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What in the world are these men doing out so late? They’re the last to leave the pub -- two skinny guys sharing a yellow shawl. It doesn’t look good on either of them. I reach down from my tree branch and grab a loose thread. I pull it until the entire scarf unravels, faster than they can notice -- which isn’t that fast. They’re plastered; they wouldn’t notice if I jumped out in front of them yelling that their wives were giving birth to deformed kittens.
I know their wives. In fact, I spent all of this morning “helping” one of them churn butter. I think the man she has to put up with is the one on the right, with the brown hair.
He’s slightly brighter; he only takes half a minute to notice that their scarf has mysteriously disappeared.
“Oi. Something’s not right.” Good thinking. Someone should make this guy mayor. I hop in front of a tree to their left, lighting it up for a second.
“That tree!” Looks like Blondie on the left has caught on, too. “Hello?” He takes a step towards the tree.
I run further into the woods and swing up onto another branch, letting them see the leaves rustle.
“Who’s there?” Blondie squints. I’ve lived in this area long enough to know their names if I wanted to. It’s not worth the effort, though; all fools are the same. If I can get them to take two more steps into the forest, they’ll follow me all night. I jump to the next tree and light up one of the roots.
“We ain’t gonna hurt you.” Brown Haired Fool walks towards the tree, tugging Blondie’s sleeve. Perfect. I can’t help but giggle.
They follow the sound. They’re mine.