Frank was lying in a bush. It was summer and he was wearing nothing but
thin shorts and a T-shirt. Unfortunately the bush was covered in lots of tiny
annoying spikes that pierced him and made him itch maddeningly, which was
making it very difficult to use the bush for its intended purpose; that being to
hide him from the fearsome things he was convinced were out to get him. He
needed to be very still and very quiet but it was proving to be nearly
impossible. Luckily his fear over powered his desire to itch so, with great
discomfort, he was managing to stay still none the less.
Frank didn’t get out of the house very often. When he did it was because he’d
been ordered to go to the shop and buy sandwich supplies by his mother,
Gladys. She didn’t like going outside and hadn’t done so since Frank’s father
had died when Frank was four.
His Mum was a strange sort of person and was always coming up with
outlandish ingredients to put in sandwiches. Potato chips, lettuce, sardines
and chocolate shavings were today’s experiment though he didn’t have to buy
the sardines as his Mum had won a competition from one of her rather boring
magazines, the ones with pictures of gardens in the country in it, knitting
advice and free crochet patterns and the prize had been a lifetime supply of
the tinned, nasty, slimy fish.
He was learning to hate tinned fish.
He’d taken a long time to get to the shop, as he always did. The shop was
only a five minute walk away but Frank was such a cautious creature that he’d
crouch in every available hiding spot along the way in dread of the many
terrible things that lurked around every corner, well, at least the terrible things
that his Mum said lurked around every corner, as I said, she was a bit of an
odd sort of woman.