In the last post: Morris finds the magic toadstools. Alf thinks it best if he loses them again...

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​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.
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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