Cautiously, Olive crept towards the back door. Clasping her hand around the cold, metal doorknob, she stifled a yawn. Fortunately, she could still hear the rumbling snore of the rest of her family.
Once onto the dew-blanketed lawn, she relaxed a little. She snuck down the backstreets, pattered under the bridge, and clambered over the rickety fence into the marshes. A thick fog hovered over the mud, and the trees surrounding the swamp cast hideous shadows.
Olive found a tree stump, and sat down, waiting. She was urging to see the marsh frog again. But where was it? She was growing itchy with impatience.
Just as she thought she saw a glimpse of mouldy, greasy-slick skin, thudding footsteps caught her attention. As she spun round, a masked face greeted her. Leaping off the tree stump, Olive ran. She didn’t look behind her once, just focused on getting to the fence.
Unfortunately, though, in her rush to flee from the ebony silhouette, she had forgotten all about the boggy marshes underfoot, that she had heard so many dangerous tales about…