Scary Story (but suitable for children).

9th November 2002

I'm going to tell you a story of the fearless James O'Psyclone, leader of the Low Pressure Vortices from the West. If ye be mortal man then fix your hat to your head with a brightly coloured ribbon else your brains will surely be blown away in the hearing of these deeds.

As all men know, Psyclone of the Vortices is brave, gallant, virtuous, bold, hairy around the bake and (on this occasion) still half drunk from a debauched student outing the night before. It really is a credit to his constitution that Chief _Psyclone was able to hop delicately and enthusiastically from his comfy student bed (where he spent the night alone, as befits a demi-god) and be ready to leave at 2pm on a drizzly Saturday afternoon. After a quick cup of ambrosia (not the rice - the other stuff), which he shared with his companions, Mr _Psyke was ready to hit the highway in pursuit of thrills, danger and the truth.

He mounted his chariot and instructed his chauffeur to drive in a southerly direction till a bridge he did spy. "Lo", said he, "a bridge. Surely such a bridge was built as a challenge for the High King of the Vortices. I shall hurl myself from it in defiance of the Gods. If I live then all shall know that I, _Psyclone III of the House of O'Psyke of Annagary, am the chosen one of the Faeries of the West."

So he attached himself to a length of frail cord. Without fear was he. With a "3" he tempted the forces of the Underworld, with a "2" he tweaked the nose of terror, with a "1" he laughed with lunacy and with a "yahoo" he threw himself oblivionwards to the roiling waters of the spateful river. Did the river take him? Nay. It did not dare, for Lord _Psyke was demonstrating the flight of the Earl. North he went then South then North then South then North then South. None could catch him for his cunning was without limit.

And that my children, is the story of the _Psyke of the North (Son of _Psyke, Lord of the West, King of the Vortices) and how he conquered the badlands in the South and won the heart of a passing salmon as he danced on the end of his gossamer thread under a bridge in Tyrone.

[Research for Foyle Bridge Jump]