New STORGY Story – Cathy Vella

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Hello there…

Here we have Cathy’s brilliant story based on your submitted title; ‘The Angry Beaver’.

Tis a great peice of writing so show Cathy some support and like and share her words.

Thank you once again for all your continued support.



‘Fatty – fatty – smelly bum – McGatty!’

George McGatty turned and faced his tormentors. His plump face was red with rage and because he had been working on his wooden plane for his hobbies activity badge. It was hot and sweat dripped from the end of his nose. He took his glasses off then wiped his brow with his chubby, muddy hand and stood waiting.

“You’re so fat, your mum wipes your bum,” the boys giggled.

“You eat WHOLE pigs for dinner – oink oink.” They all joined in oinking.

“We’ve had to bring a ten-man-tent just to fit you in, Fatty.’

The boys stood laughing and jostling, egging each other on. Olly, the small boy standing at the back, didn’t join in but feigned a giggle when the others looked at him. He actually liked George and had helped him with his knots, plus they shared a tent, but George was new. Olly was their last victim. He was glad they had a new member in their colony – it meant that he got a break.

“Is that the best you can do?” George put his glasses back on and turned to carry on with his task.  He was desperate to earn a badge this trip.

“I’m gonna pop you with my penknife, Fatty.”

Ben was one of the leaders of the colony. Bronze Beaver thought he was the bee’s knees.  His uniform was pristine and he had badges packing every inch of both arms. He pulled the penknife out of his pocket and made a jabbing motion then farted loudly. They all laughed.

George ignored them and carried on with what he was doing. He heard one of the boys shout, “Fatty,” as a rock thudded next to his feet. George looked round just in time to see another rock hurtling towards him.

The next moment seemed to last for ever, but he was unable to move. For a split second, the grass looked greener, the sky was the clearest blue and the smell of grass and mud filled his nostrils. His senses felt sharper than ever, but when the rock hit its mark he felt no pain. He lifted his hand to his face and pulled it away covered in blood. He saw the glimmer of fear flash across Ben’s face just as the blood seeped into his eyes. The other boys were no longer laughing. They all turned and fled. George gave chase.

George was running, running as fast as his legs would carry him. He could hear the thud-thud-thud of his heart pounding in his head and the coolness on his face as the breeze dried the sweat and blood. The other boys were faster though. The weight of his body propelled him forward down the hill till his body took over his legs and he tumbled. He curled into a ball and plummeted for what seemed like an age till a tree stump broke his fall. The laughter of the boys merged with the sounds of the woods.

It was normally cold first thing in the morning, but not this morning. The smoke from last night’s campfire still lingered, its tendrils swirling just above the ground, winding between the tents. No one was up, except George. He had pretended to go to bed but had got up as soon as he heard Bronze Beaver zip up her tent.

He’d been a busy Beaver that night.

He’d most definitely earned his camp-craft activity badge. He’d sat for hours mastering his knots by torchlight. Reef knots and overhand knots were easy peasy. Even a bowline and a figure of eight were a cinch, and he didn’t even need to learn those.

He’d learned a long time ago that he could start a fire with his glasses. If he caught the sun at the right angle – whoosh!  Bronze Beaver told him that this was no good, and that he wouldn’t be starting any fires anyway. She had matches in her tin can for starting the fire, and lighter fuel – George thought that this was cheating. ‘Beavers collect and create the firegrown-ups light and keep it bright.’ She seemed really pleased with herself when she said that.   

He’d sat by the glowing embers of the dying fire, picking the scab that was forming on his knee. The plaster that Bronze Beaver had fixed on his glasses flapped and tickled his nose. He sniffed – but he wasn’t crying. He never cried. She had tutted and made that tight-lipped, mean look as she tried to fix them. He was in big trouble. His glasses were broke and they were a new pair. His third pair this year. He could hear his Dad’s voice –

Break them glasses again and I’ll break you!

It’s NEVER your fault!

You’re clumsy!

YOU <poke> STU <poke> PID <poke> BOY! <slap>

It wasn’t his fault!  It was all Ben’s fault – well, mostly Ben, but the others would pay too.

Bronze Beaver had hung her bag over the drying line. He rummaged around inside, pulled out an envelope and flicked it open. Inside was an assortment of badges – safety badge, animal friend badge, adventure badge, and the camp craft badge! He stuffed them all in his shorts pockets. He delved back in and pulled out the tin can, flicked it open and took out the matches and fuel – Whoosh!  He thought.

“Olly…Olly, wake up.”  He nudged him gently. “Your Mum and Dad’s here, they’re waiting for you by the lake.”

“huh….wha…” Olly rubbed his eyes.

“Shhhh, quick, you need to go now.” He handed him his pants and a torch.

“Why?” Olly whispered.

“I dunno – it’s a surprise or something – go!”

This seemed to do the trick. He watched as Olly stumbled out of the camp, a small circle of light leading his way.

George struck a match and looked deep into the spattering flame. It flared quickly then died. He watched the wisp of a ghost dance from the end. He loved that smell. He breathed in deeply and lit another.

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