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It’s that time of year when supermarkets are full of plastic masks and multipacks of sweets. So, come join us. Sit down by the campfire, grab a marshmallow on a stick and listen to our tale – but be warned, it’s very scary. It’s like the new episode of The Walking Dead only without humour and sense of bonhomie.
*Click* The torch is now on and shining up into my face. The only sound you can hear is that of the wood gently crackling in the fire. If you get scared then hold someone’s hand, if you need the toilet then only go in pairs because it might not be safe out there.
Our tale begins with five vapers in a car, late at night. They were heading to the cabin in the woods for a thematic vape meet, but the rain was coming down so fast it made reading the road signs impossible. Rounding the bend… *bump*
What was that? Had they just driven over a possessed woman? Maybe it was the noise of a headless man on the roof of the vehicle? No, it was worse – you know it was really bad because now I’m whispering – the last (and only) 120ml bottle of juice had fallen on the floor and emptied! Aaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhh!
The car swerved off the road. “We’ll have to make it through the woods on foot,” said the foolhardy one (who clearly didn’t have the patience to wait the four and a half hours till the RAC could get a recovery truck out).
“Wait, it would be better if we split up,” said the idiot (who has obviously never watched a single film in his life).
“Wait,” cried the third, “my atomiser tank is almost empty!” Aaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhh!
I’m shrieking now, when I tell you the fourth person screamed: “Noooo! My battery meter shows that my 18650 cell is almost out of charge and I haven’t bought any spares!” Aaaaaaaaarghhhhhhhh!
Suddenly, all around them, they could see lights appearing. Stationary, tiny lights. Only they weren’t lights at all, it was the reflection of the cars headlights bouncing off…bouncing off what? Evil dolls eyes, that’s what. It’s incredible, isn’t it, that miles from anywhere, in what (on a sunny day) would be a lovely little wood for a walk or a picnic, some evil fly-tipper had dumped a load of broken dolls. Honestly, what goes through the mind of people like that who can’t be bothered to drive the five miles to the nearest council refuse centre? Anyway, I digress.
The silence of darkness became consumed with the sounds of slow shuffling and moaning. Time to time a twig would snap then the shuffling and moaning would continue. Surely this is the part in our story where zombies are rising up at the beginning of an apocalypse? No. It is nothing more than the percussion of our five friends, but then came the most terrible moan: “My vape tastes terrible, the wick is drying and the battery’s dying!”
Our party finally see a glint through the trees. Gasping, barely able to contain their relief that they’d made it, they fall upon the porch and push the creaky wooden door open.
There, inside on the table, a bottle of juice. Then, crying with happiness, they spy a battery charger. Laughter bubbled from relief as they lit the fire and made ready for a future once again.
This is the point where my torch lit voice drops one final time: The charger had an American socket. AAAAAAAAAARRRRRGGGHHHHH!