Argghhhh!

The bustling sounds of morning flew in through the open window. The sun was shining and the breeze was dancing with the leaves on the trees.

George sleepily rubbed her eyes as she became re-accustomed with the shapes in her room. She sat up and stretched, letting out an enormous yawn, which appeared to disturb something at the end of her bed.

‘Arghh!’ cried George.

‘Arghh!’ shrieked Ponkle.

‘Arghh!’ yelled the pair of them together.

George flung herself under the bedclothes in the hope that whatever it was she had just seen would disappear as fast as it had appeared. Ponkle, on the other hand, dived under the bed, his whole body quivering with fright.

After a short while, George found an ounce of courage and emerged from under the crumpled covers. She tucked her long brown hair behind her ears and warily scanned her room. So far so good, she thought. She then, ever so slowly, crawled to the end of the bed and lent over.

‘Arghh!’ they both yelled again but this time nobody moved. Their eyes locked and neither could tell who was the most frightened.

Hmm

Sigworth looked at his wrist-watch. A look of concern spread across his face. Odd.

Back to the sack...

‘Ow...Ouch...Ah...Ouch!’ cried Ponkle through gritted teeth.

Boffwunglers were not designed to climb walls and Ponkle disliked the job intensely being petrified of heights.

‘Oeearggh,’ he groaned as he hauled himself onto a rather unstable window-ledge and paused for breath before feeling for the latch.

The window screeched as it was opened just enough for a creature the size of a Boffwungler to squeeze through. As Ponkle entered the room he took a good look around. His eyes darted to and fro across the unfamiliar space and finally came to rest on something in the centre of the room. The creature looked so peaceful and so....comfortable. It had been hours since Ponkle had last slept. He had nearly finished his rounds, after this he could creep home and catch up on some well earned rest.

He stopped as he heard a rumbling sound. It seemed to be coming from the next room. Yes, now he remembered. Sigworth had done this patch last night. He must have been at it again. He had mentioned something about testing it. He’d get found out one of these days and when he did, Ponkle hoped that he would be some miles away. Sigworth may be his cave mate but that wasn’t any reason to get caught up in all of this any more than he was already. Being known as a complete coward often came in quite handy. Folk knew what to expect of you in times of trouble. Very little.

He lifted the sack off his aching shoulder.

‘Sshhh!’ he instructed. Ponkle and the sack did not get along.

He tiptoed (which isn’t all that easy when you’ve got big flat feet) over to the bed. Oh, it did look cosy. Yawn.

‘I wonder what these creatures make their hammocks out of?’ he wondered and to discover exactly that, he lay down his heavy head at the foot of the bed.

Umpwiffle

The dawn mist had formed a blanket over the crisp ground. The sun had only just started to rise yet already the sky was a delightful mixture of pink and amber. The only blot on the seemingly untouched landscape was the returning troop of tired and extremely famished Trunglers. Each were dragging themselves from leg, to leg, to leg, to leg, to leg, back from Dantor towards Zlexis, Tolita’s grand home, carved out from the first Mountain in the imposing Klebhorne Range. Each was carrying a wooden box clumsily on its back. Apart from Umpwiffle that is.

Umpwiffle had been given the special honour of carrying the Judgess herself - the unfortunate thing being that Tolita was at least ten times heavier than any box could ever hope to be.

She glanced icily at her army. It was a pathetic sight but it was one she was getting used to. They may be imbeciles but at least they were reliable, she thought to herself as she dug her heels into the surprised Umpwiffle to remind him that stopping for a rest was not an option. She would not tolerate a Trunglers laziness and she did not wish to miss breakfast.

Moloks

The Moloks were fast asleep in their village of Dantor, a unique habitat built far underground. Moloks have existed for centuries. They possess great knowledge and their skills of wizardry stretch beyond understanding. For many, many years, these peaceful creatures have remained anonymous, continuing their work and passing on the secrets of old to their children, their children’s children, their children’s children’s children… well I think you get the point.

Not a soul ever knew such beings even existed, save in the old folk-lore and legends and no-one had the slightest knowledge of the importance of their work. This is the way it had always been, the way it should be.

Each morning the Moloks would rise early from their living quarters and descend even further underground to the third level to begin the day’s activities in their vast number of workshops. Together they would joyfully wind their ways through the underground passages which had been built a long, long time past and whose design surpassed any of its kind.

Life for the Moloks had run smoothly and happily for as long as their memories could recall. Then one day, a slight disruption occurred in their daily routine which now threatened their very existence.

Meanwhile...

Meanwhile, in a distant place, a small object could be seen moving in an awkward fashion across an area of land filled with hidden terrors. I cannot at this time tell you very much about this object, apart from that on closer inspection it appeared to be conducting its own merry dance. It was also purple.

The Trunglers

‘Ssshhh!’ instructed Tolita in such a manner that her men shook in their boots. This was a highly complicated mission and Tolita wished that she did not have to rely on a bunch of fools to get the job done.

The army, made up of a bundle of cowardly creatures known as Trunglers, crouched impatiently and waited for their next command. These pitiful beings were not here of their own accord, actually they had a very limited career choice, either they served Tolita or they were dead. An easy enough choice for most of them.

Tolita was otherwise known as the ‘Judgess’ of Valdox. Biffleworth, her late husband, had been the Kingdom’s Judge for many, many years and his fairness was renowned throughout the land. Tolita took over his position, after his untimely and somewhat suspicious death.

Anyway, here the Trunglers were, trying their hardest (which, incidentally, is not all that hard) to keep their minds centred. The main reason why they could not do this was because they were creatures with a love for beautiful things. In fact, right now their three eyes were busy studying the interior of the somewhat cramped, damp passageway in which they were huddled. They had, of course, ventured this way many times before, yet the architecture never ceased to amaze their puzzled minds.

Either side of the passageway had been decorated with a curious silver and violet substance, the likes of which the Trunglers (and, indeed, all the inhabitants of the land, well, nearly all) had never seen. The substance’s flow was only ever interrupted when it hit small crevices in the rock, behind which could be seen constant eruptions of mystical sound and vibrant colour.

What bemused the Trunglers most of all (and Tolita herself although she would never admit it) was that the designs painted on the stone always managed to look different. Each time the small party travelled along this same tunnel it was like entering it for the first time. A peculiar thing.

Now, it must be said here that the Moloks are an exceptionally creative race and their ability to design such tunnels remains a mystery, especially considering their size. A Molok never grows taller than a blade of Deep Forest grass (but I would not advise travelling to such parts to find out if I am telling the truth).

‘Advance!’ hissed Tolita, sensing now was the time to strike.

The Trunglers, already numb, aching and suffering from severe pins and needles, gradually realised which body parts were their own and which belonged to fellow creatures and began shuffling down the tunnel on all fives.

Sigworth

After Ponkle had gone, Sigworth began restoring the cave to its former glory, well, not glory exactly. Sigworth Boffwungler was a clever fellow and could well imagine what events had occurred whilst he had been out collecting his special ingredients. As he put the last object, the satin box, back where it belonged, under the stone carving of Ponkle’s father, he decided that stronger measures must be taken. Things were getting out of hand, things were going beyond dangerous. He had in his possession a very harmful weapon. He must not let others use it.

Ponkle

‘No...please...I really don’t know where he keeps it!.....No..not that..I beg of you ..please..anything but that!’

Ponkle’s plea was blatantly ignored as the sheets from under him were mightily yanked, sending the half-asleep creature to the ground below. As he rose his hand to rub the aching lump now appearing over his left ear, his eyes focussed on the stubby figure hovering over him.

‘It’s a q-q-quarter to Sixteen!’ pronounced Sigworth, who was becoming rather bored with Ponkle’s curious ability to sleep for so many days at a time.

‘Oarghh,’ was all that Ponkle could manage as he curled up into a ball on the floor and once more closed his heavy eye-lids.

Sigworth decided to utilise plan B, considering the drowsy state in which he had found his companion.

'I’ve just had news that T-T-Tolita is swiftly on her way to G-Gitwit after hearing a vicious rumour that someone not t-too f-far from here is l-l-late for work!’

That did the trick. Ponkle was on his oddly formed feet before Sigworth even had time to stop chuckling. Of course, the mere mention of Tolita’s name was enough to make anyone wary.

Once Ponkle was fully conscious, Sigworth explained that his last statement may have contained a slight exaggeration (he knew that Ponkle would not remember that Tolita always indulged in a game of chess at a quarter to Sixteen) and began to cook dinner.

'W-what on earth h-happened h-here?’ said Sigworth with a handful of vegetables, noticing that the furniture was in minor disarray, then he dropped the vegetables, ‘and what have you d-done to our b-b-beautiful door? I wasn’t out for long!’

‘Oh that,’ replied Ponkle who was now dressed in his black uniform.

‘Yes, that!’ Sigworth said, gathering up the ingredients and giving them a quick wipe with the bottom of his sleeve. Yet he didn’t really have to ask.

Ponkle ignored him and studied himself in the small oval mirror. No, he could not get used to this ‘look’. It was not simply the fact that the mirror made him look shorter and fatter than he already was. Or that it made his bottom stick out more than it already did. He felt too, well, dull. Something was definitely missing. He reached into the wardrobe he shared with Sigworth. Yes, that was more like it. He strolled into the kitchen and was greeted by a most wonderful smell.

‘I must say, I think you’re the best cook I know,’ said Ponkle grabbing a nearby cushion, trying to steer the conversation away from earlier events.

‘Why th-thank you, I’ve just whipped up a little.....w-what in g-goodness name is that you’re w-wearing?’

‘What does it look like? There’s no need to look so horrified, it’s only a waistcoat!’

'B-b-but it’s b-bright purple! H-hardly suitable for the occasion! I th-th-thought the idea was to b-blend into the night not leap b-brightly out of it!’

Ponkle shrugged his round shoulders and quietly ate Sigworth’s delicious concoction. As soon as he had emptied his bowl he rose to his feet, walked silently across the cave and cautiously removed the brown sack from the hatstand, being extra careful not to disturb what was inside and disappeared through the front door into the cover of darkness.

Chapter 3

The birds woke early and their cheery songs travelled through the frosty air like the smell of baking bread on a cold morning. Through the gap in the curtains the sun entered the room without an invitation.

A ray of sun-light rested on the bedcovers and as the morning declared its existence, the growing light surrounded the bed and its sleeper, who was lost in a satisfying dream.

A pair of arms appeared from under the covers and participated in a drawn-out stretch.

Eventually the eyes began to open as if unaccustomed to the light, like a creature emerging from hibernation.

George smiled as she remembered the dream. She liked the feeling of winning, of actually achieving something and proving to those around her that she wasn’t a nobody.

‘George, breakfast!’ came her mothers booming voice, as if it had been travelling for days.

George hesitated. She couldn’t help it. Daydreaming was her favourite part of the day, the time when she could be whomever she wanted and not just plain old Georgina Hartwell, who was no good at anything, not even maths.

She lay still for a few moments, absorbing the peaceful atmosphere. Or at least it would have been peaceful if her grandfather wasn’t in the next room, snoring as loud as his nasal passageways would allow. George thought he sounded like a helicopter circling above. She could never understand how he managed to keep doing it without waking himself up in the process.

George didn’t feel like getting up.

‘Five more minutes won’t hurt,’ she convinced herself and snuggled back under the covers.

George

George gulped down the air as she took another bounding leap forwards. Out of the corner of her eye she swore she saw something move. Frantically she picked up speed and set her eyes firmly ahead of her. Then all of a sudden she was all too aware of a presence beside her. Her aching body was pleading with her to stop yet she could not. Something inside her was willing her to go on. It would not be long now before this battle reached its conclusion one way or another, yet she was determined not to admit defeat. Tears were streaming down George’s flushed face due more to exhaustion than to the cold chill in the air. Yet she feared all her efforts might not be enough to overcome the powerful force that pursued her.

A sound to her right caused George to glance sideways. Immediately she wished she had not done so. The image left her in no doubt, capture was looming near and the struggle would soon be put to an end once and for all. Her fingers tightened around the brown material which she would not let go of for anything in this world and her tired legs carried her on with unimaginable speed.

If she could just hold on a little longer maybe she could outrun it, she told herself as her feet came into contact with the soggy ground beneath them. Her mind was racing yet her energy rapidly failing.

This was it then, the end. For a brief moment she lost her concentration. The next thing she knew she was lying in a crumpled heap on the muddy ground.

She had stumbled.....then it came to her.....she had bumped into something. She slowly gazed up and all at once became aware of a noise coming from every side. She felt many arms grab hold of her and was overcome by dizziness as she was lifted high into the air. She looked back to where she had fallen and sure enough she saw what had caused her to collapse. Tape, lots of it, attached to two sturdy Oak trees.

As she was carried off into the night she allowed herself a smile. ‘Junior sack-race champion,’ she thought. ‘This is the happiest day of my life’.

PART ONE - A CLOSE ENCOUNTER!

The deafening sound exploded with such intensity that Ponkle Boffwungler awoke with a start. His second thought was that he hoped his first thought was wrong.
He waited, hardly daring to breathe. His whole body was trembling as his mind conjured up hideous images of what was about to become of him. He had never been so afraid in his entire one hundred and twelve years. Well, except for that fateful day twenty two years ago...

Ponkle’s thoughts were interrupted as his widening eyes focussed on his large wooden front door. He watched in silence as the red door handle creaked as it was turned this way and that. Whatever evil lurked outside was not going to disappear without a fight.

Ponkle Boffwungler was not the most intelligent of creatures but in times of need he usually did succeed in finding a little bit of common sense, which his most trusted acquaintance, Sigworth, had so kindly lent him. Ponkle thought hard for a moment... it was in a jar somewhere ... . He carefully pulled back the heavy covers and slowly climbed down from his resting place .... Now where was it? He shuffled cautiously across the floor and had to stop himself yelping out loud when what sounded like a herd of angry elephants began charging towards his front door.

Ponkle hurriedly began barricading the entrance with anything he could find, beautifully hand carved chairs, rickety stools, patchwork cushions and even the purple satin box which his father had given to him when he was younger, which to this very day he had been unable to open.

The stampeding rapidly grew louder and Ponkle felt the ground beneath him vibrate as if it were about to split in half right under him, sending him against his will to the unknown depths of the planet. Without thinking, he hurled himself against the already stacked furniture (even though his small but somewhat round body would not provide much resistance) and squeezed his eyes tightly shut.

‘Oooaaahh!’ he squealed as his frightened figure was hurled at great speed across the dimly lit cave due to the impact of the mighty blow. Seconds later he emerged from under a pile of dirty clothes (quite a big pile at that as Ponkle never had been one for believing in excessive cleanliness - at least that was his excuse, in theory he was simply extremely lazy). His petrified gaze was now glued to the door, although his vision was still somewhat blurred. As his large green eyes began to focus he began to make out an enormous dent, twice the size of his feeble self. Most of the furniture had been damaged but the door remained firmly shut which, at that precise moment, was the only thing that mattered.

'That was a close one,’ Ponkle murmured, congratulating himself for his show of bravery as he re-arranged his home, paying little attention to the bulging sack hanging on the hat-stand in the corner of the cave. He would not think about that until tomorrow. For now his thoughts were only of returning to his warm bed.