Three Spooky Fables for Children.

These three stories were commissioned by a Sheffield based animal park for a Halloween event that ran in 2023.

The Grunting.

There is a house, not far from here.

A house that has stood within a village for as long as anyone can remember, yet no one can recall it ever being occupied. It stands as a looming monument to the slow decay that caused what once was presumably someone’s home to become nothing but a structure of bricks and emptiness.

If there was ever evidence of happy memories from within its walls, these had long since been evicted.

The garden was overgrown, consumed by weeds and wildlife. Cobwebs covered the windows so much so that it was impossible for anyone to peer inside. Not that many were brave or foolish enough to do so, of course. You see, no human walked in or out of its doors, and only stories of ghosts and monsters creeped from that decrepit building.

Every person who had dared to sneak up towards the building all said the same the two things.

That they regretting ever stepping foot near that cursed house, and that their nights were now haunted by the sound that came from within.

Not the sound of a human, but the sound of a beast.

They would describe the effect the sound had upon them differently. Some would claim it caused their bones to chill, others said it made their hearts leap up into their throats. Some would say that it caused their stomach to spin like a washing machine. Yet, regardless of what they felt, they all agreed on one thing.

The sound was unmistakeably a grunting.

*GRUNT* *GRUNT* *GRUNT*

Those that had heard the grunting could only imagine what foul beast could make such a sound. They would picture a malformed creature, with eyes red like a demon. Teeth that could tear through flesh, and breath that smelled like really stinky socks.

They were all certain that, whatever horrible form the beast actually took, they would be more than happy to never find out.

It wasn’t until a cold Halloween night that people would finally discover the truth.

 A small group of children were out trick-or-treating, when they passed the house.

“I dare you to step into the garden” one of them said.

“Eeeeeaaaaasy” another replied.

“Okay, but I bet you wouldn’t stand in front of the door!”

The one who had been once so bold grew quiet.

“If you’re so brave, why don’t you do it?” A third child added.

The child who had been making the dares also went silent.

There was a fourth child with them, one who was as of yet to speak. The other three looked towards the fourth child, knowing that this child was the bravest.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

The other three huddled at the end of the driveway as the fourth child marched towards the door.

The brave child stood at the doorstep. Turning back, they smiled at the other three and gave a wave. Then, louder than anyone had ever heard it before, the grunting began.

*GRUNT* *GRUNT* *GRUNT*

“A MONSTER!!”

The three children that were stood at the bottom of the driveway screamed and fled in terror, leaving their friend behind.

The remaining child paused for a moment, perhaps frozen with fear but never letting it show.

The grunting continued, getting louder and louder.

It was then the child realised. Whatever was making the bone-chilling noise wasn’t getting louder.

It was getting CLOSER.

The child that had once been so brave was now trembling with fear.

Mustering all of the speed and strength they could, the child turned and ran, never looking back.

Yet, there was something familiar about this noise.

Something the child could not quite put their finger on.

Like so many others, the child’s dreams were now haunted by the awful grunting. Several sleepless nights passed before the child finally decide to tell a grown up.

Yet it was not their mother or father they would turn to, instead seeking advice from their older sister (a teenager, YUCK!).

The child’s sister was wise, and not at all superstitious or scared of stories involving ghosts and monsters.

She asked her sibling to make the same noise they had heard that night from within the house.

*GRUNT* *GRUNT* *GRUNT*

She paused, staring deeply into the eyes of her younger sibling.

And then.

She laughed.

The older sister was obsessed with animals, and volunteered at the nearby Mayfield Alpaca Farm.

“Don’t worry” the older sister said. “I know exactly what this so-called beast is, and there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The very next day, with some help from local people brave enough, the staff from Mayfield ventured into the abandoned house. The people from the village were shocked to find that the grunting that had caused so much terror for children and adults alike actually came from a couple of pigs!

These pigs were named Alan and Malcom, and they had been living within the house for quite some time. They had begun grunting not to frighten off visitors to the house, but because they were so excited to have guests! They couldn’t understand why people would run in fear every time when they were just trying to make friends!

It was quickly decided that Alan and Malcom would be much happier living at Mayfield Alpaca Farm, where they could grunt to their heart’s content each and every day! And, although their grunting had once scared people, the two quickly became loved by any and all visitors. Now the sound of their grunting brings joy where it had once brought fear.

So, it just goes to show, the things we may think are scary at first might not always be as they seem.

The Smell of Revenge.

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the quiet streets of Sheffield. The city was shrouded in an eerie silence, broken only by the occasional distant sound of a passing car or the rustle of leaves in the wind. It was on one such night, in a forgotten corner of the city, that a man named James would experience a horror he could never have imagined.

James was a solitary man, living alone in a small, decrepit house on the outskirts of Sheffield. He was known among his neighbours as a recluse, and a grumpy one at that. Yet still they went out of their way to say hello to the old man, asking him how his day had been and if there was anything they could do to help.

“I’m fine on my own. Go bother someone else.” James would say.

James didn’t have time for anyone, even if they were only trying to help. He hated his neighbours and he hated the local wildlife too. His garden was beautiful but he made sure that any animals that ventured in were chased away with aggression.

For weeks, James had been tormenting a skunk that had taken refuge in his garden shed. He had first chased it away with a broom, but as the days grew colder, the skunk would return each night to James’ shed and the old man became increasingly irritated by the creature’s presence. He would throw things at the shed, shout and bang on the walls, all in an attempt to drive the skunk away. The skunk had only sought shelter and warmth from the cold nights, yet James didn’t care. The last time he had chased the skunk away, he had kicked it as it fled. He then immediately went and bordered up any possible entrance the skunk could use to his shed. Later that evening, James had decided to take a solitary stroll through the woods that bordered his property. He often went for walks to escape the monotony of his life.

As James wandered deeper into the woods, the scent of damp earth and moss filled his nostrils. It was then that he spotted a small, furry creature by the side of the trail. It was a skunk, its distinctive black and white stripes clearly visible even in the fading light. The skunk appeared to be injured and shivering with cold. James couldn’t know for sure, but he suspected it was the same skunk that had been breaking into his shed.

Feeling a familiar irritation rise within him, James couldn’t resist the opportunity to unleash his frustrations on the hapless creature. The skunk, too weak to defend itself, merely looked up at James with eyes filled with fear and pain. It let out a feeble whimper, a plea for mercy that went unnoticed by the irate man.

“I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget,” James growled as he approached the skunk, anger boiling within him.

The skunk, despite its weakened state, managed to lift its tail in a feeble attempt to defend itself. However, there was no foul odour, no noxious cloud of sulphur and decay. Instead, the skunk emitted a soft, mournful sound, as if begging for compassion.

James ignored the skunk’s plea and kicked the animal hard.

“Stupid pest.” James grumbled as he carried on his way.

The days turned into weeks, and James soon forgot about the skunk. But, unknown to James, the skunk had not forgotten the torment it had endured. It harboured a deep anger and resentment toward the man who had caused its suffering. Late one night, as James lay in bed, he heard a soft rustling sound outside his window. He peered out and saw the skunk, its eyes glowing red with an eerie malevolence.

“You thought you could torment me and get away with it,” the skunk’s voice echoed in James’s mind, a sinister whisper. “Now it’s your turn to know what it’s like to suffer.”

With those words, the skunk raised its tail, and a noxious cloud of foul odour enveloped James’s room. He gagged and choked, the pungent stench overwhelming his senses. He stumbled out of bed, desperate to escape the suffocating smell, but it clung to him like a curse.

No matter what James’ tried, the stench remained. A constant reminder of the skunk’s revenge. James’ neighbours now actively tried to avoid him. No one said hello to him in the morning, or asked how his day had been, and they would walk to the other side of the street if they saw him approaching. James soon realised just how much he needed the company of his neighbours, and just how lonely life was without their kindness. He lived in isolation, completely alone and unable to rid himself of the odour that had become a part of him. His life had become a living nightmare, and he realized too late the consequences of his actions.

And so, in the quiet streets of Sheffield, a man named James suffered the curse of the skunk’s revenge. It was a harsh reminder that cruelty and torment could have consequences far beyond what one might expect. To this day some people still tell the tale of the man who, due to his anger and bitterness towards all creatures, lived forever marked by the stench of his own cruelty.

Alpacaman.

In the heart of the countryside near Sheffield, a legend has been passed down through generations—a tale of terror that emerges every Halloween to prey upon those who dare utter its name. It’s a story of a creature that prowls the fields and forests, a being that is neither man nor beast, a lost soul with an insatiable hunger. And the creature’s name is… well, we’ll get to that.

This eerie legend dates back two centuries, to a time when alpacas, native to South America, found an unlikely home on these lands. A farmer, drawn by the allure of their valuable wool, had imported them and built a profitable business. However, his wealth came at a terrible cost. The farmer cared little for the welfare of the alpacas, subjecting them to neglect and cruelty. He’d forget to feed them, allowed their water to stagnate, and showed no compassion towards the animals.

Unbeknownst to the farmer, the alpacas were under the watchful eye of the mountain god, Apu. Despite their displacement from their homeland, Apu sensed their suffering and decided to take action, vowing to punish the man who mistreated his cherished alpacas.

One fateful Halloween night, as the farmer stumbled his way home from the local pub, cutting through the dark forest, Apu appeared before him in a radiant blue light. The god’s presence was awe-inspiring.

“Farmer, you have wronged my children,” Apu spoke with authority. “Unless you apologize and promise to mend your ways, I will curse you for all eternity.”

The farmer, inebriated and belligerent, spat on the ground. He had little respect for anyone, not even a god.

“I don’t care who you are, man or god” he sneered. “This is my land, and those alpacas are my property. I’ll do with them as I please. If you don’t leave right away, I’ll get my gun and make you.”

The farmer’s rudeness ignited Apu’s wrath, causing the radiant blue light to intensify into a fiery red.

“Very well, farmer. You have sealed your fate,” Apu declared before vanishing into thin air.

The farmer, baffled by Apu’s disappearance, trudged on, eventually collapsing into bed upon his return home. Little did he know that his life was about to change in ways he could never imagine.

The following day, the farmer awoke feeling drained and sluggish, as if his head was filled with heavy rocks. Although he cared little for his animals, he still had to do at least the bare minimum to ensure their survival. He forced himself out of bed, neglecting to wash or groom himself.

With lethargy weighing him down, he moved through his daily chores, providing only just enough to keep his animals alive. As he approached the alpaca field, an icy shiver ran down his spine. Every alpaca fixed its gaze upon him, a sight he was accustomed to. However, this time was different—within their eyes, he could faintly discern a crimson glow. More unnerving were their sinister smiles, revealing yellowed teeth.

“I must be losing my mind,” he muttered, attributing the bizarre sight to an overindulgence in alcohol. He scattered a meagre portion of hay and, to his surprise, the alpacas made no move toward it.

“Strange, they’re usually ravenous,” he mumbled, perplexed. As he retreated from the field, he heard it—the faint sound of laughter. It started softly, like a trick of his imagination, but it grew louder and more unsettling. The alpacas were laughing at him.

Around midday, a local woman who frequently purchased milk and eggs from the farmer visited his farm. She knew he was unpleasant, but there were no convenient alternatives nearby. She knocked politely on his door, only to be met with a tirade of abuse.

“STOP THAT KNOCKING! I HEARD YOU COMING. I’M NOT DEAF, YOU KNOW. I’M GETTING YOUR MILK READY, SO DON’T RUSH ME!”

The woman rolled her eyes, accustomed to his daily outbursts. As she awaited her goods, she couldn’t help but contemplate moving away, far away from this rude man. Every day the farmer would hurl abuse at her, but she had no choice. Her finances wouldn’t allow her to live anywhere else.

When the farmer finally faced her, she let out a blood-curdling scream and fled, never looking back. The farmer stood perplexed, watching her retreat while her screams echoed through the distance.

“What’s happening today?” he muttered, shaking his head before returning to his chores.

As he entered the bathroom that night to groom himself before bedtime, the farmer encountered a horrifying sight. His reflection in the mirror revealed a face that was not his own. Instead of the face of a man, he bore the head of an alpaca!

He gasped in shock, placing his hands to his face in disbelief. The curse was real, and he was no longer human.

From his window, he saw an approaching orange glow—villagers, armed with pitchforks and torches, coming to expel the monster they believed him to be. In fear, the farmer fled into the forest, searching for Apu, the alpaca god.

“Oh, please,” he pleaded desperately. “I am sorry. I promise I’ll never treat these creatures badly again.”

But Apu did not appear.

Desperate and alone, the farmer fell to his knees, screaming. His voice was no longer that of a man—it had transformed into the high-pitched scream of an alpaca.

The villagers never saw the farmer again, presuming he perished in the forest. However, every Halloween, locals claimed they can hear the alpacas at Mayfield, laughing into the night, as if recounting the tale of the cruel farmer who mistreated their ancestors. Then, after the laughter fades, the locals claim they can hear the chilling high-pitched scream from a creature that sounds not quite human, yet not quite animal. These screams can only come from the beast known as…

ALPACAMAN!