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"A Scottish Wind in the Willows on high end skunk."

"I enjoy Kate's stories..."
"A fun and spooky read..."

"The characters are so involving and
loveable that you do want them to really exist. It does read like you've
stumbled across someone's long lost diary from and alternate timeline/universe.
I quickly got into the story and loved every second of reading it...
total gem of a read by an author who deserves a lot more recognition."


Monday, 28 October 2013

The Orange Cannibal Sheep of Frockall

"How dare you steal our treasure!" shrieked the sheep.  He was the biggest of a very big...well, I would normally say "flock", but this lot were more like a gang.  There were at least ten of them, all sporting varying shades of orange wool, with enormous, garish yellow teeth and green staring eyes with pupils that moved constantly, as if controlled by an internal gyroscope.

"We hadn't got that far," quavered Geoffrey.

"That's right," I said quickly," We were only looking."

"Admiring its wondrousness," added Geoffrey.

"Why were you loading it into your boat then?"

"Only to look at it more closely! Listen, you've got it all back now haven't you, anyway, so could you ask your friend here to remove his teeth from my backside?  It's not like I'm going anywhere and he must be getting tired."

"I think he might be stuck," said Geoffrey.  "Perhaps I could attempt to prise the teeth apart using my zircon encrusted tweezers..."

"NO!  Don't touch the teeth!" said the biggest sheep.  All the other sheep murmured in an alarmed fashion, and huddled together.  I began to wonder if they were really as terrifying as their reputation and appearance would have it.

"Go ahead Geoffrey," I said. "Prise away."

"Do you think - "

"YES!  Just do it.  Else I won't be able to sit down for a fortnight. Oh!"

The sheep had let go of its own accord, and was rapidly backing away towards the others with its mouth firmly shut.

"Phew," I sighed. "What a relief.  Ouch!  Oh no.  It feels like they're still there.  This must be what it's like when you have a leg amputated.  Something like that anyway.  I must ask the T-G when we get back - IF we get back...Geoffrey, Geoffrey - is my bottom still there?  Has it been bitten off?  Has it been amputated like the T-G's leg?  Where is it?  How will I sit down? Sitting down's my favourite thing - what if I can never do it ever again?  Oh my GOOOODDDDD!!  Help me help me!"

"They ARE still there Tuppy.  The teeth.  AND your bottom.  Stop babbling.   Just stand still till I remove them.  Tuppy, I think that poor sheep was wearing false teeth.  Look!"  And he held a vast set of dentures aloft. "They appear to be made of wood.  I can see the grain beneath the yellow paint."

"I think they've ALL got false wooden teeth Geoffrey. Which implies that they aren't half as scary as they look.  Thank goodness.  In fact, they look like a bunch of wimps."

"Wimps like us Tuppy!  How marvellous!  I'm sure we'll all get along famously!"

"I wouldn't go that far myself, but I suppose some impoverished, half-witted souls -"

"Oh!  You're on about me again aren't you.  How cruel.  And to think I loaded all that treasure while you sat on your fat backside being the so-called look-out.  And look where that got us!  I'm upset now.  Especially since I removed the teeth and was sympathetic and everything."

" - might call it marvellous to have  few moments respite from worrying about ending up being simmered in a cooking pot with a couple of onions, a carrot, a squeeze of tomato puree and a bouquet garni.   The eyes are still pretty strange mind.  For my liking.  Did you say "fat backside?", you peevish creature?"

"I know!  Mine too!  I can't look at them for more than a second without feeling like I'm getting sucked into a vortex.  Yes I did and I'm not sorry.  You're an ungrateful sod and I wish I'd left those teeth where they were.  You'd have looked a right twit back at the Outcrop, with a set of teeth sticking out of your backside - which, by the way, is expanding by the second."

"Well!" I spluttered.  I hate spluttering, but sometimes I just can't help myself.  Although,  now I came to think of it,  I could feel something distinctly odd going on, behind...I tried to glance over my shoulder,  but I knew it was futile to try to see my own backside without the aid of two mirrors.  Which I didn't happen to have, on my person at the time.  Or indeed at any other time.  What kind of maniac goes around with two mirrors?  They just don't, do they?  And who can blame them?  They'd have to be unhinged.

"Please don't tell anyone," interrupted the biggest sheep,"We're supposed to terrorise anyone who comes looking for the treasure with our huge carnivore-style teeth, and if people think we've only got wooden ones they won't be frightened any more."

"What do you mean, you're 'supposed to'?  That implies that there's someone in charge - someone who's telling you what to do."

The sheep huddled together even more closely, and exchanged anxious glances.

"We need to get away from Frockall," bleated one of the smallest ones, "We're frightened.  Can you help us to escape please?"

"I'm sure you can," said another, whose eyes were twirling even more hypnotically than the others,"You're using words like "implied",  which implies that you must be clever enough to think of a way to help us..."

more later