The instructions had been clear – ‘Load your cases onto a trolley. Then, with the castle on the hill to your left. Head straight for
Go on, you know you want to. What harm will it do? Look at those pretzels. Don’t they smell yummy! Or what about a big,
“Remember.” I whispered, “We walk across the bridge, dead quiet, not a whisper. Got it? And no stopping for a quick peep over the edge.
The large crate arrived early this afternoon, sooner than I’d expected. The fellow who delivered it, a miserable looking individual, moaned like hell because of
“Name and date of birth please, sir.” “Michael Peter Jones, 21st March 1962” “And when did you die Mr Jones?” “Sometime this morning, I think.
My fingers wrap around the stone in my pocket, your sticky blood still warm to the touch. I was going to throw it in the