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Moth Man
17th July
I’m not sure how you’re meant to start journals, but here goes: We moved to Folding Ford in April and now it’s July, and maybe it’s because we’re new here, but to me it’s completely obvious that this village is cracked. Today the weirdness got major, which is why I’m going to start writing it all down. If something happens to me, everyone will know the facts, because of this journal.
Here’s what happened today:
Only little kids believe in giants, but that’s exactly what pounded down the hill, right at me. I was standing on the bridge at the edge of the village. It was dusk and I should have been home already.
He closed in fast, crazy white hair flying out, long string of a body, big coat swinging with every step, like a cloak. And, OK, so up close I could see he wasn’t a giant, but he was a ginormously tall man with a creepy face from a nightmare… and butterflies flapping around his shoulders.
The road was empty, the houses quiet and still.
Tried not to stare, but he was too tall, the butterflies were just too strange, and his snarly mouth and angry, darting eyes made him look ready to spring at anyone for any reason. I pretended something had got stuck in the front tyre of my bike, but my eyes were glued.
He scanned my face, a split-second glare that sent chills pulsing down my spine, chills that didn’t stop, not even when he marched past me and away. And those weren’t butterflies. They were brown, thick-bodied moths. And each one was tied to the man’s wrists by a tiny thread.
He was taking them for a walk.
The giant with the moths is just the latest in a whole load of very strange things. Just in case anyone finds this notebook when I’m dead, here’s a list of all the weird stuff that’s happened since we moved here:
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