sit here alone, with all the house lights blazing, and I am afraid. The lengthening shadows of evening will soon turn to the all-engulfing darkness of night.
The waving branches of trees, bent back and forth by the breeze, create a sinister picture beyond the windowpane. The Bramble, whose cruel grip I had destroyed, was like an enemy, banished but vengeful.
It is well-known; the way in which the bramble catches hold and clings to a neglected spot. The keen gardener has to force a passage where they grow. The house was lovely, rambling, and old and I had wanted to live there from the moment that “For Sale ” appeared on the lawn.
All the garden needed was a fierce attack on bramble. The unsightly thing had gained a stranglehold and was blocking the greenhouse, where my prize blooms would grow. Not any more! I had loaded the worthless bramble onto the rubbish tip, and relaxed with a feeling of pride.
The Bramble King had been banished from his stolen kingdom, the battle won. Laughing and triumphant, I ran to draw the heavy curtains against the night sky but moonlight highlighted a bramble branch straggling the path.
All the lights shone through the open front door as rage propelled me forward, only to trip over another concealed bramble branch, that gripped my ankle, in a mean, cruel vice-like hold. I fell forward into darkness and my head hit a hard stone on the path.
All copyrights reserved Freda Grieve 2001