Part the First
A gentle rustling and an unpleasant sensation at the base of my skull are the only signs that I am being watched. I turn, ready to confront the unseen voyeur. Two tiny beady eyes stare back at me fearlessly. The creatures face fixes me; small yet somehow incalculably evil (the effect only spoiled somewhat by the gormless expression in the set of its jaw as it masticates its nuts). What mammalian massacre, what furry apocalyptic fury is it plotting away in its dark little mind?
“You,” those tiny eyes of evil seem to say, “you are an interloper. You are not wanted here. This is our place. We have marked your card, Kirk The Elder. Your days on this world are numbered.”
A cold fear grips my heart and I stumble. Struggling to regain my composure, I make my way through the labyrinthine depths of the White City estate and out into the light of day. I do not glance back – I cannot show fear in the face of terror.
Upon my return to my Actonian abode, my composure slips. I tremblingly bolt and chain the front door and retire to the drawing room, pouring myself a large stiff brandy – purely for medicinal purposes as I think you’ll appreciate.
As I sit and ruminate upon my fearful bushy-tailed encounter, a sense of foreboding settles upon me. What is to come in the days ahead? What grim fate awaits at the tiny hands of doom?
I know one thing for certain: The squirrels are here. They know me. And they are waiting…
To Be Continued
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I've got a feeling you're going to do for squirrels what Hitchcock did for birds.
ReplyDeleteThey're all up to something, you know. Suspicious little buggers...
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