House of Straw
by Anna Murphy
There are ghosts that wander these woods. Two ghosts, actually. In a storm you can hear them squeaking and squealing. How they met their ends, these two ghosts, is not pretty, and I’m not sure I’m going to tell you.
I would not go into these woods, if I were you, for fear of meeting them. Their squealing would drive you mad, or they might run at you with their curly tails and cloven feet.
They especially don’t like me, because I survived and they didn’t. But would they listen?
No, they would not.
Pigs. That’s what they were, before IT happened.
That’s what I am too, a pig, their brother.
I said to them, “Look you two, there’s a storm coming and we need to build a shelter, and we need to build it quick.”
“Plenty of time yet,” was their reply. “Chill out man, and have some more cake.”
I could see the darkening sky, but all they could see was cake.
“And you know what else is out there in the woods?” I say.
“Trees?”
“And fluffy bunnies?’ they retort, laughing at their own jokes.
“You won’t be laughing when you’re the filling of a piggy pasty, being digested in ITs stomach, will you?" I warned.
You see, I’ve seen ITs nail marks, etched on the great oak like scars.
I’ve seen ITs teeth marks.
I’ve heard ITs growl. It made my blood stop and go round the other way.
No, not a wolf. Don’t believe what you’ve heard before, I know, I was there. It has NO name. The sky was getting angrier. And so I started to build my shelter.
I gathered sticks and straw, mud and ivy vines. Leaves and roots, shoots and fallen branches.
My brothers laughed.
“That won’t last!” They laughed derisively and gobbled chocolate Hobnobs. “We’re getting the builders in.”
I ignored them. First I lashed big branches together with ivy vine to make a tent shape.
“Bricks and mortar. That’s what you want!” chided my brothers, now munching jam roly-poly.
Then I slapped on the mud.
“Here comes our builders!” cheered my brothers. Sure enough, up pulls Rogue and Sons into the forest clearing.
“Sorry we can’t help, little bro, we’re just testing these jammy dodgers.”
When the mud was on, I pressed on the straw. Then I laid the leaves, pinning them on with sharp twigs.
Rogue and Sons had the four brick walls up, and a bright red door.
I smiled to myself.
I crawled into my branchy den, and lined the floor with dry, sweet-smelling straw.
I heard Rogue and Sons rev up their van.
“What about the roof”? complained my brothers.
“Sorry mate, run out of money,” shouted Rogue and his sons, as they left the forest.
“Oh well," reasoned my brothers, “be safer than twigs and straw, we’ll put up our umbrellas."
Lightning cracked the sky, but nothing compared to the noise coming from the forest.
Imagine a thousand drills drilling, and the rumbling of a million empty stomachs. Then you’ll have it.
“It’s coming!” squealed my brothers, “let's get inside and lock the door. Are you coming in little brother? You won’t last in that pile of twigs.”
“No thank you,” said I, and crawled into my den.
Then, the forest went as quiet as sleep.
Maybe IT had changed ITs mind?
But then I heard an unexpected noise.
Something was knocking on my brothers' door.
“Hello in there. Come to check the electric meter,” said a deep voice.
“Oh, ok, how efficient!” replied my brothers. “Come in.”
“Don’t open the door!” I shouted, but too late. I tried to block my ears, but I could still hear my brothers being chewed, crunched, swallowed and digested.
When IT was full, IT left the clearing and all was silent.
Why didn’t IT get me? In my house of twigs? I’ll tell you why,
Because IT didn’t notice me. My den of leaves and mud had blended into the woods.
And will it keep out the rain? I don’t know, but I’ll soon find out, because here it comes...