THE DARKLING

Sarah and Jessie Parker were done up to the nines, or more the ten-thirties, their faces painted in an exaggerated manner, their generous chests almost falling out of their low-cut tops, as they walked up and down Morecambe Street, the main drag of Lenoak, looking for customers. When they passed other street walkers they nodded, without getting too friendly with them. After all the other "girls" -- some on the wrong side of fifty -- were their competition. Jessie and Sarah were twins, Jessie was raven-haired, and Sarah was a redhead. They were twenty-five, but in the right light could pass for eighteen.

So far, they had had no customers, and neither had any of the other girls.

"Slow night," said Molly, a fifty-something "girl" on the wrong side of a hundred kilos. Although, with a still pretty face, she usually did all right. There are still plenty of men who like their women cuddly. Also, her long blonde, curly hair helped get customers. Blondes have more fuck, she liked to say. Braying like a donkey whenever she said it.

"Slow night indeed," said Sarah, before noticing the tall dark figure standing in the shadows. She waited until Molly had continued on her way down the street, then grabbed Jessie by the arm to lead her across to the man.

"Nice night," said Jessie.

"It is now," said the man in a deep American accent, "Now that you two beautiful ladies are here."

"Why, thank you," said Sarah. "But you don't need to flatter us."

"As long as you're prepared to pay for it," said Jessie, less subtle than her sister.

"Shush," said Sarah, glaring at Jessie.

"That's all right," said the man in his warm, soothing tone, "for such fine, beauties as yourselves, I don't mind paying. How much is it?"

"Which of us do you want, and for how long?" asked Sarah.

"Both of you, for the whole night."

"Five hundred dollars," said Sarah, hoping she wasn't being greedy. She didn't want to scare off their first customer of the night.

"Don't short-change yourself," said the man. "Let's make it a thousand dollars."

Jessie and Sarah grinned at each other, not wanting to act too excited.

"Half in advance, half afterwards," insisted Sarah.

"Of course," said the dark man. He took a bulging wallet from inside his coat, and coated out five hundred dollars."

Again the girls looked excited, thinking: He must have ten thousand dollars in his wallet.

"Come on," he said, putting his arms around the two women, to lead them into the dark alley from which he had appeared.

He must have a back entrance to his place, thought Sarah, puzzled, since the alley seemed to only have locked steel doors and fire escapes one storey up.

Reaching the end of the alley, in front of a steel wheelie bin, he said: "This will do."

"You want to have sex with the both of us, all night, out in the open?" asked Sarah in surprise.

"Yes," he said in his soothing voice. "After all I am paying you one thousand dollars."

Sarah and Jessie looked at each other for a moment, considering. Then Jessie said, "For a thousand dollars, I'm game if she is."

"I'm game for anything," said Sarah, with a lecherous smile.

"Good," said the man. He unzipped his trousers to remove what looked more like a cactus than a penis. It was black, but coated in fifteen-centimetres long deadly looking spines.

Jessie gulped and said, "You don't expect to stick that thing into us, do you?"

"Of course," said the man, "after all we have a deal."

"Forget it," said Sarah, throwing the money at him.

The two women turned to leave, but the man picked up the money and held it out toward their retreating backs, and said, "Hold up."

Unable to disobey, the two women stopped.

"Turn around and come back," he ordered and the two, now glassy-eyed woman did as instructed.

"Take off all of your clothing," he instructed.

The two women did so, as he was looking them both over, trying to decide which one to have first.

Finally, he said, "Red's my favourite colour." And as though commanded Sarah Parker walked over to him.

She grimaced as he plunged his prickly manhood into her, but was unable to scream. When he had finished, her vagina was gushing blood. But, unsated, he ordered her to bend forward so that he could sodomise her. Then she fellated him, her once beautiful face being ripped to shreds.

When he was finished with her, he instructed her, "Go over and lie beside the wheelie bin, and die."

She lay down as instructed, and ten minutes later was dead.

By which time, the man had taken Jessie violently once, destroying her vagina, and had started destroying her rectum next.

When the darkling had finished with the two women, he pocketed his five hundred dollars and walked over to the brick wall. Then, without stopping, he walked through the wall into the building beyond, laughing to himself at what he had done to the two women.

Only prostitutes, he thought, no real loss. Although he had ejaculated into the two women, it was actually their terror and pain that aroused him. He was a sort of energy vampire, which fed off fear, pain, and death.



Colin Klein a redheaded English reporter, currently on long service league in Australia, sat down at the breakfast table in Mrs. Miggins's boarding house, where he was staying in Lenoak, in the Victorian countryside.

He helped himself to baked beans, two sausages, mashed potatoes and gravy, and toast. Colin started eating the scrumptious repast, not quite finished when there came a knocking at the front door.

"Now who can that be, while we're still having breakfast," complained Kevin Williams, an elderly man of at least ninety, able to devour more than anyone else at the table.

"Oh Terri," said Mrs. Miggins, opening the door, to a thirty-something blonde in a police uniform. "What can I do for you? I hope I haven't done anything wrong?"

"No, no, I'm looking for one of your guests," said Terri Scott in a deep sultry voice.

"I hope none of my guests has broken any law?"

"No, no, I need assistance from a Colin Klein."

"That's me," said Colin. Standing he wiped his mouth, then walked across to ask, "What can I do for you?"

"I'm told that you're a bit of an expert on strange and exotic cases," said Terri.

"Who told you that?"

"Paul Bell, Leslie Harrison, Stanlee Dempsey, Andrew Braidwood. Just to name a few."

"It seems my infamy is starting to proceed me," said Colin, making the attractive policewoman laugh.

"We've got a peculiar case involving the murders of two prostitutes," said Terri.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Miggins.

"They're only prozzies," snarled Kevin Williams. "Good riddance."

"You might not say that, if you saw how they were killed," said Terri. Then to Colin Klein, "Perhaps we'd better go outside before I say any more. I don't want everyone to throw up their breakfasts."

"But it's all right to make me throw up my breakfast," teased Colin, following her out into Wilson Street.

"Ah, come on, you're a big tough reporter," said the blonde, "I bet nothing makes you throw up."

She went on to describe in detail the state of Sarah and Jessie Parker's bodies to the redheaded man, who did not throw up. Although his face did go a little green, as they drove to the alley in Terri's pale blue Lexus.



At the alleyway, they found Paul Bell, Andrew Braidwood and Stanlee Dempsey, three local police officers, plus the local coroner, Jerry "Elvis" Green - his nickname coming from his long black sideburns, and devotion to the deceased King of Rock and Roll - examining the two bodies.

Beside them stood the plumply attractive figure of Molly, doing her best not to look at the remains of the two younger girls.

"Why is it always street girls they murder," she complained, "from Jack the Ripper to the Yorkshire Ripper, now this creep, whoever he is."

"Street girls are easier to pick up, as long as you have cash on you," explained Terri, leading Colin Klein across to the slaughter site.

"Speak of the devil," said Stanlee Dempsey a thirty-ish powerhouse of a man, with short brown hair.

"Well, if it isn't Doctor Death," said Paul Bell, a tall wiry man with black hair.

"How dare you?" asked Colin, only half pretending to be offended.

"Hello, Mr. Klein," said Andrew Braidwood, a gangly man with long stringy blond hair.

"I see you've brought another weird case my way,' said Elvis without looking up from the sexually mutilated remains of the Parker sisters.

"Why does everyone always blame me when weird things start happening," demanded Colin Klein, going across to examine the two bodies. "Yeech, she was right about Ripper. What did he use, a knife or an axe."

"Neither," said Elvis Green, holding up three fifteen-centimetre-long porcupine-like quills.

"What did he do, stick them into them?

"Well, he ejaculated into them," said Elvis, "so it's possible that he had the quills, and presumably many more, stuck to his penis."

"Why didn't the girls run as soon as they saw the quills?" asked Terri Scott.

"Now, there you have me," admitted Elvis. Finally, he stood and signalled to two paramedics that they could put the girls into the rear of their ambulance.

"Hospital, or morgue?" asked a black paramedic, Derek.

"Take them to my morgue in Dien Street, Glen Hartwell," instructed Elvis Green.

"Is there anything we can do to help you?" asked Terri.

"Not unless you've got another medical examiner in your pocket," said Elvis.

"We could always try contacting Jesus," said Paul Bell.

"Are we really that desperate already?" asked Colin Klein.

"It's pronounced 'Hee-Zeus'," explained Terri. Then to Colin, "Jesus Costello has been co-ordinator and chief techno-lab guy at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital for twenty years now."

"Then let's go get him," said Colin, and off he went with Terri to the hospital.



Walking the streets that night, Molly was more wary than usual. Although she had had no customers the night before, she had already turned away two men, whom she thought looked sleazy enough to have mutilated the Parker twins. Unbeknown to Molly, one was a highly paid robber baron barrister who would have paid her two thousand dollars for all of the sick, perverted things that he wanted her to do. The other was a wealthy farmer, whose wife had died three years ago. He would have paid her at least a thousand dollars.

Finally, she was approached by a tall, handsome black man, dressed smartly in a black suit, black shirt, and black tie, wearing expensive-looking shoes. In a cultured accent, he said: "Hello, beautiful lady, are you free tonight?"

Blushing at the compliment, Molly said: "No, I charge by the hour."

She brayed at her own joke, while the Darkling smiled and said, "Well, of course, I don't expect to sample the favours of such a lovely lady, without paying her generously for her time. Say a thousand dollars for the night."

"A thous...?" said Molly astonished. Quickly recovering her composure, she said, "I guess that'll be all right."

"Excellent," said the night-black Darkling. Taking her by the arm, he led the plump fifty-plus blonde into a nearby building, then led her up to the first storey."

"Hey," she said, "I thought this building was condemned, didn't it say that on the door outside."

Looking her closely in the eyes, he said, "The building is not condemned, you did not see any sign on the door saying that."

"The building is not condemned, I did not see any sign on the door saying that," repeated Molly in a drone, as though she was hypnotised.

"Good," said the Darkling, leading her to an empty room on the first floor. All furniture had been removed, ready for the building to be torn down, the next day.

Keeping poor Molly in her trance-like state, he said, "Now remove all of your clothes."

Without hesitation she obeyed.

"No come over here," he said taking his monstrous, quilled manhood from his trousers.

Poor Molly had her vagina rent by the member, then her sphincter destroyed, then her mouth and face wrecked by fellating it. Then on an evil impulse, the Darkling shoved his member into her belly button, breaking through to the layers of fat underneath.

When he was sated, he instructed her, "Now go into a corner, lie down, and die."

Molly did as instructed, no longer capable of even complaining that the creature had not paid her for her services.



Early the next mourning the public works department arrived, complete with a wrecking ball, ready to tear down the derelict house on Morecambe Street.

"Tell me when?" said the wrecking ball driver.

"Not till we've checked the building thoroughly," insisted the works foreman who was a stickler for details.

"Why, it's condemned?"

"That doesn't mean some homeless people can't have sneaked into it." said the foreman. "And you don't want their deaths on your conscience, now do you?"

"No,' said the driver, sounding less than convincing.

"Okay, let's go," said the work's foreman, leading them into the condemned house to start the search for squatters. It didn't take them long to find the abused corpse of poor Molly the prostitute. Even at fifty, she had been quite attractive. But no longer, now she was a hideous mass of mutilated tissue, ruptured vagina, ruptured anus, ruptured navel, and mutilated face, from which protruded four long spines, like the ones found on the remains of Sarah and Jessie Parker the previous day.



Colin Klein had just finished breakfast at Mrs. Miggins's boarding-house in Wilson Street and was reaching for a copy of the Glen Hartwell Daily Mail, when there came a tapping at the front door.

He went across to answer the door, taking the paper with him so that Kevin Williams, who could spend the whole day reading one paper, wouldn't start reading it before him.

"Guess who?" asked Terri Scott as Colin opened the front door.

"Walt Disney, back from cryonic freezing," said the redheaded reporter.

"Bad guess," said the attractive thirty-something blonde smiling. "No, it's me."

"What's up?"

"It happened again," said Terri leading him out toward her blue police Lexus.

"Another Porcupine-Quill Rape-Murder?" asked Colin.

"If you want to call it that," said Terri.

"Actually, that's the title I'm planning to use when I sell the story to the Melbourne Truth."

Terri looked startled until she realised that he was joking again.

"You like teasing don't you?" she said, starting the Lexus.

"It's the only thing that keeps me, more-or-less, sane in the modern world," he teased again.

"Ah, a big tough journalist like you," said Terri.

"I'll have you know that journalists have one of the highest suicide and insanity rates in the world. Two places below police officers."

"That's reassuring," she said, with a laugh, as they pulled up outside the condemned house.

"So what's with the heavy-duty equipment standing around," he asked, as they alighted from the car.

"The house is condemned, but they have to search for squatters first, and found her."

"Found who?" asked Colin Klein as they climbed the rickety stairs to the first floor.

"Take a look," said Terri, leading him into the empty room. Empty except for the mutilated corpse on the floor.

For a moment, he couldn't place her, then Klein said, "Molly. The friend of the Parker twins."

"That's right," said Terri, leading him over to examine the body.

"Jesus, he's wrecked all three body holes, just like the other two."

"Four," corrected Terri, pointing to Molly's ruptured navel.

"My God," said Colin Klein. "Just when I thought I'd never see anything worse than what happened to Jessie and Sarah Parker."

With the help of Paul, Leslie, Andrew, and Stanlee, I'm going to start running night patrols to try to get the streetwalkers off the street."

"How'll they survive?" asked Colin.

"A lot better than having this pervert rupture every entrance to their bodies, including their navels." She held up four more long quills.

"Were these found on Molly's body?"

"Yep," said the attractive blonde policewoman.

"Well, I guess you have no choice."

"Anyway, there are legal brothels in Pettiwood and Glen Hartwell, that they can work at until we catch this maniac."

"Catch or kill," Colin said.

"Catch or Kill," agreed Terri Scott.



That night the Darkling scoured the streets and alleyways of Lenoak, growing frustrated, that he was unable to find any streetwalkers.



"Oh damn," said Tiffany Close, an orange-rinsed old woman, remembering that she hadn't put her rubbish bin out for collection. "And tomorrow's the day."

Not realising that her actions would make this her last day alive, she grabbed the corrugated iron bin and hurried toward the front door. Unconcerned that she was in her dressing gown and her hair was in curlers. Who's gonna see me at this hour, she thought, running outside carrying the bin.



The Darkling was growing increasingly frustrated. Although he could go an occasional day without the energy generated by raping his victims to death, he preferred not to chance it, in case he found himself victimless tomorrow night as well. In which case he would be in trouble.

He was about to turn back the way that he had come when Tiffany Close raced out into the street carrying her rubbish bin.

She dropped the rubbish bin on the kerb, span round and almost crashed into the Darkling.

She put her hands up to her mouth to scream, but he looked into her eyes and said, "Don't scream. Now follow me into your house."

Without a word she followed him into her own house. He led her into the lounge room and said, "Now take off all of your clothing."

"Now take off all of my clothing," Tiffany said, doing as instructed."

"Now lie face up on the couch, legs spread wide apart," he ordered.

"Now lie face up on the couch, legs spread wide apart," she repeated, going over to do as ordered.

"Stop repeating what I say," he ordered.

"When I penetrate you, you will feel tremendous pain and fear. Good, I want you to feel fear and pain. But you will not cry out. We don't want the neighbours hearing us."

Unable to speak now, she nodded her head as he removed his massive, quill-bearing penis from his trousers. To his delight, Tiffany Close looked terrified at the sight of his manhood. But she did not cry out when he penetrated her, rupturing her vagina and cervix.

Not bothering to give her instructions the second time, when he finished the first time, he grabbed her legs roughly and span her over so that he could violate her anus.

Clearly terrified, looking as though she might die of a coronary, Tiffany still did not cry out as he squatted over her face to force her to swallow his mutant penis, ripping her windpipe, cheeks, and nose to pieces.

Looking down at the blood-soaked old woman, already dying from fear and agony, the Darkling thought of rending her navel too, as he had done with the prostitute, Molly. But then thought, No, she's an old bag, not worth my trouble. Although she was only fifty-eight in reality.

Still, he enjoyed supping upon the fear and pain that fled from her body in her last moments of life.



It was eleven AM the next day before Tiffany's body was found. And only then because she had a special delivery letter from her niece is Tassie, and had to sign for it -- the letter, not Tassie.

"Miss Close," called the postman Dudley, puzzled. "That's strange, she's always home for the post," he thought aloud.

After knocking until his knuckles were bruised, without response, Dudley checked next door till he found a neighbour with a spare key to Tiffany's house.

"Miss Close, Tiffany, are you there?" he called after opening the door. "Miss Close ...?" he started again as he stepped into the lounge room and found her bloody corpse. "Oh, Jesus!"



Half an hour later Terri Scott, Colin Klein, Andrew Braidwood, and Paul Bell were all standing around the lounge room watching as Elvis Green examined the corpse of poor Tiffany Close.

Standing he said, "Same as the others," holding up two porcupine-like quills. "Only like the Parker Twins, he didn't rupture her navel."

Looking as though he could throw up at any second, Dudley the postman asked, "What should I do with his?" He held up the letter.

"What is it?" asked Terri.

"A special delivery letter from her niece in Tasmania. It has to be signed for."

"Give it to me," said Terri, "I'll sign for it. Since I'm the one who will have to ring the Tassie Police to notify her."

After the postman had gone, along with gawking spectators, whom Paul and Colin had shooed out to their dismay, Terri asked, "This lady wasn't a prostitute. So why did he screw her to death."

"He couldn't get to any prostitutes," said Colin, trying not to be heartless, "you chased them off the streets."

"Damn," said Terri, wrongly thinking that Tiffany Close's death was her fault. "Sometimes you just can't win, whatever you do."

"Don't blame yourself," said Paul Bell, "you did the right thing. You just couldn't see all contingencies. No one could have."

"So do we let the prozzies out?" asked Paul Bell.

"How can I make that determination?" asked Terri, thinking aloud, "Is a prozzie's life worth swapping for another woman's life?"

"You can't," said Elvis Green. "You've got no choice but to keep them locked up until this is over ... one way or another."

"I guess so," said Terri, for the first time starting to doubt that she was the right person to be police chief of Lenoak.

Sensing what she was thinking, Colin Klein put a reassuring hand on her left shoulder, and said, "You did the only thing that you could do."

"I suppose so," said Terri cheering up a little.



That night Why Ling, a beautiful seventeen-year-old, one of the prostitutes that was supposed to be off the streets had managed to sneak away and was walking up and down the length of Morecambe Street, ducking for cover whenever she thought she saw a police car coming her way.

"Think they can tell me I can't make a living," she muttered to herself. Quickly ducking down an alleyway, when she saw a car with a police light on top approaching down the street. She hid behind a wheelie bin until the police car had passed the alley. Then waited another minute before starting to stand up.

"Here, let me help you up, beautiful lady, said the Darkling, startling her.

"Who are you?" she asked. "A cop?"

"No, I'm the lucky man who, hopefully, will be enjoying your charms tonight."

"They don't come cheap," said Why Ling. "I'm no diseased old hag like many of the women walking the streets." She saw no reason to mention that tonight she was probably the only street walker working the streets of Lenoak.

"Oh course, you're not," soothed the Darkling, "anyone can see that you are a rare and special flower."

"And if you want to pluck me, you have to pay plenty."

"How about a thousand dollars for the whole night?" he asked, reaching into his coat pocket to withdraw ten green hundred dollar notes."

"A thousand...?" she began, then realised that she had better play it cool. "Yeah, I guess that's okay."

"Excellent," he said starting deeper into the alley. "Follow me."

"You want to do it in an alley, all night,' said Why Ling. "Isn't it a bit cold for that?"

"I'll soon warm you up," said the Darkling.

"Fair enough," said the beautiful prostitute, following him to her death. After all a thousand bucks is a thousand bucks! she thought.

As they reached the end of the alley she started to have second thoughts, however, "Listen, I'm not so sure about..."

Looking deeply into her eyes, he said, "Shut up and get undressed immediately."

"Shut up and get undressed immediately," repeated Why Ling starting to undress in the alley as ordered.

"Now stand in the corner and spread your legs wide."

"Now stand in the corner and spread my legs wide," she repeated doing as instructed. Although at only one hundred and sixty centimetres high her legs were not long enough to spread too wide."

"That will have to do," said the Darkling.

"That will have to..."

"Stop repeating everything I say!" yelled the Darkling, and Why Ling did as instructed.

Walking up to her, he said, "I want you to be terrified of me, and to die in agony so that I can feed upon your fear and pain. But I do not want you to scream or make any vocal sound from now on. Do you understand?"

Why Ling nodded, her dark eyes already showing fear.

"Good," he said, unzipping to release his lethal penis."

Why Ling's eyes almost bugged out of her eyes in terror when she saw it, but she was unable to scream or cry out, even as he advanced and thrust his spiny member into her vagina in one hard swoop, not trying to go slowly.

Why Ling's eyes began to water furiously, and she opened her mouth as though to scream, yet no sound came out, as the Darkling ruthlessly fucked her vagina. After he finished he lapped up her fear and agony, then span her around, thinking, What a beautiful backside she has.

But that didn't stop him from thrusting into it, destroying her sphincter, and bowels in one brutal lunge. After he was finished he didn't need to tell her to kneel down, she collapsed from agony and blood loss. He lapped up her fear and pain again, then walked over, pried her lips apart with his fingers, then proceeded to mutilate her mouth, cheeks, and windpipe with his spindly penis."

By the time that he had finished Why Ling was no longer beautiful, still, he lapped up her agony and terror again, then lifted her up, as easily as lifting a rag doll, and proceeded to destroy her navel with his lethal member.

Dropping her again, he ordered, "Now die, Why Ling." And she was close enough to death already, that she did not need to be told twice.



The next morning around 8:00 o'clock Colin Klein had finished breakfast and was helping Mrs. Miggins with the dishes, despite her protests:

"You're a paying guest, Mr. Klein, you shouldn't be helping with the housework," she insisted.

"Why not, I do the dishes at home," he said. Not bothering to mention that he lived alone, so he had no choice but to do the dishes himself.

However, the matter was decided, when there came a rapping at the front door.

"Now you go and see who that is, while I finish the dishes," insisted Mrs. Miggins.

"Yes, Mum," teased Colin Klein, going through to the lounge room, then the corridor.

At the door he found Terri Scott, almost crying.

"It's happened again?" said Colin, as a statement more than a question.

"Yes," said Terri almost sobbing the word out. "A seventeen-year-old Asian prostitute, named Why Ling managed to sneak out of custody somehow.

"The worst part is that she was killed in the same alley as the Parker Twins and Molly.



Outside in her Lexus, Terri said, "It's all my fault, I should have posted a 24/7 guard on that accursed alley."

"How?" asked the redheaded reporter. "Even with Paul, Andrew, and Stanlee helping out, you have very limited resources."

"Then what do I do?" asked Terri, not for the first time wondering whether she was cut out to be a chief of police, even in a small country town.

"You have to call Russell Street, Melbourne to get some extra help."

"Will they come all of this way just for a prostitute killer?"

"Maybe not. So you have to emphasise that Tiffany Close was not a prostitute. And you need to say that the public is putting pressure on you to catch her killer."

"All right, thank you," she said, leaning over to kiss him on the right cheek.



It wasn't until the next morning that the Melbourne police arrived. Twenty-two uniformed officers, plus a gorgeous, curvaceous brunette.

"This is Sergeant Veronica Cooper," said Detective Chief Inspector Kenneth Fisher, introducing the gorgeous brunette. "She has volunteered to be the bait to catch this creep."

"You're not going to send her out alone?" asked Colin Klein, amazed that such a beautiful woman would be a police officer, not an actress or model.

"We'll be monitoring her at all times," said Fisher, a medium-height nondescript man. "She'll be wearing a wire and will have her mobile phone on at all times, with us on the other end."

"Should I go with her?" asked Terri.

Veronica gave the attractive blonde a scathing look, as though she thought that Terri would simply scare off the Darkling.

"Or maybe not," said Terri Scott, intimidated by the gorgeous brunette.



The first night they had no success, despite Veronica walking in and out of what the press had come to dub "Death Alley" a number of times. But on the second night, she had almost reached the end of the alley, when the Darkling, suddenly appeared as if out of nowhere.

"Where did you come from?" asked Veronica, puzzled.

"I walked through the brick wall," said the creature honestly.

"But," said Veronica, reaching into her purse for her .38 revolver.

Looking deeply into her eyes, he said: "Drop your purse with the gun inside."

"Drop my purse with the gun inside," said Veronica, doing just that.

"Now turn off your mobile phone."

"Turn off my mobile phone," she said doing just that.

At that moment, two Melbourne cops raced down the alleyway, pointing .45s at the Darkling.

"Hold it right there, you bastard," said one of the cops.

Looking them in the eyes, the Darkling said, "Drop your guns."

"Drop our guns," they both said, doing just that.

Pointing to a green wheelie bin behind Veronica Cooper, he said: "Now climb into the Wheelie bin and close the lid on yourselves. Don't worry if you asphyxiate, I want you to die."

The two policemen repeated his words, then climbed into the wheelie bin and pulled the lid closed upon themselves.

"All right," the Darkling said to Veronica, "take off all of your clothes and lie on your back on the ground with your legs spread wide."

"Take off all of my clothes and lie on your back on the ground with my legs spread wide," she repeated, going on to do just that.

"This one is gorgeous," said the Darkling, coming as close to human emotion as he had ever managed in his five hundred years of roaming the world fucking women to death so that he could feast upon their terror and agony.

Lying on top of the brunette, he exposed his enormous, quill-laden penis and thrust it into her.

Veronica started to scream, but he said, "You will be completely silent from now until you die. Although you may cry."

Veronica did both as he ravaged her vagina, destroying it beyond possible repair.

He went on to ravage her rectum, destroy her gorgeous face by making her fellate him, then slammed his mutant penis deep into her navel and into her guts beneath.

This time he did not finish there. Veronica had a thirty-eight-inch double-D chest, the same size as Pamela Anderson and Kat Denning, so the Darkling took the opportunity to have a tit-fuck. Destroying completely her once magnificent breasts.

Climbing off the once gorgeous woman, the Darkling put his member away, then said: "Now you can die, Veronica."

Her last thought was, "Thank God." Unable to stand the agony of life, any longer.

As sirens started to blare outside in Morecambe Street, the Darkling turned and walked through the brick wall of an abandoned warehouse and escaped.



All Hell broke loose with the discovery of Veronica Cooper's mutilated corpse.

Despite their best attempts to keep a lid on the murders, a media circus broke out with journalists from all of Australia's five major TV networks, newspapers, radio news stations, and even podcast news programs collecting around Terri Scott's police station in Goddard Street.

"What the Hell went wrong?" demanded Kenneth Fisher, talking to himself. "And where the Hell are Peterson and Currey?"

While they stood around the white-walled front room of the station, not knowing how to answer, Andrew Braidwood burst in without bothering to knock.

"They found the two missing cops," he said, "asphyxiated to death in a wheelie bin in Death Alley."



"Jesus," said Terri as Elvis Green examined the corpses in the alley, with a hundred or so reporters watching on.

"Well," demanded Kenneth Fisher.

Looking up, Elvis Green said: "I'll have to do full autopsies to confirm it. But they seem to have just died of oxygen starvation in the bin."

"Were they knocked out?" asked Colin Klein.

"No sign of it, but they may have been poisoned or doped."

Two ambulances tooted, scaring the media circus into letting them through to collect the two corpses.

"Take them to my morgue," said Elvis, climbing into the front passenger seat of one Ambulance, "I'll get started immediately on the autopsies."

After the ambulances left, Colin and the police officers walked back down the alley, having to pass through the media circus to reach their cars."

"Hello, Mr. Klein," called a familiar voice, and he turned around and saw the gorgeous figure of Lisa Nowland, a forty-year veteran journalist who had been trying to get exclusives from the redheaded Englishman on various strange happenings in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby area recently.

"Fancy meeting you again under similar circumstances to the last two times," said Lisa.

"Yes, fancy," said Colin walking straight past her.

"Who is that?" asked Terri Scott as they climbed into her pale blue Lexus.

"Just a major pain in the butt, that I don't seem to be able to shake off," said Colin.

"Huh?" said Terri, starting the Lexus.

"Let's just say a barracuda that wants to have me as its next meal."

"If you say do," said Terri, driving them to Elvis Green's morgue in Dien Street Glen Hartwell, to wait on the autopsy results of the two policemen.



"I'm not gonna get the autopsies done any faster because you lot are watching on," said Elvis.

"A little police harassment never hurts," teased Paul Bell, making Andrew, Stanlee, and the others smile.

After a moment they heard light footsteps in the hallway outside.

Going to check, Terri and Colin Klein, found Lisa Nowland sneaking down the corridor toward the lab.

"Hello, Lisa," said Colin.

"Hello, Mr. Klein, or can I call you Colin."

"What are you doing here," demanded Terri.

"Trying to get an exclusive," said Lisa honestly.

"Well, out you go," said Terri, shooing her without any success.

"Haven't you ever heard of the freedom of the press," demanded Lisa, as Terri took her by the arm and started half leading, half dragging her back down the corridor toward the door to the outside.

"That's only in America," said Colin Klein. "In Australia, the freedom of the press is assumed by most people, but is not included in the constitution or law books."

"Well, it should be," shouted Lisa, as she was roughly led outside.

Colin went back to the lab and explained what had happened.

"I'll go stand at the door," volunteered Stanlee Dempsey.

"Thanks," said Terri returning to the lab. "So how's it going, Elvis."

"In the three minutes since you were in here last?" asked Jerry Green. "Well in the first body, there is no sign of drugs or poison of any kind. I'll need to autopsy the other one to be certain. But it's starting to look as though they climbed into the Wheelie bin of their own accord and just waited there to die of asphyxiation."

"What?" asked Terri, as astonished as Elvis.

"I know it sounds crazy. But that's what it looks like."



After the second autopsy, they returned to Death Alley and examined the wheelie bin for fingerprints. Elvis Green photographed the prints and took them back to the morgue, and was able to say: "The only prints on the Wheelie bin belonged to the two cops."

"So your theory was right," said Terri. "They got into the bin by themselves and waited there to smother to death."

"That's what it seems like," said Elvis.

"But why?" asked Paul Bell.

"Maybe this bloke hypnotises them somehow and they do whatever he says," suggested Elvis, guessing correctly.

"That would explain why none of the women were heard to scream," suggested Colin Klein. "Having those spines thrust into them they would have been in horrendous agony."

"Maybe he hypnotised them not to feel any pain," suggested Terri, hopefully.

"I doubt it," said Colin. "We're dealing with a sadist, if not actually a literal monster, who gets off on their pain and terror as much, and probably more than he does on the act of sex."

"A lot of rapists do it for the fear and pain, more than the enjoyment of sex," pointed out Elvis.

"But I'm starting to doubt that this killer is human," said Colin, making Terri gawk at him, although the others had all experienced supernatural murders in the area before.

"I think he may actually feed off their terror and agony."

"You mean literally feed off it?" asked Terri. "Instead of food."

"I think to him it is food."



That night, Lisa Nowland, determined to get an exclusive, was dressed up to the nines and was out walking Morecambe Street, where all of the murders had happened so far.

Try to keep me out of it will they? she thought.

She walked up and down Morecambe Street a number of times, as well as walking down Death Alley a few times. She had just started down Death Alley for the seventh time when a hand landed upon her left shoulder.

"Ah!" cried the platinum blonde, spinning around, to stand facing Terri Scott.

"What are you doing here, Lisa."

"Getting an exclusive."

"Even if it kills you?" demanded Terri. When Lisa pouted, refusing to answer, Terri said, "We think this thing feeds off terror and pain, so that if we can starve it for a few days it will die."

"How does that help me to get an exclusive?"

"Lisa, if you come with me now, I promise to give you exclusive use of everything the police and coroner have discovered."

Grinning like a child, the beautiful sixty-year-old said, "All right."

They turned to leave the alley and came face to face with the Darkling. Terri grabbed her gun from its holster.

Looking her in the eyes, the Darkling ordered, "Drop your gun."

"Drop my gun," said the policewoman, letting it fall to the alley.

"What are you doing?" demanded Lisa Nowland.

Looking Lisa straight in the eyes, the Darkling said: "Be quiet Lisa." And she shut up, no longer wanting to disobey him.

"Now start..." began the Darkling, stopping at the sound of a car revving.

They looked around as Terri's Lexus came racing down the alley toward them.

The Darkling grinned evilly, as the car passed right through him, stopping centimetres short of Lisa and Terri."

"Fool, you can't kill me like that!" said the Darkling.

"So, I see," said Colin Klein alighting from the driver's seat.

"You will do exactly what I say," said the Darkling.

"Guess again," said Colin Klein who was wearing a pair of ultra-dark Polaroid sunglasses. "Your hocus pocus can't work on me."

"Maybe not, said the Darkling, "but I can still kill you." Turning to Terri Scott, he said, "Shoot Mr. Klein, Terri."

Without hesitation, she started to reach for the handgun lying on the bitumen path.

Racing forward, Colin placed a pair of Polaroid's on Terri too.

"What...?" said Terri, almost collapsing.

"Don't worry, honey," said Colin, holding her until the blonde recovered her balance after coming out of the trance.

He led her across to the Lexus and put her into the front passenger seat.

"Well, now what," Colin asked the Darkling.

"Lisa," it said turning to the platinum blonde. "Kill Mr. Klein for me!"

"Kill Mr. Klein for you," repeated Lisa, reaching down for the revolver.

But Colin Klein raced forward again and put a pair of Polaroids on Lisa.

"What...?" asked Lisa, confused.

"Just follow me," said Colin, leading the blonde over to put her into the back of the Lexus.

"You can't stop me!" shouted the Darkling as Klein started to reverse the police car out of the alley. "You can't kill me!"

We'll see about that, thought Colin driving them back to the police station.



The next night the Darkling appeared from Death Alley and smiled to see at least a dozen prostitutes walking the streets.

Easy pickings tonight, he thought. Having gone two nights now without a feed he had to feed tonight or would die. But I won't have any trouble making a kill tonight.

He walked slowly toward a beautiful Latina woman, planning to hypnotise her. Then as she turned to face him, he saw that she was wearing a pair of Polaroid sunglasses.

"What...?" he said, looking past her toward the other streetwalkers. All of whom were wearing Polaroids.

"Nooooo!" screamed the Darling, startling the girls into flight, as he started to fade out of existence.



At the police station, Terri was on the phone answering a call from one of the streetwalkers.

Hanging up, she said, "Looks like you were right, Colin, that thing has faded out of existence."

"And all it cost the police department was a couple of dozen pairs of Polaroid's," said Paul Bell.

As the phone rang again, Lisa Nowland asked, "Do I still get my exclusive?"

"What exclusive?" asked Stanlee Dempsey.

After talking on the phone for a moment, Terri hung up and said, "I sort of promised her exclusive use of all of our reports and stuff." Then to the platinum blonde, "Yes, you do, Lisa."

"Killer!" said Lisa beaming. Then to Colin, she asked, "Will you be staying in this area, Mr. Klein?"

"Not in Lenoak much longer, but I'll be staying in the basic area. Why?"

"Then maybe I should stay too. Monsters seem to follow you. Maybe I can get another exclusive."

"How dare you, Lisa," he said. Then to the others, he said, "The cheek of her."

However, the others had their faces in their hands, laughing.

"So, you all believe it, do you?" he demanded.

"Well, they don't call you the Ghost that Walks for nothing," said Terri Scott, making them all laugh riotously.

"How dare you," said Colin, then laughing along with them, as the phone rang again.

THE END

© Copyright 2023 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia