Father Christmas’s favourite reindeer, on it.
‘What’s that?’ Little Mim asked her.
Noosh was confused. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘In the floor. It ate my jigsaw.’
Noosh looked. It was a crack. Right there in the shining green and white tiles near the wall. And not just any old crack. This crack was getting bigger and bigger until it stretched all the way across the small kitchen.
‘What’s that?’ Little Mim asked again.
‘What?’
‘That sound.’
(Elves are very good at hearing, due to the clever curving of their ears, and child elves have slightly better hearing than fully grown elves. Which is why elf parents never talk nastily about their children.)
‘It might be your daddy snoring . . .’
But no. Now Noosh heard it. It was a very deep low sound, coming from somewhere below. Noosh knew in an instant what the sound was, and her whole body froze in shock.
‘Mummy?’
She looked at Little Mim and said one little word, ‘Trolls.’
Humdrum Gets Out of Bed
Even as Noosh said it she could hardly believe it. But she knew quite a lot about trolls. She had studied all there was to know. And she knew that although the Troll Valley was a long distance away, beyond the snowy wooded hills where the pixies lived, they mainly lived in caves that stretched deep under the ground. These caves stretched as far as Elfhelm.
‘The peace is over . . . We’ve all got to get out of here.’ She grabbed Little Mim’s hand and pulled him away, just as more cracks appeared, making the kitchen floor look like a giant spider’s web.
They ran into the family bedroom, which – as this was a small cottage with only one floor – was right next door.
‘Humdrum!’ shouted Noosh. ‘Humdrum!’
She ran to the small sink in the corner of the room and picked up a bar of elf soap (just like ordinary soap, but smelling of berries).
‘Daddy, you’ve got to get out of bed! Trolls!’ Little Mim shouted as he shook his father.
Humdrum kept snoring for a second or so until there was another roar from under the ground. And Little Mim and Noosh watched in horror as a crack started to appear in the bedroom floor. The floor was opening up and it was about to swallow the bed whole. The bed was perched delicately over the large hole now.
‘I had the most terrible dream,’ mumbled Humdrum, as he straightened his glasses. He opened his eyes and saw – there in real life – his wife and son screaming as a giant grey warty troll hand rose out of the bedroom floor to feel its way to the bed.
Noosh saw the vast size of the troll’s hand and knew instantly what kind of troll this was. It was an übertroll. The second largest and third stupidest of all seven troll species.
‘Humdrum, get off the bed now. You’ve got to run!’ screamed Noosh.
But it was too late. Noosh saw the hand grab her husband’s leg and start to pull him into the ground. Humdrum was not a particularly brave elf. He was scared of lots of things. Shadows. Loud music. The moon. Snowballs. So this was too much for him.
Noosh ran and grabbed Humdrum’s arm and tried to keep him in the room.
It was no good. Humdrum was inching further into the gap.
‘Hold on, my little shortbread,’ said Noosh, as she reached into her tunic pocket and pulled out the bar of soap. She rubbed it on the troll’s warty skin. The skin smoked and burned and went red.
The troll roared in pain deep below and the hand flinched open. Humdrum fell to the floor, free again.
‘Quick! Run!’ Noosh cried and the three of them ran out of the room, Humdrum just in his underwear, as the ground continued to thunder and crumble beneath their feet.
When they made it outside, Noosh saw cracks in the street. The ground was shaking like an earthquake. Other elves were out in the street.
‘Oh no!’ her husband wailed as they saw their neighbour’s house collapse. The wail got louder as their own house collapsed too. There was destruction and shaking all around them. Humdrum started to breathe really fast and turn a bit purple.
‘Calm breaths, Humdrum,’ said Noosh. ‘Close your eyes and think of gingerbread. Like Doctor Drabble said.’
Whole houses were disappearing into the ground. Noosh spotted someone she knew from the Daily Snow. A big-eared bald-headed elf running out of the largest house on the street.
This was Father Bottom. The Troll Correspondent. He was meant to be the biggest troll expert in Elfhelm. He was now running with his hands in the air screaming, ‘The trolls! The trolls! The trolls!’ And pushing everyone out the way as he did so.
And even in her panic Noosh thought, I really should have had his job.
‘Where shall we run to?’ asked Humdrum, looking petrified.
There was only one answer Noosh could give.
‘To Father Christmas!’
The Chamber Pot
‘Oi! Watch out!’ yelled a man below.
‘Oops. Sorry,’ said Amelia. Then she turned back to her mother and lied.
‘It was all right at Mr Creeper’s.’ She didn’t want to upset her mother with the truth.
‘I’m glad you liked him,’ her mother said, faintly, struggling for breath.
‘I wouldn’t go that far, Ma.’
‘Did you get the figgy pudding?’
Amelia said nothing.
‘I don’t think I’ll be able to eat tomorrow, anyway.’
Her mother was clearly struggling, but was determined to speak. ‘He has a workhouse . . . Mr Creeper.’
‘Hmmm.’
‘Listen, Amelia,’ she whispered, ‘I am not long for this world . . .’
Amelia could feel the tears in her eyes and tried to blink them away, so her mother couldn’t see. ‘Ma, don’t talk like that.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘But, Ma.’
‘Now, let me finish. When I die I want you to be looked after. I don’t want you out on the streets. And even if you keep up your chimney sweeping you won’t be able to stay ’ere, so I’ve spoken with Mr Creeper . . .’
Amelia felt her whole body go stiff with terror, and it had nothing to do with the bed bugs she could see crawling over the bed sheets.
‘Stop