Mr Gum and the Goblins by Andy Stanton

Chapter 1
In The Dead Of Winter
    IT was the Dead Of Winter and the little town of Lamonic Bibber lay under a blanket of snow and ice. Everywhere you looked, there was snow and ice. On the trees – snow and ice. On the ground – snow and ice. Inside the Museum of Snow and Ice – snow and ice. It was the coldest winter anyone could remember.
    Inside the inns and taverns the men folk sat around blazing log fires, drinking their ale and telling stories of never-to-be-forgotten heroes like Whatsisname and That Tall Man In The Shirt Who Killed All Those Dragons. In the houses, mothers put their young ones to bed, soothing them with gentle lullabies about fierce lions and crocodiles. In a little cottage by the meadow, a hobbit sat reading
The Lord of the Rings
andmicrowaving his feet to keep warm. ’Twas the Dead Of Winter, all right.

    The streets of Lamonic Bibber were quiet at that late hour but presently there came the sound of footsteps as three shadowy figures turned into the high street. And now I will tell you who they were, for I have seen them before – and perhaps you know them too.
    The leader was Friday O’Leary, a wise old man who knew the secrets of Time and Space.He carried a lantern which cast a ghostly yellow light on the icy cobblestones. Next came a nine-year-old girl called Polly. She too carried a lantern and it shone brave and true, just like her pure strong heart. And last of all came little Alan Taylor, the Headmaster of Saint Pterodactyl’s School For The Poor. He was a gingerbread man with electric muscles and he was only 15.24 centimetres tall. Alan Taylor was far too small to carry a lantern, but he had coated an acornin glow-in-the-dark paint and that was almost as good.
    â€˜â€™Tis late, friends,’ whispered Friday O’Leary as the church bells rang for ten o’clock, belting out like absolute marshmallows in the wintry night. ‘We should be getting home, for who knows what strange spirits are about in the Dead Of Winter?’
    â€˜There are no strange spirits, kind Friday,’ chuckled Alan Taylor. ‘Methinks you have been spending too much time in the taverns, listeningto the idle tales of drunken fools!’
    â€˜Hey,’ said Polly. ‘Why’s everyone a-talkin’ all funny like in weird old books? We only done came out to gets a takeaway kebab.’
    But just then a horrible wailing noise rose on the wind like an out-of-tune opera singer being dragged down a blackboard. Polly and Alan Taylor jumped in fright and Friday did a dozen press-ups in terror.
    â€˜ WURP! ’ he trembled. ‘What was that?’

    â€˜I gots no idea,’ gulped Polly. ‘But I don’t likes the sound of that sound one little bit.’
    â€˜What if . . .’ squeaked Alan Taylor, bravely weeing himself in fear. ‘What if it’s Mr Gum?’
    Now, at the mention of that name they all went very quiet, because there was nothing worse than Mr Gum, not even accidentally falling into a volcano full of history teachers. For Mr Gum and his no-good friend Billy William the Third were the worst criminals Lamonic Bibberhad ever seen. And they had done some of the most shocking things of all time, including:
    1 . Trying to poison a massive whopper of a dog called Jake to death and destruction
    2 . Trying to steal a billion pounds off poor little Alan Taylor
    3 . Tons of other stuff I can’t think of at the moment
    â€˜But Alan Taylor, no one’s seen Mr Gum for ages,’ said Polly.
    â€˜Nonetheless, he might have come back,’ replied Friday gravely. ‘For as the famous saying goes – “
He might have come back.
” Let us investigate!’
    And the three friends set off to see what was what, their lanterns swinging hopefully against the darkness. With each step they took the wailing grew louder, until –

    â€˜It’s coming from the alley behind Mrs Lovely’s sweetshop,’ said Friday,