Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Volbert was walking home – well, I say ‘walking’, but it was a cross between a dawdle and a shuffle – whistling happily to himself, looking up at the wintery stars, smiling gormlessly about how he had made a lovely new friend who he really enjoyed the company of, when he heard a bit of a commotion behind him, coming from the village.  Likely they were having a party or a dance or something like this.

He turned around, wishing he could be involved in the dancing (not that Volbert could dance . . . well, he assumed he couldn’t; he had never tried.  If only he would fix that gramophone!) when he realised that it wasn’t a celebration at all.  There were people holding torches in the distance, but getting closer.  There was a lot of shouting too.  It was like they were looking for someone.

“Strange.  Who could they be looking for?  Lyla got home safely,” he mumbled to himself thoughtfully.  And then it dawned on him; they must be looking for him!

Turning back around, facing home, Volbert started to run as fast as his wide, short legs could carry him.  He ran towards the door and, a bit so unused to the action, he fell over in the snow.  The voices were louder now.  He couldn’t hide, he couldn’t dig a hole, and he certainly couldn’t run.  All he could do is stand there and hope they were friendly people, like the lovely little miss Lyla.

They weren’t friendly.