Pig Perfect Proofreaders 3

How much of a perfectionist are you? Another virtual PA won the second instalment - come on the copywriters, pedants and trainers out there, are you going to let virtual PAs show you up! You can do this too.

Welcome to the third instalment of Pig Perfect Proofreaders – and part three of our spooky story. Last week’s dynamic detective was Anne Gerrish of Penguin Office Supplies, based in Norfolk. Anne correctly identified 20 mistakes – which wins her a week of promotional activity through the Grammar to Go website and on twitter.
Will it be your turn this week? As always, this week's instalment contains a number of spelling and grammatical errors. Identify where they are and how they should read and get your answer to me by Friday December 11.

The Mistery Hound

The creature remained perfectly still, crouch’d low in the doorway and silouetted in the moonlight that filtered through the window. With-out a shadow of doubt, I knew that this was the beast that my father and I had been searching four. And to come face to face with it now – with my farther missing – was even more incredible.
My mind raced back to the manuscript’s that we had spent the last three years poring over, frantically scrabbling for a fragment of infomation that might give me clue as to how to master the creature. Then I remembered the words that had been whispered to us by an ancient librarian. His hands has trembled violentyly as he pointed to a series of pictures and diagrams.

“The Hound fears nothing,” the old man had whispered. “Nothing, that is, except it’s own reflection. Then, and only then, can the beast be conqered.”
I glanced over to the table under the window. The pewter tray containing my now-cold coco mug was still there, shining brightly in the moonlight.
“Thats’ it”, I realised. “If I can only reach that tray – and shine it in the hound’s face...”

Reaching it – before the hound reached me – was a different matter, of course. The creature inched closer, teeth bared, it’s growling louder now.
I did’nt have long. My root to the table was blocked by the sofa, however. I could never scramble over that before the hound reached me. I was trapped. Where, dear Lord, WHERE was my father?

Good grief... talk about a cliff-hanger! I hope you will be able to come back to find out what happens next!
Off you go then, grammar detectives: spot those evil errors for me, and email me your answers by 11 December.
The final instalment is the last one before Christmas!

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