ROGER'S FABULOUS VOYAGES, PART 3, CHAPTER 2. (standard:humor, 2493 words) [2/10] show all parts
Author: Danny Zil	Added: Jun 15 2012	Views/Reads: 2401/1659	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Roger meets Doris Grime and her husband Thropely and their lodger, Stan.

TWO 

One hour later, Roger was lost. Despite Angus's warning he'd seen
something that interested him in the jungle and had wandered in for a 
closer look. 

After studying an extremely pretty flower and having a look round,
things didn't seem so bad and confident that he could find his way out, 
he'd strolled around awhile, looking at unusual plants and trees. A 
mistake. A big mistake. 

When he'd seen enough and had decided to make his way out of the jungle,
things started to get a bit naughty. For a while he tried to retrace 
his steps but every time he thought he recognised a landmark it turned 
out to be something different. Now, like a fart in a diving suit, he 
was trapped. 

Everywhere he looked there was nothing but jungle. He felt its clammy
oppressiveness closing in on him. Strange howling animal sounds 
assailed his ears, adding to his panic. Horrible unimaginable things 
slithered about in the undergrowth. He could feel malevolent eyes 
watching him, just waiting for him to falter. 

He stumbled on, heedless of the branches scratching at his Fleet Pilot's
outfit. He kept stepping into things on the jungle floor. Squishy 
squelchy things that screeched when he stepped on them, spurting up 
green and yellow goo. 

He stopped to catch his breath and leaned against a tree. As he was
mopping his face, he heard twigs snapping in the bushes behind him. 
Terrified, he held his breath and listened. More snapping twigs and 
rustling, this time nearer. Something was hunting him. 

Wild-eyed and panting, he turned and stumbled on through the dense
foliage. There was another screech and green and yellow goo fountained 
into the air. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, scrambling on. 

He came to a clearing and halted. The rustling sounds followed him. He
turned and looked and the low hanging branches close to him started 
moving. Roger screamed then turned and darted into the clearing only to 
trip over a weed-covered log and sprawl headlong on to the grass. 

Whatever creature was stalking him reached the clearing and he could
hear sure steady sounds as it padded across the grass towards him. He 
lay panting, too terrified to move or even look over his shoulder. 

Roger screwed his eyes shut and held his breath as the creature stopped
behind him. He could hear its rasping breath and an unpleasant odour 
wafted over him as it bent closer. Something grabbed his shoulder and 
he was just about to scream when... 

“Thought Ah heard summit crashin about in strawberry patch!” an elderly
female voice rasped. 

Roger opened his eyes and looked round...and recoiled at what he saw!
She must have been in her mid-sixties, with her hair in curlers and a 
headscarf over them. She squinted through the smoke of a cigarette 
which dangled from her lips. She wore a full-length faded floral apron 
over a man's pullover. A pair of yellow woollen socks stretched 
half-way up varicosed legs and tatty slippers completed her outfit. 

“Come in an have cuppa tea, love. Kettle's just boiled,” she rasped. 

“I say, that's jolly kind of you,” Roger squeaked, standing up. He
brushed bits of grass and clumps of fear from himself. “My name's Roger 
White,” he went on. “Fleet Space Pilot.” 

“Ah'm Doris Grime, love” she told him. “Ah run Bed an Breakfast place
here wi husband Thropely.” 

“A Bed and Breakfast place!?” said Roger, a little surprised. “Here on
Klyzemadex? Do you get enough business to keep it going?” 



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