Terror in Towyn


What an end to a perfect day. We trudge back, worn out to contentment. Faint sounds in the distance; swirling screams, manic laughter, runaway trains rumbling over wooden scaffold mountains, and the man with the plastic horserace jabbering, faster than my ears. The sunlight has faded, and the evening now seems enchanted. The trees are lit from below, orange and green. The soothing breeze strokes my bare arms and legs. Smells of cut grass and salt and sugar and hot fat mingle. Our goal is in sight, the neon sign flickers above the open door, we enter and wait.

We leave smiling, and I cradle the steaming parcel in my arms as we shuffle through the long wet grass, across the loose gravel, and up the metal steps. Inside the smell is older, a memory of the morning, sunshine and bacon, now faded and mellow, welcoming. We gather round the table, and unveil the feast. Shiny forks stab through to soggy words. No talking, no stopping. Then I see it. Or do I? Unsure, I focus. The background blurs. The terrible creature now sharp and clear; all twisted, limbs contorted, black eyes bulging, body grimly curling. She can’t see it, but she sees me, sees my eyes shocked and wide. Her mouth hangs open, her actions frozen, her eyes ask the question. I have to answer. Spill the words out. All at once. Faster than the plastic horse-man. I've got to stop it. I blurt it out.

“Mumthatsnotachipitsafriedwasp DON'T EAT IT! ”