Nobody ever found their way out of Stombley woods. Or lived to tell what was in there. But Sozman Borkstapple was late for dinner.
And he was bursting for a shite, so nipped into the trees.
Hours of blindly stumbling followed.
Sozman now knew what was in Stombley woods -trees, and ghosts.
(Oh yeah -I almost forgot; and a thick disorientating mist).
- First came joy from dropping his load.
- Second came the despair of being hopelessly lost.
- Third came exhaustion.
It forced his sleep.
The smell of his shite, and salvation, hit him when he woke.
An Roinn Ultra - Irish Science Fiction 