Attack of the Trolls

by Tommy Donbavand

  “What do you mean?”

  “We went down into the sewers to visit Count Negatov’s coffin,” explained Luke. “But he wasn’t in it.”

  “He wouldn’t have been,” said Chillchase. “His body was returned to his ancestral castle several weeks ago.”

  “In that case, we’ve had it,” said Cleo. “There’s no way we can give his fang back now.”

  “There is,” smiled Chillchase. “If I send you there.

  Chapter Three

  The Transformation

  The Hex Hatch opened like a window in the air. Through it, Luke, Resus and Cleo could see a harsh, rugged landscape. Endless fields cowered beneath a heavy sky and the summit of a distant mountain was swallowed by bleak, grey clouds.

  “Count Negatov’s castle is at the top of that peak,” explained Zeal Chillchase.

  Resus stared at the Tracker. “You think we should go now?” he asked.

  “I see no reason to delay your departure…”

  “What about school?” asked Cleo. “Dr Skully won’t be happy if we simply don’t show up.”

  “The quest might take some time,” replied Chillchase. “I will speak to your teacher. Lessons can be cancelled for the time being.”

  Resus grinned.

  “Although once the doorway is closed you’ll be expected to catch up on the work you have missed.”

  Resus scowled.

  “It shouldn’t take you more than twenty-four hours to get to the castle and back,” said the Tracker.

  “I can’t be away that long!” cried Resus. “It’s Vampire New Year tonight.”

  Luke raised an eyebrow. “Vampire New Year?” he scoffed. “You’re making that up!”

  “I am not,” retorted Resus. “Look – I’ve got a load of party food and fireworks ready!” He pulled a handful of cupcakes and Catherine wheels from his cloak.

  “There’s our parents as well,” added Cleo. “They’ll notice if we disappear.”

  “I shall ensure your parents approve of your quest,” promised Zeal.

  “I’m really starting to go off this idea,” grumbled Resus as he pushed the party supplies back into his cape.

  “Why is G.H.O.U.L. helping us?” Luke asked cautiously.

  “G.H.O.U.L. is not helping you,” replied Zeal Chillchase. “I’m acting in a purely unofficial capacity. In fact, should anything happen to you, I shall have to deny all knowledge of your expedition.”

  “That’s it,” quipped Resus. “Keep selling it to us!”

  “OK,” said Luke. “So why are you helping us?”

  Chillchase sighed. “I’ve let matters get out of control,” he admitted. “Moving a werewolf to Scream Street should have been a simple procedure, yet you and your friends have proved … shall we say difficult to control. If G.H.O.U.L. was to discover I’d allowed a doorway to be opened between Luke’s world and Scream Street, I would be stripped of my position.”

  Cleo gasped. “We don’t want you to lose your job!” she exclaimed.

  “But I like the idea of being difficult to control,” grinned Resus.

  Zeal glared down at him but carried on. “However, if your theory is correct, the door should close once all the relics are returned,” he growled. “So, the sooner you begin, the better. And that means going through this Hex Hatch.”

  “Where exactly is that?” asked Luke, staring through the magical window at the coarse grass and clumps of blackened heather.

  “It is a G.H.O.U.L. community in a remote area of what used to be called Transylvania,” explained Chillchase. “Aside from the castle, it’s now mostly abandoned.”

  “If it’s abandoned, why can’t you get us any closer?” asked Resus. “You said the castle’s at the top of that mountain – that’s miles away!”

  “G.H.O.U.L. would instantly spot a Hex Hatch opening so close to the resting place of a founding father,” said Zeal. “This is as close as I can get you, I’m afraid.” He frowned down at the children through his mirrored sunglasses. “Now go to your parents. You leave in one hour.”

  Luke arrived home to discover a crowd of people outside his front gate. Among them was Sir Otto Sneer’s nephew, Dixon.

  “…and this is the house where two of Scream Street’s most ferocious residents live,” he was saying. “Luke Watson and his mother are both killer werewolves…”

  A man in a bright pink shirt began to take photographs of the house. “Will we be able to see them attack someone?” he asked eagerly.

  Luke pushed his way to the front of the group. “What are you doing, Dixon?”

  Sir Otto’s nephew squealed at the sight of him and tumbled to the ground. “Ow! I bumped my head!” he whined.

  “Stop moaning – you’ll be fine,” grunted Luke, helping him to his feet. “Now tell me, what are you doing here with all these people?”

  “It was Uncle Otto’s idea,” said Dixon, his bottom lip quivering. “He said the normals have just been wandering around looking for the freaks – I mean, er … for something to see. He said they’d pay good money to be shown who lives where.” A look of horror flickered across his face. “Don’t tell him I told you!” he wailed.

  “I won’t,” said Luke shortly. “Just take these people—”

  Suddenly, the front door opened and Mrs Watson marched out. “What’s going on?” she demanded. “What are you all doing here?”

  “Mum, it’s OK…” began Luke, hurrying up the path.

  “He called her ‘Mum’!” said the man in the pink shirt excitedly. “That must be them. The mother and son killer werewolves!”

  The garden lit up as dozens of cameras began to flash.

  “Get out of here – now!” yelled Mrs Watson.

  “Mum, you have to calm down,” hissed Luke. “You can’t let them upset you.”

  “I’m already upset!” countered his mum. “Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

  “Show us your fangs!” a young woman called from the crowd.

  “Can I record a howl for my ring tone?” bellowed a man in a suit, holding up his mobile phone.

  “Come on,” said Luke, grabbing his mum by the hand. “Let’s get inside.”

  As Mrs Watson turned to go back into the house, she cracked her elbow against the doorframe and let out a cry of pain. She had broken her arm on her first day in Scream Street and it was still tender.

  “Sorry,” said the man in the suit. “I wasn’t recording – could you do that again?”

  “Get them away from here, Dixon!” snapped Luke as he pulled his mum into the house and slammed the door shut. The silence of the hallway closed over them.

  “You mustn’t let it bother you,” said Luke, turning to his mum. “It’ll just make you—”

  He froze. Mrs Watson was gripping her injured arm, her face twisted in pain … her werewolf transformation was beginning.

  “Just breathe slowly,” instructed Luke, and he led her over to sit on the stairs. “The anger’s already inside you but you mustn’t let it take control.”

  “Am I… Am I going to turn into that … that thing again?” asked his mum through gritted teeth. It was less than a week since she had experienced her first transformation, and the idea of becoming a werewolf again terrified her.

  “Not if I can help it,” said Luke firmly. “At least, not all of you.” Since arriving in Scream Street, Luke had discovered the ability to focus his transformation on just one area of his body, only allowing that part to change. He hoped his mum would be able to do the same.

  “Imagine the anger as a liquid,” he told her. “Like black ink flowing through your veins. Now picture it running down your arm – nowhere else, just down that arm.”

  Mrs Watson closed her eyes and whimpered as she fought to control the transformation. Bones cracked in her arm as they stretched and grew, the muscles warping into new shapes. Dark blonde fur burst through the skin and long, yellowing talons sliced through the tips of her fingers.

  “That’s it, Mum!” cried Luke. �
��You’re doing it!”

  Whiskers sprouted either side of Mrs Watson’s nose and, for a brief moment, Luke was worried that she would undergo a full transformation and he would be stuck inside the house with an angry werewolf.

  “Concentrate!” he said sharply. “Let it all go to your arm.”

  After a few moments Mrs Watson slumped back against the stairs. “How did I do?”

  Luke glanced from her werewolf’s arm to the whiskers bobbing about on her face. “You did great!” He grinned.

  “Does this mean I won’t ever…?” His mum’s words faded away.

  Luke shook his head. “You’ll still become the wolf from time to time,” he explained. “But it gets easier. You’ll be able to control the partial transformations more and more.”

  “What about the visitors?” asked Mrs Watson, nodding towards the door. “Like the people out there. What happens if I transform near one of them?”

  “You just have to hope you don’t hurt anyone.”

  Mrs Watson was silent for a moment, then she lifted her hand to examine the long, razor-sharp claws. “Still, I guess I’ll never have a problem peeling an orange again!” she joked, before bursting into tears.

  Luke put his arms around his mum and hugged her tightly.

  Chapter Four

  The Moors

  Luke tapped the crystal ball that he held in his hand. “It doesn’t seem to be working yet,” he said, peering into its milky-white centre.

  “Zeal Chillchase said you’d have to be at least a few miles from Scream Street for it to work,” Cleo reminded him.

  “Yeah,” said Resus. “You can still see the Hex Hatch from here.”

  Luke glanced over his shoulder across the bleak moors behind them. In the distance he could just make out a hazy window in the air, through which the figure of the Tracker could be seen watching their progress.

  Chillchase had lent the trio a crystal ball that allowed them to look back at life in Scream Street while they were away. This meant they would be able to see whether returning the fang would start to disable the doorway. Luke was also keen to use it to keep an eye on what was happening back home.

  “Your mum will be fine,” insisted Resus, pulling his foot out of a muddy hole. “Although I can’t say the same for my shoes. I don’t think they’re going to survive this trip.”

  “Her arm still hadn’t changed back when I left,” said Luke. “Her werewolf transformations seem to last a lot longer than mine ever do.”

  “I expect it’s nothing to worry about,” Cleo reassured him. “It might just be because she started transforming later than you. She was an adult the first time it happened, after all.”

  “Perhaps,” said Luke, unconvinced. He peered into the crystal ball one last time, just in case. Seeing nothing but hissing static, he shoved it into the pocket of his jacket and continued walking.

  Ahead, the landscape was the same as far as the eye could see: miles and miles of rough scrubland. Occasionally small bushes pushed their way out of the tough soil, but there was nothing above waist height apart from the occasional twisted, inky-black skeletons of dead trees.

  “I reckon G.H.O.U.L. must have bought up every rotting tree in existence and had them all shipped to its communities,” quipped Cleo.

  “How far is this castle?” asked Resus, pulling his cloak free as it snagged on yet another low, spiky shrub. “Are we nearly there yet?”

  Cleo struggled not to laugh. “We’ve been walking for less than half an hour,” she said. “Don’t tell me you’ve had enough already.”

  “Of course not!” retorted Resus. “I just wondered, that’s all.”

  Luke stared out across the miles of empty moorland ahead of them. On the horizon he could just make out a densely wooded area where the land rose to eventually become the mountain on which Count Negatov’s castle stood. “If we carry on as we are, we should reach those trees by nightfall,” he said thoughtfully.

  “Nightfall?” spluttered Resus. “You mean we won’t get there today?”

  “Probably not,” said Cleo.

  “But … there are no houses or anything!” Resus exclaimed, his eyes sweeping the dark greens and purples of the countryside. “Where are we going to stay?”

  “We’ll just have to rough it a bit,” said Luke. “It’ll be fun – like camping. My mum and dad used to take me camping every summer before we came to Scream Street. It’s a good laugh once you get used to the cold and damp.”

  “Let me get this straight…” said Resus. “We’re sleeping outdoors?”

  Luke sighed. “What were you expecting?” he asked. “A cosy little bed and breakfast with hot and cold running blood?”

  “Of course not!” Resus retorted. “But I thought there might at least be a farm or a village where we could—”

  “Quiet!” hissed Cleo suddenly. “Listen!”

  The trio stopped dead in their tracks and listened hard. Aside from the wind skimming across the heather, all was silent.

  “I can’t hear anything,” said Resus.

  “There,” said Cleo, pointing. “It came from there!”

  Luke followed her gaze to a dark green shape sticking up from the ground near by. “That’s just a bush,” he said.

  “But it made a noise…” insisted Cleo.

  “What kind of noise?” asked Resus.

  “A sort of honking noise,” said Cleo, already wishing she hadn’t mentioned it.

  Resus pulled a mock-terrified face. “Don’t tell me we’re being followed by the dreaded Transylvanian honking bush!” he gasped.

  Cleo slapped him on the arm. “I thought I heard something,” she snapped.

  “It’s probably just your imagination,” said Luke. “This is pretty desolate countryside. It would be easy for your mind to start playing tricks.”

  “And it doesn’t help if you’re half crazy to begin with,” joked Resus, leaping backwards as Cleo swung a leg in his direction. There was a squelch as his foot landed in another gooey brown puddle. “Oh, brilliant!”

  “Serves you right,” said Cleo, sticking her tongue out at him.

  Resus ignored her and reached into his cloak to pull out a cloth and brush.

  “What are you doing?” demanded Luke.

  “Polishing my shoes,” Resus said matter-of-factly.

  “Here?”

  “Why not?” Resus shrugged. “There’s nothing wrong with looking your best.”

  “We’re in the middle of nowhere!” exclaimed Luke. “Who exactly are you planning to look your best for?”

  “Well, Count Negatov is my ancestor,” said Resus. “I want to look smart for him when we finally reach his castle.”

  “And we’ll never get there if you stop to tart yourself up every ten minutes,” retorted Luke, walking on.

  Grumbling, Resus slid the cleaning kit back into his cape and followed, wiping his shoe on the thick scrub. Cleo took up the rear, her eyes darting around at every tiny noise.

  The trio continued in silence for almost an hour. The sun, mostly hidden above a ceiling of churning grey cloud, cast a thin, watery glow over the landscape as midday approached.

  Eventually, Resus broke the silence. “What sort of animals do you think there are around here?”

  “I can’t imagine much wildlife surviving in a place like this,” said Luke. “Why?”

  “That stuff on my shoe is starting to smell.”

  “Will you stop whining about your shoe!” pleaded Luke. “It’s only mud.”

  “That’s the thing,” said Resus. “I don’t think it is mud…” He held up his foot for the others to examine.

  As Luke came closer, an overpowering stench hit him in the face. “That reeks!” he cried, covering his nose.

  “It’s not doing the leather any good, either,” said Resus.

  “How can it be animal dung?” asked Cleo.

  Luke scoured the ground and found another puddle similar to the one Resus had stepped in. “I don’t know,” he said. “Bu
t if it is, it must have been left behind by something big…”

  “But we haven’t seen any sign of life since we left Scream Street,” Resus pointed out. “Certainly nothing big enough to leave that much poo in its wake!”

  “Whatever it is, it’s long gone,” said Luke. “Let’s rest here for a while.”

  “Can I clean my shoes now?” asked Resus hopefully.

  Luke grinned. “Yes, if it will shut you up! Just make sure you don’t sit in any of that stuff. I doubt there’s a washing machine within five hundred miles of here.”

  “Don’t worry,” said Resus. “I won’t be going near any more—”

  “Shh!” It was Cleo. “I heard it again!”

  “What?” asked Luke. “The honking?”

  “It’s more of a growl mixed with a honk…”

  “You heard a gronk?” Resus demanded.

  Cleo ignored him and pointed to another clump of greenery. “There’s that bush again!” Resus opened his mouth to say something, but shut it again as Luke threw him a warning look.

  “That’s not the same bush, Cleo,” said Luke kindly.

  “It looks the same,” the mummy insisted. “The leaves ruffle in exactly the same way when the wind blows.”

  “There are dozens of bushes just like it all over the place,” Luke assured her. “I think you’re just a bit tired and nervous…”

  “Don’t you patronize me, Luke Watson!” Cleo shouted. “There’s something else around here – and judging by the size of the droppings Resus keeps stepping in, it’s something big!”

  “There’s nothing here!” said Luke, sweeping his hand across the desolate view. “Whatever it was clearly did its business and left.”

  Cleo looked out across the moor, squinting in the weak light to try to spot something to prove Luke wrong – but apart from the scattered bushes there was absolutely nothing in sight. “I’m sorry,” she sighed, slumping to the ground. “Maybe I am just a bit tired.”

  Luke sat down on the heather beside her. “Don’t worry about it,” he smiled. “I’m pretty exhausted myself.”

  Resus groaned as he wiped his shoe. “It’s gone all over my sock as well!”