Goat Pie Read Online Free Page B

First Grumpa wanted to take him to an imaginary forest, now he wanted to meet the trolls next door who were actually peeples. Ulrik felt his mum should have thought of this when she was writing all those fibwoppers.
    As luck would have it, no one answered the door.
    â€˜I think they’re out, Grumpa,’ said Ulrik.
    Grumpa puzzled over the holly wreath on the front door which said ‘Merry Christmas!’
    â€˜What’s down there?’ He pointed at the gravel path leading to the side gate.
    â€˜Oh, that goes to the back but we can’t go in there, Grumpa …’
    Too late. Grumpa had bulldozed through the gate and disappeared.
    The back garden was empty and there was no sign of the Priddles when they peered through the French windows. Ulrik caught sight of a head peering at him over the garden fence. It was making some complicated hand signals, but he had no idea what they were supposed to mean.
    â€˜Maybe we should go, Grumpa,’ he said anxiously.

    â€˜Hogswoggle!’ replied Grumpa. ‘They’re trolls. They won’t mind if we make ourselves at home.’
    Grumpa rattled the back door. It was locked but that didn’t stop him. He took a run at it and butted it with his head. There was a splintering of wood as the bolt buckled and the door gave way, falling inwards. They left it hanging by one hinge as they walked into the kitchen.
    Grumpa stared at the rows of neat cupboards and the spotless cooker. He continued into the lounge, where he gaped at the cream-coloured carpet, the leather sofa and the TV in the corner.
    â€˜What kind of trolls are they?’ he asked in disgust. ‘It’s clean! It smells sweet as buttercups!’
    â€˜Maybe they haven’t dirtied it for a while,’ said Ulrik. ‘Come on, Grumpa – let’s go!’ He tugged at the sleeve of his coat. If the Priddles came back now and discovered them in the house, there would be all kinds of trouble.
    Grumpa shook his head stubbornly. ‘We’ll go hunting later,’ he said. ‘First I want to meet these trolls. Someone needs to speak to them. They’re living like peeples. It’s disgustive!’

    The Priddles’ car turned into the drive and parked in front of the garage. Poking out of the boot was the Christmas tree they’d bought from the garden centre.
    â€˜Can we put it up now, Mum?’ asked Warren excitedly.
    â€˜Of course we can, darling,’ said Mrs Priddle. ‘Help your dad to carry it through to the back.’
    As they were dragging the tree out of the boot, Mr and Mrs Troll came rushing out of their house. They had seen the Priddles’ car pull into the drive and were anxious to head them off.
    â€˜Piddle!’ said Mr Troll.
    â€˜Can’t stop – got to get this tree put up,’ said Mr Priddle.
    â€˜Don’t do it now,’ said Mr Troll. ‘Come round. Have some pots of tea.’
    â€˜No thanks!’ said Mr Priddle, heading for the gate. ‘We’ve had one.’
    â€˜Breakfast then!’ said Mrs Troll. ‘I’ve got eggs and jam.’
    â€˜Another time,’ said Mrs Priddle. They disappeared through the side gate, leaving the Trolls looking after them helplessly.
    Warren helped his dad carry the tree to the back door, where they halted unexpectedly. ‘Ow!’ cried Warren, getting tangled up with the rear end.
    â€˜Where’s the back door?’ asked Mr Priddle. He stared at the gap where the door used to be.
    â€˜Didn’t you lock it when we went out?’ asked Mrs Priddle.
    â€˜Of course I locked it! Look! Someone’s broken it down!’
    â€˜Shhh!’ Mrs Priddle held up a hand for silence. ‘I can hear someone. They’re inside!’
    â€˜Burglars!’ gasped Warren.

    Mrs Priddle clutched at her husband’s arm. ‘They’re in the house! Call the police, Roger!’
    Mr Priddle checked his pockets. ‘I left my