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Back Trollhunters Save as PDF
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Epigraph
  6. Prologue
  7. Part I
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. 10.
  18. Part II
  19. 11.
  20. 12.
  21. 13.
  22. 14.
  23. 15.
  24. 16.
  25. 17.
  26. 18.
  27. Part III
  28. 19.
  29. 20.
  30. 21.
  31. 22.
  32. 23.
  33. 24.
  34. 25.
  35. 26.
  36. 27.
  37. 28.
  38. 29.
  39. 30.
  40. 31.
  41. 32.
  42. Part IV
  43. 33.
  44. 34.
  45. 35.
  46. 36.
  47. 37.
  48. 38.
  49. 39.
  50. 40.
  51. About the Author

“Cat #23! Shoo! Shoo! Cat #40, for the love of all that’s holy! Run!” Tub grabbed my arm. “This isn’t going to work! They only respond to their real names!”

“Then use their real names!”

“You know I lost the list!”

“Find it!”

“It’s in here somewhere—oh, no! Please, anyone but Cat #39, that’s Grandma’s—”

ARRRGH!!!’s long tongue smacked at the furry remnants of Cat #39.

Tub dug his fingers into his scalp.

“Why do the stupid cats keep coming into this den of death?!”

Jack leaned into the room. His barbed gloves carved four scrapes through the paint by Tub’s light switch. He nodded at Tub’s TV set.

“Turn it on.”

Tub and I fell over each other in a race for the remote. A minute of fumbling commenced, during which at least one more cat met its untimely end, before we were able to summon an infomercial from the dead screen, a shouting guy with a headset hawking some kind of new-and-improved mop. Tub lowered the volume, while I messed with the set to achieve a much blurrier screen.

“Not too much static,” Jack said. “It’s not healthy.”

ARRRGH!!!’s grin slackened as she began to notice the flickering images. Seconds later, five tendrils of drool fell from her jaw. Now that it was within reach, I took hold of the car tire still impaled on her left horn and yanked it off. It went bouncing through the room, scaring away the remaining cats before obliterating a decorative table in the hallway. ARRRGH!!!’s paws relaxed and a chubby tabby bounded from its palm prison.

Tub dropped his body onto the edge of his bed. He prodded with a toe at the chicken wire and lawn gnomes. Bits of cat fur hung in the air. His lips moved silently as he calculated the deaths. It added up to one big problem with Grandma; he’d have to come up with a hell of an excuse, and I didn’t have time to help.

“Sorry, Tub,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Just get out, Mr. Trollhunter.” He sunk his face into his hands. “Grandma wakes up early on Mondays.”

27.

Jack stood at the far edge of the living room, staring through his goggles at the altar above our electric fireplace. He panned slowly across his own school photos, examined his milk carton portrait, and lingered over a shot of him and his brother with their arms wrapped around each other in a sandbox. I watched from the dark hallway outside my room, afraid to interrupt.

Blinky sidled up alongside me, the heat of his slime warming my cold skin. Together he and I had cleared out my closet so that he would be able to crouch within it during the day, covered with a sheet from the linen closet. He was concerned about the imminent dawn, yet took a moment to speak of Jack.