In the last post: Morris makes ready to search for magic toadstools, and suddenly doesn't feel so brave...
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’ll be blogging nibble-sized chunks of new ‘Life in the Clouds’ stories. You can check in regularly and read them free, or wait to buy the whole story when published. Rather than miss an instalment, please subscribe and I’ll give you a nudge as they come out.Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 11The clouds had begun to clear, and a bleached-white moon gave the wooded landscape an eerie glow. Alf had to admit, the forest had a freakish atmosphere that he'd never experienced before. A mouse darted from a hole in the ground and ran around his boots, followed by a horde of mice. A flush of adrenaline tingled through Alf's body, making him curse and kick out.
No need to get jumpy, he rebuked himself. This wasn't the first time he'd heard legends of trolls in these woods; but if anyone asked him, he’d tell them those legends were a load of old poppycock. On this night, if a troll were to stomp through the forest, he’d have to mimic one himself, which is what he’d planned. He clenched his fists and bunched his muscles; Morris was about to witness the dreaded troll.
At long last he saw Morris leave his tent and grope his way into the forest. He carried the wicker basket in his left hand and a torch with a piercing beam in his right. A fox howled somewhere close and Morris stopped dead. He shone his torch in all directions and Alf could see that his nostrils were open wide, as if to catch a whiff of danger. Ha! He doesn't feel so sure of himself now, thought Alf, and rubbed his hands with glee.
Image by sipa from Pixabay
No need to get jumpy, he rebuked himself. This wasn't the first time he'd heard legends of trolls in these woods; but if anyone asked him, he’d tell them those legends were a load of old poppycock. On this night, if a troll were to stomp through the forest, he’d have to mimic one himself, which is what he’d planned. He clenched his fists and bunched his muscles; Morris was about to witness the dreaded troll.
At long last he saw Morris leave his tent and grope his way into the forest. He carried the wicker basket in his left hand and a torch with a piercing beam in his right. A fox howled somewhere close and Morris stopped dead. He shone his torch in all directions and Alf could see that his nostrils were open wide, as if to catch a whiff of danger. Ha! He doesn't feel so sure of himself now, thought Alf, and rubbed his hands with glee.
Image by sipa from Pixabay
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