The Pygmy Giant

by Oonah V Joslin

The ground felt hard. My sleeping bag was soggy as old sandwiches, and dawn filtered in through a gap in the zipper. I wasn’t going to get any more sleep. Kim was snoring. I tried not to disturb as I pulled on my jeans and thick jumper.

Outside, mist lay low on the ground, stranding the treetops midway between earth and sky. A heathery sun was pushing its way up through the grey of morning. Before me the loch spread width-wise, resting in the hollow of the glen. All along its surface was grey: the sky, the mist, the heather, their reflection, my reflection as I knelt to splash my face at the water’s edge: all grey.

Then I looked up and got the fright of my life. Not ten feet away, standing out of the water, was a neck and a pair of eyes; yellow green eyes on a jet black head. I froze. Terrified we stared at each other and then the monster screamed. I think it was a scream. It was a high pitched noise like a whistle followed by a slurpy sound and it slipped under the water.

Now seeing a monster is one thing but a monster you can’t see… that’s downright scary! Face unsplashed, I ran back.

“Kim. Kim! I seen it,” I blurted. “I seen the monster.”

“Look in a mirror did you?”

“Very funny. I’m telling you I seen it.”

“Och away an boil yer heed,” said Kim. “It’s just the light playing tricks. There’s no such thing.” She fluffed up her pillow and buried her head in it.

Meanwhile down in the loch, a wee baby monster came bursting into its underwater cave, all breathless. “Mammy. I seen one,” it said. “I seen a human!”

“Och Nessie!” said its mother. “Sure, away an’ boil yer heed. Have I no telt ye a dozen times? There’s no such thing.”