Into the crimson wood.

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On a perfect autumn day the wood looked enticing. The leaves had turned crimson from the frosts and a soft mist was flowing down the hill from it.

Susan was walking along the path between her bungalow and the village a couple of miles away. She wanted a paper and some milk, but she had time so she decided to take a detour. The sun was bright and low, and as she was walking due East it was shining into her eyes. A quick few steps upwards and she entered the skirts of the forest. As with many managed woods the outside was deciduous but then there were pines and larch and other evergreens inside it, the trunks growing close knit, the shade deepening the further she looked inwards.

Susan had walked half a mile through the crimson leaves, enjoying the autumn colour, when she was stopped by a fence, it was wooden with barbed wire across the top. No entry signs were fastened to it with metal clips. More worryingly there were other signs saying danger of electrocution. Where had it come from? She’d walked this way last week and there had just been the path across the field. She could not go on, but turned right and wove her way a bit further into the wood, hoping there would be an end to it. Perhaps it would turn a corner and allow her to make her way?

As she moved along the fence she heard squawking, like a flock of geese? In a wood? The ground on the other side of the fence looked trampled and worn down. The bird sounds got louder. Suddenly she came out into a clearing. The Geese were there. Giant Geese, huge, eight or nine foot tall! She felt scared and didn’t know what to do. Just walk backwards she thought, be quiet and back away from the Geese. She had managed to duck the problem!

Cycling home

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“I used to be fit.” The old timer said as he looked down sadly at his old bike. “I could ride up to the lake district, round Windermere and back home in a day. Now look at me, my knees are wrecked, my back aches and my balance makes me wobble all over the place.”

“You need to keep cycling though, I said, I know it’s tough, but if you stop now you will probably stop for good.”

“I’ll ride to Scotland and back he said, no doubt it will take some time.”

“But you don’t know the way. Why not try cycling on canal towpaths?” I suggested.

That was two weeks ago. I haven’t seen him since. Though I did get a post card from John o’Groats saying “in Scotland, can’t find the canal!”

 

Boarded up

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He woke up in darkness, the window he has climbed through last night was now boarded up. He was alone in the barn, but his hands were tied behind his back. He heard a quiet rustling in the straw. A squeak and he realised there were either rats or mice sharing the space with him…..

Everything had been quiet when he had crept into the barn about 8 o’clock the previous evening. He’d been setting up the camera when something or someone had hit him on the head.

What the hell do I do now? he thought. I’m stuck.

He glanced about and he saw something black in the corner, an old scythe? Yes stck under some sacking. It was so easy in mystery stories. Just rub against the blade and escape…. Two hours later he’d got through one strand of rope, his wrists were bruised and cut and he was sweating with the exertion of trying to escape. If he ever got out of here he would have words with his mates…

This was not how a stag party was meant to go!