The suspicious stranger, who we had seen earlier in the day, came in carrying a bundle. He sat down in the corner of the room, where he took out a gun and pointed it at the door.
The effect on us was terror. “What’s that for?” said Paul, alarmed.
“Don’t worry. It’s for a friend of mine,” replied the stranger.
Soon we heard the familiar step of Mr. Scott, who was the landlord of our establishment, coming down the hall.
“That sounds like him now,” said the stranger. He got up and walked to behind the door. Not one of us could utter a word, which was surprising because we usually were very talkative.
Mr. Scott opened the door, which slammed shut when the stranger kicked it with his foot. This made Mr. Scott turn around and he was facing the barrel of a gun, which had been suddenly raised when Mr. Scott came in, and the stranger.
Mr. Scott stepped back and from the barrel came a long, thin stream of water.
(c) M. Robert Gibson
First written March 1976
Don’t forget, it was written by a schoolboy.
It is published here for purely selfish vanity reasons.