11 July 2019


My thanks to blog visitors who read the first part of "Stanedge Lodge". Here we go with Part Two. Every word is true.
Part Two

I emerged from my unconscious state like a sealion. One moment I am basking on the floor of some deep, dark underwater cave and then I'm spiralling up to the surface. Vivid dreams evaporated and I became conscious of throbbing discomfort from the back of my skull or pounding inside my head - I couldn't tell which.

Even before I opened my eyes, I remembered what had happened. Someone had hit me with a heavy object. Perhaps a brick or a baseball bat. Isn't that what thugs use in films? 

I heard hushed South Yorkshire voices close by and without moving a muscle I listened.

"Get rid of him Benny!"

"How? Where? You do it Ralph. You hit him. Not my problem."

"We should kill 'im. Bury 'im in the bog. I bet that's what Smithy would do."

"Yeah but Smithy ain't here. We don't want to complicate things."

"Where the fuck did this bastard come from anyway?"

"Smithy said nobody would bother us. He promised."

"Fucking promises!"

Where was I? I reckoned I  was right inside Stanedge Lodge. I was lying face down on upholstered leather and I could smell a log fire burning. The two voices faded away. A door was slammed. Outside I heard feet on gravel.  Right, I thought, time to make a quick exit before they come back.

I opened my eyes to see velvet blackness. It was only then that I realised they had blindfolded me. I tried to move my hands from behind my back but they were tied and so were my feet. All that I could do was to try to sit up. Like a sealion on a rocky beach, I heaved my body over, forcing myself into a sitting position and as I writhed the blindfold slipped down so that I could see with my right eye.

The room was panelled and there were stuffed animal heads on the walls - a wild boar, a snarling wolf, a lion, different kinds of deer. Above the fireplace  with its flickering amber light, two blunderbuss rifles were crossed. It was just as I had imagined the interior of the old hunting lodge would appear.

Then I saw headlight beams creeping up the opposite wall over the wolf. A vehicle's tyres crunched the gravel. A car door slammed. Angry voices. But I couldn't make out what they were saying. Suddenly, I was more scared than I have ever been in my adult life. Shit scared. Hadn't one of them mentioned burying me in the bog? I felt like a sitting duck and entirely alone. In response to these inner feelings, my body began to tremble. Why had I turned right and not left. Bloody, bloody fool! 

And who were these rough men? Benny and Ralph and Smithy? What were they doing at Stanedge Lodge? In the next few minutes all would become clear, well - nearly all.


  1. The suspense is almost unbearable!! I was almost waiting for one of the stuffed heads to move and speak to you.

    1. With the blow to my head I was woozy and I thought that the lion's head did speak to me. He said, "Take me back to Africa".

  2. Well it can't be sheep stealing, never catch them up on the moors.

  3. Didn't Benny used to work at the Crossroads Motel?

  4. Following along here, Mr. P.

  5. I love the suspense!

  6. Ralph and Benny need their mouths washed out with soap!

    1. Normally I avoid any swearing in this blog but the swear words were in character and seemed necessary for authenticity.

  7. The one advantage is that no person who ever ended up dead in a bog wrote about it.

    1. Perhaps the whole story should have been "he" rather than "I". I considered that.

  8. This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.


Mr Pudding welcomes all genuine comments - even those with which he disagrees. However, puerile or abusive comments from anonymous contributors will continue to be given the short shrift they deserve. Any spam comments that get through Google/Blogger defences will also be quickly deleted.

Most Visits