The Hedgehog

Cover art by ARG (my mum)

The winter had been mild, which was fortunate as Pauline's lavender cuttings had triumphantly survived the returning bouts of frost. There were even a few shoots bursting from the ground where she'd thrown an assortment of bulbs and her pots full of compost had something other than weeds growing in them. Although, the warmer weather and flourishing wildlife had presented another problem in itself, the snails.

They came in legions, swarming the harling and climbing her trees. Their regiments littered the undergrowth, so that when Pauline ventured outside she could see a formation of small shell homes trailing across the grass.

Pauline had watched in despair as systematically her flowers were chomped, her lettuces nibbled and her patio covered in intricate patterns of slime. She could barely walk from one end of the garden to the other and it was far more perilous at night when she wheeled the bin to the curb; Pauline would fumble with its weight as she precariously steered around her intruders, crushing their shells was still the last thing she wanted.

So in an attempt to thwart the snails humanely, Pauline deployed a variety of her very best internet-assembled strategies. Firstly, she sprinkled coffee grounds around her pots, planters and bedding. Afterwards, she hid cotton wool balls sprayed with a generous quantity of garlic amongst her borders. Next, she scattered a plethora of bird seed to catch the attention of the local sparrows, and though they descended, they failed to pick apart the staunch army of snails.

In her final, much more dubious, attempt she used up the last remnants of her lettuce leaves to trap the creatures in an upturned, lettuce-baited tupperware box. Come morning, this merely resulted in an empty tupperware box and a fatigued sense of disappointment.

And so the snails remained long into the wet summer, well fed and enjoying their overgrown paradise.

As September encroached, it was another unusually warm and damp evening when Pauline first noticed something was different. Her path, all the way up to the pavement, was unobstructed with not a hint of an obstacle. Pauline heaved the bin to the street and then stepped back into her garden to investigate this bizarre exodus of snails. Unexpectedly, she discovered the back garden to be in a similar fashion; the bulk of the troops had moved out, leaving only a few rogue stragglers behind.

She was on her hands and knees, head embedded in a bush, when a sudden, steady hiss reverberated from the undergrowth.

Pauline whirled, catching the faintest glimpse of something slipping into the shadows. She discovered only a trail of broken twigs, upturned earth and the ridges and bumps in the ground which, on careful examination, were a set of animal prints. The indents were too small for a cat, and too big for a mouse, which left only one other mammal that also fit the brief of 'snail devourer'.

A hedgehog!

As if that decided it, Pauline rushed back inside, upturned one of the half filled cat bowls and deposited a fresh chicken pouch inside. Ignoring the high pitched cries from her cats, Pauline set the dish outside, just a few paces from the backdoor to welcome her new resident. Barely resisting the urge to stake out the garden all night, Pauline retreated back into the safe confines of her kitchen to eagerly await the results.

By next morning the food had gone. So with a delighted smile, Pauline grabbed her shopping list and scrawled down 'extra cat food'.

And so the weeks followed in a much similar pattern. Pauline would diligently put out fresh food every night and come next morning, the bowl would be emptied. She'd kept a keen eye out for her garden's inhabitant, but despite her initial close encounter she'd not had any luck; wood pigeons, sparrows and starlings flocked to her hedgerows and the neighbourhood cats slunk across her garden wall, but there was still no hedgehog, or hint of a snail for that matter.

So when Pauline found the food bowl broken, she tried to convince herself it wasn't anything to worry about. She might have assumed it had just been a stray cat had it not been for the deep claw marks in the ground and the new hole, certainly bigger than an average sized hedgehog, which had appeared in her fence.

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Just how much did this animal eat? It had clearly been scavenging to satisfy its rapidly increasing appetite, but this growth was ferocious. She doubted whether one chicken pouch would satiate such a creature, particularly if it turned out to be a whole family. So that evening, Pauline placed extra food in the bowl which she had hastily hot glued back together.

The hedgehog however, continued to remain elusive.  It was well into the month of October when Pauline decided to take drastic action before winter and its inevitable hibernation. In a last ditch effort she put the food out early in the evening, reserved a spot on her back doorstep, wrapped up warm, grabbed an instant coffee and settled herself down for the next few hours.

The darkness pressed in as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, leaving Pauline unable to see anything but her immediate surroundings. Her own garden, which she knew intimately, was suddenly foreign to her. A tree cast looming shadows while the partially rotting shed door creaked back and forth on its rusty hinge. Pauline's fingers clung to her mug as the steam was swallowed by the night. She shivered and sipped at it, watching, waiting and listening.

Only the cold dregs remained when she heard a shuffle, a noise intruding on the ambient surroundings. She straightened to hear an exaggerated rustle of leaves, only for this to be interrupted by a heavy and rabid hissing. An uncomfortable, alien noise.

Something was on the other side of the fence.

Pauline stood, legs cramped as she stepped into the dark. This corner of the garden was unfamiliar ground, and she stumbled into the roses, their thorns capturing her hand. She swore and immediately bit her lip as pain welled in her eyes.

The strange hissing stopped.

Pauline held her breath as her heart hammered.

A minute passed and still nothing, so she lent forwards and peered over the fence. It must be right beneath her, tucked away just out of view. Cautiously, she crept backwards so as not to frighten it further.

Pauline had nearly reached her door when a tremendous thud sounded. She spun about, discovering a huge black mass right where she had just been standing. 

It prowled, hissing and spitting, limbs contorting and writhing in impossible ways.   The unnaturalness beyond any immediate comprehension.  Her body responded from instinct alone.  Scampering around, she tripped over her chair and crashed through some garden tools, a cacophony of clanging metals in her wake. Behind her the monstrosity advanced and started to devour the meagre portion of food with grunted guttural snarls.

A thick and pungent stench invaded her senses and her stomach wrenched.  Without so much as a second look, Pauline fled to the warm embrace of her house, slamming the door against its latch, remnants of the smell sickening.

There was another crash and the door shook. Pauline flinched, pressing palms flat against it.  Her breath was jagged and chest constricted as her thoughts spiralled wildly.  

If only she could find the courage to retreat upstairs to observe what she was facing, her bedroom window towered over the garden for a perfectly safe vantage point, but that would forfeit any possible sense if it was anything but explainable. 

That dreaded creature was still out there, with that terrible hissing and those writhing unnatural contorting movements. Tremors shook her. What if it was still hungry and never left? Her cats, although nowhere to be seen, may stray a little too close and then if the creature’s appetite could not be quenched?  If it had broken through the fence? She eyed the door uneasily, weight still held against it.  Any rationale eluded her, and she fell into a restlessness terrified stupor, frozen in the dark kitchen, listening, watching and waiting.

Animalistic sounds continued to permeate the house.  Harsh, grating noises of what could only be a monster.  Pauline’s imagination could not be tamed.  The suspension of everything believable kept her clinging to her sanity.

Everything ached.  Her fists curled against her palms and her limbs had set something fierce.  She dare not move.  Not even when it had long been silent. 

She only stirred when the morning light crept across the windowsill, seeping into and disturbing her consciousness. Pauline pressed her ear up against the backdoor. The birds were chirping but otherwise the garden sounded empty. Tentatively, she pulled the door open, eyes widening at the sight. The grass was churned up so that it was more mud than anything else, and a tree had been upended and had collapsed onto the shed. The fence was a splintered mess of wood and nails but more importantly, there was no sign of that thing.

Pauline's fingers twitched on the door handle, but she didn't stray outside. She stood staring at her lawn, where her half dishevelled and mangled lavenders lay ripped up and exposed to the elements.

She was about to retreat and lock the door when she saw it. Just on her doorstep, with a steady trail of slime behind, was a snail trudging along, happily enjoying the flicks of rain that bounced upon its shell. Tears welling, she rushed to her fridge and plucked a leaf from her shop bought lettuce and deposited it in the half broken/half glued cat bowl where she set it down in front of the snail, with a relieved sob.