It collapsed into a heap of flesh that perfectly mimicked a pile of autumnal leaves. It should have blended in seamlessly with its surroundings were it not for the fact that autumn was several months away and it was in the middle of a football field. A sudden cold front had woken it up early and it was already starving.
Dozens of little blue eyes peered out from the false leaves as it began to realise how precarious a situation it was in. Eight stumpy legs rose from beneath the heap as it sprinted towards the shipping containers that had been repurposed as sports sheds for the nearby school.
The doors were easy enough to pry open - the last student had forgotten to lock them and had just placed the open lock in place instead. It had never been in a place like this before, when it was last awake the field had been part of the forest and now it was entirely out of its element.
Like any good predator it began to adapt. First it tried to elongate and mimic a stack of cricket bats but found their shape too rigid to maintain, as were the tennis rackets and rounders bats. It made a half-hearted attempt to be a pile of rugby balls but couldn't get the writing right.
Then it found a box full of jerseys, more colourful than it was used to but chaotic enough that it could easily adapt its textures and folds before settling just beneath the first few shirts to wait for a meal to arrive. It wouldn't have too long to wait either - a custodian had spotted the open container and was already on their way to investigate.
In the morning nothing would be out of place save for the custodian's uniform buried at the bottom of a surprisingly heavy box of jerseys. Nobody would notice for quite a while, not until the box had been loaded into the back of a crowded school bus bound for a cross-county competition.
The team won't arrive and the bus will be found several miles off-road and empty save for the box.
Dozens of little blue eyes peered out from the false leaves as it began to realise how precarious a situation it was in. Eight stumpy legs rose from beneath the heap as it sprinted towards the shipping containers that had been repurposed as sports sheds for the nearby school.
The doors were easy enough to pry open - the last student had forgotten to lock them and had just placed the open lock in place instead. It had never been in a place like this before, when it was last awake the field had been part of the forest and now it was entirely out of its element.
Like any good predator it began to adapt. First it tried to elongate and mimic a stack of cricket bats but found their shape too rigid to maintain, as were the tennis rackets and rounders bats. It made a half-hearted attempt to be a pile of rugby balls but couldn't get the writing right.
Then it found a box full of jerseys, more colourful than it was used to but chaotic enough that it could easily adapt its textures and folds before settling just beneath the first few shirts to wait for a meal to arrive. It wouldn't have too long to wait either - a custodian had spotted the open container and was already on their way to investigate.
In the morning nothing would be out of place save for the custodian's uniform buried at the bottom of a surprisingly heavy box of jerseys. Nobody would notice for quite a while, not until the box had been loaded into the back of a crowded school bus bound for a cross-county competition.
The team won't arrive and the bus will be found several miles off-road and empty save for the box.
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