I was standing on the patio ...


... late at night - when my eyes beheld an eerie sight.

A cold night, dark it was, and airless. Airless in the sense of no
air movement[1] not that I was standing in a vacuum - anyway, it was
still. Still, quiet and peaceful. Then there was a sudden and
unexpected noise, a sort of rattling shuffle, reminiscent of Autumn
leaves caught in a twisty breeze.

Cocking an ear (no, Loz!) I swivelled a squint into the gloom, peering
towards the probable area whence came the strange sound. An
unexpected cluster of large, brown leaves hove into view, travelling
quite slowly across the grass.

Unusual, I thought. One doesn't usually see bunches of leaves
shuffling themselves across the grass at one in the morning - nor at
any time, to be honest. My jacket collar crept up my nape of its own
accord, propelled by the action of the short hairs standing up for
themselves, as just like that, my heartbeat became palpable.

The freaky leaves turned slowly in my direction at this point,
presenting a couple of options: to remain and observe, a dispassionate
spectator - to turn, step quickly back indoors and firmly close the
curtains against the haunted foliage - or to take a couple of quick
steps forward and assist the spectral ex-greenery into the next
world[2] with a well-placed Size Ten.

By now heading straight for me, the leaves came to a trembling stop -
and then they twinkled at me. Not all of them, you understand, just a
couple of inner leaves, beneath the outer covering. Dimly illuminated
by the light from the kitchen window, there was a definite sparkle
going on. Not cold enough for frost, it wasn't that sort of cold
sparkle, it was more of a dark reflection. There was a sort of
distant whiffling, as well.

On resumption of leaf motion, following a circular sort of path, a
moment of realisation: it was the Stealth Hedgehog, no less. The
spiny fucker must have rolled in a layer of leaves and then trundled
out of the undergrowth onto the lawn, wearing half a camo coat over
his spikes. Once I'd cottoned on to the deception, all sphincters
released in relief.

Startled from his usual stealthy habit, he took off - a quick grunt
and he was up to full speed, doing a beeline bunk for the hole on the
fence on the far side of the lawn, shedding leaves as he went, little
legs positively blurring in his efforts to escape the miasmic cloud of
secondhand Young's.

It's been a while since I've seen him: nice to know he's still about,
catching my butts and snatching a furtive smoke in the undergrowth.
He did frit me up proper this time though, the little fucker ;-)


1. Save the occasional and remarkably degustable fruity flatus,
product of a couple of pints of Young's Winter Warmer, consumed
earlier.

2. Or at least into the next garden, I didn't really GAF.


--
Pip: B12
.

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