Sausage Swiper

The scent hits him first, rich and smoky, curling out of the chimney like an invitation. Sausage Swiper sniffs the frosty air, his sharp nose twitching with delight. It’s fresh. Cured, maybe. Definitely hanging somewhere close. His fingers flex in anticipation as he creeps closer to the house, his feet crunching softly on the snow-packed ground. The moonlight glints off his hair and the worn leather satchel slung over his shoulder, empty for now but soon to be brimming with tonight’s prize. He crouches low, his beady eyes scanning the dimly lit windows. Sausage Swiper unlocks the door with a snap, his wiry form squeezing effortlessly into the shadows of the house. The warmth inside envelops him, and his mouth waters as the smell grows stronger. There, hanging from the rafters, are strings of plump sausages swaying gently in the heat. He licks his lips. The foolish humans have left them unattended, ripe for the taking. He scuttles up into the rafters, climbing across the beams towards his prize. One hand reaches out, fingers curling around the nearest string of sausages. But then, a creak. A door opening. Sausage Swiper freezes, sausages in hand, his heart pounding. His ears prick at the sound of heavy boots on the floorboards below. Someone’s awake. He hugs the beam tightly, sausages dangling in the air below.