Author:
Christopher Antony Meade (Laughing a lot)
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Date Posted: 04:19:48 09/04/14 Thu
For the first time, I found myself on the inside and it was not the wonderful place I had imagined when I sniffed the delightful food aroma, from my home, just behind the bath panel. I regretted now that I hadn’t paid more heed to the warnings of my mother.
“You just be careful if you go outside” she was always saying. “Be especially careful if you smell food. It may not be what you think. The monsters often use food to lure us to our doom. You don’t want to end up like your poor grandfather, who just went out one day and never came back.”
The story of my late grandparent had been repeated so often that it was becoming like a joke among us younger ones. We used to laugh behind our mother’s back every time she gave her dread warning. We didn’t really believe her anyway and, even if it were true, the overconfidence of youth convinced us that we were invulnerable. We would never come to any harm.
So it was with a frisson of excitement that I smelled the delightful smell of oatmeal and honey wafting over my nostrils on that fateful morning. I had just woken up and was feeling ravenous. Oatmeal and honey was my favourite food. We only really got it very rarely. I’d first tasted it when one of the monsters had spilled some, from his breakfast, on the floor one morning. Later in the day, when the house was quiet, our whole family had had a delightful picnic from the remains of his carelessness. Since then I had a craving for this beautiful food. I envied the monsters, who got to eat it every day.
The smell of the food was so enticing and I was so peckish, that all notion of obeying my mother’s warnings went out of my head. I’d had a tiff with my brothers and sisters, the previous night, over some cheese crumbs they had refused to share with me. I decided therefore, not to tell them anything about this latest treat. They would be so jealous, when they were told about how I had scoffed all the lovely honey and oatmeal on my own.
So they were all fast asleep when I went outside, to be confronted by a long rectangular black tube, situated right in front of the entrance to our home. I’d seen one of these before. My mother had warned us all never to go near one and, at all costs, never to go into one. I laughed, silently to myself, over the silliness of over-protective parents. What could possibly be dangerous about a stupid tube? Besides I could smell my delicious breakfast and the gorgeous treat was inside. I eagerly scrambled into the inviting interior, my mouth watering at the promise of the great feast. The oatmeal and honey was smeared on the end wall. I ran to it eagerly.
That’s when everything went disastrously wrong. There was a crashing sound behind me and I found myself in total darkness. It seemed that some sort of door had slammed and I was TRAPPED. There was no way I could get out. How I wished my wise mother’s warnings had not gone unheeded. I squeaked as loud as I could but, even if any one of the family could hear my anguished cries, it was unlikely that they would be able to release me from my prison.
Then I heard a sound that sent tremors of dread into my very soul. One of the smaller monsters had come into the room and this is what he was saying excitedly.
“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy! We’ve got one in the trap. Can I give it to the cat to play with?
The awful truth of why Grandfather Mouse hadn’t come home dawned on me then.
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