Neville woke with a start as Marjorie burst into his bedroom. She stood holding on to the doorframe like she was about to be sucked away.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
‘That wretched little thing has got out,’ Marjorie said. ‘It’s all over the news.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind “WHAT?”’ Marjorie snapped, half whispering, half grunting. She yanked Neville off the pile of toys. ‘Quick!’
Neville ran downstairs to the living room. There were his dad and his mooma and dooda crowded round the television.
‘What if Grandma Joan wakes up and sees everyone?’ Neville gasped.
‘S’all right, son,’ Herbert said proudly. ‘I popped one of your mother’s sleeping tablets in her tea last night. She’ll snooze through to lunchtime easily. I think I did quite well really, if you ask –’
‘Shut up, you ninny,’ Marjorie said through gritted teeth. ‘What are we going to do?’
Rubella was slumped on the sofa, picking her nose and smirking. All three of his troll family were wearing thick sunglasses, even though the curtains were drawn.
‘You’re in big trouble, Nev,’ Rubella chuckled.
‘What’s going on?’ Neville asked. If Pong really had got out, anything could have happened to him by now.
‘Looks like someone wasn’t watching Pong like they were supposed to,’ Rubella said. She flicked a fat bogey at him.
Neville pushed through Clod and Malaria, who were transfixed by the television. They’d never seen one that actually worked before. Neville wasn’t sure whether they cared more about Pong being lost or the moving pictures on the screen. He reached out and turned the volume up as high as it would go.
There was Silvia Simmonds, the morning newsreader, and behind her was a huge picture of Pong.
‘Reports are coming in,’ read Silvia, ‘of a strange new creature that was found after it smashed the front window of a shoe shop and ate half the stock.’
‘Oh, Pong does love a boot or two,’ said Clod. He was snacking on a pair of Herbert’s slippers himself. ‘I should have checked he’d grunched a few before we came up here.’
‘Shhh,’ said Malaria, putting a hand over Clod’s mouth. ‘Listen, our little grubling is famous. I’m so proud I could boogle my bunions.’
‘We now go live,’ said Silvia Simmonds, ‘to London Zoo, where the creature has been put on display.’
A freckly man with spectacles and bright ginger hair came on to the screen.
‘Good morning, Silvia,’ said the freckly, ginger-haired man. ‘The creature is believed to be a new type of monkey-seal-pig. The first of its kind in fact.’
‘A monkey-seal-pig?’ said Neville.
‘I know,’ beamed Malaria. ‘We’ve never had a monkey-seal-pig in the family before. I’m as chuffed as a chuffer.’
‘Here at London Zoo, we’re all very excited,’ the ginger man continued. ‘The monkey-seal-pig will be our star attraction for many years to come.’
Herbert turned the television off. ‘Marvellous,’ he said, rubbing his hands together contentedly. ‘Pong in a cage for …’
‘Years?’ said Clod. ‘Did that freckly-fuzzbonk just say “many years to come”?’
Neville nodded.
‘They can’t put our Pong in a cage for –’ Malaria gulped – ‘years.’
‘Too right they can’t,’ said Marjorie from the doorway. ‘People will soon get bored of the little blighter, and when they do, they’ll come looking for more of you.’
‘What?’ said Malaria.
‘You mark my words,’ said Marjorie, wagging her finger at Malaria like she was a naughty schoolgirl. ‘We’ll have hordes of people here next, all wanting to meet a real-life troll.’
‘Oh no,’ said Malaria. ‘This has bungled things right up. If we don’t get our lumpling back, we’ll have overlings snuffling and grippling us underlings all over the place. They might even wiffle down Underneath and … AND … TIDY UP!’
‘It’s not good,’ said Clod. ‘This is a right pickle.’
‘Forget the little monster,’ Herbert said to Neville, trying to look as stern as he possibly could. ‘He was nothing but trouble right from the start.’
‘We can’t leave Pong in the zoo,’ gasped Neville.
‘It’s none of our business,’ said Herbert. ‘That’s final.’
‘I blame Nev,’ said Rubella, pointing a stubby finger at him. ‘Let’s put him in the zoo instead.’