The last time Neville had seen it, there were lots of trolls coming and going, but now it was completely empty. His footsteps echoed like the distant clanging of a huge machine.

  ‘C’mon then, we’ve got catching up to do.’ Malaria swung Pong on to her back and nudged Rubella to her feet.

  ‘All right,’ Rubella grunted. Neville noticed that turnips had already started to sprout across her shoulders again.

  ‘Your dooda must have gone further down the pipes, past the lantern tunnels,’ said Malaria as a toadstool suddenly grew from the side of her neck. ‘If your mumsie got washed past that, there’s only one place she could be.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Neville.

  ‘The dooky hole,’ said Malaria, pulling a face.

  Neville gulped.

  Rubella laughed.

  ‘Please tell me that’s a really nice part of the Underneath,’ said Neville.

  ‘Erm, not exactly,’ Malaria smiled nervously. ‘I think we’d better run.’

  Neville’s feet kept slipping on the slimy floor as they ran, and the smell was awful. He heard Marjorie’s wailing before they even got to the dooky hole. He was going to have to do the washing-up for the rest of his life after this. He just knew it.

  ‘Not far now, Nev,’ Malaria said as she led the way through a maze of tunnels that became grimier and grimier with every step they took. She was covering her nose to keep out the stink. This was REALLY BAD. If even trolls had to cover their noses, the dooky hole must be the most disgusting place in the universe.