Peter lived with his grandmother in a small cottage between a river and a field. At the far side of the field was the dark, dark forest.
Every day, Peter would have to cross the field to the dark, dark forest to collect wood for the fire. Every day, just before he left, his grandmother told him "Remember, you must be out of the dark, dark forest before the Sun sets or the Hurfl will get you."
Peter had always managed to get out of the dark, dark forest before sunset, so after a while he thought "There's no Hurfl, it's just a story my grandmother made up to make sure I'm back home in time."
As the days got shorter and colder, Peter needed to get more and more wood for the fire. Each day took him deeper and deeper into the dark, dark forest.
So it was that, one day, Peter was still in the dark, dark forest after the Sun set. As night fell, the dark, dark forest looked less and less familiar. Peter tried to remember the way home, but was getting more and more lost.
Suddenly he heard a "snap!" He spun round, but saw nothing. Quietly, creeping along, he made his way through the dark, dark forest.
After a while, he relaxed. It must have been his imagination. There's no Hurfl. Then he heard another "Snap!" He spun, and thought he saw a black shape shoot behind a tree not far away from him.
Fear caught him. His heart began to pound loudly in his ears. He looked around and saw what looked like a familiar boulder. He ran with all his might. Then he heard it. Heavy footsteps behind him, louder than his heartbeat.
It was the Hurfl! And it was after Peter!
Peter dodged one way, then another, weaving a crazy path between the trees.
Still he heard the footsteps behind him, sounding like a horse in full gallop. And now, he began to hear the breathing. Rough, fast breathing, with a rumble to it like some mighty cat.
He ran and ran. Up ahead he thought he saw the light of his grandmother's cottage the other side of the field. He ran further, getting closer and closer to the field.
Just as he was about a hundred feet away, he tripped on an old tree root and fell, tumbling, along the floor of the dark, dark forest.
The footsteps got closer. The breathing got nearer and slowed. Peter screwed up his eyes and waited for his fate. He smelt something like wet fur. He felt hot, damp breath on his neck. Felt a huge, fur covered claw land heavily on his shoulder. Then he heard the voice. It sounded as if it came from the deepest depths of the pit of destruction. In slow, measured tones it said:
"Tag, your it!"