Primavera

     

 

     Spring has definitely arrived here in  the Canary Islands, the thermometer has soared by ten degrees plus in the last week. That means this girl here has swapped her jeans for shorts and for those who want to look away now, I'm exposing my pale white, winter legs. Not a good look.

    We  have an all year round warm climate here on this group of paradisiacal islands, which I have written about before. However, when my neighbor starts replanting her window boxes and patio planters with flowering pants, accompanied by her words, "La primavera esta aqui," spring has certainly sprung.

    It's time for the living things in this world to  yawn loudly as they awaken from the winter. This poem by the great American poet, Emily Dickinson, correctly says, 'A light exists in spring.'

 A Light Exists in Spring

A light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period
When March is scarcely here

 A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels

 It waits upon the Lawn
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you

 Then as Horizons step
Or noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay

 A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament

 

By Emily Dickinson (December 10, 1830 - May 15, 1886)

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (Second of two parts)

     

    I’ve just gargled with some peppermint mouthwash. My breath probably isn’t too fresh after eating an abundance of herring for breakfast and you never know who I might kiss. Ha, ha.

    Back to the herring, I’ve never eaten them before, but they were superb plus they’re good for you, all that oil. I’m going to enjoy eating Inuit style because I love fish.

    Now, let me catch you up with the gossip. When I went down to breakfast, the atmosphere amongst the family was more than a little frosty and that was with the central heating on.

     Charlie was going on about a lost soul and Stan was having none of it. When I joined them, Rachel told her pop to “leave it.” So from then on, all the old man did was eat and throat sing in between swallows. Therefore, I haven’t got to the root of what’s going on; I’m hoping to later.

     For now, I’m getting ready to venture outside; the kids have chores to do around the house and Stan mentioned he wanted to check out the engine of the Coronado. Just in case it needs any essential repairs done before he goes back out on the road.

     It all sounded a bit too technical for me; however, I may learn something that could be useful in the years to come, so I’m going to go out and see what’s going down. A guy needs as many strings to his harp as he can get. Do you think I can put socks on my hands instead of gloves to keep out the cold? Why? Because I have no idea what I’ve done with the gloves I had on yesterday. The glove gremlin must have sneaked in during the night and stole them.

    Because of the dense cloud cover today, daylight is rather shy. I’ve wrapped up well, and as I leave the heat of the cabin, I can see the truck is parked where Stan has some work lights set up, in the shelter of a large wooden outbuilding about one hundred yards from the house. As I walk over to join my amigo, every breath that leaves me forms into a small icy cloud that floats eerily in front of me. Strange, but true.

    Stan looks up from the inside of the hood of the truck when he hears me approach and says, “Hi, Dan. Are you out to give me some help?”
    “I’m hoping I’ll learn something because I know absolutely zilch about engines. I couldn’t help you even if it was the engine of a lawnmower,” I say.
    “Lawnmowers are not much use around here,” Stan laughs.

    He opens one of the drawers in the large red toolbox on the ground beside him and lifts out a large, oily-looking spanner. Well, I think it’s a spanner. Anyway, with the spanner thing, he starts to tinker inside the engine compartment.
    “Have you found anything that may cause you problems?” I ask.
    “No. This truck is reliable. I’ve never had any problems with it. My last truck was a different make. It used to give me problems all the time, especially when I drove through heavy snowstorms. The filter used to draw in the snow and well, that was that.” Stan stands back and looks at the engine as though to admire it. “I can see by the look on your face that I may as well be speaking double Dutch. You have no idea what I’m talking about, have you?”
    “In a one word answer, no.”
    “Like you and I, the motor of a truck needs air, otherwise they break down and that’s where the filter
comes into play.” Stan keeps looking at me.
    “That makes sense,” I say.
    “Dan, why do you have socks on your hands?” Stan scratches his head and laughs.
    “Couldn’t find the gloves I had on yesterday and I knew they were a necessity rather than a fashion statement around here. Socks are just gloves for your feet, so what’s the difference?”
    Stan is now laughing heartily and his already red face is getting redder and redder as he continues to laugh.
    “Hey, what’s going on here?” shouts Beth, who has just appeared from inside the house. She’s carrying a large green mug in each hand; she’s watching her footing as she makes her way across the slippery yard towards us.
    “Look at this guy’s hands.” Stan points at me, he can hardly speak.

    Beth’s face lights up and she says, “Here, this will heat your hands ups.” She hands me a cup of piping hot liquid. The contents of the other mug she’s holding is spilling all over the ground as she starts to laugh on seeing my make-shift mittens close-up.

    Stan grabs hold of the steaming mug before there is nothing left inside and to save Beth from burning herself. He dries his wet, gloved hands individually on his checked wool jacket and says, “I assume this is for me? Hot chocolate is just what I need.”

    Beth takes off her woolen mittens, rubs her hands with a napkin from her coat pocket, and she says,   “Yeah, Dad. I thought you both might welcome a warm drink.” Beth places her uncovered hands along with her wet mittens deep into her pockets. She giggles as she continues to look at my hands. “So, why on earth do you have bright red socks on your hands?”

    “Can’t find my gloves,” I say. 

     “Surely you could have chosen a different color. One that would have been a little more, let’s say, subtle.” Beth’s dark eyes sparkle mischievously.
    “I don’t like these ones much; so, I thought, if I lost them too, it wouldn’t matter.”
    “That sounds reasonable,” says Beth.   

    Stan ejects a mouthful of the chocolate into the air as he starts to laugh raucously. He lifts a handful of snow and rubs it into my face and he says, “A good enough reason, Dan. Any sensible human being will understand your explanation.”
    “We better try to find you a pair before we go snowmobiling with Si tomorrow,” says Beth. She giggles uncontrollably as she leaves us to head back to the house.

    Can you tell me what they find so funny? After all, what is a guy to do when he’s lost his gloves?

 

 (REMEMBER YOU CAN READ CHAPTER ONE AND FIRST PART OF THIS EXTRACT IN PREVIOUS POSTS) Thank you

https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/

Hyperlink to Lost Souls Chapter 2 (First of two parts)

  

 

Chapter Two

 
Day Two: Welcome to Tuk

Brrrrr, I’m going to have to put on another jumper or pull my beanie down further over my ears. My buzz cut isn’t practical here. I might need to grow my hair and have it restyled. It’s freeezing in Tuk; today, it’s minus twenty-six degrees outside. At the risk of repeating myself, brrrr. Back to cool hairstyles; do you think ‘surfer’ style would suit me? Think about it and get back to me. Remember though, I won’t actually be surfing. Snowboarding maybe, but not surfing.   

Moving on; I arrived late last night and wow what a welcome. Caribou stew and walrus meat. Yum, yum. Now, don’t screw your nose up until you’ve tried it. Really, what are you like? Were you a picky child?   

After our little adventure yesterday, Stan was rather subdued for the rest of the evening. He didn’t eat much, which puzzled the rest of his family. He also asked that I keep the incident to ourselves, he said that it would just worry Rachel.   

That was fine by me because this morning his mind should be virtually wiped clean of our ordeal. If his brain cells have decided to store any of the details, he’ll think it was just a vivid nightmare and it certainly was that. Oh, and one of the elders confirmed by e-mail that Snowy is in cahoots with the Red Rider, aka Satan.   

I’m sharing a real nice bedroom with Stan’s son, Simon Tuligag. He’s a real cool dude and has no objection to me calling him Si. Thank goodness because Simon Tuligag would be a lot to say each time I wanted to tell you about him. I had to get my head around it at first, never mind my tongue. Stan explained to me on the way here that he’s originally from Detroit. But, twenty years ago on his first trip to Tuk, he fell in love with the most beautiful
Inuit woman, they married one year later and he’s lived here ever since. When the kids came along, he said his wife wanted the kids’ names to be in keeping with Inuit tradition. He was happy with that and, as tradition goes, they were given a Christian first name and an Inuit second. That’s what love is all about, compromise. Yeah, I’m being soppy.                                   

Back to Si, there’s something kind of sad about him and his sister, Beth Amaruk, though. Sorry, I forgot to tell you about Beth. She’s hot, hot, hot. The kind of sight that warms a guy up on these cold Tuk days, and looong nights. 

Whoa, do you hear me? I’m talking as though I’m human again. Danger zone, danger zone. It’s a good job I’m not sharing a bedroom with her. Forget I said that. Sorry, God. As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted by wayward thoughts, these kids’ eyes are full of sadness. I can only hope and of course pray they’ll share whatever is troubling them with me real soon. 

Stan and his wife Rachel Nauja also share their home with Rachel’s father, Charlie Angakkuq. He doesn’t say much, he just throat sings most of the time. He’s a real old guy and he’s been looking at me rather suspiciously since I arrived. Now, why would anyone be suspicious of me? Cheeky. I don’t need your impudent little retorts.

Charlie definitely isn’t convinced of my cover story. Did I tell you my cover story? No, I didn’t, I must have forgot. Hanging on to an uvula for grim death and smashing through a cougar’s teeth kind of put me off.

FYI, I was to meet up with my father here. He’s been working offshore and he’s hoping we can settle down here. It seems I’ve been living with my guardian since my Mom died. But on my way here, I found out that,  due to work commitments, he isn’t going to be here for another few weeks. Blah, blah. I’m not going to bore you with the whole story because, in fact, it’s a teeny wee bit lame.

As you know, I’m not good at lying. It’s not an angelic thing to do, but needs must. The truth is, I was supposed to meet up with a guardian angel here, but it seems he has been unexpectedly held up. No need to worry because I know for a fact that he isn’t in any kind of trouble. It’s just his last assignment is taking longer than planned. So, you see, he was held up due to work commitments!

Back to the old man, his surname Angakkuq translated from Inuit to English, means wise person. He’s the local Shaman, a well-respected figure amongst the aboriginals here in Tuk.

It’s believed he has powers to communicate with gods, spirits and talk to the souls of the dead. One thing for sure, we’ll soon find out if he’s tapped into my world, won’t we? Now, Stan thinks its all bunkum, he says that, while he loves everything Inuit, he draws the line at believing in myths. However, his family believes undoubtedly in the old guy’s powers.

On the odd occasion he actually speaks, they hang on to every word he says. Its different strokes for different folks that make the world go round. That’s one thing I’ve found out since I arrived on Earth. There’s one thing we all have in common, we’re all born and we’ll all die. Do I sound philosophical? Okay, I sound like a nerd, I know.

If I’m still here when new term starts, I’ll be attending Boreas College along with Simon and Beth. My mind’s not made up as to whether that’s where all the celestial action is going to go down. Who knows? If you do, e-mail or send me the answer on a postcard c/o TUK. E-mail Mikey if that’s easier and he’ll download it on my app.

Listen, I’m going to sign off for now. Rachel’s calling  me and I can smell food. Whatever it is for eats has a very fishy smell. Yum, yum. I wonder what Inuit’s have for breakfast. No need to e-mail me with the answer because I’ll have already eaten it before you even get round to logging on.

  https://devilslayingamongstotherthings.blogspot.com/2023/02/hyperlink-to-lost-souls-book-extract.html?m=1           

It's the Little Details

    

 

    An old movie  I never get tired of is the 1944 classic, 'Meet Me in St Louis.' The film focuses on the life of the Smith family and mainly, that of the Smith's four daughters.

    The year is 1903 and the city of St Louis is getting ready for the 'World Fair' which took place in 1904. The picture is full of romance, comedy and song. The story itself in my opinion explores the ups and downs of the two oldest girls, coming of age.

    Yes, much different from present times, however, when first love comes along whether in 1903 or 2023 affairs of the heart aren't easy.

    The two oldest daughters played by Lucille Bremner and Judy Garland, both eventually find love, with many of the events leading to the happy ending, are filled with comedy drama.

    One of the scenes I always chuckle at is when the oldest daughter, Rose believes she is going to receive a marriage proposal via a telephone call from her beau, Warren Sheffield (Robert Sully) who is in New York .

    Unfortunately, the telephone is in the dining-room and the family have gathered for dinner, much to Rose's dismay her conversation which she had hoped to keep private was now being played out in front of her siblings and worst of all her parents.

    Okay, what is so special about this scene? The fact is this scene could never have taken place if the Edinburgh born inventor, Alexander Graham Bell, hadn't invented the telephone.

     Bell, was awarded the first US patent for the telephone on March 7 1876, therefore I wanted to mention that this week will be this great invention's anniversary, as well as that of his birthday, March 3.

    In a quote by, John Wooden, 'It's the little details that are vital, little things make big things happen.'

   Without this phone scene, Roses' story would never have been completed and maybe I wouldn't keep enjoying this movie.

February

     

 

 

 

    Another week and the second month of the year will be gone. February is the month which for some is filled with romantic moments. 

    The fourteenth being St Valentine's, just in case you didn't know and if we have a leap year, ladies can propose marriage to a man. Personally, I think anyone can propose marriage to their love anytime they want. But who am I to down the tradition that originated in Ireland?

    Here in Tenerife, Canary Islands, it's a very important month on the calendar, the fact being that the capital, Santa Cruz holds the second most internationally known carnival in the world. UNESCO, recognized  it's cultural importance and awarded it, Cultural Heritage of Humanity in 2017.

    February,  I feel is the month when winter is still hanging around, waiting around to catch the next bus out of town. Even although the temperature here in the Canaries is warmer than in Scotland, winter does have a bite, on occasion. What does the month mean to you, if anything?

 

    The poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem about an afternoon in February and what it meant to him, so I've included it today.

 

 Afternoon in February

 

 

The day is ending,

The night is descending,

The marsh is frozen, 

The river dead.

Through clouds like ashes

The red sun flashes,

On village windows. 

That glimmer red.

The snow recommences.

The buried fences, 

Mark no longer, 

The road over the plain.

 

While through the meadows,

Like fearful shadows.

Slowly passes a funeral train.

The bell is pealing. 

And every feeling,

Within me responds

To the dismal knell.

Shadows are trailing,

My heart is bewailing,

And tolling within,

 Like a funeral bell.

 

   

Hyperlink to Lost Souls (Extract 2)

 

   “Dan, I have no idea what’s happening to us. We’re in some kind of cave. I have no explanation,” says Stan in bewilderment. 

    “And you told me not to panic.”
    “Yes I did, but there shouldn’t be a cave here. I can’t tell you off the top of my head how many times I’ve driven this route, it must be hundreds but there is no cave here.”

     We’re being shaken and not stirred inside the cab of Stan’s Coronado. Thank God for the clever guys who invented the seat belt. If we weren’t strapped in, we would be tossed around like rag dolls.

     Snowy’s mouth as you can imagine, is very dark. Monsters like this guy, or gal don’t have lights installed. I think the cougar is a guy though because no girl could be so ug— Girls are gorgeous. I think I’ve said that once before about someone, or something. But I can’t remember when.

    Luckily for us, the truck’s headlights and spotlights are shining light on our surroundings. Did I say luckily? Yep. I know I did, but sometimes I’m a bit of a nitwit to say the least. Why am I a nitwit? Well, if it was too dark to see, I wouldn’t see his jagged teeth, imitating stalagmites and stalactites. Remember, mites go up and tites come down. Naughty. OMG. I’ve never seen a cavity that size in a tooth; we could go potholing in it. It resembles the Linville Caverns in North Carolina. I have no idea how I know that, but I do. Stan has kept the wipers on in an effort to clear the thick, slobbery stuff that’s splurged across the windscreen. Yuck!
    “Hold on for dear life!” shouts Stan.
    He probably should have said ‘grim death’ in my case. We’re sliiiding, sliiiding along Snowy’s tongue and bouncing—bong, bong—off his soft palate. There’s an even bigger cavern up ahead and we’re heading towards it. It’s called his throat. Wooo, we’ve came to a sudden stop. I think we’ve jack-knifed across his throat and I think we’re hooked onto his uvula. How do I know? Trust me, I just know. Your mind is getting worse. You thought I was being rude just now. FYI, the uvula is the wiggly, dangling bit at the back of the throat. If it wasn’t for that fleshy, flapping piece, we’d be tumbling down into the pit of his stomach. The ‘Great Abyss’ of the cougar.
    “Dan, this is no time to be playing around on your gizmo,” says Stan.
    What he doesn’t know is that I’m sending out a celestial SOS. Just in case my prayers are being blocked by some other force.
    “It’s my way of keeping calm.”
    “Whatever. Maybe I could get a loan of it sometime real soon. Because I’ve never been so scared in my life,” says Stan.
    “Hick, hick, hick.” Snowy has started to hiccup. Whoa, we need earplugs. The noise is echoing all around us. We can’t cover our ears because we’re holding on tight!
    Whoaaa! We’re on the move again; we’ve been dislodged from Snowy’s uvula. We’re shooting forward away from his throat, then back toward it again. With each hick, we’re simulating the ball in a pinball machine. Plunk, plunk, plunk.                                                        

     “Aaagh!” Stan and I shout simultaneously. We’re heading straight for Snowy’s gnashers.     

     Smash. We slide forward in our seats. The smashing sound was the truck hitting Snowy’s decaying front teeth. Away we go; we’ve crashed straight through them.The truck is now skidding across the ice road again. Snowy has disappeared, as quickly as he appeared and the opening in the road’s surface has closed over. Stan wrestles with the steering; sweat is dripping from his brow. We’re slowing down. Sloow, sloow. It’s as though everything is happening in slow motion. Praise the Lord, we’ve stopped.

    “Well done, Stan,” I say.

    My new comrade shrugs his shoulders and says, “I did nothing. I think a miracle just happened.”
    “Take the credit for that good piece of driving.”
Phew, thank goodness that little ordeal’s over. I e-mailed Mickey, thanking him for the celestial intervention and he replied, I’m glad I could be of help. I bet he’s not as glad as I am.
     “Are you okay?” asks Stan.
     “Yes, I don’t think there’s any damage.”
     Stan pulls the fur-trimmed hood of his jacket up to cover his head and says, “I’ll be back in a moment. I need to look her over.”
     “Sure thing, take care.” I watch him raise his scarf up over his mouth to save him from inhaling the ice-cold air outside. He winks at me and opens the driver’s door; he keeps a tight grip of the handle as the wind tugs at it hard. The snow has stopped, but the wind is gale-force and with each gust the cab rocks from side-to-side. He looks up and down the road before he jumps down onto the ice road.

     I look in my side view mirror and I can see Stan is examining the rear end of the trailer first. He’s struggling to stay upright; the force of the wind is hitting him from behind. It’s no use a whippersnapper going out to help him; therefore, I think it would be better if you stay here with me. Ha, ha. Seriously, I’d be blown off my feet straight away. I’d be rolling around like a piece of desert flora. Not that there’s any desert flora around here.

     I’ve been trying to check Sower to see if any other angels, or angelets, have also come across Snowy on their travels. However, my signal seems to have faded for now. Sorry, Sower is a micro-blogging service that heavenly beings use. I believe the name relates to sowing seeds. In our case, the seeds being the Lord’s word.
I know humans use one as well, strangely enough the name evades me. Duh!
     Here comes Stan. I better prepare myself for the blast of cold air that’s going to come in when he opens the door.
     “No real damage. A few bumps, scrapes, and scratches, just like us,” shouts Stan. I can just make out what he’s saying; the scarf that’s up over his mouth is muffling his voice. Of course, the gale force wind that’s now blowing in through the open door isn’t helping either.

     The air coming in is so cold that I feel as though I’ve stuck my body inside a freezer. Stan climbs up into the cab and yanks his door shut. He drops his hood and removes his scarf from his face, rearranging it back around his neck. He takes off his gloves; cupping his hands, he blows into them and quickly rubs the palms together vigorously.
     “I told you before, you’re such a good driver,” I say.
     “Thanks, Dan. I didn’t imagine that we drove into a huge cavern, did I?” Stan now rubs his forehead.
     “No, you didn’t. It must have been some freak thing that happened because of the ice, don’t you think?”
     “Yes, it must have been. It’s just that, nothing like this
has ever happened before. I can’t believe it.” I believe it,
do you?

 End of Extract

Salvation: Hyperlink to Lost Souls 9
examining the rear end of the trailer first. He’s struggling
to stay upright; the force of the wind is hitting him from
behind. It’s no use a whippersnapper going out to help
him; therefore, I think it would be better if you stay here
with me. Ha, ha. Seriously, I’d be blown off my feet
straight away. I’d be rolling around like a piece of desert
flora. Not that there’s any desert flora around here.
I’ve been trying to check Sower to see if any other
angels, or angelets, have also come across Snowy on
their travels. However, my signal seems to have faded
for now. Sorry, Sower is a micro-blogging service that
heavenly beings use. I believe the name relates to sowing
seeds. In our case, the seeds being the Lord’s word.
I know humans use one as well, strangely enough the
name evades me. Duh!
Here comes Stan. I better prepare myself for the blast
of cold air that’s going to come in when he opens the
door.
“No real damage. A few bumps, scrapes, and scratches,
just like us,” shouts Stan. I can just make out what he’s
saying; the scarf that’s up over his mouth is muffling his
voice. Of course, the gale force wind that’s now blowing
in through the open door isn’t helping either.
The air coming in is so cold that I feel as though I’ve
stuck my body inside a freezer. Stan climbs up into the
cab and yanks his door shut. He drops his hood and
removes his scarf from his face, rearranging it back
around his neck. He takes off his gloves; cupping his
hands, he blows into them and quickly rubs the palms
together vigorously.
“I told you before, you’re such a good driver,” I say.
“Thanks, Dan. I didn’t imagine that we drove into a
huge cavern, did I?” Stan now rubs his forehead.
“No, you didn’t. It must have been some freak thing
that happened because of the ice, don’t you think?”

10 Christina Rowell
“Yes, it must have been. It’s just that, nothing like this
has ever happened before. I can’t believe it.” I believe it,
do you?

   

 

Hyperlink To Lost Souls Book Extract

     It's the start of a new week, great. Hope you all have a fantastic one. I thought I'd share an extract from the first chapter of my second book in, my YA, fantasy, Salvation series. So here's a five minute read to start your week off.

 

 

 

 

Chapter One (Extract)

Day One: On the Road

 

    OMG, I’m on my way to a place called Tuktoyaktuk in the Northern territories. It seems the locals call it Tuk and if it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me. Besides, all those key depressions on my android could give me repetitive strain injury.

    Before I set off, Mikey said to me, “Make sure and pack lots of warm clothing for your trip.” So, I can only assume it’s going to be on the nippy side. He didn’t enlighten me as to what the actual temperature will be, but he informed me that it was a land of ice caps, pingos, aurora borealis, and the midnight sun. Which I think translates into, brrrrrrrrr, shiver, shiver. Oh, and by the way, for those of you who have just joined me, Mikey is my pet name for Archangel Michael. Not to his face of course.

    Now, I need to tell you about my new amigo. His name is Stan Carter and he’s a truck driver. Come on, keep up. How could he drive a truck if he was dead? Don’t even try to justify what you thought or said out aloud. He’s very much alive and kicking, and he’s the
driver of the truck I’ve managed to hitch a ride in.

    Oh, apologies, apologies to my new friends who have just joined me. You don’t know that I’m D— I don’t say the ‘D’ word when I’m referring to myself. I have difficulty with the whole concept. You really should have read the first book before starting this one. If you
had done so, I wouldn’t need to keep explaining things as I go along. Boring the socks off the guys who joined me at the beginning of my journey on Earth. Whoa, I’m
not complaining, the more the merrier. I rely on all you guys out there in the real world and I appreciate your marvelous company.

    Back to Stan, I approached him at a diner some five hours back. He lives in Tuk and kindly agreed to take me there. Sorry, he agreed to take us the rest of the way. That’s if you’re sticking around.
    Pleeease, pleeease. I’m pleading with you; I won’t plead for too long. Great, make sure you pack your woollies. Well, maybe not. If you’re lying on an exotic beach reading this, you sure would look dumb.

    Stan says that we’ll reach Tuk in another three hours, as we’ve only one hundred fifty kilometers to go. We’ve just left Inuvik and it’s going to be ice road all the way now. The ice road being the Mackenzie River, which is frozen solid.

    You know, appearances can be so deceptive. Let me explain myself; Stan is a big, scraggy faced guy, arms covered in tattoos and a head full of piercings. Well, not actually his skull, but you know the sort I mean. He has rings in his ears, nose, and eyebrows and his tongue clicks when he speaks, because there’s a large silver stud in the middle of it. Eek! It was bad enough getting my demon early warning stud put in my earlobe. The thought of it still sends a shiver down my spine. Brrrrrr.

    What was I talking about before I digressed? Something that you newbies need to realize is that I do this on a regular basis. Oh, I was telling you about Stan. Yeah, yeah, Stan. If appearances were something to go by, you sure wouldn’t pick a fight with this guy, no sir.
But since I’ve been able to spend some one-on-one time with him, I’ve found out that he’s a great big teddy bear.

    He’s just invited me to stay at his place until I’m settled in Tuk. I’ll fill you in on my cover story later. He said I can share a room with his son, who happens to be the same age as me. Coincidence? Don’t think so. I’ve agreed because I believe this is where my adventure is about to start.

     Then again, it looks like my adventure could be starting here, right now. Holy cow! Visibility is very poor, a complete whiteout. Stan has slowed the truck down to 20 mph and the tail lights of the truck in front are no longer visible. Earlier some of Stan’s fellow truckers warned him over the CB radio of the blizzards ahead. He tried to prepare me for this situation, but hell I never thought it would be as bad as this. Sca–reee. I don’t know if I’m allowed to say hell in this context. Hell, I’ve said it anyway.

    “Don’t panic, I know this road like the back of my hand. We just have to try to keep moving. The ice is real thin here and I don’t feel like taking an ice-cold dip,” says Stan calmly. He sounds unruffled, in fact he’s as cool as a cucumber. 

    “Neither do I. I didn’t pack my swim shorts and I definitely don’t fancy skinny dipping,” I say, chuckling nervously. I can hear the ice road crackle under the weight of the wheels. Sooo, I’m hoping Mickey’s following my progress and can give me some help if something goes wrong.

    Whoa, Stan has just slammed on the brakes. The truck’s wheels have locked, we’re now skating on the thin ice and we’re not stopping. OMG, something very strange has happened to the road in front of us. A mound of sorts has risen up out of the ice and we’re skidding
straight towards it. Closer and closer we go.

    I can see the front of it has opened up, like a grotto. The thing is, I don’t think we’re going to meet Saint Nick, or Our Lady of Lourdes in here. Aagh! I think we may be
meeting up with the Tooth Fairy; we’re now staring into the open jaws of a huge and I mean humungous, white cougar.

    Gulp. That wasn’t me gulping, that was the giant cougar. He’s gobbled us up and that was the sound of him swallowing us, truck and all. We’ve been engulfed. Yes, you read my words correctly.

   End of extract