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Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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.
Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 20
With Crusher between himself and the troll, Alf felt brave. "Are these what you're after?" he said, brandishing the basket of fat, juicy, curse-banishing toadstools. "Well, you can't have them, so bugger off."
The slobbering troll licked its lips and tried to step around Crusher, but the robot gave it no room. So the troll blasted out a new deafening roar and swung its right arm to brush Crusher aside. In one smooth movement, the little robot grabbed the troll's knotted wrist, jostled the creature out of balance, and tossed it over its shoulder. As if lost, the troll sat and gazed in all directions. Its mouth hung open and it scratched the top of its head. Then it saw Crusher, blinked twice, and lumbered to its feet. Cautious and curious, it shuffled up to the robot, bent forward, and sniffed. Alf couldn't help himself. He ordered Crusher to grab the Troll's vulgar nose and squeeze: a bad mistake. With surprising speed, the troll plucked a knife from its belt and slashed Crusher's forearm. Hydraulic fluid hissed from the gash, and Crusher's strength soon dwindled to nothing. After rubbing its nose, the troll grabbed the robot, as floppy now as a rag doll, and hurled it high into a nearby fur tree. And there it dangled, trapped in a tangle of branches, leaving Alf to face the troll. 
Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay
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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Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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.
Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 19
Alf never turned away from a fight. He wasn't the undisputed bare-knuckle underground fighter in all of England for nothing. But even he cringed at the thought of tangling with this brute. No point risking his own health when he had Crusher to take care of it.
The little robot wasn't far away, and at Alf's mental command it bounded onto the path and stopped right in front of the troll. With a solid metal skeleton and limbs driven by hydraulics, Crusher was a tough joker. Combined with lightning-fast reflexes and programmed with all the best moves of Mohamed Ali, Bruce Lee, and Kurt Angle, it was a downright death machine. Thought-manipulated by Alf, Crusher would have no problem wrestling with a gorilla, crocodile, lion and eagle all at once. Heck, throw in an elephant too: Crusher would mangle them all. While the troll poked an inquisitive finger at the robot, an idea popped into Alf's mind. Maybe a witch or wizard had already turned this troll into stone, but on this special night it had woken to gather the magical toadstools that would break the spell. Alf didn't know, but it would be hours before daylight when the Troll would either return to stone, or explode, and the only toadstools in existence were in the wicker basket he’d stolen from Morris. 
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.
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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.
Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 18
The troll was about Alf's height, which was towering for a human, and its shoulders and back were huge, like a gorilla on steroids. The top half of its body was bare, its skin rough and green like a crocodile's. A pair of baggy trousers, held up by belt and braces, reached to its bowed knees. Its hair, ragged, long and bleached, resembled a lion's mane. Two beady eyes glared at him, like an eagle sizing up its prey. And its nose, ah, well, long, like an erect penis.
Alf searched his memory for knowledge of trolls. As far as he could remember, trolls were powerful giants and enemies of humans. They live in caves or in castles on hilltops, robbing and eating any travellers foolish enough to stray into their domain after dark. Huge, hard-skinned, and impossible to destroy; sunlight alone could defeat them, either turning them to stone or making them explode. The troll expanded its chest and drew a huge breath, then clenched its fists, bent forward, and released a roar that would have blown Alf's hat off if he'd been wearing one. The smell of the creature's breath made his toes curl. Not believing his eyes, Alf closed them and opened his third eye. The creature still stood there, ugly and real as life. 
Image by Andrew Blake from Pixabay
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. In the last post: on his way home in the dark and misty forest, Alf tries to shrug off his unease...18/2/2020
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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.
Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 17
Carrying a sissy wicker basket was a new experience for Alf, and he switched it from one hand to the other in rapid succession, as if afraid he might catch some nasty disease. It felt almost as bad as carrying a woman's handbag, and he’d rather cut his hands off before he did that! Thank goodness there was nobody to see him.
The basket belonged to Morris, the Cloud Estate’s gardener. He’d been picking toadstools up on Trollop Knoll and dropped it when he thought a troll was after him. That troll had been Alf, having fun. He stole the toadstools from Morris because they were valuable and also proved he was a better man than Morris: not there was any doubt. With a few extra coppers in his pocket, on his next night off doing security duty, Alf decided to treat his best mate, Bert, to a pub crawl in town. If lucky, there might even be a punch up afterwards. As Alf strolled along in his cheerful thoughts, he stopped and almost dropped the basket. Suddenly, his mouth felt dry, and a lump formed in his throat. There, right in front of him, stood a figure, blocking the path. Is that a troll, he thought, the one and only walkin’, talkin’, livin’ troll? He blinked and shook his head. It couldn't be true. All the talk about trolls must have fuddled his mind. 
Image by PublicDomainPictures from Pixabay
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.
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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.
Eerie Eve ® James Field. Part 16
Light of foot, arms swinging by his side, and shaking with laughter, Alf started on his way home. He’d spent the night acting the troll, frightening the life out of Morris. As he passed Trollop Knoll where Morris had picked the magic toadstools, just half an hour earlier, he noticed the rest had withered and died. The only toadstools left in existence were in Morris's wicker basket: the one Alf now carried.
The curtain of clouds had drawn away again, and the moon's silver brilliance made it easy to see. A soft, swirling mist had risen though, blurring Alf’s vision and distorting the trees. Shadows came to life, and ugly shapes formed and slithered in every direction. Damp seeped through Alf’s thin layer of clothes and made him shiver. He glanced over his shoulder and hurried his pace. Even though ill at ease, the knowledge that Morris felt much worse consoled Alf. After the magnificent show he’d put on during the night, Morris no doubt thought a real troll had rampaged outside his tent. Heck, it wouldn’t surprise Alf if the wimp had messed his pants. Serves him right for being such a pig-head, he thought. If Morris didn't believe in trolls, why was he so scared? One thing was certain: Morris believed in Trolls now. Foolish twit! 
Image by Susan Cipriano from Pixabay
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 choatic history in: What on Earth.
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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 15
I think I'll give Morris one final dose of my troll impression, thought Alf. He bent forward, swung his arms like a gorilla, and clumped around the tent, scratching and kicking it; all the while screeching his cacophony of animal impressions. Acting the troll was more fun than he'd had in years.
When he next gazed into the tent, he figured Morris had endured enough. The wimp had fallen to his knees, head bent, hands clasped in prayer. Time to leave him and make my way home, Thought Alf. Best to stop before he becomes suspicious. It amazed him that people could be so gullible, even hardened unbelievers like Morris. As far as Alf was concerned, overzealous writers and filmmakers had invented trolls, zombies and poltergeists; there were no such beings. The real world was frightening enough, without having to worry about monsters and spooks. No, it was all a load of old poppycock. If the tables had been turned, and Morris had tried to frighten him with trolls, he would've laughed his socks off. 
In the last post: Alf acts a ferocious troll, and Alf flees back to his tent by the lake...8/2/2020
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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 14
That goes to show what a coward Morris is, thought Alf, laughing quietly into his hand. He strolled up onto Trollop Knoll and picked up the gardener's basket, still full of toadstools. Wispy clouds had gathered again, shading the moon and making the night dark. This was no problem for Alf; with his third eye, he could see as if it were the middle of the day.
He wondered if the toadstools were valuable. Sibyl would pay him well and appreciate how much braver he was than Morris. Not that there was any doubt. Yes, it had been worth his time to come out here tonight. Alf crept back to his hiding place by the glen, opened his third eye, and gazed inside Morris's tent by the lake. The little man had drawn the zips tight and stood in the glow of a lamp. He’d buried his fingers in his hair and rocked on his feet like a boxer waiting for the bell. Despite the cold, sweat glistened on his brow. The gutless man worries that the troll will follow and attack him in his tent, thought Alf, and chuckled. Yes, unfortunately, trolls could be nasty at midnight this time of year. 
Image by Clker-Free-Vector-Images from Pixabay
In the last post: Morris finds the magic toadstools. Alf thinks it best if he loses them again...4/2/2020
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I’m 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 13
Alf didn't know what sound a troll might make: perhaps the deep-throated grunt of a bear, or the rumbling hiss of a crocodile, or the angry trump of an elephant? Could a troll speak, or at least utter basic words? He drew a sharp breath and let out a husky growl, the noise so hostile and ghastly that the hair on the back of his neck rose.
Morris, who stood atop Trollop Knoll, whipped his head around, tendons on his neck taut as rope. His mouth hung open and his eyes looked as though they would pop out: staring but not seeing. For a moment, Alf wondered if Morris had turned to stone, like an ugly gargoyle perched on the gutter of some building. Alf followed his success with the blubber and bawl of all the dangerous animals he could think of. He thought it best to reach a climax straight away; and what a climax it was. If any normal person had seen him, they would have carted him off to the loony bin. "Leave - my - toadstools," he blabbered, and then lifted his chin and screamed like a wolf with a thorn in his paw. Morris dropped both his basket and torch and dashed back to his tent, so fast, that dry leaves leapt into his slipstream and danced in the air behind him. 
Image by Nadine Doerlé from Pixabay
Dear friends, on Tuesdays and Saturdays I'm 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 12
Alf followed Morris at a safe distance and glanced at his watch: five minutes to midnight. The moon had risen high and shone with an uncanny brightness. He watched as Morris shook the tension from his shoulders, shamble deeper into the trees, and clamber to the top of Trollop Knoll.
Then, at precisely midnight, around Morris’s feet, the moss-covered ground began to shift and rustle. Alf stared wide-eyed. Toadstools pushed up through the mulch, growing with unnatural speed and glowing with a brilliant fluorescence. When they had reached the size of saucers, Morris picked a few and placed them carefully in his basket. Within two minutes the basket was full. Alf crept closer. He crossed a piece of spongy bog and hid behind the trunk of a large oak tree. Legend said that Merlin had stopped here once on Trollop Knoll and trimmed his beard, the little tufts of hair swallowed by the earth. Could that have something to do with the strange toadstools? wondered Alf. Twaddle! Morris’s wife, Sibyl, the Cloud Mansion’s governess and self-proclaimed white witch, wanted the toadstools for her potions. Although Alf considered Sibyl a canny woman, with almost as much gumption as him, he worried she might poison someone. What worried Alf, even more, was that Morris had actually found the toadstools: making the pompous little git a champion! The best for all, reasoned Alf, is that Morris goes home empty-handed. Time to act a troll and put the fright of hell into him. 
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James Field
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