Cops and Ghosts_3-2-1 Viper!_YOU WOULDN'T BET ON IT_THE PEREGRINATOR
Catalog Guide:
Cops and Ghosts
All the little monsters and goblins have vacated the streets by now. Safe at home, their tricks and treats piled high on newspaper covered carpet or in heaps spilling off the kitchen table. They would be bouncing off the bedroom walls tonight; the effects of a massive sugar rush. Not so for Chuck and Dave, to old for door to door candy collecting but not of age to attain a drivers license, they celebrated Halloween in a whole new way this year. Chuck swiped a micky of Canadian Club whisky from his fathers liqueur cabinet and between passing and sipping both were in a joyous mood as they saunte...
3-2-1 Viper!
I woke up screaming in a stifling paralysis, chest heaving heavily and eyes wide open, staring into the dark.For as long as I could remember, I'd always had nightmares. They'd started out as the kind most people have from time to time; failing an exam, running from manevolent monsters, finding oneself nude in front of the class. Normal nightmares. But since the accident, mine had become grotesquely darker and more disturbing. On an almost nightly basis, I was presented with grisly live showreels of finding dead bodies, falling out of top floor windows, getting buried alive and of course my old...
YOU WOULDN'T BET ON IT
Drew sighed. He really hated boarding school but conceded there was no alternative for him. It was approaching the midterm long weekend, in November. For many of the boys at Strathfield Academy, it was a day off with nothing to do. Some would go home for the long weekend; most would stay and whittle the time away. This year the music team had decided to make the most of the extra days and rehearse: the intention was to perform a concert at the end of the year. If not otherwise occupied with music, it was expected that you were either part of the criwww.onedoor.cccket team or a spectator; at least those were...
THE PEREGRINATOR
I take one last look back at "our scrape" as I realize our clutch of three eggs are lost yet once again. I vividly remember the two of the thin shelled fragile red tinged buff coloured eggs crushing against the breast of my mate as she tried to incubate them. We have had the pleasure of raising fledglings previously but these times are hard. The third egg had given me hope in the beginning later was overcome by fear. Twenty eight, Twenty nine, thirty, thirty one, thirty two, thirty three - I was counting the days since we had almost reached the last of our incubation. It was futile. What did I...