Sometime, somewhere, a burly man, dressed in comfy jeans and a heavy flannel shirt, his hairy toes bare on the carpet, sat in front of the fireplace of his small house. In his hands was a steaming mug of much-watered mulled wine which he was sipping occasionally. On the carpet in front the hearth, the three small figures were clutching equally steaming mugs of hot-coacoa. They had been obsorbed in a board game until the fat, ginger, family cat bounded onto it and chased the pieces around, ending the game.
The three children clustered close to their father and begged “Story, Papa, story!”
The man, used to such requests from the three children, ranging in age from four to seven, stroked his stubbly chin. He took a sip from his mug, and then, a twinkle in his eyes, looked down at his three little ones.
“A story, my ducklings? Ye shall have a story. A night like tonight is a time for stories. Now, the story I’m abou’ to tell ye is about a man called One-Eyed Steve.”
5 thoughts on “One-Eyed Steve: Part I”
Hey, you left me hanging! My Father In Law used to tell my son the story of one armed Frank and scare the heck out of him!
Please continue. You left me hanging 🙂
i left a comment on this before today, but it’s not here(?)
yes that’s my brother in that photo
Found the beginning at last! ^^
Though frankly, I did not like having the image of hairy toes implanted in my brain.