Behind the Canvas

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Behind the canvas the shadow loomed large and dangerous. The head was enormous and it seemed to be floating in the air. The feet, as long as canoes, would rise and fall as the other elongated shadow moved up towards the top of the tent.

      As John entered the tent, the head burst. It was a balloon, a silly childish prank. The shadow, a petite ten year old. Falling on top of his mates in laughter, John started to come round from his ever-lasting laughing fit.

“That was the worst monster I’ve ever seen,” laughed James.

“ It wasn’t as bad as your go yesterday!” chuckled David.

“OK, but you have to say that that was awful David,” James stated.

“ Time for some real stories I think.”

“Not ghost stories, James they’re boring,” whined John. “Not a ghost story, John, a real story…”


The time was 2-45pm and there was only fifteen minutes until kick-off and the road was deserted. A piece of tumbleweed blew across the pavement. A bulky shadow squeezed under the thin barriers and a tall, chunky middle-aged man was walking across the road towards the ground. By his side his son, a skinny seven year old. They rushed through the busy traffic and into the long never-ending passageway, which reflected the sight of a Leviathan winding through the prehistoric woodlands, towards the stadium. The boy was furiously tugging his father’s hand in an attempt to arrive on time. Stopping 100m from the ground the boy’s dad slowly bent down to tie his shoelaces up. By this point the young boy could see the amount of people. Thousands gathering for the match. He began to sweat. His father rose; he quickly grasped his hand and tightened up against the giant figure. And pulled.

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         As they pushed through the big crowds plaguing the entrance, a sight similar to an ocean of tall, blue and white waves crashing into each other, a loud, unfamiliar crackling sound rang in his ear. He sharply turned his head and could see a speaker blurting out messages that just seemed scrambled to the excited boy.  They took their seats for the start of the match. With his father to the left of him, the boy looked across to his right where he saw a big-boned bald supporter, with distinctive dark glasses, tucking into a Cornish ...

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