You decide in a split second to go right; if you can cross the bridge things might be different and you may have a better chance against the Marb on familiar ground. The Marb is still chasing you.
Yet right before you cross the bridge something grabs your leg and you fall head first into the dirt. You look back and see a young man in a blue and black wind jacket with a black racing bike helmet attached to his head, but he looks as if he were made from the same rotting wood as the bridge. His legs disappear underneath the bridge and into the stream.
There were two bikers: one went right, the other left. Left went to the hut and back, but Right also must have encountered the Marb. The biker hisses with wicked laughter at his catch; the Marb will be pleased.
And he is indeed. The big red-orange cat circles you, growls something to the Minion and walks away.
You struggle with the minion-biker but cannot get free; the biker’s grip on your leg is strong. He begins to pull you under the bridge.
You wonder what could be done in this situation: a creature of wet rotting wood would be resistant to fire, unless it had fuel on it first. Yet you would need to get free or burn too.
Yet maybe there is another way to burn. You remember your packets of alchohol. Two soaked pads are soon placed on the creature’s eyes. Lucky for you his eyes have not changed to wood yet and your plan works: immediately he lets go to cover his eyes and you escape.
However, as you begin to think you have escaped the Marb and his Minion, you stop in your tracks. The second biker, who had gone left and to the hut, now faces you with a small revolver pointed in your direction. He holds the book Do Not Open in his other hand.
“The book is mine,” says the biker, “And you’ll die before you get it!”
“You can have it,” you say, “Just don’t open it.”
The biker laughs mockingly, “I’ll open it if I want to; and you have a gun pointed at you. You can’t tell me what to do.”
He opens Do Not Open and both you and the biker are immediately sucked into the book. It drops to the ground and is nice and shiny as ever.
You and your friend the biker will be spending a long time partying with other hikers foolish enough to open Do Not Open when it doesn’t especially feel like being read. Such are the consequences for writing a book so intense and catching that it becomes unpredictable as to what will happen when opened. It will take another two months before another hiker sees and opens Do Not Open and releases you; the biker is left in a pile of synomyms until next January.
* * * *
*You have fallen victim to the likes of Do Not Open, the unpredictable book that desires only to take the nation by storm and do all sorts of unpredictable, bazarre, and potentially dangerous things to its readers!