Bohemia Village Voice

In the Jungle

He carefully pulled the tent flap aside. The clearing was empty. In the distance were only the usual barks and hoots of jungle creatures.
He was turning back towards the camp bed when he heard it again, much louder. Slow, heavy footsteps, dragging, small twigs snapping. He dropped the torch, picked it up, dropped it again. He brushed the sweat out of his eyes as tension stiffened his body.
Panting, he reached deep into the rucksack, fumbled, searched. At last his desperate fingers found the cold, hard steel and he pulled it out with seconds to spare. He spun the cap off, took a large mouthful of the fine, dark molasses rum and was back on the camp bed with the holiday brochure as his wife stepped into the tent.
“Had a good walk, dear? I’m sure we’d both enjoy a nice cup of tea.”