“I will get the dragon,” said Mr Nuttendudge. “Find the well. Follow the tunnel within. The dragon and I will join you shortly.”
Paradise glanced back again. Burnie was snapping and snarling at the Moon-Faced Ghoul-Thing but keeping a safe distance. The ghoul-thing floated on, ignoring her completely.
“Promise you’ll get her,” Paradise said.
“Promise. I promise. Get her I will,” said Mr Nuttendudge. “Now, go. The well. Hurry, hurry.”
Ben and Paradise stumbled out of the house and along the garden path. The garden itself was small and poorly kept, with tall grass badly in need of cutting. Flowers had been planted around the border, but every one of them was shrivelled and brown.
Mr Nuttendudge clearly didn’t have much luck with gardening either.
On all sides stood the forest. It was the sort of forest it would be easy to get lost in, Ben thought, even with Paradise’s finding ability.
Wesley’s eyelids fluttered open. “Wh-what’s happening?” he stammered.
“We’re making a dramatic escape,” said Paradise. Wesley groaned.
“Not another one. What are we escaping this time?”
“Moon-Faced Ghoul-Thing. Again,” said Ben. He chewed his lip, then asked, “Are you OK, Wes?”
Wesley deliberately looked away and unhooked his arm from Ben’s shoulder. “We’re not running for the forest, are we?” he asked. “It looks terrifying.”
“No, we’re trying to find the well,” said Paradise, before immediately tripping over and landing in a heap on the grass.
“Wow, you really can find anything,” smirked Ben, pulling aside the tall grass to reveal a small stone well hidden within. They all peered down into the murky blackness.
The well was wide enough to climb down, but only if they went one at a time. Ben grabbed a stone from the ground, held it above the well then let it fall.
Several seconds passed before they heard the faint plink of the stone hitting the water.
“It’s a long way down,” Paradise said.
Wesley stared at her in horror. “We’re not climbing down there, are we?”
“There’s a tunnel,” Paradise said, her brow furrowed as she concentrated. “It leads away from the well and under the forest.”
“The ghoul-thing won’t be able to get us down there,” Ben said. He slung a leg over the well and pressed his palms flat against the sides. “Come on, follow me.”
Wesley shook his head. “Always rushing in,” he muttered.
“Wesley’s right,” said Paradise. “We don’t know what’s down there.”
“No, but we know what’s up here,” said Ben. “If the ghoul-thing is coming then so is Scarrabus.”
Wesley looked back at Mr Nuttendudge’s house, then peered past Ben into the well. “Oh, let’s get it over with,” he grumbled. He clambered into the well as Ben began to inch his way down.
“I don’t like this,” Wesley said. “Have I mentioned that?”
“It’ll be OK, Wes,” said Ben, but the only answer from Wesley was a grunt as he began to clamber clumsily down the well.
When they were halfway down, they heard Paradise whisper, “I can’t reach the walls. They’re too wide.”
“You mean your arms are too short,” said Ben.
“Either way, I can’t reach.”
“Try,” Ben urged. “Wedge your feet and back against the wall, and climb down that way.”
From up above Ben heard Paradise mutter something under her breath. He heard the rustle of her robe as she got into position.
Then he heard her cry out in fright as her feet slipped and she tumbled down the well towards him.
“Oof!”
“Careful!”
SPLASH!
They hit the icy-cold water in a tangle of arms and legs. Ben barely had time to gasp before he plunged beneath the surface.
Underwater, he could hear the muffled swishing of his friends, frantically fighting their way to the surface. He kicked out in the darkness, trying to swim upwards, but instead crashed into one of the well’s stone walls.
He fumbled wildly, before a flailing foot caught him hard on the chin, spinning him round. The cold was making his body cramp. His lungs were crying out for air, but he had no idea in which direction he’d find any. Up, down, left, right, it was all the same down there in the cold darkness.
Something snagged him by the back of the tunic and yanked him sharply. With a splosh he broke the surface just as his mouth opened and he gulped in the damp well air.
“Are you OK?” Wesley asked. In the gloom, Ben could just make out that Wes had what looked like an inflated pig’s bladder tied around each arm, keeping him afloat.
“I’m fine,” Ben coughed. “Thanks, Wes. You saved my life.”
Wesley looked surprised. “Did I? I mean, yes. So I did.”
Ben gestured to the pig bladders. “What are those?”
“Arm floats,” Wesley explained. “A little something I keep up my sleeve for just such an occasion. This robe gets very heavy when it’s wet, so they help counteract the drag effect. Also, I can’t swim.”
Paradise gently cleared her throat. “Sorry. About the knocking us into the water thing. That was probably my fault.”
Ben snorted. “Probably?”
“It’s OK,” said Wesley, cutting off the argument before it could start. “We all make mistakes. Don’t we, Ben?”
Ben smiled at his friend, then nodded. “Can’t argue with that.” He looked around at the shadowy walls. “Now, where’s this tunnel?”
Paradise concentrated for a moment, then gave a groan. “Oh great. Of course. It had to be.”
“What’s wrong?” asked Ben.
Paradise pointed downwards with her thumb. “It’s down there,” she said. “The tunnel is at the bottom of the well.”
They swam in a line, Paradise leading the way, Wesley in the middle and Ben tagging along at the back. They had tied themselves together using a length of rope Wesley kept tucked up his sleeve. Although Paradise was small, her strong swimming strokes were practically pulling Ben and the non-swimming Wesley along.
Paradise gave two sharp yanks on the rope, indicating that she had found the tunnel. Ben hoped it wasn’t a long one – his lungs were already starting to ache and he couldn’t hold his breath too much longer.
He swam down, feeling his way along the wall until he found a circular hole in the stone. Ben could tell from the position of the rope that Wesley had already followed Paradise into the tunnel. He was about to join them both when the rope suddenly went tight, slamming him against the wall.
Ben rolled clumsily into the passageway, pulled by the force of the rope. It dug into his waist, tightening around him like a snake, and he had to fight the urge to cry out in pain.
WHOOSH!
The water swept him along, dragging him onwards, flipping and twirling him out of control. He felt as if he were being sucked down a plughole, and every swirl and spin seemed to drain more air from his lungs.
The rope tugged downwards. Ben bumped and scraped along the rocky tunnel floor, then suddenly he was falling, plunging, down through the icy dark water. Ben’s head went light. Spots of colour swam before his eyes.
A tiny voice at the back of his brain was screaming at him to open his mouth and breathe, while another voice insisted he do the exact opposite.
This was it.
There was no escape.
He and his friends were going to die, and it was all Ben’s fault.
His arms and legs went limp. His eyes began to close. His mouth relaxed and …
KERSPLOOOSH!
Paradise, Wesley and Ben were shot out of a hole in the ground on a towering spout of water. They coughed and spluttered and flapped their arms, then the gushing water stopped and they landed in three soggy heaps on the ground.
Wesley wheezed and retched and eventually spat out a very small, very startled frog. It shot him a disapproving look then hopped away int
o the forest.
“On s-second thoughts,” Wes stammered. “Let’s take our chances with the ghoul-thing.”
It took a few seconds of struggling but the children eventually found the strength to get back to their feet, just as a little green man in sackcloth clothing came rocketing by them on another spout of water.
Mr Nuttendudge somersaulted through the air, bounced twice on the ground then eventually slammed face-first into a tree. A moment later, something fell from the branches and landed on his head. It was a wasps’ nest.
Ben and the others watched as the Luck Goblin tore off into the forest, pursued by a swarm of angry wasps. They kept watching until his panicky screams had faded away completely.
“Cor,” said Ben. “He is unlucky, isn’t he?”
Paradise looked at the hole they had been fired through. The water had retreated once again. “Where’s Burnie?” she said. “He said he’d get Burnie.”
Her eyes darted across the dark forest around them, searching every shadow. “Burnie!” she called. “Burnie, where are you?”
Wesley clamped a hand across her mouth. “Sssh! You’ll give our location away.”
Paradise bit his finger, making him release his grip. “I don’t care,” she said. “We can’t leave Burnie all alone.”
“Ooh, that hurts,” yelped Wesley. “That really hurts.”
Ben put a hand on her shoulder. “Then find her,” he said. “Use your ability to tell you where she is.”
“You nearly had my finger off!”
“I’m trying,” Paradise snapped, ignoring Wesley. “Don’t you think I’m trying? It’s just … there’s too much interference.”
“That was practically cannibalism, that was!”
“What do you mean?” asked Ben, also ignoring Wesley.
Paradise looked at the trees. “I don’t know. It’s like … there are so many things around us. In the forest. Living things.”
Wesley stopped hopping. “What sort of things?” he asked in a low whisper.
“S-something’s coming,” Paradise mumbled.
“Is it something nice?” asked Wesley hopefully.
Paradise’s whole face twitched. “D-don’t know,” she said. The word came out as a whimper. “Can’t focus. This place … this whole forest is nothing but monsters. So many monsters!”
“Where’s the closest one?” Ben pressed.
“I … I don’t…” Paradise touched her head. She stumbled, and Ben barely managed to catch her before she hit the ground.
“Paradise, are you OK?” Ben asked, guiding her down on to the forest floor. “What’s happening? What’s wrong?”
Shaking, Paradise raised a hand and pointed past Ben’s ear. “Th-there,” she hissed. “The monster is there!”
Ben stood up and whirled round, just as a fast-moving shape exploded from the trees. The thing was small, but as it tumbled through the air towards him Ben got a fleeting glimpse of sharp claws and a long tail.
And then he saw nothing but the creature’s red eyes and its long, pointed teeth.
And then he couldn’t even see that.
Ben staggered backwards, tugging at the snarling ball of furious fur that had landed on his face and immediately grabbed him by the ears.
Giving a heave, he managed to pull the creature off. It hissed and spat and slashed at him with its claws. Its two large teeth snapped furiously and its long fluffy tail slapped against Ben’s hand. Ben recognised the brute from Lunt Bingwood’s monster guide.
“A Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing!”
“So … what? It’s got the head of a squirrel and the body of a squirrel?” asked Wesley.
“And the tail of a squirrel,” added Ben.
Wesley glanced from Ben to the squirming thing in his grasp and back again. “That’s just a squirrel, surely?”
Ben shook his head. “They’re bigger and more ferocious.”
His brow furrowed. He’d memorised most of Lunt Bingwood’s monster guide off by heart, but the hissing and snapping of the Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing was making it hard to concentrate.
“And … there’s something else…”
“What?” whimpered Wesley. “Does it explode? Does it spit acid? What?”
“No, not that… It’s…” Ben’s eyes widened. “I’ve got it!” he cried. “They always travel in pairs!”
There was a rustling from high up in the trees. Another ball of fur came hurtling through the foliage and landed on the grass at Wesley’s feet. It hissed at him, the hair on its back standing up on end. Before Wes could react, the squirrel-thing shot below his wet robe and scampered up his leg.
“Wuaaarghf!” Wesley shrieked, twisting and bucking around the clearing. “Hrumffgfeek!”
“Stay still,” suggested Ben. “You’ll make it angry.”
“It’s already angry!” Wesley wailed, jigging and kicking and slapping desperately at his thighs. “Did you see its face? It’s— Ooh, don’t you dare, don’t you dare! It’s flipping furious!”
The first Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing twisted free of Ben’s grip and scampered up his arm. Its fluffy tail went around his neck and its claws dug into his scalp.
“Ow! Get off!” Ben barked.
He brought up the gauntlet to knock the squirrel-thing off, but it dodged and Ben slammed the metal glove against his forehead with a clank.
The squirrel-thing swung by its tail and flipped itself back up into Ben’s face. It grabbed his ears with its clawed fingers and bit him on the end of the nose.
“Aaaargh!” Ben howled, just as Wesley came hopping and skipping past him, frantically punching at a scurrying lump beneath his robe.
Paradise climbed unsteadily back to her feet. She searched around until she found a heavy stick in the undergrowth. “Stay still,” she told Ben, then she swung with the stick.
With a gleeful chirp, the squirrel-thing scrabbled on to the top of Ben’s head, just as the stick whacked him in the face.
“Yeeeow!”
“Sorry,” said Paradise, swinging again. “I’ll get it this time.”
BONK! The stick clonked off the top of Ben’s head just a split second after the squirrel-thing slid down on to his back.
“Will you please stop hitting me with that stick!”
“I’m only trying to help,” said Paradise.
“Well you’re—” The squirrel-thing dug its claws through Ben’s tunic and into his back. “Yaaaaaaargh! That stings. That really stings.”
Wesley hurled himself past them and slammed his back against the ground, trying to squash the wriggling squirrel-thing. The moving bump scurried around to his front.
“Ooh! Eek! It’s going for my belly button!” Wesley grimaced. “What if it finds a way in?”
Paradise swung with the stick, this time aiming at Wesley’s middle. It hit him hard in the stomach, knocking the air out of him as the second Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing squirmed out of the way.
“Um, sorry,” Paradise said. She looked at the stick. “I’m starting to think this is doing more harm than good.”
“You reckon?” yelped Ben, spiralling past her as he tried to reach the squirrel-thing on his back.
He stopped spinning as a soft, haunting melody floated out from the forest. The clawing and scratching of the squirrel-things stopped too. Mr Nuttendudge stepped from the shadowy trees and into the clearing. He had a small wooden flute wedged up one nostril and was expertly playing a slow, lilting tune.
There was a thump from behind Ben as the squirrel-thing fell off him. Wesley jumped up and the creature that had been running amok beneath his robe fell out. Both squirrel-things snored gently in unison.
Mr Nuttendudge stopped playing. He pulled the flute from his nose with a squelchy schlop, then wiped it on his sleeve. “Goblin nose flute,” he said. “Works every time.”
“You escaped the wasps,” said Ben.
“Course I did, course I did,” said the goblin. He turned, and Ben let out a “Yikes” when he s
aw the dozens of swollen bumps on the back of Mr Nuttendudge’s head. “I mean, yes, obviously they stung me several hundred times on the head and face, but I escaped all the same.”
“Where’s Burnie?” Paradise asked. “Did you get her?”
Mr Nuttendudge’s ears drooped. He shook his head gently. “I am sorry. She ran off. I could not stop her.”
“But the ghoul-thing didn’t get her?” Paradise asked.
“No,” said the goblin. “No, of that I am sure.” He beckoned them into the forest. “Now, hurry. The circle is this way. We must hurry. Hurry.” He shot Wesley a worried look. “Before it’s too late.”
Ben, Paradise and Wesley scampered along behind Mr Nuttendudge, doing their best to keep up.
Every so often the Luck Goblin would trip on a vine, get snagged in a bush or walk straight into a tree, but none of it slowed him down for long.
The children kept close together, their eyes scanning the woods for signs of danger. They didn’t need Paradise’s special ability to be able to spot the strange shapes and shadowy figures lurking in the trees on all sides. Mr Nuttendudge noticed them too, but he pressed on, paying them little heed.
“Are we almost there?” Wesley whispered.
“Yes, not far,” said the goblin. “Not far. A few more minutes, that is all.”
“How will it work?” Ben asked.
“Simple. You three will stand in the circle. I will take the gauntlet and let the circle’s power guide its aim.”
Ben stopped, making Wesley walk right into the back of him.
“Wait, what do you mean, you’ll take the gauntlet?”
Mr Nuttendudge didn’t slow, so Ben hurried to catch up. “I must. It is necessary,” said the goblin. “I will take the gauntlet and use its power to send you away. Home. Safe.”
Moon-Faced Ghoul-Thing Page 5