Sigworth's Dust

A Huge Thank You!

2008-08-31T07:35:00.000-07:00

I am taking a break from this project. Although you are only a few readers I will continue with the book and get it to you at some point in the near future! Feel free to contact me on jill@barklive.com and if you would like I will email you chapters on a regular basis!
Jill x

William

2008-08-27T01:13:00.001-07:00

Quibley walked down the dimly-lit corridor alongside Umpwiffle. Umpwiffle was carrying a small black bag in one of his hands.
‘Do ya want me to come with ya, this time?’ said Quibley, who was getting more and more worried about his friend’s state of mind.
‘Don’t botha.’
‘I said I woz sorry for leaving ya stood on ya’s own in the workshop,’ he said sulkily as they reached the end of the corridor to encounter daylight.
‘Pity ya didn’t think that at the time, isn’it!’
He gave Quibley a dirty look before leaving him stood at the entrance to Zlexis. Quibley stayed there for some time thinking how easily he had just lost a good friend.

George wondered if she was going mad as things were going from bad to plain ridiculous. She sat down.
‘Hello,’ said George calmly, so as not to scare the tiny man whom she thought hadn’t seen her.
On the contrary, William had infact noticed her on her arrival in his home town but was playing it cool.
‘Excuse me,’ said George slowly, thinking the creature could not understand her.
Innit’s, the species to which, once upon a time, William belonged, find it hard to get a minutes peace. His beautiful voice faded and before George could say any more, he had disappeared. George hadn’t seen him go anywhere, it was like he had just melted back into the tree. She reached her hand forwards and gently felt the outside of the stump. It was completely solid. All she felt against her hand was the weathered, crumbling bark and the twisting stems which caressed it.
‘Wait...come back!’ she pleaded. ‘Ooh!’ she moaned in a huff.
She slumped against the tree stump. As she lent against it, she swore that she felt it throb as if it had somehow managed to acquire a heartbeat.
‘Great!’ she muttered. ‘Now I think the trees are alive!’
She reasoned that it must be connected to a lack of food and drink on her behalf. She crawled on her hands and knees and peered around the other side of the stump, which was quite wide in diameter. Her curiosity was, once again, getting the better of her.
‘Hello?’ she whispered. ‘Please come back. I’m not going to hurt you. I only want to ask you a few questions...like what you are for a start...’
She listened...nothing. Well it was worth a try. She leaned against the tree again and looked around. If she was to find her way out of here, she needed to re-fuel. Perhaps there would be a River or Lake around here and maybe she could collect some berries...no..she had always been warned against that. Oh well, water would do for now. It was just a case of finding it.
It was a shame the miniature man had disappeared, he might have been able to point her in the right direction. Never mind, she concluded, standing up.
‘I’m cold in the summer, warm in the winter but whatever the weather, I’m always.....forgetful?’ came a jesting voice.
‘Excuse me?’ said George, her eyes frantically searching for its owner.
‘Why, what have you done!’ it chuckled.
George finally located the little fellow. He was perched on a branch suspended from a large Birch tree not far from her which, incidentally, had not been there a few minutes ago.
‘Who are you?’ asked George, fascinated with this bizarre place.
The leaves on the branch rustled as the Innit practised his type-rope walking skills, holding his arms, complete with the strands of dangling greenery, out to his sides for balance.
‘Now, let me see,’ he pondered. ‘Yesterday I was cheerful, tomorrow I’ll be frightful...so today I must be...William!’
‘William?’ repeated George, slightly bemused, ‘that’s a strange name for an….’
‘Not at all,’ William replied oddly. ‘I’ll have you know that William is a very traditional name amongst the Innit’s.’
‘Sorry,’ said George. ‘I didn’t mean to offend you. My name’s George. Many think that’s a strange name where I come from.’
‘Not at all, I think it’s a good sturdy name. Well, George, what can I possibly do for you?’ William gracefully dismounted the branch, landed deftly on the spongy ground and bowed.

The Forest

2008-08-19T23:42:00.000-07:00

‘Sigworth?’
‘Yes?’
‘Can you hear me?’
‘I w-wouldn’t have replied if I c-c-couldn’t h-hear you, would I?’
Pause.
‘Sigworth?’
‘Yes!’
‘Where are you?’
‘I’m n-not q-quite sure. W-where are you?’
‘I don’t know...but it doesn’t smell too good.’
‘H-hang on! S-s-something’s h-happening!...’
‘Sigworth?...Sigworth?...What happen.....Aarrghhh!!’

George was astounded when, from within the heavy cover of the forest, she glanced back to see that she had been kept prisoner inside what she could only describe as a giant burrow. She could make out plenty more of them scattered across the ground. It was dark, surely past midnight yet there was an eerie greenish glow reflecting off the overhanging trees. The forest was so dense that only here and there was she able to glimpse the stars through the threatening canopy overhead.
George turned 360 degrees. It all looked the same, each tree looked just as menacing as the next and each way deeply uninviting. Home was a million miles from here but even so, she would at least like to go in the right direction. The decision, however, was made for her when a young Mumtwip couple, out on a romantic midnight stroll, spotted her.
‘AAAiigghhhAAArrOOO!’
George hazarded a guess that that must be the alarm signal.
Angry heads began to pop up from burrows all over the place. There were so many more than George had first anticipated. George panicked, put her legs in charge and headed in the only direction that did not contain Mumtwips. That happened to be East. It stood in her favour. If she had gone West, she would not have lived to regret it.

She was running so hard that even the blisters on her feet had formed blisters. Yet she had to keep going. Close behind she could hear the patter of thousands of pairs of paw-like feet. It was similar to being chased by a multitude of highly intelligent grizzly bears and what was more, they were gaining on her.

George’s life began to flash infront of her eyes. Not much of a life, she thought, she had never really achieved anything, never even passed a maths exam. She tried to push the thoughts away but they kept bouncing back into her mind as if on a trampoline. She was up to the age of four, the time when she had taken next-door’s cat for a ride in one of her roller-skates, when the pattering behind her ground to a halt.
She carried on running for a while to be on the safe side.
George looked up. The branches of the trees overhead were not as heavy, more like a thatch covering which the moon’s rays were now filtering through. She turned. Behind her the forest seemed a great deal denser. She jumped as she heard a rustling sound coming from one of the bushes. She then picked out, yes, lots of pairs of intense blue eyes, staring at her coldly, through the gaps in the thicket.
It was as if there was a line which the Mumtwips dare not cross. George did not understand this, especially since this part of the forest did not seem in the least bit frightening, yet all the same, she was quite pleased about it.

George didn’t know how long she’d walked. However, she explored this new habitat thoroughly before giving her legs a well deserved rest. She smiled as she saw the first signs of sunlight pouring in like rain through a leaky roof. She was feeling happier than she had done for some time. Odd. She sensed no danger in this place. Actually, beside the few beautiful flowers that were now starting to open, there appeared to be no other signs of life whatsoever. She felt completely alone yet at the same time, completely safe.
Her eye-lids felt as if they had been carrying heavy shopping bags and after an exceedingly short amount of persuasion, George agreed to let them have a rest too. She lay down on the soft grass and dreamed of enjoying a long soak in a hot tub.
A while passed, on its way to another appointment.

There was a movement nearby, then another, then another and then all was still.
When George finally awoke, she sensed that something wasn’t quite right. She couldn’t exactly put her finger on it but thought it might just have something to do with the fact that she had woken up somewhere quite different than where she’d remembered going to sleep.
She rubbed her sleepy eyes and tried to make sense of things.
‘That wasn’t here before!’ said George to herself, looking directly infront of her at an old tree stump. ‘Nor that, or that, for that matter,’ she added, noticing a lilac coloured bush and a snow-covered rock. This last observation was extremely odd considering it was late spring.
George was getting, in simple terms, a little fed up. Besides her delusions, she desperately longed for some decent clothes - she was rather embarrassed about getting caught up in an adventure in her green check pyjamas and she really regretted asking to have that cute little teddy bear embroidered on the top right hand pocket. She wanted a bath and definitely would not say no to a full breakfast. Most of all, she wanted to be at home. After what she had just been through she had now decided that she was not the adventurous type.
George heard a faint sound. She listened hard.
‘?’ she thought.
George got up and walked towards the tree stump. As she grew closer, the sound became more detectable. At first, she thought it might be a grasshopper or some other sort of insect, until the sound became more recognisable.
She carefully rounded the stump and her gaze automatically fell to the ground. At first she saw nothing but the bark of the tree, partly covered by patches of deep green ivy, clutching the stump like a newborn monkey clings to its mother. Yet she was not mistaken. The sound was slightly louder now and was definitely coming from....the tree. She knelt down and peered closer. Then to her astonishment, the patterns created by the creeping ivy began to take on a whole new shape and before her very eyes, as if coming from the tree stump itself, emerged the small figure of a man. His clothing seemed to be one with the tree. Perhaps it wasn’t even clothes, perhaps it was his skin which was so earthy. His hair was dry and wayward and took on the same dark colouring as the bark. Ivy trailed down from his shoulders. George had to focus hard to keep seeing him as he kept merging into the background. He didn’t appear to have noticed George staring in wonder at him as he carried on singing in the sweetest, most angelic voice George had ever heard.

The sneezes!

2008-08-13T06:19:00.000-07:00

Umpwiffle had been sneezing consecutively for twenty minutes

‘And make sure you do it properly!’ Tolita demanded, before slamming the door shut and locking it from the outside.

The bemused and tearful Trungler was imprisoned in a tiny, claustrophobic room. By his side were a nasty selection of bottled spells. These spells were some of Tolita’s strongest and most destructive. The reason that he had been given this task and locked in this small space is because once the containers were opened they were known to put up one heck of a fight.

He was being punished...the hard way. He would be solely responsible for making these abominations which destroyed lives and he knew why. Tolita did blame him for letting the girl get away, which was partly true, it was not in his nature to condemn someone to eternal misery, like himself. Yet now Tolita had got it into her head to entice the girl back into her grasp and she thought the best way to do this was to make her friends suffer.

As he reached for the jars, he only hoped that the girl had made it safely back to where she had come from. As for the Boffwunglers...he hung his head in shame of what he was about to do.

George could not sleep. There was too much hovering in her mind to make room for feelings of tiredness. The Mumtwips had eventually brought her some edible food and juice of some kind - by now she no longer cared what she was eating or drinking - and after complaining for several hours they had thrown her down a couple of blankets. ‘What more could a girl possibly want?’ she had shouted up sarcastically.

She thought back to the drawing of Ponkle and Sigworth’s cave. She had got the distinct impression that by tomorrow, the cave would have ceased to exist. Not that it would really matter seeing as both its occupants had also ceased to exist, if yesterdays disappearing act was anything to go by. She was also confused as to what the rest of the drawing signified. She thought back to Ponkle’s brief explanation of Sigworth’s experiments. Perhaps it was his antidote that these animals were after, this thing they called the ‘OB’. If it was, what on earth did they want with it? George struggled with her thoughts but still ended up none the wiser and now had an awful headache. As if things weren’t bad enough already.

‘Why are you keeping me here?’ she shouted up to one of the guards.

‘Ilg!’ he replied angrily.

‘Oh, thank you! That explains it perfectly!’ retorted George, pacing up and down the small space.

Enough was enough. These ignorant creatures were not to be trusted. For all George knew, she could be tomorrow’s lunch. Of course, unbeknown to her, that was not the case. She would be saved for a special occasion, such treats didn’t come along so often.

‘I must get out of here,’ whispered George to herself, at the same time giving the guards a sweet yet calculating smile.

Hours passed and the light from outside gradually faded to blackness. George was beginning to discover that the most annoying thing about Mumtwips is that they never sleep. However, they are very fond of a game of Pobbles (similar to draughts - the big difference being that there is far more scope for cheating) and could spend hours contemplating their opponent’s next move. I mention this as it is the exact pursuit which the four guards had chosen to while the night away.

George had been watching the guards and had noticed that whilst their game progressed, their concentration intensified. She had to plan her escape meticulously. Or so she thought, until,

‘Ip Fhg!’ said one of the guards, triumphantly.

‘Spt Prnt!’ said another, with rising frustration.

‘Nont Urg Pt!’ yelled the third angrily.

The fourth simply pulled a face.

Then it started. The first guard reached for the winnings (only, in fact, a mound of broken twigs yet it was the principle of the thing which was in question), the second punched the first on the nose, the third delivered a blow to the second’s stomach and the fourth really didn’t feel in the mood for a fight and went home.

The remaining Mumtwip guards were now involved in a full-scale brawl. Nobody appeared to notice as a young girl clambered up the slope, slipped past them and scampered into the open, disappearing amongst the shadows (well, apart from one guard who stopped fighting temporarily to check that their captive was still sleeping and was about to raise the alarm when he ran straight into an opponent’s foot and that was that).

What next?

2008-08-02T02:18:00.000-07:00

‘When shall we attack?’ asked a warrior-like Mumtwip with a strong urge to attack anything that moved.

‘Eka Rbt Cyzl!’ said Cecil (sorry, there is a page missing from the translation book but I would hazard a guess that it meant ‘night of the eclipse, ten minutes after sundown’).

The group dispersed. Four muscle bound Mumtwips remained to guard the entrance. Not to stop anything undesirable from getting in but rather to keep something valuable to them from getting out.

George was still sat uncomfortably on the damp floor where they had left her. She was cold down here in only her pyjamas, hungry too, they had given her nothing but a measly bowl of murky water, which was lying untouched near her feet. From the opening up there, it looked to be a warm, sunny day. She wondered if she would ever see the light of day again. She dragged herself to her feet to stretch her limbs and as she looked around in the dim light she noticed that she had been sitting on something.

She picked the soggy piece of paper up off the ground. She could see it quite clearly now her eyes were growing accustomed to the light. On it was a drawing of a cluster of caves. One of the caves had been marked in red with the letters ‘OB’. Surrounding the caves on the picture were sketches of creatures resembling Boffwunglers, lying on the ground. George weren’t sure whether they were dead or only sleeping. A thought flashed through her mind. She looked back at the cave with the red letters on. It looked mighty familiar.

Umpwiffle

2008-07-23T00:22:00.000-07:00

Whilst the heated discussion continued, George desperately tried to understand what was being said. She should have spent her time more constructively by, for example, figuring out how to get out of this mess.

That morning Umpwiffle was slouched on the stool by his work bench, his face painted with an expression of pure boredom. He was sick of this job. He looked around the large stone room in which all experiments took place. To his right, against the wall, was a cabinet, its shelves full of pots and jars all labelled with their individual function. Ungry was there now, carefully pulling out jar number 23, the spell about hedgehogs, he remembered that one as he had used it himself only yesterday afternoon. He watched Ungry meander back to his bench at the other end of the room with it.
Quibley wandered past him carrying one of the latest inventions stolen from the Moloks. He, along with one or two others, had been given the task of checking them for defaults. Umpwiffle wished it was his turn. That job was much more fun than his own at the moment. Last time he had been allocated the job, he had been overwhelmed by the Molok’s inventiveness. His favourite item was a pop-up recipe book where the pages actually popped out of the book and made your dinner for you. However, when he had been testing it, he accidentally turned a page half way through and ended up with a Broccoli flavoured Cheesecake infront of him.
Umpwiffle looked at his own work-surface. Jar number 49, simply labelled ‘knockout!’ This was a new mare and from the looks of it, Umpwiffle did not think it would be too nice. He had no urge to even open it yet he knew he must get on with it or else it would be Fogflops for a month.

Umpwiffle was aware that he was fortunate to even be here. After the shenanigans with the girl and his secret encounter with Dorus, he was lucky that jar 49 wasn’t destined for himself. Tolita was beyond furious about the girl’s disappearance yesterday. Once the spell which had transported the Boffwunglers had left her, she had opened her eyes and let out an almighty scream. Umpwiffle could still hear it ringing in his ears. Of course, she had blamed him for letting her prisoner get away and he would have been Mumtwip food if he hadn’t have said that the girl had put a spell on him, momentarily sealing his lips together - actually jar number 13 but Umpwiffle hoped that Tolita would not remember it was one of her own.
This had made Tolita even madder and she had returned back here alone. On arrival, she had whisked herself off to her private chambers and upon his own somewhat delayed return, Umpwiffle had sneaked back down to the workshop in the hope that he had escaped her wrath.
As he continued packing the sacks, he wondered what the Moloks were going to do to put a stop to the Judgess’ determination to ruin them. He couldn’t understand what Tolita had against them. Admittedly, he had only met one of them but he had come away from the unexpected meeting rather liking the tiny Wizard like character. He himself had not been to Dantor last night as he had been on wandering guard duty but obviously nothing had come of his little chat with the friendly Molok.
‘Aarrghhh!!!’ Quibley’s voice zoomed down the room as if travelling on a high speed train.
Umpwiffle jumped up, his knees nearly knocking his entire bench over and bounded in his friend’s direction, knocking over numerous things on his way. Then he was distracted by another cry, then another, all seeming to come from the workers in the Invention Testing section of the workshop.
‘Wha?...’ shouted Umpwiffle nervously, to anyone at all that was listening.
The whole room was now in a state of chaos. As the rumour drifted through the room, Trunglers began running for cover in every direction, falling over one another and sending benches and stools all over the place.
‘Quibley?’ Umpwiffle yelled as he was pushed and pulled like a post-office door.
His friend’s grief stricken face appeared right next to him.
‘Moloks!’ he said fearfully, grabbing one of Umpwiffle’s arms. ‘Joke’s on us this time!’

‘What do ya mean?’ said Umpwiffle, shaking him.
‘A trick....these things..’ Quibley picked a broken stick up off the floor and thrust it towards Umpwiffle’s face, ‘...This is supposed to be a Singin’ Walkin’ stick.....designed to keep ya’s company whilst ya’s out!’
‘Well? What’s up wi’ it?’ said Umpwiffle, somewhat slow on the uptake.
‘What’s up wi’ it! Listen to it!’ Quibley tapped the stick on the floor.
‘Ha! Ha! Had you fooled? Dantor you will never rule. This Judgess who has Wizard’s blood. Twists the rules for her own good. What lies in store we are debating. Warning! Next time we’ll be waiting!’ the stick crooned.
Umpwiffle threw himself straight into his impression of a surprised Trungler (he’d been practising all night in preparation for this, deep down he was really quite pleased that the Moloks had managed to call Tolita’s bluff ). He struggled to find something useful to say.
‘They knew we was comin’!’ Quibley beat him to it. ‘Blasted creatures must’ve had a tip off!’
There was a noise outside the door and one hefty kick was all that was needed to fling it wide open. Quibley made a dive for it.
‘WHAT IS GOING ON?’ Tolita boomed, scarlet with rage.
Umpwiffle looked around and gulped. Where was everybody?

What to do with it!

2008-07-07T03:59:00.001-07:00

Cecil Mumtwip raised his right arm to silence the excitable crowd who had gathered here for this special meeting. (From this point onwards, it may be easier if I translate the script as best I can to facilitate the readers’ understanding. Full apologies to those who speak fluent Mumtwippian).

Cecil noisily cleared his throat.

‘Mumtwips, Mumtwippers and Mumtwippings,’ he began. ‘I think you are all aware why I have called this meeting?’

There was a general murmur.

‘Good. Now, at nightfall yesterday, we happened to capture a creature of unknown species...’

There came a gasp of astonishment from a Mumtwip who had obviously been otherwise engaged when the news had been spread. He was highly embarrassed when everyone turned their piercing eyes towards him, apologised and began to sulk.

‘Can we continue now Wilfred?’ laughed Cecil. ‘Good. Anyway, this new development changes our present situation.’

There followed an expectant hush.

‘I have a plan!’ Cecil said proudly. ‘Bring it forward!’

George backed away in fear as a herd of these little, yet terrifying, creatures (only half the size of Boffwunglers) scampered down the slope. It was impossible for George to see what was going on as her only source of light was now blocked off by the approaching creatures. Her imagination set to work once more. She screamed at the top of her voice and thrashed out as the lurking shadows reached out for her. It was no use. Before long she had been cornered. The amused Mumtwips simply ignored her outburst as they dodged the mis-timed blows and closed in. A dozen pairs of strong arms wrapped around her resistant body and mechanically lifted her over their heads and marched quickly up the slope towards the awaiting crowd.

‘Let go of me!’ George protested, her legs kicking in every direction, ‘and mind where you’re putting your hands. Ouch!’

She continued angrily shouting comments like, ‘Who do you think you are?’ and ‘I’m sick and tired of being thrown all over the place like a new toy!’ and was getting altogether carried away.

The Mumtwips threw her down in the centre of the circle.

‘See what I mean...’ she yelled, flicking her tangled hair off her flushed face. Then she turned a very funny colour.

Peering down at her in curiosity were lots and lots of horrid little faces, made up of tiny frosted blue eyes, small pointed noses which did not appear to have nostrils and great big mouths with a staggeringly large number of sharp, pointed teeth. It was this particular part of the description which made George shriek out loud. She had preferred the dark end of the slope.

‘Can we eat it?’ came a malicious voice.

George was lucky that she did not possess the ability to speak Mumtwippian.

‘No!’ said Cecil. ‘At least, not yet.’

‘What’s the plan?’ ventured another growling voice.

‘We caught the creature on the outskirts of the forest. I think she might come in extremely handy.’

‘As what? Breakfast?’ someone joked.

‘I don’t know where she comes from or what she was doing near the forest but it doesn’t take much to figure out that she must be some sort of spy,’ Cecil said, addressing the full company.

The wicked faces snarled down at George, who was trembling like a badly-set jelly. She felt that the beasts would be ready to ferociously rip her from limb to limb at any moment if given the command. This theory didn’t give her much comfort.

‘You think she knows something?’ asked a young Mumtwipping.

‘She might,’ replied Cecil thoughtfully. ‘It depends who sent her.’

‘What have you got in mind?’

‘I was thinking that we could use her as a trap!’

George's hotel

2008-07-02T03:48:00.000-07:00

The vast company of animals were tightly huddled around a centre-piece. From the cluster there came an odd collection of unearthly noises. These droning sounds were what George had the immense pleasure of waking up to. She searched high and low for her senses until she finally found them cowering in a corner of her mind. She soon discovered that she was lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of a damp slope. She swallowed. Her mouth was so dry. How long had she been here? She bravely stretched out her trembling hand and touched what she thought was a wall.

‘Urghh!’ she squealed and recoiled her hand, now covered in a sticky, slimy substance, which she immediately wiped on her pyjama bottoms. She didn’t even want to think what that was.

George wondered if where she was now could be any worse than where she had been earlier. A picture of Tolita exterminating the Boffwunglers in broad daylight flashed through her mind. No, surely not, she concluded. There was something terrifying about the Judgess. She did indeed have a certain look about her that resembled the human species but George didn’t question what the Boffwunglers had told her. She had experienced, first-hand, the feeling that Tolita could appear as human or as inhuman she liked, depending on what mood she was in. She could see into your mind and control it, even turn it off at the flick of a switch, like she did to the Boffwunglers. She was exceedingly dangerous and George never wanted to lay eyes on her ever again.

‘Ung?’

‘Plg.’

‘Fnp?’

‘Skopwodfle!’

A selection of sounds slid down the slope on an invisible toboggan.

The Mumtwips could actually speak as well as anyone else yet most of the time they couldn’t be bothered and simply substituted short and abrupt sounds. What was even more amazing was that they could understand one another. Translated, the above went as follows,

‘What shall we do with her?’

‘Eating her would be my suggestion.’

‘Are you sat on my knapsack?’

‘Oh yes, sorry old chap.’

George anxiously studied the group of animals. She could not make them out too well as it was dark at her end of the hole, yet she could see several silhouetted shapes perched on a ledge, against the bright light pouring in from a small opening right at the top of the slope. A new day, thought George worriedly, she must have been here all night. The last memory she could recall was of losing her way in a forest of some kind. It had been night time and she had no longer been able to pick out the right way. She knew she hadn’t been far from Otherin because she had not long before crossed the old bridge over the River at Thorny Point. From then on it all went blank and now she found herself here, wherever here was.

There were a large number of these animals as far as George could tell. Her imagination decided, at this point in time, that it would be fun to form colourful and detailed pictures of all the evil-looking, flesh-eating beasts that it possibly could, before she snapped out of it and concentrated on decoding the animal’s motives. She would worry about the flesh-eating bit later. Much later, she hoped. They all appeared to be looking down at something in the centre of the group. They were discussing something, she was sure of it, she just hoped it wasn’t her.

The narrow opening at the top of the slime-ridden slope was the only visible exit. She closed her eyes in despair, boy was she in trouble.

Moloks

2008-06-25T00:52:00.000-07:00

Dorus peered down from his high perch before glancing at his antique miniature pocket-watch, which hung on a thin silver chain around his neck. He impatiently drummed his fingers together. The sky was gradually beginning to darken, bringing with it the voices of creatures just beginning to awaken. An owl hooted from a neighbouring branch and still the frightened creature sat in silence, waiting.

The Moloks had decided that it was high time desperate measures were taken. Dorus had been elected for the job and it was safe to say he was more than a little worried. Never before had they disclosed themselves to outsiders. Well, not counting Tolita that is, the child they had raised as one of their own. She was the real reason that they were having to come out into the open now. She knew their weaknesses all too well and after the betrayal of their trust again last night, the Moloks realised that she would stop at nothing until she had stolen everything of any worth to them, including their deepest inner-most knowledge.

Dorus was not sure how an outsider would react to him. Being the descendants of the Great Wizards of Valdox, Moloks were what most folk would call unusual looking. Mainly because they did not share their ancestors tall stature. However, they had retained a certain Wizard-like appearance in terms of their slim and well-proportioned build and their honest, trustworthy faces. This conflicting mixture of genes was due to the Great Wizards closeness to the inhabitants of the Enchanted Wood. The two races, joined together, resulted in the Moloks odd but favourable looks.

There was a rustling below and Dorus hitched his round spectacles further up his nose and stuck his head through the camouflage of leaves. Sure enough, lolloping along the ground, heading towards Zlexis, was a giant creature, blessed with no less than five legs.

Dorus hesitated. He really wasn’t too sure about all this. If he got into trouble and things started to go drastically wrong, he could always utilise his outstanding magic skills, although he knew he must only stoop to that as a last resort. Moloks are wilfully opposed to using their gift of magic for any intent other than good. It is forbidden to use it negatively against any living being. Anyway, Dorus hoped it wouldn’t come to that. After all, he only wanted to talk to this....Monster.

He was beginning to think about giving the whole thing a miss when the creature below stopped dead in his tracks. He was actually wondering why lots of leaves kept falling on and around him. The Monster suddenly looked up and Dorus gasped and jerked his head back, sending his spectacles hurtling to the ground. He could have sworn the thing had three eyes. Dorus thought he might be in need of a new pair of spectacles.

Umpwiffle bent down, picked up the glasses and offered them back to the curious fellow in the tree.

PART TWO: Under the Shadow

2008-06-08T05:23:00.000-07:00

George gradually began to regain consciousness. She felt groggy yet struggled to try to make sense of the events now taking place. Her sluggish eye-lids were too heavy to drag open, so heavy it felt like they had been permanently sealed. She could feel the alien air passing her by at great speed. The temperature was low and she could feel the goose-bumps tingling all over her body. Her senses were reeling. She flinched as something wet brushed across her face. She listened carefully. She could hear the harsh sound of twigs breaking underfoot and beyond that, faint whisperings which, no matter how hard she strained to hear, she could not make out.

George shuddered. Without even so much as a warning, a dreaded creature known as fear leaped out from amongst the bushes and encompassed her whole being. She suddenly remembered what had happened to her and she began to feel very afraid. She had been kidnapped and was now being carried somewhere. Where, she had no idea. By whom, she dare not contemplate and how she had ended up like this was anyone’s guess. Her heightened sense of unease told her to open her weary eyes. She thought perhaps she would rather not but after some time she truly concentrated on forcing her eye-lids open and allowed herself a quick peek. It was dark yet it was not the comforting darkness which nightfall brings. Now and then a sprinkle of light hit her from various directions, causing her to screw her eyes tightly together. It was a dazzling green light.

There came a rustling sound from behind her and she felt the pace of whatever was carrying her quicken. She heard the unrecognisable whisperings again, yet this time louder and more urgent. She nervously lifted her head and squinted in an attempt to gain a more telling view of the situation. As she did so, a high-pitched voice, shrill enough to shatter the toughest glass, raised the alarm and a tube was aggressively thrust under her nose. George’s mind shut its eyes and pulled up the covers.

The Mumtwips are shrewd and cunning animals. They have been roaming the land for many centuries due to their incredibly well-developed survival techniques. These survival instincts are unfortunately getting to be a teeny bit of a setback as hardly any of them ever actually die. This might seem like a wonderful ability....but you try telling that to a frustrated Mumtwip trying to find a quiet, peaceful spot to contemplate the big theoretical questions in life, amongst hundreds of other irritated Mumtwips trying to do exactly the same thing, in an area only just big enough to accommodate a small family of rabbits.

Capturing the child had been remarkably easy. She had been fighting a losing battle with the undergrowth, near to the border of the Deep Forest, just west of the Otherin Valley. She did not appear to know in which direction she was headed and seemed almost ready to collapse with exhaustion. As they were watching her, she came to a standstill with an expressionless expression on her face, as if she simply did not have the energy, or the will, to think anymore.

The Mumtwips had accidentally spotted her on their return home from their evening’s outing and had gone to take a closer look at this strange new addition to the population. She was a most uncommon find and was clothed in the most ridiculous uniform they had ever seen. They had quietly sneaked up behind her (Mumtwips are not flat-footed like Boffwunglers, nor clumsy like Trunglers, indeed, they are very small, clever creatures who are extremely nifty and sharp-witted), swiped the ‘Ob’ under her nose, hauled her over their heads and headed, in a state of raw excitement, back to the Forest. Easy when you know how.

From the author

2008-05-18T01:10:00.000-07:00

Hello everyone and thanks for reading!

So we are at the end of Part One. Just to remind you if you would like to send any ideas, photos or pictures that you think might fit with the story so far or drawings of the characters, maybe even short stories of what the characters are doing when we don't see them, you are more than welcome, we may include your contributions on the site and possibly in a published book at the end of the project.

I will take a short break before beginning with Part 2 of the story and will be starting the next step of the journey at the beginning of June. Look forward to seeing you then!

Jill.

End of Part One

2008-05-14T02:28:00.001-07:00

George, who had just witnessed the two helpless Boffwunglers evaporate into thin air, figured that she must do something quick before the same fate befell herself. Tolita had her eyes closed and a strange look of intense concentration on her face. The Trungler creature was still staring at her but she knew she must take the chance. She bent down and began to wriggle her feet out of her socks. She promptly succeeded in the task and before long her bare feet came into contact with the ground. She looked pleadingly at the Trungler, who simply continued to gawp at her. He then did something very odd indeed. He pointed away to her right and then winked at her with one of his three eyes. She felt as if he was giving her a chance to escape, she didn’t know why and she wasn’t going to wait to find out. She took one last look at Tolita who was swaying from side to side, hypnotised by her previous spell, before heading into a cluster of bushes to her right, leaving behind nothing but a pair of her favourite socks.

**********

2008-05-11T02:28:00.001-07:00

The dust rose like steam from a boiling kettle as five heavy feet shuffled along the sandy path. The afternoon was coming to an end and the light was gradually beginning to fade. In the distance, a cluster of caves were coming into view. The village of Gitwit. Boffwungler territory.

‘Faster!’ ordered Tolita as they approached the final bend.

George was running as fast as her legs would carry her. She was heading for the clearing which she remembered from her journey earlier that day. Unfortunately, she was so busy pinching her arm, slapping her own face and telling herself that if this was a dream, now would be a good time to wake up, that she failed to notice another party travelling towards her in the opposite direction. She raised her head just in time to see a petrified look occupy Umpwiffle’s face before she crashed headlong into him.

George felt slightly concussed. Her first instinct was to glance behind to see if she had been followed. As she had guessed, the two frantic Boffwunglers were bounding towards her at full speed. She felt furious that they had dared to come after her and was about to shout and tell them so when they stopped dead in their tracks. Panic surged through her whole body as she became aware that the two of them were staring at her, their faces masked in horror. Correction, they were staring at something directly behind her.

George sluggishly turned her head. To her left, collapsed in a heap on the ground, was an unusually large creature whose build seemed out of all proportion. It appeared dazed and confused. George, of course, was unaware that Trunglers always looked like that. However, she was all too aware that this thing was three times bigger than herself and did not want to rely on the hope that it was vegetarian. Perhaps it eats Boffwunglers, she thought, that’s why Ponkle and Sigworth are afraid of it. She lifted herself up off the ground and dusted herself off. Her leg ached from the collision.

The creature let out a mighty groan and began to sit, rubbing its head. To George’s amazement, the creature pulled a third leg out from under him and tried to haul himself up. Then another leg appeared, then another. Trungler! she remembered from her discussion with Ponkle. George tested her foot, hoping above all else that she hadn’t twisted an ankle. Then in one swift move she kicked a spray of dust and sand into the surprised animal’s face. As it stumbled backwards rubbing its eyes. George made her getaway, constantly looking behind her to see if the monstrous creature was pursuing her. She didn’t get far. Something stepped out infront of her, blocking her way. George halted and her mouth dropped open. The woman, who had been thrown into a bush by the collision and had used the ensuing period of time to come to terms with the girl’s presence, stood smiling down at her.

Yet the smile brought little reassurance - non infact.

George thought that calmness would be the best option and screamed. She then decided to leg it.

‘Master of Darkness, look what I’ve found...Make this child’s feet one with the ground!’ boomed Tolita, almost deafening anyone within a twenty mile radius.

George’s feet ground to a sudden halt, sending the rest of her body flying forwards, as if a ten ton weight had just been tied to both of her ankles. Not the most comfortable thing in the world.

She recovered her balance and tried to turn the top half of her body, to get Ponkle and Sigworth’s attention. They were both avoiding her gaze. She waived her arms at them in despair, shouting their names over and over until her throat was sore. Then a vivid image popped into her troubled head. Wumple Boffwungler’s exotic dance of the Twing-Twops. She scowled then tried with all her might to move her feet. They would not budge. She began to sweat with fear.

‘I don’t believe we have been introduced,’ said Tolita, coldly.

George urgently looked again to Ponkle for assistance and got none. She also noticed that the giant-like Trungler had now recovered from her little attack and was glaring at her in wonder.

‘What is your name, child?’

‘G-Georgina Hartwell,’ mumbled George, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

‘I don’t think I need ask how you come to be here,’ she bellowed. ‘I believe this sort of behaviour is against our rules?’

George felt the heat lessen as Tolita’s attention miraculously shifted elsewhere.

Ponkle gasped as his eyes suddenly became a lot closer to the dusty path beneath him.

‘Punishment is severe for those that disobey me, Boffwungler.’ She paused for effect. It worked. ‘Oh and you,’ she said, mentally pointing at Sigworth, ‘you can join him!’

‘B-but...b-b-but..w-what h-have I d-d-done?’ he begged, having been the brunt of the Judgess’ anger only once before and the dramatic memories of that were enough to last him for the rest of his life.

‘Since when did that matter?’ she replied and with a click of the fingers, both miserable creatures vanished into the cold air.

Then this happened....

2008-05-04T08:29:00.001-07:00

As Sigworth began to come round, he could have sworn that he had seen the most frightening thing, towering over him. The dose must have been wrong. It was not supposed to cause hallucinations.

Ponkle’s voice echoed somewhere in the passages of his brain.

‘Sigworth! Sigworth!’

Ponkle sighed with relief as Sigworth’s large eyes blinked and attempted to focus on him.

‘P-P-Ponkle? Is t-that you?

‘Of course it’s me!’

‘Oh..t-thats good. Was I s-sn-snoring? It’s not r-right you know, for a moment, I th-th-thought I was seeing t-things. T-there w-was an ugly looking c-creature...’

‘I suppose you mean me?’ said George hastily, moving into Sigworth’s field of vision. She had been quite offended by the ‘ugly’ part. Mind you, she thought later, that was exactly what she would have said about them.

Sigworth took one look at George and his eyes opened so wide that they nearly fell out.

‘I’m a human,’ George continued, ‘as a matter-of-fact.’

Sigworth was astonished. He knew what species the girl belonged to. He had seen them asleep often enough. What he was having difficulty grasping was that there was one standing right over him, dressed in a pair of pyjamas, looking as if being here was the most natural thing in the world. He shifted uncomfortably in the hammock and tugged Ponkle’s waistcoat.

‘P-P-Ponkle,’ he began pulling him closer. ‘W-What in goodness n-name have you d-done?’ His face then contorted to form a curious expression, ‘and why, m-might I ask while I’m at it, am I s-s-soaking wet!’

‘It’s alright Sigworth,’ said Ponkle, freeing himself from his friend’s grip and clambering off the soft bunk, sensing a severe telling off was on its way. ‘This here is George!’

Sigworth raised his bushy eyebrows and slowly got up. He was still feeling dizzy from the effects of his experiment. He walked over to Ponkle who was hiding behind George.

‘Excuse m-me, G-George, b-but I th-th-think my companion and I need to have a l-little ch-chat,’ he said, putting an arm over Ponkle’s shoulder.

George moved aside and watched as the two Boffwunglers retreated behind the red curtain.

Before long, she heard a shrieking noise and, scared for Ponkle’s safety, she hurriedly ran over and pulled back the curtain only to find the two creatures excitedly jumping up and down in the kitchen, squealing with delight.

‘What?’ laughed George enthusiastically. ‘You’ve thought of something haven’t you? A plan? Tell me!’

Sigworth made some hot Rushberry juice and the three of them headed back to the main room and congregated in a tight huddle. Then the makings of the plot gradually began to unravel in an inspiring and somewhat jumbled up mess, similar to that of a lively kitten playing with a previously untouched ball of wool. Yet George’s enthusiasm soon began to dwindle.

‘Hang on...’ she interrupted as the other two were whizzing through their ideas. ‘Just stop right there...’

Ponkle and Sigworth paused.

‘I know the original idea was that I told your Judge woman that it was my fault that you are back late but after hearing what she’s like, I don’t think I can go through with it, who knows what she’d do to me. What other impressions does she do apart from snakes?’

‘Plenty,’ said Ponkle. ‘The best one so far was when she transformed herself into a sharp fanged panther and chased Mrs. Fiddlewhip through the Town Square for failing to curtsey before her. Wasn’t her fault though. Left her glasses at home, so she did, blind as a bat without them. Tolita would have ripped her head off if she hadn’t have been in such a hurry to get somewhere else.’

‘G-G-George,’ said Sigworth softly, giving Ponkle a painful nudge in the side to shut him up, ‘our options are limited at the m-moment. If we d-d-don’t go to her, she’s going to c-come to us.’

‘Either way, you’re going to meet her,’ added Ponkle. ‘Yet maybe we don’t have to surrender to her this time.’

‘What do you mean?’ said George warily.

‘We c-could f-f-fight her,’ whispered Sigworth, his eyes blazing with fire. ‘You are our best w-weapon. She w-wont be expecting you! Now if we could j-just g-get some more of us together....’

George stood up. Fighting? She did not like this. She did not like this at all. Perhaps she had mis-heard. Whoever heard such nonsense? Her senses were reeling. What was she doing here? Had she lost her mind? She must get out. Now.

‘When you say I’m your best weapon...what do you mean exactly,’ quivered George, edging nearer and nearer to the door.

‘Exactly that!’ laughed Ponkle, shaking Sigworth’s hand. Neither of them had noticed George’s nervous movements, they were too pre-occupied making plans. ‘She won’t be expecting to fight a human! Once you’ve caught her off guard we’ll join in...she’ll be so baffled she wont know what’s hit her!’

The two of them abruptly stopped laughing and nearly jumped out of their skins when they heard the wind forcefully slam the front door shut. The stool which Ponkle had placed there earlier had been moved and there was no sign of the girl.

Dantor

2008-04-29T23:43:00.000-07:00

Over in Dantor, a meeting was taking place. Elphin, a respected citizen, Dorus, his son and Urdoc, an old and extremely wise Molok were huddled around a small table in The Horseshoe, one of the quieter Inns. They were discussing recent events concerning the thefts and had been sat there for over three hours without arriving at a final solution.

‘I wish I’d never set eyes on the child!’ muttered Elphin frustratedly, gulping down another mouthful of dandelion ale.

‘Stop blaming yourself, dad, it’s not your fault,’ said Dorus, looking to Urdoc for encouragement.

‘He’s right,’ Urdoc said sternly. ‘None of us could have predicted that it would come to this. You knew when you found the child in the forest it was your duty to bring it here. None questioned it. She had no home and her father, well the less said about him the better. The blame does not lie with you, only with the one who deserted her.’ Urdoc’s face hardened and he retorted back to his silent composure.

‘If I ever come face to face with....’ Elphin fumed.

‘No!’ Dorus said, throwing down his drink and leaning over the table, grabbing Elphin’s arm. ‘You can’t out-match the old Wizard, you know you can’t. Besides, the moment he knows we exist he would be all over us like a rash. We wouldn’t stand a chance against him!’

Elphin raised his pitiful eyes and gazed into those of his son’s, which glowed with fire. He nodded. They both then turned to Urdoc, who after a long pause, spoke in firm but reassuring tones, without lifting his eyes, as if deep in thought.

‘Tribanon is of no use to us. He left his child to die,’ he said angrily. ‘Let him not concern us...’ The old Molok looked to Elphin who remained unconvinced that this whole episode was not his fault. ‘...Our only mistake,’ Urdoc admitted, ‘lies in keeping the note which he left with her, we should have destroyed it as he intended to destroy his daughter.’

‘And like his daughter succeeded in destroying Biffleworth, the foolish fellow!’ said Dorus, signalling for more drinks.

‘Now, now,’ said Urdoc harshly, ‘never blame someone for falling in love.’ As the drinks arrived, no-one saw the look of sadness and grief which, for a brief moment, swept over Urdoc’s face.

George meets Sigworth

2008-04-26T01:59:00.001-07:00

George heard a sound coming from the back of the cave which was sectioned off by a red velvet curtain. The same curtain which Ponkle had mysteriously disappeared through a while earlier. Her curiosity got the better of her and she rose from her soft cushion to explore matters further.

As she hesitantly peeked behind the curtain, she thought that she must be imagining things again, for there was nothing to be seen.

‘Where is he?’ she whispered under her breath. She was beginning to think that the funny creature had abandoned her.

All she could see was a gigantic pile of dirty clothes.

‘Onward!’ boomed Tolita, wondering if this thing could go any faster.

Umpwiffle groaned.

As George was staring at the heap of clothes in dismay, an odd thing happened.

‘Aaaggh!’ grunted Ponkle as he strenuously pushed open the hatch.

George watched in awe as two figures made a magical entrance from under a couple of creased nightshirts and an excessive number of dirty socks.

Ponkle shuffled across the room and clumsily deposited the body he was carrying on the bottom hammock.

‘Is he dead?’ came a squeaky voice from a distant corner.

Ponkle turned to see George cowering behind the purple satin box. She had turned a very pale colour.

‘Of course he’s not dead!’ said Ponkle kindly. ‘He’s sleeping.’

Sigworth, as if on cue, let out another earth shattering snore. George relaxed and decided to risk a closer look. She tiptoed towards the hammock.

‘What in heavens name are you walking like that for? Have you hurt your feet?’

‘I don’t want to wake him,’ said George.

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of that,’ replied Ponkle. ‘He’ll probably be out for a long time.’ This was a problem. The Trunglers might return at any moment and if they found him like this... and with that thought, he picked up a glass of murky water which was on the floor nearby and chucked it all over his friend.

‘What did you do that for?’ asked George, stifling laughter.

‘Well, I’ve got to do something,’ Ponkle said angrily, causing George to take a step back, then he calmed down a little. ‘Sorry,’ he added, ‘I didn’t mean to shout but I’m worried. If the potion’s too strong, he’ll be asleep for days, maybe weeks.’

‘Potion?’

Ponkle shut his eyes for a moment and cursed himself for being so careless with his words.

‘Please, you must tell no-one,’ he said flopping guiltily onto the hammock next to Sigworth.

‘I promise,’ said George, crossing her fingers.

‘It’s Sigworth’s hobby,’ said Ponkle, ‘it all started a while ago. He’s trying to create an antidote.’

‘Antidote for what?’ asked George with interest.

‘The mares, what do you think! Only he hasn’t got it quite right yet....’ Something next to him began to stir. ‘Look, it might be better if he tells you himself once he wakes up.’

‘Alright,’ said George, absent mindedly. She was looking at Sigworth’s arms which were covered with brown and black markings. She looked back to Ponkle.

‘Battle scars,’ he said, reading her mind. ‘When Tolita first took over the Kingdom, many Boffwunglers put up a fight. From what I can gather, it all got a bit messy. They didn’t try again after that. I’m a bit too young to remember.’

‘How old are you exactly?’

‘A true Boffwungler never likes to say,’ said Ponkle mischievously.

The first thought in George’s head was that Ponkle couldn’t count.

She lent closer and gawped at Sigworth. She wondered how old he was. She hadn’t been wondering long when Sigworth’s eyes suddenly flipped open.

‘Aaarghh!’ yelled Sigworth.

‘Aaarghh!’ retaliated George.

Sigworth fainted.

Oh dear...

2008-04-22T01:25:00.000-07:00

‘Sigworth? Sigworth!’

Ponkle gently took hold of Sigworth’s bony shoulders and gave him an almighty shake. Sigworth let out an enormous nasal snore, nearly deafening his dear friend.

‘Sigworth!’ Ponkle repeated, this time a great deal louder and directly down Sigworth’s right ear.

He assessed the empty jars and tubes haphazardly positioned on Sigworth’s desk. In one swift move, he bundled them all into a dull wooden box, closed the lid and stuffed it into a hidden alcove in the rock. He then flung his companion over his back and hauled him up the rickety stairs.

The cave

2008-04-17T01:13:00.001-07:00

George swallowed the last mouthful of Vobwibble. Fortunately, it tasted better than it looked. Marginally.

She was still taking in the cosy interior of the cave. There were two hammocks suspended from the wall. One on top of the other. There was other furniture, a chest and a wardrobe, both hand-made in a curious fashion. She had noticed something else too. Above the pretty box there was an unusual wooden carving of a Boffwungler, an ancestor perhaps, there was some strange writing engraved on it too. It seemed out of place although she couldn’t explain why. She would ask Ponkle about it when he returned. As a matter of fact, he had been gone an awfully long time.

Trunglers in trouble

2008-04-13T01:30:00.001-07:00

Tolita scowled.

‘Must I do everything myself?’ she bellowed.

‘Terrible sorry, your Honour-ess but really were no sign of ‘im,’ whimpered Quibley, who was, at this moment, an extremely worried Trungler.

‘Searched place top ta bottom,’ added Umpwiffle, trying not to think about those threatened Fogflops. They could be on their way any time now.

The bunch of anxious creatures were knelt before Tolita, who, incidentally, was preoccupied observing a comical little Boffwungler enjoying one of the new creations which had arrived a few hours earlier from the lab.

She did not have time for excuses.

‘Well...don’t just kneel there like overgrown worms,’ she yelled.

‘But...but..’

‘Get to work. Unless you want to join my friend here.’

The four Trunglers turned towards the chamber. Wumple stuck out his tongue in pure defiance.

‘Yes, your greatness.’

‘Right ‘way, your Judge-ness.’

‘No stoppin’ us.’

‘Ya wish is our...’

‘SHUT UP!’ Tolita was losing patience, she reckoned she could manage perfectly well without these four. ‘MASTER OF DARKNESS…..’, she began...

The four three eyed, five legged Trunglers scattered, then nearly fell over one another in panic, trying to escape through the small opening at the rear of the Judgmental chamber which had not been designed for so many awkward bodies to scramble through simultaneously.

Tolita smirked. This time she had only been joking. Now, there was work to do.

‘Umpwiffle!’ she summoned.

Well she certainly did not intend on walking.

Ponkles home

2008-04-07T00:33:00.000-07:00

Is this where you live?’

‘Sshhh!’

Ponkle pushed open the front door. It creaked, then silence. He had seen the Trungler’s footprints leading up to the cave and although he also saw sets of prints leading away from the cave, he did not dismiss the idea that a trap may have been set for him. Fortunately, Trunglers are not that intelligent. They wouldn’t know how to set a trap if they were given a book on it. Ponkle knew it was inevitable that the Judgess would eventually catch up with him but he rather hoped it would be on his own terms. For now he had a weapon and it was standing right next to him. Yet before he even thought about using it, he was in need of a little help.

He peered into the cave. The room appeared untouched. The thought entered Ponkle’s mind that the Trunglers must have cleared up after themselves but then the thought gave up and went back to bed.

‘It’s safe,’ he said cheerily. ‘They’ve gone.’

‘How do you know?’ asked George who had learned most of what there is to know about Trunglers, which actually isn’t much, on the way here.

‘Sigworth’s here,’ said Ponkle.

They now entered the cave and Ponkle firmly shut the red door behind them, making sure it was bolted. He placed a stool behind it too, just to be sure.

‘Who’s Sigworth?’

George was enthralled by the inside of the cave. It was so much bigger on the inside and full of such weird and wonderful things. Over by the wall a beautiful satin box caught her eye and the floor was carpeted by an immense number of multi-coloured patchwork cushions, hand-made, she thought.

Ponkle was pleased that George was so taken with his home and gestured to her to sit down. George did so, her feet were so sore. She wondered if it would be rude to take her socks off. Probably, she concluded.

‘He’s a friend. Well, he’s more than that to be honest,’ he said, hanging the sack, containing one decidedly annoyed mare, back on the hatstand. ‘He gave me a home when my family vanished twenty-two years ago.’

‘Vanished?’ gasped George.

‘I should count myself lucky I suppose. I had just nipped out to gather some firewood when it happened. When I returned, there was no sign of them. Vanished into thin air. Mind you,’ he said sadly, ‘nothing surprises me here anymore.’

‘That’s terrible,’ said George sympathetically.

‘Vobwibble?’ said Ponkle, crossing to the far side of the cave, completely changing the subject.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Vobwibble. Would you like some? I don’t know about you but I’m starved!’

Testing...

2008-03-30T03:44:00.000-07:00

Sigworth was hard at work now that the search-party of Trunglers had left him in peace. He had to work fast before anyone noticed his absence. He sprinkled the final ingredient into the tiny jar and held the product, which looked like crimson sand, infront of his studious face.

‘Looks right,’ he mused to himself.

‘But does it work?’ came a voice from inside him.

There was only one way to find out. Sigworth reached into the jar and sandwiched a few grains between two of his stout fingers. He slowly moved his fingers towards his nose. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply....

....it didn’t work.

He searched through all the bits and pieces on his makeshift table until he found the ingredient he was looking for. Ground petal of the Moondrop flower. He added a smidgen to the jar, gave it a shake, took another pinch and inhaled.

Sigworth then became frighteningly aware of a creaking sound coming from the room above. He hoped to goodness that the Trunglers hadn’t returned for a second search, not only because he was tucked away experimenting in the concealed cellar but because it had taken him such a long time to tidy up after them - and that was the last thought which passed through his mind before hitting the floor.

and...

2008-03-23T11:43:00.000-07:00

Wumple Boffwungler stood still for a moment. His arms felt like they were about to fall off and his throat was raw from all that shouting. He watched as his older neighbour and some strange creature, whose origin he vaguely recognised, became nothing but specks on the horizon.

He was not angry. He had heard stories of this sort of thing happening before and from what he had gathered, there was little to be done. He knew that he was not allowed to venture out to the Newland fields near the border, the Judgess had declared it out of bounds for all those except her night workers and the patrol guards, but he had only been chasing a playful Fobwit. It was a thing he was beginning to regret as two heftily built Trunglers came striding across the field towards him.

Wumples dance of the Twing-Twops

2008-03-13T01:40:00.000-07:00

‘Where is this place?’ asked George who was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she must have gone completely mad.

Ponkle looked around, his manner resembling that of an escaped prisoner. He did not want to be here but in truth, part of him was hopelessly relieved. Relieved that his navigation had led them here instead of Swamp Valley.

George nudged him, bringing his attention back to the present tense.

‘Over there!’ she said excitedly, pointing to an odd fellow stood in a field some distance away. ‘What’s he doing?’

Ponkle followed George’s gaze. Sure enough, Ponkle could pick out a shape on the edge of a field full of wild grasses. George saw a cloud of sadness hover over Ponkle’s face.

‘Who is it?’

The shape was, in fact, another Boffwungler and Ponkle was thankful for the girl’s naivety for the Boffwungler in question was doing something quite extraordinary.

‘That’s Wumple,’ said Ponkle, desperately trying to avoid looking at the young Boffwungler, who had now spotted them.

‘What’s he doing?’ George persisted, curious as to why the top half of the small, round creature’s body was engaged in some sort of exotic limbo dance, whilst his enormous feet remained firmly attached to the ground, as if refusing to join in the charade.

‘He’s..um...’ Ponkle mumbled nervously, ‘..um..celebrating the gift of such a glorious morning.’

He hoped that might be the end to their conversation as he started walking down the stony path. Now if they could just pass through the Valley of Otherin unseen, they could cross back over the River at Thorny Point. Naturally, it would cut their journey time in two if they simply hiked over Bogglers Hill to their right but that would be too conspicuous. That was his normal route, they were sure to be waiting in ambush for him there.

‘Funny,’ said George from ten paces behind, still mesmerised by Wumple’s dance. ‘Is that the done thing here? I’ve never seen anything quite like it!’

‘Oh yes,’ said Ponkle uneasily, now realising that George would not be satisfied until she knew more. ‘It’s a famous tradition here to...um...’ he sought frantically for an explanation, ‘to....acknowledge how fortunate we are by...um...by doing the symbolic...um...symbolic dance of the Twing-Twops.’

He was then silent. He dared not look at the inquisitive girl for fear she would guess he was lying through his enormous back-side. All this thinking was not easy for him at this time of the morning. He turned again to where Wumple was stuck and the two friends exchanged a sorrowful glance. There was nothing either of them could do. There was a great power in the air and it was not in any mood for an argument.

‘Look!’ shouted George.

‘Sshhh!’ cried Ponkle, running back to her. ‘What now?’

‘Can you see? His mouth’s making odd shapes,’ she laughed, ‘it’s as if he’s shouting but we can’t hear him. Do you think we should go over?’

George had long forgotten that she hadn’t wanted to come here. She was fascinated and more than content to explore the day to day activities of this new found race.

‘NO!’ yelled Ponkle, nearly blowing his cover. ‘I mean, I don’t think that would be advisable. If you must know...he’s...miming a traditional chant...which loses its meaning if anyone hears it. Now, let’s get going shall we?’

Ponkle set off once more and this time, to his delight, George followed. They did not look back. Whatever Wumple Boffwungler had done, no, better not to think of it. Anyway, a faithful army of strapping Trunglers would be here very soon to collect him so it was high time the two of them were not.

‘You don’t really want me to meet this Judgess of yours, do you?’ asked George as they trundled along the rough path. She wished she’d put a pair of shoes on.

Ponkle sighed. ‘I don’t really know what I plan to do,’ he said honestly. ‘I didn’t think she’d let me get this far’.

He halted and turned to her as if he had reached a life or death decision. Looking her straight in the eye he made her an offer any sane person could not refuse.

‘I’ll take you back, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking of bringing you here like this. What must you think of me? I could get you back in no time at all, no-one would notice you’ve even been gone. Please forgive me, I’ve not been myself lately, you must believe me, I haven’t the slightest bit of common sense. What do you say?’

‘I say that if you ever want to reach your village, we’d better get a move on. We won’t achieve anything standing here all day!’

George smiled at her new acquaintance who was beaming up at her as if suddenly given a new lease of life. She was growing rather fond of him. Then, as if hearing a starting whistle, the pair set off towards the Otherin Valley, talking as if they had been friends for years.

Sigworth

2008-03-10T04:16:00.000-07:00

Sigworth cowered behind a hazardous cluster of rocks. From here, he could see the events which were taking place quite clearly. He had been remarkably lucky. If he had not stopped to gaze in wonderment at a blooming batch of colourful Fogflops near Mellomdale Meadow he would have been right in it.

He watched in alarm as a multitude of Trunglers oafishly attempted to break down the lovely red door of his lovely little home. It was a sight almost too much to bear but it was, fortunately, a sight that Sigworth was prepared for.

He felt around his neck for the locket (actually, Boffwunglers do not have what we call a neck, only a non-descript area where the head meets the rotund body). He opened it just a fraction, just enough for him to sit tight on the knowledge that inside that locket lay a scrap of paper, inscribed in the tiniest letters, with his secret recipe. He hoped that he had thought of everything...then he remembered. He shook his head in disbelief. He suddenly wished he had not done what he did yesterday.

Sigworth did know, of course, that Tolita had no idea of his alternative occupation. Nor the Trunglers for that matter. Yet he was glad that he had the good sense to take all, well, nearly all, the evidence out with him. If she got her meddlesome hands on it, it would be worse than handing it over to the Mumtwips. Sigworth shivered. No, maybe not.

‘He’ll be in the chamber for this one,’ his thoughts returning to the real reason Tolita’s army were invading his home.

He made a mental note to give his cave-mate another bottle of common-sense seeing as he had plainly lost his.

Sitting on the outskirts of events, Sigworth began to ponder. What was Ponkle up to and exactly why were the Trunglers playing tiggy-off-ground instead of thoroughly searching the cave? Activities easily confused, obviously.

Lost

2008-03-04T22:58:00.000-08:00

‘Where are we?’ enquired George, sulkily taking in the new surroundings.
It felt like a great expanse of time had passed since they had been in the comfort of her bedroom yet she could not remember how they had spent it. She must have slipped into sleep during the journey. She wondered where this place was.
‘Home,’ replied Ponkle, who was studying each of the un-inviting tunnels which branched out from the underground cavern in which he stood.
‘Well, I haven’t a clue where I am and I’m certainly not about to run off. So would you mind putting me down now?’ said George frustratedly.
‘Oh, yes, sorry,’ said Ponkle, gently placing the girl down on the hard, rocky ground.
Ponkle paced around the cavern, surveying each possible route. To be honest, he hadn’t the foggiest where he was either. Of course, he came this way home regularly. What had really thrown him was that this was the first time he had returned in daylight and the sun was sending dusty rays streaming through the crevices in the white rock, illuminating the mass of tunnels, twisting this way and that - and this made one sorry looking Boffwungler very confused.

I spy

2008-02-28T01:34:00.000-08:00

‘Sausages?’

‘No, not sausages! Where can ya see sausages in ‘ere?’

‘Dunno....give up.’

‘Can’t give up! Only ‘ad one guess!’

‘Um....’

‘Come on! ‘S’ Somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘S’!’

‘Sunflowers?’

‘Soup?’

‘Sheep?’

‘No, no, no! Y’aven’t got the ‘ang of it...ya’ve got ta be able ta see it!!’

‘Oh!’

‘Right!.....Sandcastles?’

‘That’s it. I give up wi’ ya! Ungry, you have a go..’

‘I spy, wi’ my three eyes, somethin’ beginnin’ wi’ ‘Q’.’

‘Quibley!’ shouted Quibley.

‘Arhh, not fair! How d’ya know?’

‘Well what else in ‘ere begins wi’ ‘Q’ stupid!’

Ungry started sulking. He never had been very good at that one.

‘Better luck next time, eh!’ laughed Ubwig, nudging him.

Ungry, Ubwig and Quibley shared the same work-bench near the back of the chamber.

‘Right, someone else choose one,’ Umpwiffle’s voice sailed the length of the room.

Umpwiffle’s bench was at the opposite end and he was lucky enough to have one all to his self. Although he didn’t consider himself lucky as he liked a good natter at the best of times to take his mind off the job in hand. There were eighteen rows of benches in all, each occupied by as many Trunglers as could be spared that day.

It had been a dull, uneventful morning and they were running out of games to indulge in, mainly because Trunglers are a race easily bored.

Ungry grumbled at the choice of entertainment as he secured the lid on the container he was holding.

‘Done,’ he muttered, passing the jar full of brown smoke to Ubwig, who in turn passed it to Quibley, who stood up and carefully took it over to the many shelves which were now beginning to fill up.

Quibley pulled the sheet of sticky labels from out of one of his pockets and took a felt tip from another. Number 769, he wrote before sticking the label on the jar and placing it next to number 768 on the top shelf.

The Mares

2008-02-17T03:47:00.000-08:00

‘What’s in there?’

‘Well...’ Ponkle hesitated, wondering if he could trust a girl wearing checked pyjamas. ‘Oh, alright. I don’t suppose I could be in any more trouble than I am already.’

Ponkle was extremely weary. He was perched on the end of the bed and rapidly losing heart. George gave him a comforting smile.

‘They’re mares,’ he said at last, staring at the floor.

‘What?’ said George, soundin worried.

She didn’t like this any more. She desperately pinched herself. Yet to her utmost dismay, she didn’t wake up. She was beginning to get scared.

Ponkle shrugged his shoulders. He had been contemplating his actions for a short while now and had decided that this was his only option. Well, the only option which meant he might still be alive at this time tomorrow anyway. He stood up, walked over to George and firmly grasped her arm.

‘Look, I’m very sorry to inconvenience you but I promise it wont take long,’ he said, leading her back to the bed. ‘All you need to do is go back to sleep.’

Ponkle liked to think that he had a dominant streak. George, however, thought differently and squirmed out of his grip.

‘Keep away from me!’ she said calculatingly, ‘or I do one of two things. Either I run downstairs and tell my mother there’s a burglar in the house...or I stand right here and scream as loud as I can. Your choice.’

Ponkle sunk down onto the soft bed, his spirit well and truly deflated. He did not enjoy his job but he could just about perform it when the creatures were asleep. He had never encountered a real human in a waking state before. He felt exceedingly bad about the whole thing.

‘Well?’ threatened George.

‘Um.. to be honest, I think I’d prefer it if you didn’t do either of those things,’ said Ponkle on the verge of tears.

‘Then explain to me what all this is about,’ said George warily.

Ponkle saw no point in hiding the truth now. He didn’t think there was a fate worse than death. He didn’t think even the Judgess could manage that! Unless you counted being wrapped up and delivered to the Mountain Gubwats as a new plaything......he imagined that would be slightly worse.

‘Well,’ started Ponkle...and then there was no stopping him. ‘Judge Biffleworth went and fell in love…even married her…died a couple of weeks after the ceremony…broken heart, some say…witnesses say she turned into a snake….sucked the very life from him…now she rules over the Kingdom of Valdox……Stop that!’ he yelled at the sack which was slowly squirming towards a captivated George.

George gasped as Ponkle pulled her away from the advancing brown sack and sat her down next to him.

‘They’ve got a mind of their own,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s the trouble with magic. Tolita thinks that eventually she will be able to control everyone’s minds. You’re next. Wants to rule all the Worlds. These things are just the beginning. A small taster of things to come.’

George was finding this somewhat hard to take in.

‘Us? What does she want with us? …..And what do you mean, Worlds?’ said George.

‘Oh, never mind that. Yes, I’m sure she’ll find some good use for you, there’s always vacancies for Invention testers,’ chuckled Ponkle.

‘Invention testers?’

‘Oh, there are plenty of jobs going if you’ve got the right qualifications.’

Things were getting too much for George. She rapidly pulled herself up off the bed and walked swiftly over to a wooden chest of drawers at the side of the square room. She opened the top drawer and reached in. Her hand returned with a pair of blue and white striped socks.

‘Well, it’s been an experience meeting you,’ said George nearly losing her balance whilst trying to put a sock on her left foot, ‘but I’m afraid you must leave now as I’m going to be late for school.

‘No..No..No!’ Ponkle protested, his brain telling him that letting the girl go at this stage would be his biggest mistake yet. Especially since he hadn’t delivered the goods. She’d want an explanation. Wait, he had an idea. He wondered where in goodness name it had come from. The girl could simply tell the Judgess that she wouldn’t co-operate.

Before George realised what was happening, Ponkle had grabbed the sack in one hand and was now speedily coming towards her. She had only got the second sock halfway up her foot when, to her utter disbelief, she was thrown over Ponkle’s free shoulder. The next minute they were gone.

Umpwiffle

2008-02-05T01:02:00.000-08:00

Umpwiffle snored.

The previous nights events had proved a little too much for this tired Trungler. He was presently enjoying a moment of peace and quiet, his mind filled with a re-assuring blackness, no thoughts came or went. Umpwiffle was temporarily happy.

Yet something began knocking on the door of Umpwiffle’s mind. The mysterious something guessed that no-one was home and a hazy shadow slipped through the keyhole. Once inside, it started to grow, forming vivid pictures, filled with all the colours of the spectrum. Then, as if someone had released the pause button, they all began to move. The shapes grew voices that were painfully loud and shrill. Umpwiffle’s mind was invaded by a multitude of noise and figures which were now dancing in a circle. Each dancing shape held a bunch of blossoming Fogflops and at regular intervals they began blowing their seeds all over the inside of his head.

‘Aaa-aaa-Chew!’ blasted the unsuspecting Umpwiffle and awoke to find himself face to foot with Tolita.

‘Perhaps that will make you think twice about napping when there’s work to be done,’ she laughed triumphantly, tightly holding the lid on the cone shaped container which she held carefully in one hand. ‘There’s a whole field of Fogflops in here,’ she continued, ‘just so you don’t get any more clever ideas’. There was more than a hint of smugness in her voice.

Tolita knew most creatures weaknesses. It was a shame for Umpwiffle that he was allergic to Fogflops and that every time he caught a sniff he sneezed so hard that his head nearly turned inside out.

The Judgess frowned as she watched the snivelling fool shuffle back to his bench. Feeling the eyes burning into the back of his head, Umpwiffle dutifully commenced noting down and then storing away the bizarre collection of materials which were situated on his work-top. Tolita shifted her attention to take in the entire surroundings of her productivity workshop. There were ninety-two Trunglers in all, each with their own job, designed to make the operation successful. Next to some Trunglers benches were wooden boxes - exactly like those stolen from the Moloks earlier that morning, except now they were empty.

Tolita understood power.

Back to the bag....

2008-01-24T02:49:00.000-08:00

George breathed deeply as she studied the absurd creature. The first thing that struck her was that whatever it was, it was extremely hairy. Yet there was something about it which put her more at ease. It may have had something to do with the fact that it had a rather funny face which made anyone looking at it want to break into an enormous smirk.

‘Who...I mean.....What.....?’ she stuttered but then, when the thing eagerly started to shuffle out from under the mattress, George thought better of trying to communicate with it and leapt back on top of her bed and retreated behind a thick feather pillow.

Ponkle thought it might be an idea to introduce himself, after all, it would be rude not to.

‘I’m...’ he began in his poshest voice, ‘a Boffwungler.....Ponkle’s the name, of the village of Gitwit, deep in the valleys of......Oh...’ he stopped, realising that this poor creature was stiff with shock and was now gripping her pillow as if preparing to use it against him.

‘Please,’ he said softly, ‘don’t be afraid. Look at me, I’m harmless.’

George eventually dared another peek at what she could only describe as an ugly little creature. This couldn’t be happening. Her powers of reasoning then walked in through her mind’s door and apologised for being late.

‘My imagination’s better than I thought,’ she whispered to herself, her eyes suddenly lighting up. After all, she certainly had no need to be afraid of something which her own mind had created.

She put down the pillow and nervously smiled back at the Boffwungler. Good, at least they had established contact. George’s curiosity was growing by the minute. Ponkle, on the other hand, was trying to disguise a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, often known as panic. He was here...now...it was morning.....he was history!

‘What are you doing…?’ began George, edging her way further towards the creature to get a closer view.

All of a sudden, Ponkle Boffwungler sprang into action. He ran to the open window and checked each direction. He appeared so filled with terror that George thought that the devil himself was propping up a ladder against her window and was about to join the party.

‘What’s the matter?’ said George, feeling sorry for the poor thing.

‘She’s going to have my guts on a plate...and my head for that matter. Always likes a good dinner. Hide...must hide!’

With that, Ponkle clambered onto George’s bed and dramatically threw himself under the covers. Alternatively, George leapt out of the bed and over to the door. This was obviously a figment of her imagination, however, she did not wish to share a bed with it.

‘Don’t you see!’ it said desperately. ‘She knows. I’ll not be back in time. She’ll think it’s a plot against her and that I’m a traitor....or maybe she’ll just think that I’m a lazy good-for-nothing who’s more trouble than he’s worth. Don’t you see?’ Ponkle said, lifting the covers just enough to get a good view of the girl. ‘Whatever she thinks means I’ll never see the light of day again’.

George was completely puzzled. The strange creature who had made a temporary habitat in her bed was panic-stricken but never mind that, she thought, as she noticed something lying on the floor which did not belong to her. Why hadn’t she seen it before?

George, unnoticed by Ponkle, made her way towards the inviting sack which was lying in the middle of the room. Her mind was busy wondering what was inside. More importantly, she wondered why it appeared to be moving.

As she drew closer, she heard a low moaning sound, like a litter of whimpering animals. She slowly leaned forward and her nimble fingers began to untie the tight string. She could feel the excitement of whatever was inside and felt something moving up towards the opening of the bundle. She bit her lip. Just one more knot to untie and...

‘DON’T TOUCH THAT!’

George dropped the bundle and as she did so it let out a furious growl. She turned to see Ponkle stood on her bed, his face white and his eyes wide. One moment more and there would have been trouble.

Argghhhh!

2007-12-16T13:35:00.001-08:00

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

2007-12-16T13:33:00.000-08:00

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

Back to the sack...

2007-12-09T10:43:00.001-08:00

‘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

2007-12-04T02:13:00.001-08:00

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

2007-11-28T05:33:00.000-08:00

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...

2007-11-25T11:22:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-22T04:47:00.000-08:00

‘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

2007-11-18T12:20:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-15T04:21:00.000-08:00

‘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

2007-11-12T02:11:00.000-08:00

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

2007-11-06T12:57:00.000-08:00

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!

2007-10-29T07:01:00.001-07:00

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.