How The Moon Became Strange - A Right Ripping Yarn (Part The Last)

Part The Sixth - A Triumphant Return


They were gaining on us, the miniature fiends, and I was forced to do something which wrenched at my heart almost as much as I would imagine the loss of my own children would do - I took my precious brandy bottle (which, naturally, I had kept secreted about my person the whole time) and, uncorking it, flung it into the bubbling volcanic crater nearest to the titchy terrors.

The effect was near-instantaneous and devastating. The brandy reacted with the sulphurous substance to explosive effect, covering the creatures in thick, viscous matter which bore a passing resemblance to soft cheese. However, it seemed that it only bore a resemblance in appearance only - I've never seen brie have that kind of corrosive effect on the flesh, not even when it's particularly runny.

We didn't stop to admire the effects too much - my actions seemed to have set up some sort of ongoing reaction. All around us, craters were beginning to spew forth the deadly cheese-like muck. We dashed for the capsule and bolted ourselves inside. Prof M. hurriedly got the blasted thing moving and we were on our way. As we looked back, we could gradually see the surface of the moon being covered in the foul gloop.

After the excitement of our escape, we were treated the other extreme - that of profound boredom. I had tired of the Prof's company on the initial journey and found him to be no more bearable on the return trip. This, combined with the lack of brandy to my tragic loss, led to a near-stoving in of the good Professor's head. He was rescued from a grisly bludgeoning, however, by our rather unceremonious landing. Before I knew what was going on, we were tumbling about the capsule.

A terrible tearing rending noise precipitated our sudden immersion into the icy cold waters of the Thames. We were back on home territory but the Prof's miraculous space-faring machine was no more.

We made our way on to land and squelched off our separate ways. I will admit that I was in no hurry to explain to the authorities what were no doubt some substantial smouldering ruins where once the Prof's lab had been.

As I trudged my Thames-moistened way homewards, a pretty young slip of a guttersnipe accosted my good self. Despite my obvious bedraggled state, she could tell that I was a man of some refinement (bearing always shows through).

"I got no place to sleep tonight, guv'nor,", bemoaned she. Well, they do say that charity begins at home and that night I certainly gave a sizable donation to a worthy cause - but that's a story for another time...



Here Endeth The Squire's Tale