This morning, it was an earthworm, fleshy and pale, curled into a shape like a shepherd’s crook.Sometimes it wasn’t even a creature that breathed – last week my daughter had been usurped by an acorn.
The story took seed while playing my own version of the Tunnel Game with my nephew. It provided a fun way to get from A to B, him with his eyes closed and me murmuring descriptions of the tunnel we were supposedly walking through into his ear.
“She knows he likes it best when she tells him they’re in terrible danger, like when a grizzly bear rushes by, its breath hot and sudden on his neck. Other times the path threads alongside a crevasse so deep and sheer that she has to pull him suddenly one way or another to prevent him falling. His body in her arms feels small and trusting, and she vows that whatever happens, she’ll keep him safe.”
But what if someone else had joined in with the game? And what if the story had become a little too real for comfort?
Sent shivers down my own spine with this one…