rhiannon_s (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
rhiannon_s) wrote2015-05-15 08:59 pm
rhiannon_s) wrote2015-05-15 08:59 pm
Entry tags:
Today's writing exercise: Grabbity Scratch and the Incautious Child
Grabbity Scratch and the Incautious Child.
You will have heard many stories of the things that live on the edges of your vision, the crocodiles that bite your ankles if you step on a pavement crack, Jenny Greenteeth who will drag you into weed covered ponds, Will of the Wisp who lures you out to the marshes and into rivers, or even Chalky Nancy and her floury cottage…, but today we talk of Grabbity Scratch who lives in the hedges and brambles and tries to pull children into them to eat them or turn their arms to jelly.
It was a fine sunny day in early July, warm and gentle was the sunshine and the breeze soft and mild. It was as fair a summer’s day as anyone could want.
‘Bye mum, I’m off to play with Chris,’ the child said, grabbing their jacket and rushing out the door.
‘Okay darling,’ the child’s mother replied, ‘but just you stay away from the brambles, and no short cuts through hedges, or Grabbity Scratch will get you’.
The child made the sort of mocking sound that a child makes when they feel they are too old for such stories, but not yet too old to be given a clip around the ear for their cheek if they are more blatantly disrespectful as a teenager would. All their life their mum had told them stories. Watch out for the Gorey Crow who’ll have your eye out if you stare up into the sky. Beware the trippy snakes who lived in the grass verges and would trip children who were too busy looking at their phones. Watch out for the Gutter Pipe Peg, who had no legs and would try and pull you down into drainage ditches and steal yours. The child had never had any of those things happen, despite doing all the things that would supposedly lead them to falling victim to each of those horrors. They didn’t see the danger from old Grabbity Scratch then, that was for sure.
So the child walked on, down the lane and around the corner. Along the field verge and over the bridge, of which they pointedly did not run across to avoid the troll living under it. By and by Chris’s house came into view at the end of the lane, but just as the child was about to cross the road to get to it, their attention was caught by a noise in the large bramble patch on the lane corner. There was something in there. A rustle and a bustle, a clatter and a batter, a clang and a clonk. The child’s thoughts immediately turned to Grabbity Scratch and they stepped back with a gasp. Then they curled their lip and gave another, this time more defiant scoff –because there was clearly no chance of a clip around the ear since their mother was not there to see it- at the thought of such a thing. But there it was again, and a flash of black and a quick gleam of some thin yellow eye. Then something gleamed within the brambles. Was it Grabbity Scratch?
The child reached within the patch, and then yanked their arm out quick with their shirt catching on the bramble thorns. Their hand and wrist now covered in scratches. Again there was the flash of movement, and a rustle of sound, so the child again reached into the brambles, albeit with a little more care. The sound came now from deeper within, and the child followed, plunging in properly. Brambles vines catching around their legs, and arms. The sound again, and deeper the child plunged into the heat of Grabbity Scratches lair. Then something shifted under foot, and old fence stob, or maybe a discarded bottle. The child’s balance shifted with them and they fell, face down, but not all the way to earth. Something hard and sharp caught them across their belly leaving them hanging in the air within the brambley patch. The child thrashed and panciked, the bramble vines wrapping further around their legs and arms, and whipping across their face. For sure, they thought, Grabbity Scratch has got me, I’m a gonner. Then an arm reached in from above, and another and lifted the child up and back out into the summer sunshine.
‘You alright?’ A man in a broad brimmed hat asked. ‘That was a nasty fall you took there, looks like you need patched up a bit,’ he said.
The child’s face flushed, ashamed that they had needed rescuing and for thinking of such a silly thing as Grabbity Scratch. ‘M fine,’ the muttered, ‘nk you though.’ And then took off running back home. Back over the bridge, along the flied verge and home again. Just before they reached the front door of their house, the child came to a halt. They knew they couldn’t let their mum see all the scratches, scrapes, and torn shirt and jeans. That would get them a long lecture and sent to their room after the games console was taken out. Maybe, they thought, absently rubbing the scratches on their arm, if they just went straight to their room and played on the console for a while mum would not notice. They’d get to change their clothes too, shove the old ones straight to the back of their wardrobe or under their mattress where they thought mum would not notice. Yes that was a plan.
A quick shout that they were back, that Chris was not in, and a rush upstairs later and it seemed the plan was a success. The afternoon wore on, and although they enjoyed playing the game at first, soon it started to become harder and the controls slower to respond. The child thought perhaps there was something wrong with the console, they’d ask mum to take a look at it, but then she’d see the dirty scratches on the their face and arms. The itchy scratches on the arm especially, and the child did not want that. It was far too hot a day to have such an argument. Even after they’d changed their shirt twice, and opened the window, it seemed stifling and they ended up sweat soaked. The child decided, despite that they would have fought against it at any other time, that perhaps they’d take a nap and feel better afterwards.
‘Necrotizing fasciitis,’ the child’s mother tearfully repeated back to the doctor, but how?’
The doctor sighed, ‘even a simple scratch needs cleaning out, and they’ve got them all over both arms. Not to mention the scrape on their stomach, which looks like barbwire, so there is a risk of blood poisoning too. I think we’ll be able prevent that, but we need to amputate that arm. I’m sorry.’
The child’s mother broke down into tears as the surgeons rushed the child into surgery to take their right arm. The right arm they’d reached into the bramble patch in defiance and search of Grabbity Scratch. So, dear reader, watch for Grabbity Scratch in brambles and thick hedges, for she will turn your arms to jelly even if she does not swallow you whole.
You will have heard many stories of the things that live on the edges of your vision, the crocodiles that bite your ankles if you step on a pavement crack, Jenny Greenteeth who will drag you into weed covered ponds, Will of the Wisp who lures you out to the marshes and into rivers, or even Chalky Nancy and her floury cottage…, but today we talk of Grabbity Scratch who lives in the hedges and brambles and tries to pull children into them to eat them or turn their arms to jelly.
It was a fine sunny day in early July, warm and gentle was the sunshine and the breeze soft and mild. It was as fair a summer’s day as anyone could want.
‘Bye mum, I’m off to play with Chris,’ the child said, grabbing their jacket and rushing out the door.
‘Okay darling,’ the child’s mother replied, ‘but just you stay away from the brambles, and no short cuts through hedges, or Grabbity Scratch will get you’.
The child made the sort of mocking sound that a child makes when they feel they are too old for such stories, but not yet too old to be given a clip around the ear for their cheek if they are more blatantly disrespectful as a teenager would. All their life their mum had told them stories. Watch out for the Gorey Crow who’ll have your eye out if you stare up into the sky. Beware the trippy snakes who lived in the grass verges and would trip children who were too busy looking at their phones. Watch out for the Gutter Pipe Peg, who had no legs and would try and pull you down into drainage ditches and steal yours. The child had never had any of those things happen, despite doing all the things that would supposedly lead them to falling victim to each of those horrors. They didn’t see the danger from old Grabbity Scratch then, that was for sure.
So the child walked on, down the lane and around the corner. Along the field verge and over the bridge, of which they pointedly did not run across to avoid the troll living under it. By and by Chris’s house came into view at the end of the lane, but just as the child was about to cross the road to get to it, their attention was caught by a noise in the large bramble patch on the lane corner. There was something in there. A rustle and a bustle, a clatter and a batter, a clang and a clonk. The child’s thoughts immediately turned to Grabbity Scratch and they stepped back with a gasp. Then they curled their lip and gave another, this time more defiant scoff –because there was clearly no chance of a clip around the ear since their mother was not there to see it- at the thought of such a thing. But there it was again, and a flash of black and a quick gleam of some thin yellow eye. Then something gleamed within the brambles. Was it Grabbity Scratch?
The child reached within the patch, and then yanked their arm out quick with their shirt catching on the bramble thorns. Their hand and wrist now covered in scratches. Again there was the flash of movement, and a rustle of sound, so the child again reached into the brambles, albeit with a little more care. The sound came now from deeper within, and the child followed, plunging in properly. Brambles vines catching around their legs, and arms. The sound again, and deeper the child plunged into the heat of Grabbity Scratches lair. Then something shifted under foot, and old fence stob, or maybe a discarded bottle. The child’s balance shifted with them and they fell, face down, but not all the way to earth. Something hard and sharp caught them across their belly leaving them hanging in the air within the brambley patch. The child thrashed and panciked, the bramble vines wrapping further around their legs and arms, and whipping across their face. For sure, they thought, Grabbity Scratch has got me, I’m a gonner. Then an arm reached in from above, and another and lifted the child up and back out into the summer sunshine.
‘You alright?’ A man in a broad brimmed hat asked. ‘That was a nasty fall you took there, looks like you need patched up a bit,’ he said.
The child’s face flushed, ashamed that they had needed rescuing and for thinking of such a silly thing as Grabbity Scratch. ‘M fine,’ the muttered, ‘nk you though.’ And then took off running back home. Back over the bridge, along the flied verge and home again. Just before they reached the front door of their house, the child came to a halt. They knew they couldn’t let their mum see all the scratches, scrapes, and torn shirt and jeans. That would get them a long lecture and sent to their room after the games console was taken out. Maybe, they thought, absently rubbing the scratches on their arm, if they just went straight to their room and played on the console for a while mum would not notice. They’d get to change their clothes too, shove the old ones straight to the back of their wardrobe or under their mattress where they thought mum would not notice. Yes that was a plan.
A quick shout that they were back, that Chris was not in, and a rush upstairs later and it seemed the plan was a success. The afternoon wore on, and although they enjoyed playing the game at first, soon it started to become harder and the controls slower to respond. The child thought perhaps there was something wrong with the console, they’d ask mum to take a look at it, but then she’d see the dirty scratches on the their face and arms. The itchy scratches on the arm especially, and the child did not want that. It was far too hot a day to have such an argument. Even after they’d changed their shirt twice, and opened the window, it seemed stifling and they ended up sweat soaked. The child decided, despite that they would have fought against it at any other time, that perhaps they’d take a nap and feel better afterwards.
‘Necrotizing fasciitis,’ the child’s mother tearfully repeated back to the doctor, but how?’
The doctor sighed, ‘even a simple scratch needs cleaning out, and they’ve got them all over both arms. Not to mention the scrape on their stomach, which looks like barbwire, so there is a risk of blood poisoning too. I think we’ll be able prevent that, but we need to amputate that arm. I’m sorry.’
The child’s mother broke down into tears as the surgeons rushed the child into surgery to take their right arm. The right arm they’d reached into the bramble patch in defiance and search of Grabbity Scratch. So, dear reader, watch for Grabbity Scratch in brambles and thick hedges, for she will turn your arms to jelly even if she does not swallow you whole.