Stories for children and adults by the crazy-mad writer

Wot and Nott: Walking With Statues

Part One - Blood, Rhyme, Steam and Stone

 

 

 

Wot and Nott: Walking with Statues

 

Chapter Four

Home, again

 

With an almighty crash, Wot landed on the floor of his living room. Looking around the

darkened chamber, he whispered “Nott, are you there?” He received no answer. Standing

up, rubbing his soreness, he wondered where the little tyke had gone. Hearing the clock

ticking away on the mantelpiece, he screwed up his eyes, trying to see what time it was.

“It’s seven thirty,” he said. “Is that am or pm?” Yanking the curtains open, his heart

skipped a beat.

 

Although it was dark outside, making it morning, he saw snow absolutely everywhere. 

Feeling the chill, Wot fumbled with the controls of his gas fire, lighting it. The blue flames

leapt readily upwards, cheering him no end. Exiting the room, he said, “I’m parched. A nice

cup of tea will sort that out.” Entering the kitchen, he switched on the light. The tube

spluttered into life. 

 

“Now where is that tea?” he asked, searching for it. “Ah, there it is.” Picking up the caddy,

Wot spooned some tea into the pot.

 

Minutes later, with cup of tea in one hand and a mince pie in the other, Wot made his

way into the sitting room, to catch-up with the news on TV. The cathode ray tube glowed,

and then the presenter appeared. “Good morning,” she said, “and a happy New Year

to each one of you.”

“It’s still New Year’s day,” Wot chirped merrily. 

 

As the presenter continued speaking, something she said caught Wot’s attention. It was

only a small thing, a throwaway statement, but enough to send alarm bells ringing

nevertheless. She said, “On days such as this, we might well be living in a Summerland.”

That was it, nothing more, but it troubled Wot immensely. Tightening his grip on the

rattling cup and saucer, he tried to still his shaking hand. “She didn’t mean anything by it;

it was a simple, throwaway remark, that’s all,” he insisted. “Wot, pull yourself together.”

Listening to the rest of the programme, Wot heard nothing of interest, just the usual

holiday rubbish; accidents, airport delays, weather reports, a wrap-up of the previous

year’s news stories, and resolutions for the new one.  Finishing his tea, Wot closed his

eyes, resting in his favourite armchair. It felt like an eternity since he had had a good rest.

 

Across the road, Nott landed with a bump in his hallway, twisting his ankle in the process.

“Why do things always happen to me?” he asked, touching his ankle. “Ow, that really

hurts!” he whimpered.  Opening his shoelace, he eased off his shoe. His foot was

rapidly swelling. Pulling himself across the floor, to the telephone table, he tugged at the

cord. The telephone landed on his hurt foot. “Ow!” he wailed.

The phone at the other end of the line rang and rang and rang but nobody answered it.

Nobody picked it up. “I could be in mortal peril, lying here,” said Nott, “for all that big galute

cares about me! Where the hell is he?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Five

January 2nd

 

Want to read more? You can purchase

Wot and Nott: Walking With Statues

Part One - Blood, Rhyme, Steam and Stone

by visiting my online bookshop.

 

 

 

I am the crazy-mad writer of children's stories,

songs, nursery rhymes and much, much more!

 

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008