Let Sleeping Sea-Monsters Lie (11 page)

Now the Brollachan couldn’t talk but he could scream – and scream he did!

Everything then happened at once. The old man woke, saw that there was a Brollachan on his hearthrug and jumped from his rocking chair. The Brollachan’s mother heard the scream and rushed
in at the front door, dripping and shouting as she came.

“What’s happened to you, Brollachan? How did you get here? Who hurt you? Has that nasty old man hurt you? Have you hurt my Brollachan, you stupid old man? Because if you have I’ll turn you into a bat with bunions. I’ll
turn you into an eel with earache. I’ll claw you into strips of raw beef, I’ll make newts come out of your nostrils, I’ll . . .”

On and on she raged. The old man did not know how to bear so much noise. He took his long white beard and stuffed the left half of it into his left ear and the right half of it into his right
ear but still he could hear the Fuath’s voice. Feeling quite desperate he got a broom and tried to shoo the Fuath out of doors.

But the Fuath would not be shushed and she would not be shooed. She just dripped and she threatened and she
talked
.

The Brollachan by now was very upset. His burn did not hurt any longer but he felt that things were not as they should be. His red eyes were wide with worry and his shapeless darkness shivered
at all this unpleasantness. What he wanted more than anything was to make things all right.

So he made himself very big and he opened his mouth and he went right up to his mother, who was still talking and scolding and waving her arms. If only he could do it! If only he could do the
thing she wanted so much! Wider he opened his mouth and wider . . . and closer he went to his mother and closer . . . and harder he tried and harder . . . harder than he had ever tried in his whole
life.

And then at last he did it. He actually did it!

“MUMMY!” said the Brollachan. “MUM – gluck – gulp!”

Then he stopped. His mother was not there.

The Brollachan was puzzled. He looked under the stool and behind the door but there was no sign of her. But though he was puzzled, he was not worried. He felt very close to his mother. And
because it made him tired to be so clever he lay down again – but further from the fire – and fell asleep.

The old man took half his beard out of his right ear and half his beard out of his left ear and came over to have a look. He could see the Brollachan’s mother inside the Brollachan as
clear as clear. He could even see the wart on the end of her nose. She was still talking and talking and talking but Brollachans are soundproof so he couldn’t hear a thing.

So he smiled and nodded at the Brollachan as if to say, yes, you can stay, and went back to his rocking chair. The next day he made a fireguard so that the Brollachan wouldn’t get burnt.
And then he and the Brollachan lived together very happily. Because both of them had said all they were ever going to say and each was happy to let the other be the kind of person that he was.

‘We must kidnap some children,’ announced Aunt Etta. ‘Young, strong ones. It will be dangerous, but it must be done.’

Three children are stolen and taken to a bizarre island, which is home to some extraordinary creatures – including mermaids, selkies and the legendary kraken. The island
is the base for a very mysterious mission, but the adventurers find themselves in perilous danger when it is suddenly under siege. Can they save themselves and their new friends?

To read an exciting extract from
Monster Mission
just turn the page . . .

Kidnapping children is not a good idea. All the same, sometimes it has to be done.

Aunt Etta and Aunt Coral and Aunt Myrtle were not natural kidnappers. For one thing, they were getting old and kidnapping is hard work; for another, though they looked a little odd, they were
very caring people. They cared for their ancient father and for their shrivelled cousin Sybil who lived in a cave and tried to foretell the future – and most particularly they cared for the
animals on the island on which they lived, many of which were quite unusual.

Some of the creatures that made their way to the Island had come far across the ocean to be looked after, and lately the aunts had felt that they could not go on much longer without help. And
‘help’ didn’t mean grown-ups who were set in their ways. Help meant children who were young and strong and willing to learn.

So on a cool blustery day in April the three aunts gathered round the kitchen table and decided to go ahead. Some children had to be found and they had to be brought to the island, and
kidnapping seemed the only sensible way to do it.

‘That way we can choose the ones that are suitable,’ said Aunt Etta. She was the eldest; a tall, bony woman who did fifty press-ups before breakfast and had a small but not at all
unpleasant moustache on her upper lip.

The others looked out of the window at the soft green turf, the sparkling sea, and sighed, thinking of what had to be done. The sleeping powders, the drugged hamburgers, the bags and sacks and
cello cases they would need to carry the children away in . . .

‘Will they scream and wriggle, do you suppose?’ asked Aunt Myrtle, who was the youngest. She suffered from headaches and hated noise.

‘No, of course not. They’ll be unconscious,’ said Aunt Etta. ‘Flat out. I don’t like it any more than you do,’ she went on, ‘but you saw the programme
on TV last week.’