Snails Don't Burp!
‘Amy sneaked up the road and noticed that Mr. Cracked-Up had not yet returned home. His white van was missing. She frowned. What if she was to meet him coming down the road? she wondered.
But there was little movement in the village and the girls had soon met up by the pond. They walked, heads bent downwards, keeping their faces out of the cold wind. Nobody stopped and asked them what they were doing out in the middle of the night, no cars chugged up the hill, and no white van crawled back home.
Ed followed the girls at a safe distance, hardly daring to breathe.
The girls slipped easily through the gate that led onto the Common and soon reached the point where the path split into three. They stopped to switch on their torches.
The air smelt of rotten eggs.
‘What’s that smell?’ asked Charlie, scrunching up her nose.
‘Dunno,’ was the reply. ‘Eggs – kind of?’
Amy swung her torchlight onto the ground to see what might be causing the smell, when she noticed tiny speckles of gold.
‘Charlie!’ she began to shout, frowning. ‘Charlie! Look! It’s that gold dust!’
Charlie glanced at the ground. Amy was right.
She opened her mouth to speak when, from nowhere, loud voices began to bark in front of them. Men’s voices.
‘Don’t move! Stay where you are!’ one said.
‘We’re not here to hurt you!’ said another.
The girls were suddenly full of fear.
A thin-looking man in a light overcoat came out from behind the trees and blinded them with the light from his torch.
‘Alright girls!’ he shouted. ‘Show us where the snail is! Just want a picture!’
‘How did you know we were here?’ Charlie stammered. ‘And who are you?’
‘Let’s just say we had a tip-off, and a very cheap one at that! It only cost us ten pounds!’ the thin man said, laughing.
He put the camera to his face and took a picture of the girls.
FLASH! went the light.
‘You’re reporters!’ Charlie shouted, finally recognising them. ‘You were in Shooters Barn last weekend! You’re from the local paper! Who told you we were coming?’ Charlie was close to tears, tears of anger.
Then there was a loud crashing noise through the trees.
The reporters began to tremble.
‘I’ll take THAT!’ a voice slurped from up above.
A long brown tentacle reached over the girls and snatched the camera clumsily from the reporter.
The men gasped. They screamed as they dropped their torches and turned quickly on their heels.’
