Treating Much Spooky...
Much crept a little further along the castle corridor, and wished it was less dark so that he might be able to get some idea of where exactly he was. He really didn't understand how all these chambers and corridors and walls and cold stone floors fitted together to make the great imposing rock of a castle as it appeared from the outside. And why had he come alone?
Oh yes, he wanted to impress Robin. He wanted to do something on his own, and when he was successful he would go back to the camp, and wait until morning, and then as everyone woke to the smell of their breakfast being cooked, Robin would see the chest and realise what he had done... and he would be proud of him. And thank him. And maybe even hug him - he did little enough of that these days.
But Much was now having second thoughts. Impressing Robin was one thing... but creeping into the enemy's lair on a dark night, with the wind howling and no idea whatsoever of where he was going? Perhaps that had been a mistake. And it had to be the night that Allan insisted was an ancient pagan festival to the dark gods...
Just then, he came to a door. He pressed his ear to the rough oak, but could hear nothing. Ever so cautiously, he pushed the door open, and winced as it creaked loudly. He padded in, extra quiet to compensate for the creaking door. The room seemed empty, and Much stood, disappointed, in the middle of it. He had failed Robin. Robin was right not to be proud of him, because he never did anything right. He just failed over and over again. Now he was lost, alone, cold, and hungry. And he did not even have the money he had come to steal. Just a failure.
An icy cold breeze blew in through the open window, chilling Much to the bone. And then he heard something. A footstep. And another. Quiet but definitely not imaginary. There was someone... or something... standing right behind him...
Oh yes, he wanted to impress Robin. He wanted to do something on his own, and when he was successful he would go back to the camp, and wait until morning, and then as everyone woke to the smell of their breakfast being cooked, Robin would see the chest and realise what he had done... and he would be proud of him. And thank him. And maybe even hug him - he did little enough of that these days.
But Much was now having second thoughts. Impressing Robin was one thing... but creeping into the enemy's lair on a dark night, with the wind howling and no idea whatsoever of where he was going? Perhaps that had been a mistake. And it had to be the night that Allan insisted was an ancient pagan festival to the dark gods...
Just then, he came to a door. He pressed his ear to the rough oak, but could hear nothing. Ever so cautiously, he pushed the door open, and winced as it creaked loudly. He padded in, extra quiet to compensate for the creaking door. The room seemed empty, and Much stood, disappointed, in the middle of it. He had failed Robin. Robin was right not to be proud of him, because he never did anything right. He just failed over and over again. Now he was lost, alone, cold, and hungry. And he did not even have the money he had come to steal. Just a failure.
An icy cold breeze blew in through the open window, chilling Much to the bone. And then he heard something. A footstep. And another. Quiet but definitely not imaginary. There was someone... or something... standing right behind him...