James Field's Blog, page 9

Part 22. A couple of beers will do you good…

"A couple of beers will do you good," said Olive, "and then I’ll take you home for a bath.-

Alf plunked his arm around Morris’s shoulder and caressed the top of his skull with his knuckles. “Bert’s suffered enough. Leave him alone.”

After wrenching himself free, and rubbing his head, Morris grumbled, “You were in on that prank too, weren’t you?”

“Work it out for yourself, smart-arse.”

Morris rose on tiptoes and tried to put his face into Alf’s, but the top of his head still didn’t reach up to Alf’s chin. Olive slid between them and pressed them apart. “No fighting, boys. Bert needs a drink. Let’s go inside and forget all this macho stuff.”

“I ain’t going in there,” said Bert, flakes of dry tar crumbling from his face. “I saw you and Robin Hood. You’ve been cheating on me again.”

“Oh, Bert, have you been spying on me? What a wicked boy you are!” She kissed her fingertip and placed it on Bert’s lips. “But I like you. When Robin Hood took his mask off, and I saw he was that Wittree boy, full of teenage spots and yellow teeth, I told him to take a running jump. It’s all harmless fun, Bert. Nothing else.”

“Wittree boy?” said Morris, suddenly losing interest in Alf and Bert. “What’s the Wittree boy doing here?”

“It’s a masquerade party,” said Olive. “Anybody can come. His Robin Hood disguise was rather good. Tricked me all right. Funny though, he kept asking about you, Morris. Wanted to know if you had noticed any slugs in your garden.”

Morris gave a little snort and wrinkled his nose. “The little creep was pumping you for information about my prize pumpkin.” He slid a hand from his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. “Did the creep say his father had slugs in his garden?”

“Oh yes, it’s all he went on about. Said his dad was fuming because the slugs had attacked his prize pumpkin and ruined it.”

Morris held his palms to his eyes. When he took them away, a slow smile crept over his face. “What else did he say?”

“He said his dad thinks you put them there because he saw the shadow of a person on his surveillance camera. Says he can’t be sure it was you though because the shadow was monstrous and wore a disguise: pointed ears and a cloak...”

“Batman!” shouted Morris, staring at Alf’s costume. “Once a crook, always a crook.”
Alf tore the batman mask from his head and tapped a finger against the side of his flat nose. “I’m not saying it was me, and I’m not saying it wasn’t me. All I’m saying, Morris, is that you talk a lot in your sleep.”

All trace of hostility drained from Morris’s face. “So that’s what happened to my jar of slugs. Alf, I owe you an apology. It seems my pumpkin will win this year’s horticultural competition, after all.” He chuckled and then turned serious. “Just stop all these juvenile pranks.”

Soft music wafted from Ye Olde Inn and they could see through the window that people were dancing again. “The beers are on me,” said Morris, leaning his bayoneted rifle against the wall. “We’re all thirsty, I reckon. Can you make it inside, Bert?”

Olive slipped her arm through Bert’s and tugged on him. “Come on, pet. A couple of beers will do you good and then I’ll take you home for a bath.” She rested her head on his shoulder and giggled. “I’ll scrub your back for you, lover slug.”
 
THE END 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
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Image by Alexander Lesnitsky from Pixabay

Part 21. How to do a jigsaw puzzle in five days…

The other day, Bert did a jigsaw puzzle in five days-

Bert sat up and blinked. “I’m a doctor,” said an Arab. “You’re suffering from shock. Lay down, the ambulance is almost here.”

The Arab struggled to push Bert back into the puddle, but Bert thrust back and sent the foreigner toppling. “I ain’t going to no hospital. Ain’t nothing wrong with me.”

“So it seems,” said the doctor, shaking wet and muck from his robes, his voice monotone. “Nothing wrong physically, at least.”

“I’m not daft,” said Bert, folding his arms around himself. He knew he wasn’t the brightest person in the world, but he wasn’t a nitwit either. He looked to the others for backup, but they just smiled at him, like a bunch of morons. Frantic to unearth proof of his mental smartness, he sifted through his memories and found an excellent example. “The other day, I did a jigsaw puzzle in five days.”

“Yes?” The doctor had already turned to leave. Now he paused and scratched his temple. “What is so special about that?”

“On the box it said: ‘Three to four years’, didn’t it Alf?”

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, but the Arab doctor wasn’t amused. He pulled and plucked at his robes as if those were the cause of his irritation.

Bert let his gaze roam over his body. His feathers had withered to ash and the tar coating had turned crispy, like a glaze of chocolate on an ice cream lolly. The crispy tar cracked and flaked off as he moved. “I’m thirsty,” he croaked.

Morris tugged on his bottom lip. “If Bert isn’t the slug, it means there is still a giant slug roaming about somewhere?”

The doctor swung his head between Bert and Morris. "I’m surrounded by raving lunatics. If the ambulance isn’t needed, I’ll send it away. Giant slugs indeed!" Then he strode off, muttering below his breath.

“I’m thirsty,” repeated Bert. “Where’s Olive gone?”

“Here I am, pet.” She held a bundle of blankets in her arms and draped them around Bert’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”

A helping hand from Alf and Styles soon had Bert groaning to his feet. He pulled the blankets tight around himself. Then he noticed Morris staring at him, hands in pockets and rocking on his feet. “Good to see you, Morris. Get out of your pickup okay?”

“Hah!” roared Morris and shook a clenched fist. “So it was you.”

“Was me what?”

“You who dragged my pickup into the forest and trapped me in. You’ll die for that, or my name isn’t Morris.”
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
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Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay

Part 20. Rubber boots saved his life…

“Lightning has struck him,” said the doctor. “His rubber boots saved his life.”-

In the hazy moonlight, the black form lying in a puddle beneath one of Ye Olde Inn’s windows resembled a giant slug. Morris took a low stance and drew his rifle back, ready to drive its bayonet in for the kill. The lights blinked on, revealing the slug had limbs.
Morris hesitated, and as he did, Alf wrenched the rifle from his hands. “It’s Bert,” he said, sinking to his knees beside his friend.

An oil sheikh detached from the crowd and knelt next to Alf. “I’m a doctor, help me turn him onto his side.”

Because of his size, no two ordinary men could move him. But Alf was no normal man. Alf was England’s reigning bare-knuckle street fighter, a giant among men. He and Bert spared and wrestled almost every day.

“Lightning has struck him,” said the doctor. “His rubber boots saved his life.” He held Bert’s eyelids open and studied his pupils, then counted his pulse from a vein in his neck. 
“The man has a strong heart, and his breathing is fine.” He fished a cell phone into view and stabbed the screen. “We’ll get him into hospital. He’s suffered major burns; the lightning blistered the outer layer of his skin to a crisp. Let’s just hope there’s no damage to his brain.”
*
Bert groaned. The last he remembered was looking through a window into a masquerade party at Ye Olde Inn, spying on his fiancé, Olive. Dressed as Tinkerbell, she was flirting with Robin Hood, confirming his suspicion that she was cheating on him. God knows what happened then. Somebody must have clobbered him from behind with a steamroller.

“Don’t move,” he thought he heard someone say, but couldn’t be sure because his ears fizzed so loud. “There’s been an accident, but you’ll be fine. Can you count how many fingers I’m holding up?”

“Which hand?”

“I’m only holding up one hand.”

“I can see three.”

“Fingers?”

“No, hands.”

Somebody else spoke. “Bert, Bert, are you alright?”

He recognised Olive’s voice and his senses popped into focus. “I am now you’re here. What happened?” He realized he was lying in a puddle with a crowd of people surrounding him. In the distance, he picked up the wail of a police car. “I ain’t done nothing wrong,” he croaked. “Have I, Alf?”

“Take it easy, Bert,” he heard his best friend say. “It’s an ambulance. They’ll get you cleaned up and back on your feet.”

“Not likely. The last I understood, we don’t trust those doctors. Do we, Alf?”
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
-Image by Roxane from Pixabay

Part 19. The moon peeked at them…

A friendly moon peeked at them from behind a bank of receding clouds-

A deathly hush fell over the masquerade party at Ye Olde Inn. The only sound was the torrential downpour of rain, clattering like a roll of drums pronouncing the onslaught of doom. The massive creature staring at them through a window burst into flames and howled like a visitor from hell—and then it slithered out of sight. Everybody held their breath, senses fine-tuned, ready to run at the next sign of danger.

A simultaneous flash of lightning and clap of thunder shook the building so hard that plaster dropped from the walls and a chandelier crashed to the floor. Women screamed and men cried out. In wild panic, everyone stormed for the nearest exit, tearing their masks off as they ran.

Outside, they grouped on the pebble road in front of Ye Olde Inn. They glanced at one another, amazed the rain had stopped and a friendly moon peeked at them from behind a bank of receding clouds.

Nobody moved or spoke, but the same question reflected on all their faces: what in God’s name had just happened?

Morris stepped from the crowd, stood at attention in his tin soldier uniform, and cleared his throat. “Is there an electrician here?”

A teddy bear raised his paw.

“Right, change the fuses and get the electricity working again.” As soon as the bear lumbered away, Morris addressed the crowd again. “Alf, Dobbs, Styles, come with me to see what that monster is. I had dealings with it earlier today, and it’s extremely dangerous. The rest of you wait here until we make sure it’s dead.”

“I’m Chief Inspector,” said Dobbs, “and I’ll take charge here.” He strode with long steps, stood slightly in front of Morris, and hooked his thumbs in his waistcoat. “Alf, Styles, and you, Morris, come with me. The rest of you wait until we get back.”

The four of them marched towards Bert’s prostrate form, lying belly down in a huge puddle. Morris and Dobbs walked side by side, each trying to take the lead. Alf and Styles stayed close on their heels, and the rest of the crowd followed a few paces behind. As they drew close, Morris slid his rifle from his back and pointed the bayonet at Bert.

“Have you got a warrant for that?” asked Chief Inspector Dobbs.

“It’s not real,” said Morris, pushing ahead. “But the bayonet is genuine enough, as that creature is about to find out when I stick it in.”
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
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Image by Pexels from Pixabay

Part 18. A finger of lightning touched the top of Bert's head…

A finger of lightning reached down and touched the top of Bert's head.-

Naked except for his underpants and a thin coating of tar and soggy feathers, Bert turned his face to the night sky and shivered. The storm was right above. A crackling flash of lightning made him blink and the following clap of thunder rattled Ye Old inn’s windows.
Those inside didn’t seem concerned. The soft music played on and the masqueraders carried on dancing. Then Bert recognised his fiancé, Olive. She’d dressed as Tinkerbell, complete with flimsy silk wings and glittery wand. She’d squeezed into an old-fashioned one-piece swimsuit, something saved from her youth because it was at least two sizes too small for her now. Her broad stocky hips bulged from beneath the swimsuit, and her plump chest, neck, and shoulders billowed from the top. Bert released an appreciative sigh and placed his palms over his heart: she was beautiful.

Not wanting to see more, Bert squeezed his eyes shut. As feared, the love of his life was being untrue. She was dancing with Robin Hood, a tall thin man in green tights, like what Rudolf Nureyev might wear, a tennis ball in his crotch and all.

Their antics became more and more sultry. Now Robin placed his hands on Olive’s wobbly backside, and she fixed her gaze on him and smiled. Their faces were so close it looked as though they would kiss. Bert stood there and stared, arms hanging and mouth gaping. This was worse than he'd imagined.

Thunder and lightning crashed right above Bert’s head. Rain poured as if he were standing under a waterfall. The Gods in their heaven ranted and raved, charging Bert’s anger to the point of explosion.

Bert raised his fists to the storm and howled, “Go ahead. I don’t give a damn if you strike me dead. Without Olive, my life ain’t worth living.” In response, a finger of lightning reached down and touched the top of his head.

Other fingers of lightning cracked through Ye Olde Inn’s timbers and blew the electrical fuses, casting the interior into blackness.

In the deafening clap of thunder, all eyes inside Ye Olde Inn turned to the rattling windows. One of them had shattered. Outside, framed and in full view, a large black figure glared back at them, its juddering body encased in sparkles and flashes.
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin ’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
 
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
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Image by WikimediaImages from Pixabay

Part 17. Everyone was at the masquerade party…

Alf was at the masquerade party over at The Stables, dressed as Batman.-

Bert’s shift at The Cloud Mansion was finished. Alf should have taken over at 10 p.m., but Bert knew he wouldn’t arrive until after midnight. Alf was at the masquerade party over at The Stables, dressed as Batman. Bert suspected Alf would’ve liked to take his little robot, Crusher, with him, done up as Robin; but the young Cloud Masters didn't allow the robot to leave the estate. At least Crusher would be here to perform security duties.

Bert’s two Alsatians had finally accepted that beneath his coating of tar and feathers that he really was Bert, the Alpha of the pack. The dogs found their way easily in the dark, showing Bert the way.

The weather had changed. A storm was brewing and Bert hurried past the mansion and along the narrow wooded path that led to the gate in the perimeter wall: the quickest way into The Stables. Darkness shrouded the clouds, but the wind had risen and spots of heavy rain cascaded through the tree canopy. In the distance, he could hear the rumble of thunder and see the bright flashes of lightning.

The wet would make him look slimy. He just hoped his appearance wouldn’t terrify anyone at the masquerade party; but then again, who knows, perhaps his disguise would win first prize?

Bert stood outside Ye Olde Inn’s entrance door in his slug disguise and listened to the slow dance music within. His muscles quivered and twitched, not only because the weather had turned cold, but also because he didn’t want to frighten anyone. Already, those who had seen him today had tried to exterminate him.

Try as he may, he couldn’t find the courage to enter. The storm was close now. It poured with rain, and his coating of feathers stuck to him in a mush. Rather than go in and have everyone laugh at him or scream in terror, he squelched to a side window and peeked inside.

He cocked his eyebrow in surprise and pressed his nose against the glass, leaving a tacky, black smudge. He’d never seen such a whimsical gathering: Alf was there, tall, muscles bulging in his Batman suit; Morris dressed as a tin soldier, bayoneted rifle strapped to his back; Chief Inspector Dobbs, dressed as Sherlock Holmes; The Stable’s owner, Styles, dressed as a jockey. There were pirates, sheiks, princesses, minstrels, two popes, three nuns, gypsies, clowns, and queens, and all Bert could do was gape.
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
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Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
-Image by cthartz from Pixabay

Part 16. A black pot bubbled on Sibyl's range…

A black pot bubbled on Sibyl's range, filled with a stinking brew of secret ingredients.-

Bert sat slumped in his little dinghy, in the middle of The Cloud Estate’s small lake, and wondered if he should simply tip over the side and drown himself. It was his fiancé, Olive’s fault. Despite his objection, she’d insisted on going to a masquerade party later that evening, and the thought of her in the arms of other men made his heart race with jealousy. He’d tarred and feathered himself so he could go to the masquerade and spy on her. Now he’d dropped himself in a right pickle, scaring his friends half to death, and ended aimlessly floating about in this stupid boat.

Just then, he heard Alf’s quad buggy and sent an indifferent glance in that direction. Alf skidded to a stop by the lake’s edge, patted Bert’s Alsatians, who greeted him wildly, and waved to Bert. “Here, catch this,” he called and tossed a rope his way. A rock weighted the rope’s end, and it sailed over Bert’s head to splash into the lake beyond him, the rope dropping over his dingy. Quick as a blink, Alf tied the other end to a tree.

“I’ve brought your boots for you, me old mate,” said Alf, chucking them onto the grass. “I reckon you need them.” He held his palms up, stopping Bert from speaking. “Pull yourself in. I’m off to the masquerade party. Guess I’ll see you there later. I’m the one dressed as Batman. We can talk then.” He vaulted back on his buggy and revved the engine. “Be careful though, Sibyl is brewing a curse to put on you.”
*
Back in her kitchen, Sibyl scratched her nose. A black pot bubbled on the range, filled with a stinking brew of secret ingredients. She crushed the bloodstained leaf and added it to her pot. A mucky feather had stuck to her fingertip, and when she pulled it off, it stuck to a finger on her other hand. She shook it, blew it, and eventually smeared it on the end of her wooden spoon. As she sniffed the fumes, she composed a curse:
 
We’ve got this bug, which acts like a thug.
To be more precise, I think it’s a slug.
A storm in the night will put it to flight,
And a bolt of lightning to set it alight.
 
The hair of a newt, the spit of a frog,
Pinch of cinnamon, flea from a hog.
It squeals like a pig, smells of tar,
Knee bend, arm stretch, ra ra ra.
 
“What else?” Seeds and pods cracked as she ground them and dropped the powder into the mixture. Satisfied that her potion was complete, she lifted a hotplate from her range and tipped a ladleful of the gunge in.
 
“Watch out slug, twist and twinge,
A storm is brewing and you will singe.”
 
The potion ignited with a whoosh that rattled the hotplates and forced soot and ash to puff from every joint in the range. High above the mansion, from a lofty chimney, belched a plume of acrid black smoke that twirled upwards to merge with the clouds.
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin ’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
 
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
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Image by Nina Garman from Pixabay

Part 15. Bert dives into an undersized dinghy…

With Crusher almost close enough to grab his shoulder, Bert dived into the boat. -

There was nothing else for it. Bert wheeled around, ran, and headed for the lake, choking and wheezing as he went. Not built for speed, he crashed through the undergrowth like a stampeding elephant with Crusher steadily growing closer. An undersized dinghy rested on the lake’s bank, half in and half out of the water. With Crusher almost close enough to grab his shoulder, Bert dived into the boat. His momentum sent it surging across the still water, like a speedboat at full throttle. He knew Crusher wouldn’t follow; the robot could neither float nor swim.

Sure enough, Crusher skidded to a halt at the lake’s edge, and Bert’s two Alsatians stopped there too, all three of them standing rigid and facing him.

The dinghy soon drifted to a wallowing stop, and although Bert’s bare feet bled worse than ever, he breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn’t understand what the heck was going on. Why all the commotion about him tarring and feathering himself?

After waiting for what seemed ages, he realised Sibyl and Alf weren’t coming down to the lake. He also realised the boat had no oars or sail, so he couldn’t return to land without paddling with his hands. So he sat there, with a down-turned mouth, and rested his head in his fists. Some time or another, somebody would come to rescue him.
*
Sibyl dashed to Morris’s pickup and thumped her hand on its roof. “Morris, stop screaming. You’re safe now.”

Morris let his head fall back against his headrest and pressed his palms to his eyes. A slow smile spread across his face and he locked eyes with Sibyl. “My God, woman, what did you put in that sleeping potion? You won’t believe the nightmare I’ve just had.”

“Not a nightmare,” said Alf, peeking through the passenger’s side window. “That ugly great slug is as real as us. You better hurry out before it comes back.”

Not wasting a moment, Morris fumbled with latches around the pickup’s back window and clambered out onto the flatbed. After climbing to the ground, he steadied himself with one hand and shook his head. “How did I get here?”

“The giant slug dragged you here,” said Alf, face as sober as a preacher’s. “We both saw it, didn’t we, Sibyl?”

“We certainly did.”

“It’ll take a bit of pest control to rid us of that blighter,” said Morris.
​
“See here,” said Sibyl, dropping to one knee. “A speck of its blood on this leaf, and bits of what look like feathers. I can make a powerful incantation with them.” She turned her face to the sky and shook a fist. “You boys want to see Pest Control? I’ll show you Pest Control all right. Come on, let’s hurry back to my kitchen. I have work to do.”
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin ’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
 
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
-

Part 14. A tickle in the throat…

A feather flew into Bert's mouth and tickled his throat, and the only sound he made was a high-pitched whine and a barking choke. -

“Oh my God,” screeched Sibyl, hands clamping her cheeks. “The slug has already eaten Bert, and now it’s trying to get Morris.” She swung the mace, smacked the shaft against her palm, and prodded Alf between his shoulder blades. “Either do something or get out of my way!”

Alf was just as shocked as Sibyl. The nonsense about a giant slug carrying Morris away in his pickup truck and trapping him in the forest had been a prank. To actually see a giant slug, covered in scraggy down, made him wonder if his brain had done a dirty on him. If Sibyl hadn’t seen it too, he would’ve run home and stayed there till the young masters checked his bonce.

But Alf didn’t frighten easily. He spread his legs and wrinkled his battered nose as if he smelled something fishy. With his eyes closed, he focused his third eye on the slug and almost exploded with laughter. To cover his mirth, he clamped a hand over his mouth and turned the laugh into a choking cough. The giant slug was none other than his mate, Bert. Why he’d tarred and feathered himself he couldn’t imagine, but for the moment it didn’t matter. It just made his prank even more convincing and fun.

“Stand back, Sibyl,” he ordered, and spread his arms. “Leave this to me and Crusher. We’ll soon rid us of that ugly monster.”

Inside his pickup truck, Morris continued to scream. It didn’t surprise Bert that he threw a wobbly. Who wouldn't when faced with a giant, slimy, slug? Adorned in nothing but his underpants and a coating of tar and feathers, he realised what a daunting sight he made. Unsure how he should handle the situation, Bert clamped his hands over his ears and backed away from the pickup.

Even Bert’s Alsatians didn’t like the look and smell of him anymore and snapped at his heels. To make matters worse, he caught sight of Alf and Sibyl between the trees, staring at him with fear and murder in their eyes.

Then he saw Crusher running towards him, its robot arms stretched out front, reaching for him. Strong as Bert was, he knew he was no match for the tough little robot, who could tie a knot in a one-inch thick rod of metal. Bert opened his jaws to shout a warning, to let them know it was only him, dressed for the evening’s masquerade. But a feather flew into his mouth and tickled his throat, and the only sound he made was a high-pitched whine and a barking choke.
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin ’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
 
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
-

Part 13. Give me a ride on your quad buggy…

“Good," said Sibyl, "because you can give me a ride on your quad buggy.”-

Whatever else people might say about Sibyl, that she is a witch or a sour-faced hag, nobody could deny she protected the ones she loved. There weren’t many of them in the living world: her husband, Morris; the young Cloud masters; Alf, and Bert.

When Alf told her that a giant slug had carried Morris off in his pickup, she smiled a tight smile and continued to make his breakfast. With creased brows, fingers tapping together, she watched him eat. Even though he was famous for his pranks, it wasn't always obvious when he was serious.

When Alf saw her uncertainty, he told her to come see for herself. She grabbed her broom and ran to the door.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Alf.

“Shoo away the slug. Are you coming, or are you still off duty?”

“I’m coming all right,” said Alf, wiggling his brow where his eyebrows used to be. “I don’t want to miss this.”

“Good, because you can give me a ride on your quad buggy.”

“Broom conked out?”

Sibyl frowned and considered her broom. She couldn't fly on it, and it wasn't a weapon. “You’re right. I’m better off with this.” She leaned the broom in a corner and grabbed a heavy mace that stood by the door. “Let’s go.”

Alf hitched a trailer to his quad buggy and gave a mental command to his little robot friend, Crusher, to jump aboard and hang on tight. Sibyl climbed on behind Alf, strapped her mace to a luggage rack, and slid her chunky arms around Alf’s broad chest. A forty-minute walk took them less than ten minutes.

When Alf saw the lake, he shut off the buggy and nodded into the forest. “We have to walk from here.” He helped Sibyl step down and then led the way. “You can see the tracks,” he pointed. “It ain’t possible to steer a car like that, all zig-zaggy around the trees. I tell you, it was a giant slug that dragged him.”

Suddenly, he stopped dead. Sibyl bumped into his back, followed his astonished gaze, and felt her heart leap into her throat. There stood Morris’s pickup, with Morris trapped inside and screeching hysterically. A monstrous slug leaned over his car. Some way off, plainly not daring to go closer, Bert’s two Alsatians snarled and growled.

“Come here, Chums,” commanded Sibyl.

The dogs trotted across to her, tongues hanging out, panting.

“Sit!” They obeyed.

“Where’s Bert?”

The animal’s fur ruffled, and they swung their heads to scowl at the slug. Angry growls bubbled deep in their throats.

“No,” whispered Sibyl. “Don’t tell me the slug has eaten him.”
 
To be continued… 
The real world:
 
Rather than miss an instalment, it’s easy to follow my blog on bloglovin ’. They’ll give you a friendly nudge as I release new parts.
 
Like to know more about Alf, Bert and the rest of the gang? You can read their chaotic history in What on Earth .
-Image by quadinsan from Pixabay