Tommy emerged quietly from the thicket and clambered up a tree, perching legs akimbo on a thick branch.
The curtains at the back of the cabin were open, the rooms lit.
He wiped sweat from his brow, raised his binoculars and directed them to the room at the far end.
The girl was lying on the bed in her underwear, tapping at her phone.
He increased the magnification; if only he could reach out and touch her.
A hand grabbed the top of his trousers and tugged hard.
As he tumbled backwards a booming voice said: ‘Gotcha, you little bastard!’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.