Grunt, Guff, Scratch, and Sniff creaked back into the Woleb, dragging with them bags and bags of glorious Whiffington trash.
“Looks at all this mucky mess we gots!” cheered Guff.
“More than we’ve never snatched before!” yelled Scratch.
“And we didn’t ’ave to do ’ardly any creakin’!” added Grunt, sounding quite amazed.
“All this ’sgusting garbage, just sittin’ there for us to snatch, just likes that!” croaked Guff with rotten delight.
“All thanks to the kidderling!” said Sniff happily.
Grunt stopped suddenly, causing the other Creakers to bump into him. He turned and stared at Sniff, looking deep into his round black eyes. No Creaker had ever said a nice word about a kidderling before. They were so used to hiding from kidderlings in the shadows beneath their beds, sneaking into their rooms, and creaking around their houses. Being nice about a kidderling was something new. Something strange.
“His brain must be rotted,” laughed Scratch nervously, worried that Grunt was angry at Sniff. “He just needs a good slop at the tavern.”
“No…” Grunt whispered. “Sniff be right! If it weren’t for the kidderling, this place would be all sunburned, and we’d all be dusted. She saved us.” He gazed with astonishment at Sniff. “And Sniff saved the girl. That means…Sniff saved us!”
Sniff kicked the ground with embarrassment, not knowing where to look. Guff and Scratch were stumped. Things were changing in the Woleb—changing for the better.
“And looks!” went on Grunt. “We’s got enuff rotten mess in one night to last us a whole week!” He pointed at the huge pile of smelly prizes they were hauling behind them.
“We’s not be needin’ to creak up there every night like we used to,” agreed Sniff. “We’s be able to—”
“Spend more time with our Creakerlings!” Grunt interrupted Sniff, which took Sniff by surprise, as it was usually him that did all the butting-in.
“P’raps kidderlings be not so bads after all,” Sniff suggested.
They dragged the heavy load of Whiffington garbage deep down into the depths of the Woleb, clawing out rotten gifts to Creakers they passed on the way.
They gave Mrs. Blister boxes and boxes of broken egg-shells to rebuild the Creaker school that had crumbled to pieces in the Wolebquake. “No thank you!” she cried as she accepted them excitedly.
Sergeant Gurgle and Major Curd, two Woleb police officers, siphoned all the curdled milk to use as fuel for the Woleb police cars.
Claggy Maggot and Maggie Clog, owners of Maggot & Clog’s Grossery Store, collected all the banana peels, moldy vegetables, and fish bones to sell in a week or so, once they’d matured a bit.
Eventually Grunt, Guff, Scratch, and Sniff had delivered all the rotten delights to the hardworking Creakers of the Woleb below Whiffington as they rebuilt their weird home. There were boos and hisses as the four Creakers passed through. It was a real heroes’ welcome.
Grunt had been deep in thought, his mind turning something over as they creaked through the town. Suddenly he leapt up to the top of a heap of rot and motioned for the crowd that had gathered to quiet down.
“Fellow Creakers!” he bellowed, and the hundreds of slimy creatures hushed and listened. “We be startin’ a new time. We be rebuildin’ ourselfs a new Woleb.” The crowd booed in agreement. Grunt continued. “And this new Woleb needs a new king!”
Silence fell. Grunt stood atop the pile, looking as powerful as a Creaker could look.
“GRUNT FOR KING! GRUNT FOR KING!” the crowd began chanting.
Grunt held up his hand, and silence fell again like magic.
“I would be honored to be your king,” he croaked, and the crowd booed in celebration.
“BUT!” added Grunt.
The booing was instantly replaced by confused whispers.
“But I thinks this new Woleb needs a king with new ideas. A king with a new way of thinkin’,” Grunt boomed, staring into the eyes of his fellow Creakers. “Someone who’s not ’fraid to be different. To stands up for whats he believes to be right.” He turned and suddenly pointed his claw at a Creaker behind him.
“Someone like Sniff!”
Gasps erupted from the crowd as all eyes turned to the small boil-covered Creaker standing in Grunt’s shadow.
“Sniff dared to trust the kidderling when no one else did. He dared to be different. It was Sniff what saved you!” cried Grunt as he dropped to his knee and bowed his bald head to Sniff.
There was a pause as hundreds of Creakers stared at this teensy Creaker. Then, one by one, they dropped to their knees and bowed in respect to their new leader. He was the one who had helped to save the Woleb.
Sniff stared out at his disgusting kingdom and let out a little excited squeak.
Grunt announced, “All hail His Rottenness, King—”
“SNIFF!” Sniff blurted out, interrupting Grunt in utter disbelief.
The Creakers had a new king.
“Well, that be it,” said Grunt, handing out the final scraps from the bottom of the last trash bag to Guff, Scratch, and King Sniff. “Takes whatever’s left home for yer families.”
“See you tomorra?” Guff said, his bottom releasing a little parp.
“No, not tomorra. I thinks we’s be all right takin’ a little time off from creakin’.” Grunt smiled. “That’s if the king approves?”
“Oh…erm—yeah!” Sniff stuttered, trying to get used to the whole King of the Creakers thing.
With that, Grunt gave the three of them a little salute and left them standing in the twisted Woleb tunnel. He creaked all the way along the winding spider leg and didn’t stop until he was standing outside a dark crack in the wall of the Woleb, the entrance to his home.
The foul stench of stewing sprouts filled the air, and he took a deep sniff of his wife’s awful cooking.
“Home, sour home!” he sighed as he stepped inside and was greeted by the most wonderful sound in all the Woleb.
“Daddy!”
THE END
…again
