Patrick blinked. Of course they couldn't be moving. Yet when he opened his eyes again he saw the same thing. Sooty had stood up, arms outstretched and head raised as if the puppet had a hand inside him, and yet he couldn't have. It was definitely his Sooty, the patch on his arm visible, bright yellow against orange. Slowly the puppet hopped forward.
Now Sweep was standing up too, still smiling sweetly as he lifted his huge head. He squeaked. Sue was getting up now, a cross expression as usual on her head, twisted to one side. All three puppets began to advance on Patrick. It shouldn't be possible to hop menacingly, and yet they were managing it.
Strangely afraid, he turned to run only to find himself menaced by two almost identical toy tigers who both looked so very sad, so cute and yet somehow threatening.
He turned again but Kermit barred his way, standing on long spindly legs that shouldn't be able to support his body weight and mouth gaping open in shock.
All the toys closed in on him, others appearing all around to cut off any hope of escape. Kermit's arms opened wide. Suddenly he hopped and fastened his arms around Patrick's neck. The puppets had encircled his feet and ankles. He tried to step over them and fell. He tried to sit up and found that the two tigers had climbed up and were now perched on either shoulder, and Kermit still clung to his neck. Patrick tried to raise his hands to free himself but the puppets wouldn't let him, jumping on to his hands and controlling them in a kind of reverse pupeteering.
Suddenly Patrick saw in front of him a tiny, red knitted Dalek perched on top of a small Christmas tree. It slowly revolved round to face him at eye level.
"Exterminate!" it piped in a thin, high voice. The tiny gun fired, and Patrick flinched. There was a tiny bang, a flash and he fell over backwards.
Nick was at the back of the container when the set fell on him. There was only one set of doors, and they were at the far end. As he struggled to free himself the doors banged shut in the wind and it was dark. There was no point shouting as there was no one else around that part of campus.
He tried to move the wood off his leg, but the flats were too heavy. This was why the others had said you should never go to the container alone. He had thought it would be safe just to pop in and borrow a few tools. But now he was trapped, no one knew he was here. He could not free himself and his leg hurt so very badly. He feared that it might be broken. His phone was in his bag at the other end of the container, out of reach. He began to panic. He could not think of a way to get out. Suddenly in the dark he was aware of a hideous shape that seemed to give off its' own greenish light. It reared up at him from the darkness of a shelf, the sticky, sickly luminescent form of a misshapen human child, staring reproachfully at him.
He felt something touch his side and looked down. Now his eyes had adjusted to the gloom he could see a regular shape, rectangular. It looked like a brick. It was wearing a sarong of hot pink cloth. And it was moving- it was looking at him...
Sophie dipped the bucket into the stream and lifted it to carry back towards the camp. But it seemed so far, and so heavy. Surely there was a better way?
She picked up a long stick with a fork at the top and said; "Zip-a-dee-bippety-docious!" She rested the bucket's handle in the fork of the stick. It hopped off towards the camp, and was soon returning for more. Sophie sat down to keep an eye on it, but the sun was hot and she was sleepy...
When she awoke it was because the ground beneath her was damp. She jumped up. The path to camp had turned into a stream of mud, along which the stick was still hopping, another bucket of water sloshing around at the top of it.
"Stop! Stop!" Sophie cried, catching up an axe and chopping wildly at the stick. It fell to the ground, the water spilling onto the muddy track.
Sophie hurried up to camp. Everything was soaked; the shelters, their bedding, the food stocks, the woodpile. The fire was a heap of soggy ashes. She wondered and feared what the others would say. Then her eye was caught by a movement and she ran back along the path. Each of the pieces of broken stick had arisen, found buckets from somewhere and were advancing on the camp to soak it anew. Sophie ran towards the army of sticks, calling out to them to stop, but they tripped her up and she fell...
Ernest looked down into the orchestra pit. "Poor girl," he said. "Still, it will teach the rest of you to watch the musical director. Carry on with the rehearsal."
"We can't just leave her there," someone protested.
"We can do without the tuba for now," Ernest responded. "The show must go on!"
The rehearsal continued until the point where the pirate king threatened the policemen with a gun. Or course, it was only a prop, not a real gun.
"Oh what a shame," Ernest said, as the body was removed. "Still, at least it was just one of the male chorus, although they're scarce enough. A principal would have been much harder to replace at this stage. We had a lucky escape there."
No sooner had he left the stage when suddenly a giant bird thumped down onto the boards. Another fell right onto the pirate king's head, crushing him to the ground. Other great bustards began to fall like a feathery, deadly, messy hail. The cast ran for it, but some didn't make it and were crushed by the giant birds. Two more found themselves trapped in the pit of boiling oil that was at the front of the stage.
"Come back!" Ernest shouted. "The show must go on!" But as he hurried up the steps to the stage he heard a whistling noise above him and looked up to see a Portuguese escritoire swinging directly towards him on a rope. He was crushed before he could move to avoid it. A manuscript fell from the desk's open lid and landed on his still, cold hand. It was entitled; 'The memoirs of Dorian du Richard, decorative aesthete.'
The story continues...
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