‘Are you sure this is the right place?’ Herbert asked Mabel.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘This is where all the faeries gather each night.’
‘If you listen very carefully,’ she continued,
‘You can hear the Pipes Of Pan.’
Just then they were both overtaken by a horrific
feeling of cold and dryness.
They could hear footsteps but couldn’t see anyone.
Only a few hundred yards away was the local graveyard
in which Mabel’s husband’s freshly dug grave
could be found .Suddenly Fred felt a tap upon his shoulder. He turned toward a most
Rochelle Wisoff~FIelds gives us her weekly Friday Fictioneers so we can always know it’s Wednesday. PHOTO PROMPT © Alicia Jamtaas. As always the Froggy conceals such grand and glorious joys and pleasures.~