A few years ago, I was sitting in my mother's basement when a message appeared. It said 'hey kid' from an account I didn't recognise. I responded asking who it was, to which they replied to not worry about who they were. Mildly frightened, I demanded to know who it was, but the only reply was 'that's not important '. I was starting to get really creeped out, I asked 'what do you want' and the response shocked me to my very core.

'Gromit mug'

I fell to the floor in shock. How could he get the gromit mug? No one was ever meant to know about the gromit mug that my great grandfather entrusted to me. I ran up the stairs to the ground level and locked all the doors and windows before heading back to the basement to protect gromit mug. I must protect it, I said to myself over and over. My heart pounded as I stood unmoving at the foot of the stairs, clutching a baseball bat. After about 10 minutes standing shakily at the stairs, I heard struggling at the door, glancing back at the wardrobe where gromit mug was hidden.

I seized the baseball bat with both hands, and with a wavering voice, cried 'who are you?!' There was no reply, but more struggling at the door. I gripped the bat with shaky, sweaty hands. 'I'm armed' I exclaimed in a voice more faltering than the last. A final slam at the door caused it to creak open with an unearthly sigh. The person standing there, the dark shadow cast across my face, could be only one man.

Turkey Tom.