He was starving. It had been a long day, and his stomach had been grumbling for hours.
He opened the door to his cottage and smiled. It was good to be home. Just stepping over the threshold took a great weight off his shoulders. Home. His sanctuary.
He hung his coat up on the peg beside the door and took a deep breath. Ah yes, it was good to –
Wait. What was that smell?
His nose wrinkled in disgust. Something had got into his home. It was probably scurrying around through the skirting boards right now. Or hiding in his cupboard, nibbling at his food.
His stomach lurched at the thought.
What was it this time?
He sniffed around. The smell was coming from somewhere near the kitchen table. He took a step closer and sniffed again. Oh, it was such a stink!
He realised suddenly what it was.
“Fee, fi, fo, fum,” he muttered. “I smell the blood of an English man.”
© Kari Fay