Moon-Faced Ghoul-Thing (7 page)

Chapter Twelve

Ben staggered backwards, tugging at the snarling ball of furious fur that had landed on his face and immediately grabbed him by the ears.

Giving a heave, he managed to pull the creature off. It hissed and spat and slashed at him with its claws. Its two large teeth snapped
furiously and its long fluffy tail slapped against Ben’s hand. Ben recognised the brute from Lunt Bingwood’s monster guide.

“A Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing!”

“So … what? It’s got the head of a squirrel and the body of a squirrel?” asked Wesley.

“And the tail of a squirrel,” added Ben.

Wesley glanced from Ben to the squirming thing in his grasp and back again. “That’s just a squirrel, surely?”

Ben shook his head. “They’re bigger and more ferocious.”

His brow furrowed. He’d memorised most of Lunt Bingwood’s monster guide off by heart, but the hissing and snapping of the Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing was making it hard to concentrate.

“And … there’s something else…”

“What?” whimpered Wesley. “Does it explode? Does it spit acid? What?”

“No, not that… It’s…” Ben’s eyes widened. “I’ve got it!” he cried. “They always travel in pairs!”

There was a rustling from high up in the trees. Another ball of fur came hurtling through the foliage and landed on the grass at Wesley’s feet. It hissed at him, the hair on its back standing up on end. Before Wes could react, the squirrel-thing shot below his wet robe and scampered up his leg.

“Wuaaarghf!” Wesley shrieked, twisting and bucking around the clearing. “Hrumffgfeek!”

“Stay still,” suggested Ben. “You’ll make it angry.”

“It’s already angry!” Wesley wailed, jigging and kicking and slapping desperately at his thighs. “Did you see its face? It’s—
Ooh, don’t you dare, don’t you dare!
It’s flipping furious!”

The first Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing twisted free of Ben’s grip and scampered up his arm. Its fluffy tail went around his neck and its claws dug into his scalp.

“Ow! Get off!” Ben barked.

He brought up the gauntlet to knock the squirrel-thing off, but it dodged and Ben slammed the metal glove against his forehead with a
clank
.

The squirrel-thing swung by its tail and flipped itself back up into Ben’s face. It grabbed his ears with its clawed fingers and bit him on the end of the nose.

“Aaaargh!” Ben howled, just as Wesley came hopping and skipping past him, frantically punching at a scurrying lump beneath his robe.

Paradise climbed unsteadily back to her feet. She searched around until she found a heavy stick in the undergrowth. “Stay still,” she told Ben, then she swung with the stick.

With a gleeful
chirp
, the squirrel-thing
scrabbled on to the top of Ben’s head, just as the stick whacked him in the face.

“Yeeeow!”

“Sorry,” said Paradise, swinging again. “I’ll get it this time.”

BONK!
The stick clonked off the top of Ben’s head just a split second after the squirrel-thing slid down on to his back.

“Will you
please
stop hitting me with that stick!”

“I’m only trying to help,” said Paradise.

“Well you’re—” The squirrel-thing dug its claws through Ben’s tunic and into his back. “Yaaaaaaargh! That stings. That really stings.”

Wesley hurled himself past them and slammed his back against the ground, trying to squash the wriggling squirrel-thing. The
moving bump scurried around to his front.

“Ooh! Eek! It’s going for my belly button!” Wesley grimaced. “What if it finds a way in?”

Paradise swung with the stick, this time aiming at Wesley’s middle. It hit him hard in the stomach, knocking the air out of him as the second Squirrel-Headed Squirrel-Thing squirmed out of the way.

“Um, sorry,” Paradise said. She looked at the stick. “I’m starting to think this is doing more harm than good.”

“You reckon?” yelped Ben, spiralling past her as he tried to reach the squirrel-thing on his back.

He stopped spinning as a soft, haunting melody floated out from the forest. The clawing and scratching of the squirrel-things stopped too. Mr Nuttendudge stepped from the shadowy trees and into the clearing. He had a small wooden flute wedged up one nostril and was expertly playing a slow, lilting tune.

There was a
thump
from behind Ben as the squirrel-thing fell off him. Wesley jumped up and the creature that had been running amok
beneath his robe fell out. Both squirrel-things snored gently in unison.

Mr Nuttendudge stopped playing. He pulled the flute from his nose with a squelchy
schlop
, then wiped it on his sleeve. “Goblin nose flute,” he said. “Works every time.”

“You escaped the wasps,” said Ben.

“Course I did, course I did,” said the goblin. He turned, and Ben let out a “Yikes” when he saw the dozens of swollen bumps on the back of Mr Nuttendudge’s head.
“I mean, yes, obviously they stung me several hundred times on the head and face, but I escaped all the same.”

“Where’s Burnie?” Paradise asked. “Did you get her?”

Mr Nuttendudge’s ears drooped. He shook his head gently. “I am sorry. She ran off. I could not stop her.”

“But the ghoul-thing didn’t get her?” Paradise asked.

“No,” said the goblin. “No, of that I am sure.” He beckoned them into the forest. “Now, hurry. The circle is this way. We must hurry. Hurry.” He shot Wesley a worried look. “Before it’s too late.”

Chapter Thirteen

Ben, Paradise and Wesley scampered along behind Mr Nuttendudge, doing their best to keep up.

Every so often the Luck Goblin would trip on a vine, get snagged in a bush or walk straight into a tree, but none of it slowed him down for long.

The children kept close together, their eyes scanning the woods for signs of danger. They didn’t need Paradise’s special ability to be able to spot the strange shapes and shadowy figures lurking in the trees on all sides. Mr Nuttendudge noticed them too, but he pressed on, paying them little heed.

“Are we almost there?” Wesley whispered.

“Yes, not far,” said the goblin. “Not far. A few more minutes, that is all.”

“How will it work?” Ben asked.

“Simple. You three will stand in the circle. I will take the gauntlet and let the circle’s power guide its aim.”

Ben stopped, making Wesley walk right into the back of him.

“Wait, what do you mean, you’ll take the
gauntlet?”

Mr Nuttendudge didn’t slow, so Ben hurried to catch up. “I must. It is necessary,” said the goblin. “I will take the gauntlet and use its power to send you away. Home. Safe.”

Ben looked down at the glove. Even in the darkness it seemed to shine. “But … it’s my gauntlet.”

This time it was Mr Nuttendudge who
stopped. He turned to Ben and shrugged. “Then keep it. Do as you wish.” He leaned in closer and his wide eyes narrowed. “But it is your only hope. Without the circle, without my help, this … here…” He gestured at the forest around him. “This is home. Goonderslarg is where you will spend the remainder of your days.”

“I don’t fancy that,” said Wesley.

Paradise looked at the glove, then up at Ben. “We don’t have any choice, Ben,” she said. “We can’t stay here.”

They all trudged on, leaving Ben behind. He flexed his fingers inside the glove. It was the most magical thing Uncle Tavish had ever seen. It was one of the very few connections he had to his parents.

And he was going to lose it. Forever.

Ben pushed through the trees and caught up with Mr Nuttendudge and the others at a point where the trees came to an abrupt stop. The tangle of grass and weeds became dry, barren sand. A wide desert stretched off into the distance, until it eventually met a load of angry-looking mountains coming the other way.

About the length of a good stone’s throw away stood nine tall rocks, positioned in a circle. Mr Nuttendudge set off towards them and the children followed quickly behind.

Overhead, an oblong-shaped sun beamed down at them, and by the time they reached the stones they were all slick with sweat.

“Here we are, here we are,” breathed Mr Nuttendudge. He gestured for Wesley and Paradise to step into the stone circle, then held out a hand to Ben. “The gauntlet. Hurry. There isn’t much time. Your wizard friend may explode at any moment.”

“What?” spluttered Wesley. “No one told me this!”

Paradise pulled him into the space between the stones, explaining as they went. The air
around the circle gave a shimmer as they stepped through.

Ben peered down at his gauntlet and was surprised to find tears misting his eyes. He had got his friends into this, and if giving up his most prized possession was the only way to get them back out of it … well then, he had no choice.

“Give me the glove, boy,” said Mr Nuttendudge. Ben blinked. The goblin was shifting nervously from foot to foot. His gaze darted hungrily from Ben’s face to the gauntlet and back again. “Give it to me. Now.”

Slowly, Ben took a step back. “I don’t think I want to,” he said. There was something about Mr Nuttendudge’s expression that made him uneasy.

“Ben, look out!”

Paradise’s warning came just in time. Ben spun, ducked and rolled, and barely avoided the swiping leg of the Moon-Faced Ghoul-Thing.

“Not yet, not yet!” wailed Mr Nuttendudge. “The glove, he hasn’t given me the glove!”

Ben backed away from the ghoul-thing. “You set us up,” he said, stabbing a finger towards Mr Nuttendudge. “You lured us here. Why?”

Wesley and Paradise raced over to join Ben, but as they reached the edge of the stone circle the air in front of them turned solid, forcing them back. Paradise hammered on the invisible barrier but they were trapped.

“Perhaps I can answer that,” boomed a voice
from within the Moon-Faced Ghoul-Thing’s cloak. An armour-clad leg emerged, then Lord Scarrabus was unfolding himself from the swirling portal within the cape.

The demon-lord drew himself up to his full height, put his hands in the small of his back and straightened his spine with a
crick
. “Oh, that’s better,” he groaned. “That cape is such an uncomfortable way to travel.”

Ben looked back at Mr Nuttendudge. The goblin was down on one knee, his head lowered. “A thousand welcomes, Lord Scarrabus,” he said. “My worthless existence is made all the more bearable by your presence.”

“As you were, goblin,” Scarrabus sighed.

“You betrayed us,” snapped Ben.

Mr Nuttendudge blinked his wide eyes.

“Of course. The servant of Scarrabus and I are old friends. I arranged all this while you made your escape from my house. You’d only just met me. Whatever made you think I’d be trustworthy?” He opened and closed his big hands like they were flashing lights. “Stranger danger, stranger danger! Never trust a goblin you don’t know.” He thought about this for a moment. “Or one you do know. We’re not to be trusted generally.”

“Good work, Mr Nutty … thing.”

“Nuttendudge.”

“Whatever,” said Scarrabus. “Bringing the children here was a stroke of genius.”

“Why?” asked Ben.

Scarrabus smirked.

“Because back at my castle I was merely going to imprison you,” he said. “Here, I can use you.”

“Use us?” asked Paradise.

“Use us f-for what?” Wesley stuttered.

“To tear open the dimensions. To rip asunder the very fabric of reality. To allow me access to your insignificant little world where everyone you have ever known will – at last – bear witness to a true Feast of Scarrabus.”

“Yes! Yes!” sniggered Mr Nuttendudge.

Ben looked at the grinning Scarrabus and saw madness flash behind the demon-lord’s eyes.

“It’s going to be Hell on Earth!”