Read Online Trolls on Hols by Alan MacDonald - Free Book Online Page A

under branches. Scratched and panting, he came out into a clearing. Something was standing there waiting for him. When he got closer he saw it was Bessie, her glassy eyes shining in the dark.
    â€˜Bessie?’ he said uncertainly.
    â€˜Grrrrrr!’ replied the dog. Ogwen’s mouth gaped open.
    â€˜Bessie? Is that you, girl?’
    â€˜Grrrrrr – robber – grrrrr!’
    Ogwen pinched himself. Was he dreaming? The dog had spoken to him, calling him a robber. But Bessie had died five years ago. Maybe it was her ghost come back to haunt him.
    â€˜Bessie, it’s me, Olwen! It’s master!’
    He reached out a hand cautiously …
    â€˜GRARGHHH!’ roared Ulrik, leaping out from behind the dog.

    â€˜Arghhhhhh!’ yelled Ogwen as the ground gave way and he fell back into the deep muddy hole.
    When he came to his senses, he saw three hairy trolls grinning down at him from above.
    â€˜We’ll done, Ulrik!’ said Mr Troll. ‘That was fun!’
    â€˜Did I make a good dog? Grrrr!’ said Ulrik, showing his fangs.
    Mrs Troll patted him proudly on the head. ‘You were scaresome, my hairling.’
    A short time afterwards Sergeant Morgan arrived from the local police station.
    â€˜Hello?’ he said, shining his torch. ‘I heard there was some trouble. We had a call from a Mrs Puddle.’
    â€˜Priddle,’ said Mr Priddle wearily.
    â€˜Pardon?’
    â€˜Priddle. That’s my name.’
    â€˜Oh. Who’s this in the hole then?’ He shone his torch on the miserable face of Ogwen.
    â€˜Olwen Ogwen. Well, well! What are you doing down there?’
    â€˜He’s a robber,’ Mr Troll informed the sergeant. ‘He’s been wrestling sheep.’
    â€˜Wrestling them?’
    â€˜He means rustling,’ explained Mr Priddle. ‘If you look on the moor you’ll find his truck. The stolen sheep are in the back.’
    â€˜And this, said Ulrik, ‘is the beast of Boggy Moor.’ He trundled Bessie forward so that the policeman could see her and switched on the tape. Growls and howls came from the two speakers. Sergeant Morgan took off his cap and scratched his head.
    â€˜Well I’ll be jiggered! So that’s what it was! The chief’s going to be pleased about this. Very pleased. We’ve been trying to get to the bottom of this for months. Of course I never believed in all this beast nonsense myself.’

    â€˜Didn’t you?’ asked Mr Priddle.
    â€˜Oh no, not for a moment. “Someone’s leading us a merry dance” – that’s what I said to the chief. But fancy it turning out to be Olwen Ogwen all the time! There’ll be a reward for this, you know.’
    Mr Priddle’s face brightened. ‘A reward? Goodness! I had no idea.’
    He felt a large hairy hand on his shoulder. ‘Ahem!’ growled Mr Troll.
    â€˜Oh well, yes,’ said Mr Priddle hastily. ‘Strictly speaking it was Ulrik who did most of the work.’
    Ulrik smiled shyly as the Sergeant shook him firmly by the hand.
    â€˜Good work, young Ulrik. You come by the station and we’ll see about that five hundred pounds, shall we?’
    â€˜Uggsome!’ said Ulrik.
    A loud groan made them all look round. ‘Are you OK, Warren?’ asked Ulrik. ‘You’ve gone a bit green.’

Wish you were Here!
    Mrs Priddle lay on her sunbed and sipped her fruit cocktail through a straw. The ice cubes clinked soothingly against the glass. Below her balcony she could hear children laughing and playing happily in the hotel swimming pool. Warren’s shrill voice rang out above the hubbub. ‘Mum! Watch me!’
    Mrs Priddle waved back at him. ‘Lovely, darling! Well done!’
    She sighed deeply – at last a proper holiday! The strange events of the previous night seemedlike a dream. In any case, everything had worked out well. After hours of tramping the moor, Mr Priddle was