The Thorpeness Monster (standard:adventure, 1271 words)
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Aug 18 2008	Views/Reads: 3928/2164	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A tourist encounters a monster of a problem in a quiet Suffolk backwater.

The Thorpeness Monster 

Driving through Suffolk was a new experience for Teddy Rochester. He'd
read about “Constable country” of course. Back in the States he'd 
fingered through British holiday brochures, looking to combine his 
business trip to London with a spot of well-earned recreation in some 
cute little Brit backwater where time stood still. At little more than 
a hundred miles from London, Suffolk fitted the bill pretty well. 

However his recreation time had turned out limited, his business dealing
if profitable had been somewhat protracted on account of some 
hard-boiled advisers; now he was determined to get himself a slice of 
old-fashioned slow-motion country life. Driving deep into Suffolk 
though, his difficulty was deciding on a suitable place in which to 
stop. 

He'd finally pulled up before a crossroad, dithering, which wasn't a bit
like him. He found he needed his “specs” to examine the tiny print on 
the top rung of the signpost and made a mental note of phoning in for 
an eyesight test on his arrival home. 

Thorpeness, the sign said, two miles, pointing down a leafy two-lane
road that abruptly diminished to one as it receded into the distance. 
Teddy was intrigued, for some illogical reason it conjured up visions 
of a sea monster, he'd read about it somewhere and shucks, two miles 
was no big deal when you'd driven coast to coast across the States. 

So he took the quiet leafy lane, enjoying the warm wind rustling up from
the coast which he supposed wasn't too far away, and with the hood of 
his convertible lowered he felt it ruffling through the remains of his 
hair. 

He passed Tudor type timber homes reminiscent of New England state; a
windmill appeared and an extraordinary tower house rose up with its 
roof stretching towards the clouds, before he spotted a large lake in 
the village centre. 

Something connected in his fast moving brain – a lake of course – yes,
that was it – a lake with a monster – Nessie he'd heard it called, 
though nobody had ever spotted it for sure. Well this had to be it – 
what a story for his pals back home. He'd be a hero at his golf club. 
The Thorpeness Monster  - discovered by no other than Teddy R. 
Rochester. 

Teddy spotted the parking lot and drew in; he parked opposite the lake
and then slinging his new Kodak digital over his shoulder took a deep 
breath, savouring the sweet aroma of a British summer afternoon. Well 
if this was rural Britain he liked it, he liked it a lot, positively 
charming, but how did they accommodate for living with a monster in 
their midst? 

The lake was not large in the American sense, (in the States everything
was huge) but it had its curious rustic appeal. He noted it was flanked 
by a large café-bar and gift shop, no doubt full of souvenirs of the 
Thorpeness monster; he'd check it out later. 

Then his eyes widened, filling their sockets; he couldn't believe what
he was seeing, the home of the monster ringed by bobbing rowing boats – 
if there was ever proof that the Brits were crazy then this was it. 
Luckily no boats were out on the lake, there would be nobody to hamper 
his progress in discovering the monster. 

Except that the kiosk was empty, its door hanging open. There was a
marker board at the back and two strokes of a black felt tip pen were 
the only indication that boats had been out. Only the third boat out 
today he thought, typical of the Brits to fail to maximize one of their 
greatest assets. And just to compound his annoyance the attendant was 
engaged in idle gossip, he could see the guy now on a shore of the 
lake. Short fella in a checked peak cap, wearing spectacles, baggy 
trousers and trainers; hands in pockets, talking to tall woman in 
yellow tee shirt and shorts. 

She looked a cracker, but right now he was hooked on nailing that
monster and the lazy good for nothing boating attendant was thwarting 
him, cutting in to his precious time. 


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