"One day that town'll swallow us whole," my grandad used to say. He was never a big fan of the constant expansion of the neighbouring town that seemed to come closer to our village every single day. Of course the older people complained about losing their touristic charm and their higher property value but it all fell on the unhearing, inhuman ears of the town council.
I was fifteen when our village was declared an estate of the town and our historic wooden post was replaced with a steel road sign that directed drivers to the main body of the town itself. We weren't causing enough hassle to warrant the town's attention at that point but when we did we regretted it instantly.
It started with small things like adding our old village name to the road sign, removing all mentions of the town from the village website and starting an online campaign to have our independence declared again. This stirred a few hairs but town was still focussed on its expansion and our territory had already been claimed. As far as it cared - we'd already lost.
When we banded together with a couple of farmsteads that were next in line, we started becoming a nuisance and the town began to fight harder. Taxes were raised, house prices dropped and towering blocks of flats were sent in overnight to surround us and remind us that we were insignificant.
So we fought fire with fire and struck at the heart of the town - the council chambers. With the help of the farmstead's equipment we managed to play dead whilst digging to their innermost sanctum. We caught them while they were sleeping off their last feast, blood glistening and fresh and spread all over their laminate flooring as a hazard against intruders.
But we came prepared. We came with bleach and cement and enough complex forms to distract them if they woke up before we'd finished sealing them in for good... which they did when someone's trainer slid across the floor with a hideous screech that jolted the councillors into action and cost us eight lives.
Still, by the time we were out of there the majority of the councillors were deep into the forms - ticking meaningless boxes, correcting spelling errors and drawing perfect sigils as we finished closing our entrance back up and collapsing the tunnel behind us.
Without its mind, the town couldn't absorb any other settlements, couldn't pass any more laws to us and couldn't stop us from banishing it back to its original boundaries. We haven't stopped it altogether, the sounds of drilling have been almost non-stop for weeks and we know they'll free the council soon enough.
They won't be so kind this time - they'll just eat us whole, spit out our bones and charge us for it.
I was fifteen when our village was declared an estate of the town and our historic wooden post was replaced with a steel road sign that directed drivers to the main body of the town itself. We weren't causing enough hassle to warrant the town's attention at that point but when we did we regretted it instantly.
It started with small things like adding our old village name to the road sign, removing all mentions of the town from the village website and starting an online campaign to have our independence declared again. This stirred a few hairs but town was still focussed on its expansion and our territory had already been claimed. As far as it cared - we'd already lost.
When we banded together with a couple of farmsteads that were next in line, we started becoming a nuisance and the town began to fight harder. Taxes were raised, house prices dropped and towering blocks of flats were sent in overnight to surround us and remind us that we were insignificant.
So we fought fire with fire and struck at the heart of the town - the council chambers. With the help of the farmstead's equipment we managed to play dead whilst digging to their innermost sanctum. We caught them while they were sleeping off their last feast, blood glistening and fresh and spread all over their laminate flooring as a hazard against intruders.
But we came prepared. We came with bleach and cement and enough complex forms to distract them if they woke up before we'd finished sealing them in for good... which they did when someone's trainer slid across the floor with a hideous screech that jolted the councillors into action and cost us eight lives.
Still, by the time we were out of there the majority of the councillors were deep into the forms - ticking meaningless boxes, correcting spelling errors and drawing perfect sigils as we finished closing our entrance back up and collapsing the tunnel behind us.
Without its mind, the town couldn't absorb any other settlements, couldn't pass any more laws to us and couldn't stop us from banishing it back to its original boundaries. We haven't stopped it altogether, the sounds of drilling have been almost non-stop for weeks and we know they'll free the council soon enough.
They won't be so kind this time - they'll just eat us whole, spit out our bones and charge us for it.
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