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

ready to abandon his damp caravan and move into a comfortable hotel. She glanced at him now, lying on the sunbed next to hers.
    â€˜So there never was any beast at all?’ she said.
    â€˜Mmm? No. I told you, Ogwen invented the whole thing just to keep people off the moor at night.’
    â€˜But what about the story in the paper? People claimed they saw it.’
    Mr Priddle chuckled. ‘It just shows you the power of the imagination. Tell people there’s a savage beast on the moor and that’s what they believe. Actually, it was nothing more than a stuffed dog – Ogwen’s favourite Labrador, Bessie. It seems he couldn’t bear to be parted from her.’
    â€˜Heavens! He sounds a total fruitcake,’ remarked Mrs Priddle.
    â€˜I’m afraid so. I heard him tell the police the dog had come back to haunt him.’
    Mrs Priddle shook her head. She had never trusted the farmer from the start – you could tell he didn’t clean his teeth properly.
    â€˜Well, thank goodness it’s all over,’ she said. ‘No more sleepless nights, no more caravans, and best of all, no more trolls.’
    â€˜Bliss!’ agreed Mr Priddle.
    Mrs Priddle closed her eyes, hoping to doze off. She could hear seagulls calling and the
put-put
of a car coming slowly along the road. In fact it wasn’t a car, it was more like …
    â€˜Oh good gravy!’ said Mr Priddle, sitting bolt upright.
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜That’s our caravan!’
    â€˜Don’t be ridiculous, Roger. We left it back at the farm.’
    â€˜It is, and it’s turning in here!’
    Mrs Priddle’s eyes snapped open and she jumped to her feet. Below her balcony she could see a large red tractor turning into the drive. At the wheel was Mr Troll, who had never driven a tractor before but was obviously enjoying the experience. He was towing the Priddles’ battered old caravan behind and Ulrik and Mrs Troll could be seen hanging out of the windows.
    â€˜Oh no!’ groaned Mrs Priddle. She tried to hidebut it was too late – Mr Troll had spotted them and waved excitedly.
    â€˜Piddle! Look what I’ve got. We’ve cleaned it up for you!’
    â€˜Cleaned it up?’ Mrs Priddle turned pale. She dared not think what that meant.
    Mr Priddle waved his arms. ‘No! We don’t want it! Go away!’
    â€˜What?’ asked Mr Troll, putting a hand to his ear and forgetting to steer. The tractor swerved violently to the left.
    â€˜I said … look out!’ shouted Mr Priddle.
    The tractor ploughed straight across the Hotel Majestic’s lawn, leaving deep muddy tracks in its wake. It was heading directly for the swimming pool. Sunbathers ran for cover, scattering in all directions. A waiter dropped his tray of drinks and vaulted a sunbed faster than an Olympic hurdler. The pool was emptying fast.
    â€˜Brakes!’ bellowed Mr Priddle. ‘Use the brakes!’
    â€˜Which one is brakes?’ Mr Troll called back. He had only just learned how to make the tractor go forward – stopping it was another matter. He chose a lever at random and pushed it, jamminghis foot down on one of the pedals. The tractor leapt forward like a startled kangaroo. The Priddles shut their eyes, unable to watch. When it came, the splash was so enormous it drenched them five floors up.

    Bubbling and hissing, the tractor went down in the deep end, dragging the caravan in with it. A moment later Ulrik bobbed to the surface, followed by Mr and Mrs Troll. They struggled to the side of the pool, where a crowd of spectators had gathered to watch.
    Ulrik climbed up the steps and sat down.
    â€˜Mum! Did you see me? I swimmed!’
    â€˜Well done, my ugglesome!’
    The manager of the Majestic pushed his way through the crowd, crimson with rage.
    â€˜Is this your caravan?’ he demanded, pointing to the sunken wreck.
    The Trolls looked at each other. ‘Well, no,’ said Mr