May 05, 2004 - 7:16 p.m.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/endofstory/
http://www.bbc.co.uk/endofstory/downloads/index.shtml?hutson
The Tunnel by Shaun Hutson
"...Tate pushed it.

As it swung open to reveal the cubicle, Tate looked
in.  He'd been prepared to say something, to speak.
To enquire of the occupant if they'd seen anyone 
else moving about on the train.

The cubicle was empty.

But what Tate saw next froze the breath in his 
lungs.

*What happens next? Over to you...*"





There was a frog on the loo seat.
'heeliuooOoW!' said frog, face bursting into a wide
rubber lipped grin.  Ffffp, sucking up some dribble 
from slimy chin.

Convulsing with terror, Tate instinctively threw up 
hands to cover his face: eyes bulging, slamming 
back tripping scrambling away on all fours 
scratching at his ears to pull them round his face 
and hide from that thing. 

A whimpering heap now fallen face down in the isle; 
trying to bury his head, rubbing on the carpet 
tile.

Green wobble fwapped down next to Tate's ear like 
rancid cowpat. Looking up now, bloodshot eyes into 
grinning orbs and rubber face. Its huge cheeks 
ripple blub blub blub.  Frog peers closer, eyeball 
to eyeball.
'Num num num' it gibbered with a rumble.  Tate felt 
his intestines hum. He squeaked, legs flailing in 
panic '...nhheei..'. Back a few inches, but the 
beast splats forward with a fat hop.
'Num num num.  Num num num. NiYUMph'  Glistening 
gums paused a moment, locked around Tate's neck, 
sucking on his spongy hair.  After a moment's 
reflection, it gobbled him up.




                
.Death Of A Naturalist
by Seamus Heaney

Just realised I sub-consciously copied from this.
What a poem though...

All the year the flax-dam festered in the heart
Of the townland; green and heavy headed
Flax had rotted there, weighted down by huge sods.
Daily it sweltered in the punishing sun.
Bubbles gargled delicately, bluebottles
Wove a strong gauze of sound around the smell.
There were dragon-flies, spotted butterflies,
But best of all was the warm thick slobber
Of frogspawn that grew like clotted water
In the shade of the banks. Here, every spring
I would fill jampots full of the jellied
Specks to range on the window-sills at home,
On shalves at school, and wait and watch until
The fattening dots burst into nimble-
Swimming tadpoles. Miss Walls would tell us how
The daddy frog was called a bullfrog
And how he croaked and how the mammy frog
Laid hundreds of little eggs and this was
Frogspawn. You could tell the weather by frogs too
For they were yellow in the sun and brown
In rain.

Then one hot day when fields were rank
With cowdung in the grass the angry frogs
Invaded the flax-dam; I ducked through hadges
To a coarse croaking that I had not heard
Before. The air was thick with a bass chorus.
Right down the dam gross-bellied frogs were cocked
On sods; their loose necks pulsed like snails. Some hopped:
The slap and plop were obscene threats. Some sat
Poised like mud grenades, their blunt heads farting.
I sickened, turned, and ran. The great slime kings
Were gathered there for vengeance and I knew
That if I dipped my hand the spawn would clutch it.

 
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