Lair of the Grelgoroth Read online

  WiDo Publishing

  Salt Lake City, Utah

  widopublishing.com

  Copyright © 2017 by Ruth Fox

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written consent of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Steven Novak

  Book design by Marny K. Parkin

  ISBN 978-1-937178-82-6

  Library of Congress Control Number available on request

  For my husband, my parents, and my brother

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter One

  It was a perfect day for the Opening Day Fair; the kind of sunshiny autumn day that sparkled as if it had been freshly washed.

  The Morgenstern family arrived at the fairgrounds just before lunch time. The spot where they parked their van was close to the fractured section of the Wall. From there, you could see straight down the slope and into South Silvershine. There wasn’t much to see through the gap except for a pile of rubble and cement, a few old buildings covered in graffiti, and some wisps of a thick and sickly yellow fog that clouded the streets. It wasn’t a very nice view, but the fact that it was the Other Side made it fascinating.

  No one was allowed to cross the Wall, not without one of the North Silvershine Mayor’s signed yellow permits, but Zach Morgenstern and his best friend, Ryder, always got as close as they could. They’d throw chocolate-coated sultanas through the gap.

  “Once I hit one of them,” boasted Ryder.

  “Did not,” said Zach. “They don’t come out on Opening Day. They’re scared of the crowds.”

  “This one did.” Ryder was insistent. “He turned around and hissed at me. He had fangs!”

  “I thought he had horns.” Zach rolled his eyes. Every year, Ryder added more unlikely details to this tale, but Zach didn’t object. Ryder wasn’t particularly imaginative. This story was his one and only creative endeavour.

  “He had both,” Ryder amended.

  “Is that Ida?” Zach broke in, pointing up the slope.

  Ida Wentworth was walking with her friends Fiona and Alexis. As usual, the red-haired Alexis—who everyone called Lex—had a pencil behind her ear and a notebook in her hands. She wrote for the school newsletter, and she was always prepared to jot down interesting stories. Fiona stood between her two friends, holding her flute case. She would have been playing with the school band earlier that morning, for an audience of proud parents who clapped even when the oboes and trumpets went wildly out of tune.

  Ida, her golden curly hair shining even more brightly than usual, had a huge camera hanging around her neck. She worked with Lex, taking photos to publish in the newsletter, and she was very good at capturing remarkable images. She was wearing a glittery t-shirt with the autograph of her favourite actor—Chris Cambert, who played one of the characters on her favourite TV show, Beyond the Wall—scrawled across the front.

  The three girls were giggling and chattering to one another in the way that only girls can, telling jokes about their parents and complimenting each other’s outfits and relating gossip about the latest episode of Beyond the Wall. The series focused on a group of high school students who were constantly getting involved with gangs, battling illnesses, overcoming impossible odds, and falling in love with one another; and though it might never show what really happened on the Other Side of the Wall, it was the longest-running soapie in North Silvershine.

  Ryder called loudly: “Hey, Ida!”

  Zach felt his cheeks burn. He wanted to tell Ryder to shut up, but he was glad when the girls made their way over.

  “Hi!” called Lex brightly, pushing her glasses up—they had a habit of sliding down her nose. “I saw your folks just before, Zach. Your mum offered me some cupcakes. She said you made them.”

  The fire in Zach’s cheeks flared brighter. “I did.”

  “Did you wear a hair net?” Lex went on, keeping her face completely straight. “Because, you know, any gourmet cook needs to wear proper headwear in the kitchen, otherwise it’s a health violation.”

  “No,” Zach mumbled, imagining that the next article she wrote for the Middleview Hills Academy News would be about salmonella in chocolate cupcakes. “Um, I always wear an apron, though.”

  Lex laughed, and Ida and Fiona giggled. Zach wished he could drop dead on the spot. Why, why, why had he said that? Being around Ida turned his brain to mush.

  “We’re sitting farther down the slope. There’s a better view of the stage and Ida wants to take some photos of the performance,” Lex continued. “You should come and play the Fishing Game while we wait. Zoe Hancock won a panda that’s as big as she is!”

  “Oh, yeah, sure,” said Ryder, rolling his eyes. “I totally need a giant stuffed panda.”

  But he and Zach followed the girls as they crested the hill and found themselves amid the sideshows. The Fishing Game was manned, every year, by Mr. Majewski, who ran a butcher’s shop on Main Street. He was a pudgy man with a permanently downturned mouth. He took their money and handed out the fishing rods with a scowl.

  “Purple fish wins small prize,” he grunted. “Yellow, blue and green fish wins bigger prize. Orange fish—biggest prize of all.”

  The fishing rods were unwieldy, bending and swaying awkwardly as Zach tried to snatch a plastic orange fish from the tub full of water. He was aware of the others watching him. Lex was most likely taking notes for an article about Middleview Hills Academy’s most uncoordinated student. Ida had probably taken some snapshots as proof.

  Ryder picked up a purple fish within two seconds.

  “You win a chocolate,” said Mr. Majewski, shoving a tiny chocolate button into his hands and glaring at him. Ryder grinned and presented it with a flourish to Lex.

  “You’re awesome at this game, Ryder!” Fiona called, clapping.

  Zach angled his rod down and flicked the hook back and forth. His movement was more desperate than planned, and somehow he snagged the blue fish next to his orange one. He lifted it out of the water.

  Mr. Majewski bared his teeth under his bushy moustache. “Terrible sorry, that fish wins nothin
g.”

  “Hey, that’s a blue fish. He gets a bigger prize,” Ryder reminded him.

  Mr. Majewski snatched both fish and rod from Zach and waved it in Ryder’s face. “Not blue! See?”

  “That’s just because the paint’s worn off,” said Ryder. “Look. Here. It’s blue!”

  At that moment, a tall, imposing man looked over Zach’s shoulder. “Majewski! Are you disputing the colour of those worn-out old fish again? I tell you every year they need to be repainted.”

  Mr. Majewski snarled. There was no love lost between him and Police Chief Andy Wreath. Andy wasn’t in uniform today, but he still had his gold badge pinned to his pocket, and it was this Mr. Majewski looked at as he muttered, dumped the fishing rod on the ground and dropped a small solid object on the counter.

  “There you go, Zach, claim your prize,” urged Andy, pushing Zach forwards. It was a small gold locket.

  Oh, great, thought Zach. Mr. Majewski had given it to him on purpose, he was sure, just to make him look like more of an idiot. First I say I wear . . .

  “You can wear it with your apron,” crowed Lex, completing Zach’s humiliation.

  “Oh!” said Ida. “It’s pretty!”

  Zach shoved it clumsily into her hands. “Here, it’s for you.”

  Ida’s cheeks coloured to match Zach’s, but it only made her look prettier. “Thank you so much, Zach.”

  Zach found himself transfixed by her bright blue eyes. The few seconds that followed seemed to last a full hour, but then the loudspeakers overhead crackled, jerking him awake.

  “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls! The Opening Day Ceremony is about to begin!”

  “Come on,” said Fiona, grabbing Lex’s elbow and spinning her around. The three girls linked arms once more, heading off across the slope of the fairgrounds to where the stage had been set up.

  Ryder nudged him. “Nice work.”

  Zach groaned. “Are you kidding? She thinks I’m a nutcase.”

  Ryder laughed. “Come on. We’ll miss the Ceremony.”

  They climbed the hill once more towards the Putterwagon, which was the name the Morgensterns had given to their rickety old van. Mr. and Mrs. Morgenstern had laid a picnic rug on the ground. From up here, they had a relatively good view of the fairgrounds and the stage. Ryder’s young sister, Miranda, was with them; Ryder’s mother was busy selling Strawberry Cream Éclairs in one of the stalls, and his older brother, Max, was busy hanging out with his friends, who were all drinking vodka and smoking and glowering at people.

  Miranda was a small girl. She shared Ryder’s dark hair and brown eyes, and was always jiggling up and down, tapping her fingers, or running somewhere at full speed. Today she was wearing a strange outfit made of grey cardboard that squeaked and crunched every time she moved. “I’m in the play,” she said excitedly. “I’m going to be an actress when I grow up!”

  Zach and Ryder sat on the tailgate of the van and allowed Mrs. Morgenstern to shove various snacks into their hands. Zach tried not to scour the crowd for Ida’s group.

  “Welcome!” A man in an orange shirt was standing on the stage, tapping the microphone.

  The crowd quietened.

  “Welcome to the Fifth Annual Opening Day Ceremony. Please welcome your mayor.”

  Dutiful applause rang out. A gangly man with straggly grey hair and a nose and chin so curved they almost touched at the tips stepped up to the microphone and adjusted his tie.

  “Thank you, Deputy Darren,” he said.

  Darren nodded solemnly.

  “Once upon a time,” said the mayor, “The city of Silvershine was one city. There was no North, no South, no Wall. Let it be known that we, as a people, will strive to break down the boundaries that divided us, that we will come together to work as one, that we will accept everyone with open arms, that we will progress and move forwards!”

  He thumped on the podium for emphasis.

  “So! Citizens of Silvershine City! Let us celebrate Opening Day! Let us be glad that we live in such a wonderful place, and in such a wonderful time!”

  The speech was the same one he gave every year, and the applause was more dutiful than enthusiastic, but the mayor was obviously pleased with himself. He’d done his duty and felt safe that the elections early next year would once again see him in office.

  The council elections were held every four years, and every four years, the same mayor was voted back in. He usually did this by performing another Grand Gesture which won him lots of votes. He had learned this tactic during his first term, forty years earlier, when he had decided there must still be some silver in the mines below the city. It had been fruitless; no silver was found at all, but it had made him look like a man of action.

  Miranda scrambled down the slope to join her classmates from the Lower East Primary School. The play was produced every year by the Mothers’ Club, and recreated the events of the first Opening Day. Miranda Hazelwood, dressed in her grey cardboard outfit, turned out to be a brick in the Wall. When five bright blue bulldozers rolled up (these were made out of boxes from Mr. Macaulay’s Grocery with the bottoms cut out, and driven by young boys who added loud and hearty sound effects) she refused to topple, and shoved one of the boys, and they went down in a tumble of squashed cardboard.

  Ryder shook his head. “She’ll never be an actress. She can’t follow directions, and she’s way too violent.”

  The pretend monsters came out, then, lumbering under grotesque headpieces. Some had horns, and some had snouts, and some had green and warty skin. They shambled around the stage, arms raised, and bellowed their gratitude before embracing the bulldozer drivers and the mayor, who had been chivvied back to centre stage by the ruthless Mothers’ Club.

  “But that’s wrong!”

  Everyone turned to find the child who had shouted this interruption.

  “Shhh,” said the child’s mother, but the boy squirmed out of her reach.

  “It’s wrong, though. The monsters don’t ever come out.”

  People were turning to the disruption, curious. The mother clapped her hands to her cheeks, embarrassed. “Tommy! Please!”

  “The monsters never come beyond the Wall! We hardly ever see them at all! The play is wrong!”

  “It’s just a representation, Tommy,” the boy’s mother hissed. “It’s about the idea.”

  The mayor, extricating himself from the group of fake monsters, cleared his throat. “All monsters are free to apply for a permit to enter North Silvershine. Whether or not they choose to is another matter. One day, I envisage a world where monsters and humans work alongside one another.”

  Zach had only been seven at the time of the Opening, but he still remembered it clearly. The mayor had made it into a huge spectacle, calling it his latest “Grand Gesture.” The people of North Silvershine weren’t impressed. After all, the Wall had been there for eighty years, holding back a nasty cloud of pollution. The yellow smog was so thick that not even planes flying over South Silvershine could see anything through it. It was so heavy that it remained at ground level instead of evaporating. It had a peculiar effect on technology, too, causing it to fail. The mayor had a team of leading scientists working on a solution—but in the end, it had all been a fuss about nothing.

  When the mayor had discovered that there were no humans beyond the Wall he’d had to backtrack quickly to cover the fact that he didn’t really know how to deal with the situation. He stopped work on the demolition, but the laws were already in place: anyone could apply for a yellow permit to cross. That included the monsters.

  He could have changed the law, of course. He was always doing things like that. But it didn’t really matter, since none of the monsters ever applied. And certainly no one from North Silvershine wanted to go into the South, into the midst of monster territory.
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br />   And so, even though a gap had been made in the Wall, large enough to let through a few tendrils of the thick yellow smog cloud, large enough to see those few old, crumbling buildings and the occasional pair of watching eyes, not one monster had crossed it—neither had any humans. The Wall was as solid a barrier as it had ever been.

  People had already started drifting away from the stage, heading back towards the sideshows. Zach and Ryder made a half-hearted attempt at a ring-toss game, then a slightly more energetic bid at winning a bike at the Laughing Clowns, then flopped on their backs on the grass, having eaten and enjoyed themselves as much as they possibly could in one day. By then, it was getting close to evening. The sun had started to sink towards the horizon. People were packing up and heading home. Zach said goodbye to Ryder, then headed back towards the Putterwagon.

  He wasn’t sure what drew his gaze back down the hill towards the Wall. But he saw, through the gap, a dark shadowy shape. A shape that had eyes that were watching; not watching him, not specifically, just watching.

  Zach felt a chill run down his spine.

  ❖ ❖ ❖

  “Would you listen to that!” said Mr. Morgenstern. He slapped his palm on the dashboard of the Putterwagon. The van was called this because of the sound the engine made—a cross between a gentle cat’s purr and a pair of dice rattling around in an empty soup tin.

  Only today, as Mr. Morgenstern had just pointed out, the Putterwagon sounded less like its usual purring, rattling self and more like a wheezing, coughing old man. “The old girl must be on her way out,” he added.

  Mrs. Morgenstern, in the passenger side, nodded thoughtfully. “Could it be a sign, do you think?”

  Zach, sitting between his parents on the van’s single bench seat, watched and listened with bewilderment. “What do you mean?” he asked. “A sign of what?”

  Zach liked the Putterwagon. It was faithful and familiar, like an old friend. The Putterwagon, under his mother’s or his father’s guidance, took the family on all their shopping trips to the Pyramid Mall. It had a bench seat in the front and a space in the back big enough to hold all their camping supplies when they went to Craggy Beach. It picked up his friends and dropped them off at footy matches, or Holly Tree Park on a Sunday afternoon, or, on special occasions, Wild World, Silvershine Island’s one and only theme park. It fit perfectly in the space in the garage, where it left a dark oil stain in the shape of a goat.