Geoff was sitting in his garden
enjoying his pipe and watching St. Swithen’s play St. Stephen’s in the local
village cricket grudge match when it happened. Everything had been going so
well. He had kept her hidden; feed her each day, giving her just enough
nourishment. Once she was ready they would all see him for the genius he was.
Not small potatoes like they all thought. This year was going to be his year,
the year he revealed his true colours.
St. Stephen’s
were 194 for 9 in the last over chasing 199. Big Jimmy Smithers was up to bat
and Arthur Jones ran in, determined to shatter middle peg. Jimmy read the
flight of the ball all the way and promptly set it sailing straight over the
bowlers head. St. Stephen’s were cheering so loudly they never heard the smash,
but Geoff did. He jumped up and ran to the side of the little cottage. The
window pane was smashed. He ran forward towards his makeshift greenhouse.
He was found the next morning by
the postman. Dead on the floor, heart attack. He was lying next to this little ram
shackled green house and in it a huge marrow. A huge marrow with a cricket ball
embedded in its middle.
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