Wild Fiction

The boys nodded vigorously at her. She knelt down and put her hands on the grass and with her face pulled up and focussed on the tap she crawled towards it. Conrad and James shuffled behind her and stared at her beautifully proportioned buttocks as they rose and fell with each motion. They exchanged glances, smiles and thoughts. The thoughts they exchanged were: Mission accomplished, girl bends over and crawls on hands and knees in artistic manner.

Chapter 19

The author could not sleep that night. He had made no mention to Genevieve about his discovery of the secret passage when she returned. At 3am he was still awake and went down to the kitchen for a glass of milk but instead found himself sitting at the breakfast bar with a bottle of beer. The beer did not have the soporific effect he was looking for. In fact, it had the opposite effect and his mind raced. He knocked back the dregs from the bottle, picked up his torch and went back to the study.
With one hand placed at the top of the bookcase he pushed the concealed lever and gently let the bookcase swing open. This time without spilling any books. He walked back down the hidden corridor shining the torch on every crevice looking for any clue why this might be here. Still nothing. Only when he returned to the opening did he realise that there must be more corridor concealed behind it. He pushed the bookcase door shut while still in the hidden corridor. The door closed easily and clicked shut. The author let out a quiet ‘Damn’ realising that he had locked himself in. He shone the torch about, lighting up the rest of the corridor.
It was then that he saw it. Painted onto the back of the door was a large picture. It must have been at least three by four feet. He examined it in detail. Although the colours were faded, it was still complete and entirely legible. It looked like a map. Yes, it was a map of an island. Co-ordinates on the top left corner of the painting placed it somewhere in the Caribbean as far as the author could calculate. There was what looked like Spanish writing on the map. Written across the top of the map in large cursive script was the island’s name: Isla Angelitos - Angel’s Island. The torch trembled in his hand making the light flicker across the map. He felt his breathing quicken. His heart was trying to escape from his ribcage. This is it, he thought. This is the big break. He needed to examine it by a better light. Perhaps they could take the door off and face it towards the windows tomorrow.