I was traveling the last couple of Fridays, so I missed two weeks in a row. This week, though, I got a strange inspiration from the prompt:
Here it is.
"Why is that house right in the landing area?"
The caddy looked sidelong at me. "You're supposed to fly it. The fairway starts on the other side."
I swallowed my embarrassment. "If you say so," I sniffed, although it looked to be at least a two hundred fifty yard carry.
I gave it everything I had and my drive soared high and straight...right through the cottage's open window.
I looked askance at the caddy, who shrugged and said, "Play it where it lies, I guess."
He handed me a club as I stood in front of the door. The inside of the one-room structure was dark, the floor covered in dark red mud, but my ball was obvious, as was the strange creature standing over it.
He--her--it had hands on hips and a broad smile that stretched almost from pointed ear to pointed ear. But it was the mouthful of sharply pointed teeth that made me nervous.
"Welcome to the Deathly Hazard," it said, and snickered. "If you can hit the ball through that window there, you may go on your way. If you can't, though..." it just smiled even more, broadly and it licked a forked tongue across dozens of needles.
I thought for a moment, more to settle my bladder than anything else. Then I whipped out my copy of the "Rules of Golf" and flipped to rule 16.2.a.
"Rule 16.2.a states relief is allowed when a ball is in an abnormal course condition, which includes immovable obstructions," I said. With shaking fingers, I plucked my ball out of the morass and got out of there as fast as I could.