There's a Viking in My Bed and Other Stories

by Jeremy Strong

  ‘How can you say that?’ shouted Zoe. ‘You're married to him. You're supposed to love him!’

  ‘Just because you love someone Zoe, it doesn't mean that you have to put up with everything they do. I do love Siggy, but most of the time he's like an enormous child. He has to learn how to behave.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Tim.

  ‘Because that is what all people have to do, even tenth-century Vikings.’

  ‘Huh!’ Tim didn't think much of this at all. Zoe felt the same way as her brother, but she tried to put her feelings into proper words.

  ‘People like Siggy because he's different,’ she said. ‘They like him because he doesn't behave the way the rest of us have to. That's what makes him such fun.’

  Mrs Ellis managed a faint smile. ‘I'm sure you're right Zoe, but you have to admit that it is difficult for us. It's all right for other people to laugh at Siggy's stupid mistakes; they don't have to pick up the pieces and pay for the damage, or live with him day-by-day. We do.’

  ‘You won't let him back in then?’ Tim asked.

  ‘No,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Then I shall never speak to you again and I'm going on strike.’

  ‘But you don't do anything,’ Mr Ellis pointed out.

  ‘A hunger strike,’ Tim said, glaring at his parents. ‘I shan't eat anything until you let Siggy back into the hotel.’ Hah! They'd soon change their minds now!

  ‘Fine,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘That should save us some money on food bills at any rate.’

  ‘You'll let me starve?’ cried Tim.

  Mr Ellis shook his head. ‘Of course not, Tim. We wouldn't let you starve. We'll let you eat anytime. You're starving yourself.’ Tim clenched his fists. This was too much. He'd been out-argued again.

  He leapt to his feet and stamped out of the room. Zoe watched him go.

  ‘Now look what you've done!’ she cried, and ran from the room in tears.

  Mr and Mrs Ellis glanced across at Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘Oh dear,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘It is hard.’

  ‘Hard for everyone,’ agreed Mrs T. ‘But don't worry. I'm sure things will turn out all right in the end. Tim won't go for long without eating.’

  ‘Oh I know that,’ said Mrs Ellis. ‘It's Zoe I'm worried about.’

  Mrs Tibblethwaite reached forward and patted Mrs Ellis on the hand. ‘Zoe is a clever girl, and sensitive too. I'm sure she understands really, and that's why it upsets her so much. Siggy will be all right. Goodness, he must have spent hundreds of nights outside, sleeping under the stars when he was a proper Viking in proper Viking times. I wouldn't worry about him at all. Goodnight!’

  Tim stuck to his guns. He refused supper and he turned down a drink and a biscuit before bedtime. By the time he crawled into bed he was starving. His stomach was aching for food and he cursed himself for saying that he was on hunger-strike. He tossed and turned for hours and was just drifting off to sleep when he heard the bedroom door open. Zoe quickly slipped into the room and shut the door. She tiptoed across to the bed.

  ‘Are you awake?’

  ‘Of course I'm awake. My stomach is making very loud empty noises. I can't sleep.’

  ‘I've brought you some food,’ Zoe whispered, and she pulled two chunky sandwiches from inside her dressing-gown. ‘That one's got a bit of fluff on it I'm afraid. I had to hide them under here.’

  ‘That's okay,’ said Tim, stuffing it into his mouth. ‘I like fluff sandwiches. Thanks. I was starving.’

  ‘I knew you would be. Anyway, it was very brave of you to go on hunger strike.’

  ‘Yeah? Yeah! It was. I could have died.’

  ‘Tim - you've only been without food for about ten hours,’ laughed Zoe.

  ‘Ten hours? It feels more like ten months.’

  Zoe sat down on the edge of Tim's bed. ‘I'll try and get something for you tomorrow at breakfast. Mr Travis always leaves his toast and…’ Zoe stopped in mid-sentence, frowned, and went across to the window. She pulled back the curtains a little way and peered into the darkness. ‘Did you hear something?’ she asked her brother.

  ‘No? Did you?’ Tim slipped out of bed and joined Zoe at the window. Now they could both hear odd sounds from outside. Bumping, banging and dragging noises drifted up from the back garden of the hotel.

  ‘Is that someone humming?’ asked Tim.

  ‘I don't know,’ Zoe answered, ‘but I think I just saw a pig.’

  ‘A pig! Don't be daft!’

  ‘Well it looked like a pig,’ Zoe insisted.

  ‘It could have been a werewolf,’ whispered her brother, his eyes growing bigger and bigger. ‘Or a ghost.’

  ‘It was a pig,’ repeated Zoe.

  ‘Maybe it was a ghost-pig,’ Tim went on. ‘The Ghastly Ghost-Pig of Flotby. Or maybe even a were-pig-wolf-ghost-thingy…’

  ‘A were-ghost-pig-wolf-whotsit?’

  ‘Yeah - with fangs that shine in the dark and X-ray eyes and stuff…’

  Zoe pulled the curtains back into place and summoned up her courage. ‘Well, whatever it is, there's something going on out there. I'm going downstairs to see what it is.’

  ‘And I'm coming with you,’ said Tim, who suddenly felt that he didn't want to be left alone. He grabbed his torch.

  The two children crept silently down the back stairs and tiptoed out through the hotel kitchen. Zoe quietly unlocked the back door. The noises were much louder now - grunts and squeaks and bangs and thuds. Zoe felt for Tim's hand. ‘Are you scared?’ she whispered.

  ‘No,’ lied Tim. ‘Are you?’

  ‘Yes, a bit.’

  ‘Then I am too,’ Tim decided. They pressed forward across the path and on to the dark lawn, moving slowly towards the source of all the noise. They had just reached the nearest corner of the greenhouse when a huge, dark figure loomed right in front of them, giving the children the most enormous fright.

  ‘Aargh!’ screamed Tim, dropping his torch and running like mad across the lawn. ‘It's the were-ghost!’

  ‘Aaargh!’ screeched Zoe, racing off in the other direction. ‘It's a pig-wolf!’

  ‘Aaaargh!’ bellowed Sigurd, dropping a large pile of sticks, and drawing Nosepicker. ‘It's rubbers! You bad peoples - come to rub hotel. I kill rubbers!’

  Tim stopped running and looked back at the Viking. ‘I'm not a rubber, I mean robber,’ he said crossly. ‘I'm Tim.’

  Sigurd stopped poking the night air with Nosepicker and calmed down. ‘You give me fright,’ he told Tim and Zoe.

  ‘You gave us a fright!’ said Zoe. ‘But I'm glad you're all right, Siggy. What are you doing out here?’

  Sigurd slipped Nosepicker back into its scabbard. His white teeth flashed a moonlit grin. ‘I show you. I stand on beach and think very hard. Tide coming in. Water come up to my knees. I still thinking what to do. Water come to tummy. I still think. Water come to neck. Think I drown so get out of sea and walk down road. Then I have pig idea.’

  ‘Big idea,’ corrected Zoe.

  ‘No,’ said Sigurd. ‘Pig idea. Look.’

  Sigurd led the children over to the far corner of the hotel garden. Siggy had made a kind of pen. He had banged wooden posts into the ground and woven branches in between the posts. He had covered the branches with some kind of muddy mixture that was still drying. And on the other side of the pen were three extremely large pigs. They gazed sleepily at Tim and Zoe. One gave a quiet “oink”.

  ‘You did all this?’ murmured Zoe admiringly. ‘It's called wattle and daub, isn't it? I didn't know you could make fences, Siggy.’

  ‘Vikings always make fences like this. Put in post, bang-bang. Put in branches. Mix up mud and straw and cow-stuff…’

  ‘Cow-stuff?’ Tim repeated, not sure if he wanted to hear about how to make a wattle and daub fence.

  ‘They mixed in cow-pats as well,’ explained Zoe.

  ‘Urgh, that's revolting!’ cried Tim. Sigurd shook his head.

  ‘I no find cows. No cow-stuff, but good fence anyway.’

&n
bsp; ‘Where did the pigs come from?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘I find them.’

  ‘You found three pigs?’

  It was very dark, so Tim and Zoe couldn't see how red Sigurd had gone. He went back to the greenhouse to collect the pile of wood he had dropped. ‘Actually, I find four pigs, walking down road, but one run away, trit-trot. She big pig. Very big pig. She big bad pig. You see pig?’

  ‘No, we no see pig - I mean we didn't see a pig anywhere,’ replied Zoe.

  ‘Never mind. Now I build house for Sigurd,’ said the Viking, and he began banging in a row of tall posts. ‘Hotel too smart for Viking. I make Viking house in garden. Take long time. You go bed. I see you in…’

  ‘Eeeeeek!’

  ‘Aaaargh!’

  Startled screams from the hotel interrupted Sigurd in mid-sentence. A bedroom window flew open and the children watched, astonished, as their parents clambered out at top speed, as if the hotel was on fire.

  Mrs Ellis managed to grab hold of the thick ivy running up one side of the window frame, but Mr Ellis was left dangling from the window-ledge by his fingertips. A few seconds later there was a loud and angry grunt and a huge sow shoved her trotters up on the window-sill and peered out, snorting and sniffing like a flesh-eating ogre. ‘Help! Help!’ cried Mr Ellis. ‘Someone save us! There's a giant pig in our bedroom!’

  7

  Three Cheers for Sigurd!

  Sigurd leapt to the rescue. He grabbed a ladder from behind the greenhouse and dashed across to the hotel. Penny Ellis had managed to clamber down the ivy, but her husband was still hanging by his fingernails. In a flash Siggy had raced up the ladder and plucked Mr Ellis from the window-ledge. He flung him over his shoulder and quickly backed down the ladder, while the murderous pig began shredding the Ellis's best velvet curtains with its vicious teeth.

  ‘Sigurd, you saved my life,’ panted Mr Ellis. ‘I'm very grateful to you, but what do we do now? The pig's already eaten one of the hall rugs, several pot plants and that lovely painting we had of Flotby harbour.’

  ‘Where did the pig come from anyway?’ asked Mrs Ellis. ‘Is this anything to do with you, Sigurd?’

  ‘It wasn't his fault,’ Tim blurted out. ‘Siggy found them, on the road.’

  ‘Them?’ repeated Mr Ellis. ‘Please don't tell me there are some more? And how can you find a pig on the road? That's ridiculous.’

  Zoe pulled her parents over to Sigurd's pig pen. Mr and Mrs Ellis stared at the three sleepy occupants. ‘Siggy made this,’ explained Zoe. ‘Isn't he clever? It's a wattle and daub fence, and now he's making a little house too - look.’

  ‘Don't change the subject, Zoe. Where did the pigs come from? You don't find pigs just walking down the road as if they were off to do their shopping,’ snapped Mr Ellis.

  Sigurd burst out laughing. ‘Pig do shopping! Ha ha! Very good! Very funny! This little piggy go to market!’

  ‘They're not little piggies at all, Sigurd. They're the biggest piggies I have ever seen. You stole them didn't you? You stole them from the farm up near the cliffs.’

  Sigurd's smile vanished and he shook his head seriously. ‘I no steal! I find on road. I walk up road. Pig walk down road. One, two, three, four pig. I say “hallo pig! You come walkies with me. I make you nice home.” Pig follow me. I come here and make fence for pig but one run away. She very big, like dragon. It dark. I no see where she go. Maybe she hungry. Maybe she go hotel. Now she eat curtains.’

  Zoe tugged anxiously at the Viking's sleeve. ‘Siggy, I think Mrs Tibblethwaite is still in there,’ she whispered. Mr Ellis gave a despairing cry.

  ‘So are Mr Travis and the Ramsbottoms!’

  ‘No fear, Sigurd here!’ roared the Viking, and he whipped out Nosepicker. He brandished the great sword high above his head and struck his most heroic pose. ‘Now I catch pig and save Viking Hotel, save everyone. Then you all cheer for me - “Hurrah for Sigurd! He brave! He clever! What we do without him?” So! I go, fight this pig-dragon.’

  And with that brave speech Sigurd strode across to the hotel, leaving the Ellises standing on the lawn, speechless. They huddled close together, clinging to each other with their arms.

  ‘It's the end,’ muttered Mr Ellis. ‘We may as well close down now. Nobody will ever want to come back to the hotel after this.’

  Inside The Viking Hotel, Sigurd crept up the stairs, holding Nosepicker at the ready. His eyes glinted fiercely in the darkness. It hadn't occurred to him to switch on the lights. ‘Are you there, piggy-wig? I come to get you. I make you into bacon. Siggy find piggy. Here-coochy-coochy-coochy!’

  Sigurd reached the first bedroom door. He paused a moment, took hold of the handle, counted to three and then burst in. ‘Aha! Raaaargh!’ His fierce battle cry was greeted with a startled scream as Mr and Mrs Ramsbottom leapt from their sleep. Mr Ramsbottom fell out of bed backwards and knocked himself out. Mrs Ramsbottom screamed that her husband was dead and fainted on the spot.

  Sigurd searched under the bed. He opened the wardrobe and poked Nosepicker into every corner, filling the Ramsbottom's clothes with sword holes. There was no pig hiding there. He grunted and made for the next room.

  ‘One, two, three - Aha! Raaaargh!’

  Mr Travis was sitting up in bed watching television. He didn't even glance up at the Viking. ‘Is that room service?’ he said. ‘It's about time you brought me that pot of tea. I've been waiting for… Good Heavens!’ Mr Travis gave a muffled squeak as Sigurd lifted up one end of the bed and he found himself all rolled up in a bundle with the bed-covers.

  The pig wasn't under the bed. Sigurd let it crash back down and went off to continue his search next door. By this time Mrs Ramsbottom had come to her senses, but unfortunately, her husband had not. Still thinking he was dead, she pulled the poor man out of the bedroom by his feet and screamed for help.

  Meantime Sigurd had reached the bathroom. He was about to throw open the door when it burst open itself, sending him crashing back against the wall. Out of the bathroom ran a pig that was almost as big as two tigers tied together, and three times as dangerous.

  Her head was the size of a dustbin - a dustbin with fangs. Her body was as big as a car-crusher. She came out of the bathroom and stood on the landing. In her mouth were the remains of a lavatory brush. Somehow she had managed to get the shower-attachment wrapped round her head, a towel draped coyly over her enormous behind, and a toilet roll fixed to one rear trotter, where it now left a nice long trail of paper.

  Another door opened further down the corridor, and a rather sleepy figure appeared. ‘What's all the noise?’ asked Mrs Tibblethwaite. ‘What's going…’ She froze with terror. The pig was glaring straight at her with hungry piggy-eyes. The sow opened and shut its jaws several times and took a couple of steps forward.

  Mrs T. threw a frightened glance at her husband. ‘Siggy?’ she whispered. ‘There is a very, very big pig looking at me and I'm scared. What do I do?’ Before Sigurd could reply, the pig took three more menacing steps towards Mrs T. and pinned her against the wall, licking her chops noisily.

  Sigurd gripped Nosepicker tightly and crept out from behind the bathroom door, inching towards the pig's fat rear. His face took on a fierce scowl and then, with a terrible war-cry, he leapt in the air. ‘Ya-ha-raaaaargh!’ He gave the sow's bulging behind an enormous prod with Nosepicker and the pig leapt into the air too, with a most peculiar, howling grunt.

  ‘Snnnrrrghoowowowrrrgh!’

  Again and again Sigurd poked the pig with his sword, driving the car-crusher down the stairs. As they passed the Ramsbottom's room Mrs Ramsbottom took one look at the pig and the roaring Viking and fainted again, right on top of her husband, making a nice neat heap.

  A large roll of bedding staggered out from bedroom number two and fell to the floor, where it spent a long time wriggling and squeaking before Mrs Tibblethwaite finally managed to get Mr Travis disentangled. Meanwhile Sigurd continued to drive the pig down the stairs, out into the garden and across to his newly-bui
lt pig-pen. He slammed the gate shut.

  Everyone rushed to the fence and looked over at the new prisoner. ‘Wow,’ muttered Mr Ellis. ‘That is some pig! You were brave Sigurd. I wouldn't have wanted to face an animal as big as that on my own.’

  ‘Three cheers for Siggy!’ cried Tim, and the Ellises all cheered, but it wasn't long before gloom and doom descended once again as several rather upset guests began to stumble outside.

  Mr and Mrs Ellis calmed them down with cups of tea and quite a lot of brandy. Mrs Tibblethwaite got the Ramsbottoms safely back into bed. She seemed to have convinced Mrs Ramsbottom that it had all been a bad dream. ‘I'll just have another sip of this,’ twittered Mrs Ramsbottom, clutching Mrs T.'s silver hip-flask. ‘It will help me sleep.’

  Sigurd was even allowed to go back to his old room with his wife. ‘Just for one night,’ warned Mr Ellis. ‘We shall decide what to do in the morning.’

  At last the Ellises themselves were able to go to bed. Zoe and Tim fell asleep the moment their heads touched the pillow but neither of their parents could sleep much. They were too busy worrying about what would happen the next day.

  8

  The Viking Village

  The very first thing Mr Ellis did when he got up the next morning was ring the local farm. He was on the telephone for a long time. Mrs Ellis knew that the farmer was a grumpy so-and-so, and wouldn't take kindly to Sigurd ‘borrowing’ his pigs. In fact she thought they would be lucky if Sigurd didn't end up in court.

  When her husband eventually managed to get away from the telephone Mrs Ellis was surprised to find him smiling. ‘Mr Garret's coming over this minute,’ said Mr Ellis. ‘You won't believe this but he's delighted we've got the pigs. Sigurd was telling the truth. The pigs broke out from the farm yesterday evening. Garret's been searching high and low all night. They're worth several thousand pounds you know, especially Big Betty.’

  ‘Oh! Well that's a relief at any rate. The Ramsbottoms don't seem to remember anything. They're both complaining of headaches though - I can't imagine why. Mr Travis has gone out to the pen. He told me he wanted to see if that pig was really as big as he thought it was last night.’