DARK ANGELS

Father Thomas Montague strode along Blackland Street, one of the main streets of Glen Hartwell, in the Victorian countryside. With a population of over five thousand, G.H., as the residents called it, was big by the standards of Australian country towns. The priest walked past shops and milk bars, realtors, newsagencies, plus the local fish and chip shop, until reaching the large lawns of St. Margaret's church. Founded in 1838, one year after Glen Hartwell, and three years after the state of Victoria, St. Margaret's was one of the centre points of the Glen, even to non-Catholics. It had large spacious lawns, which the church sometimes held picnics upon after church, twenty concrete steps led from the footpath to the large polished red gum double doors. Inside, the floors were more traditional polished teak, with red felt-lined wooden pews, plus more than life-size plaster statues of Jesus, the stations of the cross, Mary, Joseph, and the apostles lining the walls and the rear of the small stage upon which Father Thomas conducted his sermons.

At the rear of the stage was a three-metre-tall statue of Jesus on the cross, surrounded on each side by white plaster angels.

But as he walked down the aisle toward the front of the church the father realised that something was wrong. He stopped half a dozen rows from the front of the church staring, trying to discern why his blood had suddenly gone cold. Trying to decide what was wrong? What had been changed without his permission?

He looked around for a couple of minutes. Then he saw it!

The three-metre-high statues of an angel on either side of Jesus were no longer white. Now they were night black, with their wings folded across their faces. Standing on long talon-like feet, with vicious-looking claws instead of the pale petite hands that they had always had.

"Sacrilege!" he said. Thinking that someone had mutilated and spray-painted the statues.

Then the figures spread their wings wide, to reveal their ugly vulturine faces, with large beaks. They opened their lids to reveal evil yellow snake eyes. Then they opened their beaked mouths to reveal forked, snake-like tongues.

"Dark Angels!" the priest said in terror: "But they're just a myth! A Christian horror story."

Then the Dark Angels turned toward him and growled like tigers. Leaning forward as though about to leap at him at any second.

Raising his cross toward them, Father Thomas cried: "Get thee behind me Dark Angels! Foul Messengers of Satan!"

The Dark Angels looks puzzled by this, even a little wary, which allowed the priest time to step across to the font.

Father Thomas reached in for some holy water which he splashed at one Dark Angel, burning it, making it shriek in terror and launch itself into flight, to soar toward the rear of the church to escape.

"Go from whence thou came Dark Angel, back to the fiery bowels of the Earth! Back to Hades! Back to the Earth's molten core, where thee belong!" he chanted, splashing the second Dark Angel with holy water also.

Screeching in pain and terror now, the Dark Angels soared out through the doorway, shattering into kindling the two beautiful red gum doors. As they flew straight through the hardwood as though it were no more than balsa.

Outside the cathedral, the parishioners shrieked and ran across the lush lawns as the red gum doors exploded outwards. Then screamed and ran hither and thither as the three-metre-tall Dark Angels soared out through the wreckage of the doors, roaring like tigers as they zoomed mere centimetres above the fleeing churchgoers.

As the crowd screamed in terror, the excited Dark Angels winged after them. One grabbed an old man in its talons, raised him to its vulturine face, and pecked him to death with its eagle-like beak. Ripping and rending until his face had been reduced to something akin to very bloody minced meat.

The second Dark Angel reached down toward a young girl running toward her family's car. But as her mother threw the girl into the car the monster passed over her and collided with the roof of the red Ford Capri, ripping the roof rack off the car effortlessly.

The Dark Angel tiger-roared its rage at failing to kill the girl, and also because the roof rack had become entwined upon its talons. The creature screeched and flapped at the metal rack until it finally crashed down onto the bonnet of a yellow Morris minor zooming past. The Morris swerved violently but managed to avoid crashing. However, it ran over and killed an elderly couple, fleeing for their lives.


"Homer, you've killed them!" shrieked Courtney Prescott, an attractive fifty-something brunette.

"It's them or us!" shouted back Homer Prescott: "We've got the kids to consider!"

"He's right," agreed Norbert, their twelve-year-old son.

"Yes, mum," agreed Suzette and Suzanna, their fourteen-year-old twins.

"But, you killed..." her whines turned to shrieks as one of the Dark Angels's claws scraped across the roof of the lemon-yellow Morris: "Get us out of here."

He planted his foot, sending an elderly lady flying to her death. This time with no complaints from Courtney, who was crouching down as far as she could in the front seat without removing her seat belt.


Outside the Dark Angels roared their tiger roars as they slashed people's throats open with their gnarled black talons. Pecking the faces off others, or ripping their stomachs open with their beaks or lethal claws.

The Dark Angels swooped and soared, ripping and slashing, gouging and clawing until a dozen people lay dead or dying upon the red-stained lawn in front of St. Margaret's.

Then from the church raced Father Thomas, carrying a ten-litre bowl of holy water.

"Get thee behind me Dark Angels! Foul Messengers of Satan!" he shouted, splashing the holy water liberally toward one of the creatures. Which shrieked in agony, almost falling out of the air.

The Dark Angel managed to stay aloft, roaring in rage. But it zoomed high, out of reach, and soared off over the church and away from the scene of the carnage.

"Go from whence thou came Dark Angel, back to the fiery bowels of the Earth! Back to Hades! Back to the Earth's molten core, where thee belong!" chanted the priest, splashing more holy water toward the second creature.

However, the second Dark Angel, seeing what had happened to the first, zoomed up out of range. Then followed after its companion safely out of reach of the Catholic priest.


Terri Scott, and Colin Klein, were in the backseat of Terri's police-blue Lexus; while Sheila Bennett drove. Terri, an attractive thirty-two-year-old blonde, had recently been promoted to Senior Sergeant of the Glen Hartwell to Willamy region of the Victorian countryside. Making her the top cop in the area. Sheila Bennett had been promoted at the same time to Chief Constable making her the second highest-ranking cop in the area. The same age as Terri, Sheila was a Goth chick, with orange and black striped, shoulder-length hair. She had been promoted upon Terri's request and was her designated driver.

Colin Klein was a redheaded London Crime Reporter. At age forty-eight, he was enjoying his long service leave in the Victorian countryside, dating Terri, as well as living in the same boarding house in Merridale as Terri and Sheila.

"So who feels like stopping for lunch?" asked Colin as they drove down Riorden Street, where they boarded at Deidre Morton's two-storey boarding house.

"I could certainly do with a Vic Bitter," said Sheila. Quickly amending it to: "And by that I mean a nice cuppa."

"Just remember, Sheils, you're the designated driver," reminded Terri.

"So, I have to settle for tea or coffee, while you two are allowed to have Vic Bitters?"

"Actually, mine's sweet sherry," said Terri.

"And I prefer Khan Premium Light beer," said Colin.

"You traitor!" said the Goth chick: "You're in Victoria, you oughta be drinking Victoria Bitter!"

"There's no need to get so..." began Terri, stopping as her mobile phone chimed. Picking up the phone, she spoke for a moment, then disconnected and said: "High speed it to Saint Margaret's in the Glen. There's been some kind of a massacre outside the church!"

"Jesus!" said Sheila, throwing the magnetic siren onto the roof of the Lexus, as she geared up to third.

"And watch my paintwork," said Terri as they took off at high speed.


Less than half an hour later they were speeding down Blackland Street, passing ambulances with sirens blaring which were headed toward the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

The blue Lexus pulled up as close to St. Margaret's as they could get without running over the dead and wounded still lying in the middle of the bitumen road.

"So what's the story?" asked Terri, as the alighted from the Lexus.

"You better ask Father Thomas," said Stanlee Dempsey. A large bull of a man with longish black hair and a long scar down the left side of his face: "Let him seem insane, not me!"

"So it's one of those situations, we've come to regard as goofy Colin Klein cases?" said Sheila.

"How dare you!" protested the redheaded reporter: "Glen Hartwell has been famous for these wacky cases for forty years before I even came to Australia."

"Calm down, honey," said Terri, as they headed across to see what they could do to help.

Jesus Costello, Tilly Lombstrom, Elvis Green, Annie Colfax, and Topaz Moseley were helping the survivors as much as they could. Jesus (pronounced 'Hee-Zeus') was the chief surgeon and administrator at the Glen Hartwell Hospital; Tilly, an attractive fifty-something brunette, was Jesus's second in command. Elvis Green, so nicknamed due to his devotion to Elvis Presley, was the local coroner but was also concentrating on the living first. Annie and Topaz were senior nurses at the G.H. Hospital, both in their thirties.

"So what's the story?" asked Terri Scott, as they approached the medics.

"Another wacky Colin Klein adventure," teased Elvis.

"How dare you?" demanded Colin. No longer amused by the suggestion that he was some kind of weirdness magnet. Although he had encountered three or four supernatural murders in England, before deciding to spend his leave Down Under.

Hearing the sound of sirens approaching, they looked around to see three ambulances returning from the hospital in Baltimore Drive.

"In the Lord's name, what happened here?" asked Sheila Bennett. Seeing the ripped and torn bodies, some pecked, others with faces reduced to something akin to minced meat.

"Not the Lord," said Father Thomas, walking across to them: "Perhaps we'd better go inside the church."

He led them inside and told them what had happened before and during the massacre.

"Dark Angels?" asked Colin Klein.

"Yes, another one to add to your book of legends," said the priest. Referring to a book of supernatural legends the redheaded reporter had been researching during his stay in Australia: "Angels per se are supernatural messengers. Everyone has heard of Light Angels, God's Messengers. But since the tenth century A.D., the church has also known about Dark Angels, Satan's Messengers. They live in the Earth's molten core, where we now believe Hades is located. But just as the Lord sends angels down to earth on occasion, Satan likewise sends Dark Angels up to seek out knowledge for him, stir up trouble, or simply go on killing sprees, to cause as much chaos and terror as possible."

"How come we've never heard of these Dark Angels before?" asked Colin.

"They're part of the secret Christian knowledge, that writers sometimes refer to but both the Vatican and Canterbury deny the existence of," explained Fr. Thomas: "One of their main functions is to spread terror and unsettle society! So it is in no one's best interests for the general populace to know about them. From time to time they will wipe out a small village somewhere in the world, and the authorities write the deaths off as plagues or Manson-like cult killings. With encouragement from the Pope and the Archbishop of Canterbury.

"But in this day and age of mobile phone cameras, it is getting increasingly difficult to write them off as cult killings or plagues. At least a dozen people were killed today. But another forty or more saw them and survived."

"So how do we deal with them?' asked Terri.

"I managed to burn them with holy water and scare them off today. But we will need a lot of holy water to actually kill them. Then there is the problem of getting it to wherever they are at the right time."

"We've had that problem once before when we used holy water against a supernatural killer in the Glen," said Terri: "That time we solved the problem by renting Louie Pascall's Bell Huey helicopter. And filling the spraying cache with a few hundred litres of holy water."

"But the Ploughman couldn't fly," pointed out Colin Klein: "It might be playing into their claws by trying to take them on in the air?"

"How fast can these things fly?" asked Sheila Bennett.

"Satan only knows," said Father Thomas: "At least the speed of sound."

"In which case an SR-71 could catch them," said Sheila, thinking of two RAAF pilots they knew who had helped them before with an SR-71.

"Or possibly the speed of light," added the priest.

"But wouldn't they be blind, according to Einstein, if they travelled at the speed of light?" asked Colin: "Supposedly light bends in upon itself as you approach the speed of light until you are in total darkness?"

"You're forgetting that darkness is the Devil's realm. Light is the realm of the Lord," explained the priest: "In theory at least, the Dark Angels can function in darkness as well as, if not better than in light."

They continued talking to the priest a while longer, then went back outside to see what they could do to help the wounded.


By 4:00 PM the last of the dead and injured had been transported to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

By now starving, Terri, Colin, Sheila, Stanlee, and half a dozen other local cops headed down Blackland Street to buy fish and chips from Neptune's Fish-and-Chipatorium, for a very late lunch.

"Firstly," said Sheila between mouthfuls of potato cake: "As the God of the sea, would Neptune approve of his name being used for a chip shop?" She chewed some more fried potato, then added: "Secondly, is Chipatorium even a word?"

"I doubt it on both counts," said Terri, before biting into a chicken spring roll: "But they do sell damn good chicken spring rolls."


After eating, they went back to work, trying without success to catch sight of the Dark Angels. But by 9:00 PM darkness was falling rapidly, and remembering Father Thomas's words: "Darkness is the Devil's realm. Light is the realm of the Lord!" Terri called off the search until the next morning.

After a quick tea at Deidre Morton's Terri, Sheila, and Colin headed off to bed, ready to start the next morning.


Donald Frazer was a tall heavyset man, with short blond hair, and a ginger moustache. Complete with a vest, checked coat and trousers, pipe, and a deerstalker hat, he looked the part of the archetypical English gentleman farmer. Except for the fact that his farm was outside Merridale in the Victorian countryside.

Always an early riser, as most country folk are, that morning Donald was up at 6:30, riding out on his favourite mare, Henny, toward what was known as Frazer's Mount. In reality, little more than a hill. Donald liked to call it Frazer Mole Hill.

This morning he was surprised to see a dozen or so horse-drawn caravans atop the mount.

A travelling circus? he thought at first. Then he realised that it was a band of gypsies, or Travellers as they are now called in England.

"Uh-oh!" said a man of fifty-something, the leader, Tobey: "Here comes the Man to drive us from his land. Trespassers will be prosecuted and all that fascist clap-trap!"

"Tobey," warned his wife, Lucinda.

"Not at all," said Donald, climbing down from Henny: "I welcome a bit of company." He introduced himself, shaking hands with first Tobey, and then Lucinda. "We have small festivals and whatnot on the mount from time to time. And I'm sure you can't be as much trouble as that rock concert we had here last year ... What were they called...?" He thought for a moment then said: "The Devil's Advocates, that's it!"

"Oh, I love the Devil's Advocates!" said a pretty raven-haired twelve-year-old girl, from behind Lucinda.

"Although half their songs aren't really appropriate for twelve-year-old girls," said Lucinda.

"Oh mum, don't be so morphed out!" said the girl, Raven.

"What's morphed put?" asked Donald Frazer.

"Some kind of kid-speak, I would imagine," said Tobey.

"Oh Dad, Mum, you are both total morphs!"

"If I could prove that that was an insult, I'd be whipping her bum already," said Tobey.

Between laughing, Donald said: "Feel free to stay here for a week or two, I can use the company. There's apple trees all around, feel free to help yourself. And I'm sure we can spare you some venison and potatoes, and some bread."

"Most kind of you," said Lucinda, before inviting him into their caravan for some herbal tea.

Plonking herself on her bunk, Raven turned on a small CD player, which started belting out:

"Black and white

"Second hand

"B-grade life

"Nothing in the world ever turns our right,

"Black and white living

"No colour within

"B-grade life and you just can't win

"B-grade life and you just can't win..."

"Let me guess ... The Devil's Advocates?" said Donald, making Tobey and Lucinda laugh and nod in agreement.

"Aren't they killer?" said Raven.

"I hope not," teased Donald: "That's all we need around here." Unaware of how prophetic his words would soon turn out to be.


Later that night, Tobey, Lucinda, Raven, and fifty or so other gypsies were sitting around a campfire eating roasted venison and raw potatoes, given to them by Donald Frazer's housekeeper upon his orders. Although the old lady had been less happy to see the gypsies than her master had been.

"See, I told you not to judge people in advance," chastised Lucinda, before taking a big bite of raw potato with just a dab of salt applied.

"Yeah," said Raven, still listening to the Devil's Advocates on an MP3 player. She hurriedly plugged in her headphones as they got to their latest single, 'Piss-Drinking Woman', knowing her parents would not approve, as she listened to:

"I need a piss-drinking woman to call my own,

"I need a piss-drinking woman to suck my bone..."

Raven wasn't quite sure what the second line meant. However, she was fairly certain that her parents would not approve of her listening to it.

Raven caught herself just in time as she almost started singing along with the next track: "Don't Want No Small-Tit Woman (With a Big, Big Mouth!"

Then again with her favourite song, "(I Love) Bianca Censori's Huge Phat Arse!":

"I fell in love with Bianca Censori's huge phat arse

"It's the source of her attraction

"It's the source of all her class

"I'd like to grab those huge pink fleshy cheeks

"Run my hands over them and have a touch,

"I'd like to pull those phat cheeks wide apart

"Then I'd have a massive..."

"What the Hell is that?" asked Lucinda, distracting her daughter as two black bird-like objects flew across the face of the full moon.

"I didn't think Australia had flighted birds that big," said Lucinda, before taking a final bite of her raw potato. Unaware that it would be the last food that she ever tasted.

"It doesn't," said Tobey, unable to take his eyes away from the Dark Angels as they soared toward Frazer's Mount.

"Well, I'm going inside to listen to my MP3s," said Raven. In truth so that she could sing along with the raunchier Devil's Advocates' songs, without getting into trouble.

"Good night, honey, do you want me to tuck you in?" asked Lucinda.

"Mum! I'm twelve!" said Raven, shocked at the suggestion. She was careful to shut the caravan door behind her, before turning up the sound on her player and singing along:

"K.U.N.T. I wanna have it

"K.U.N.T. you know I need it,

"K.U.N.T. you gonna give it?

"K.U.N.T. I'm gonna plead for it..."

"Mum and dad would morph out big time," she said laughing.


Outside Lucinda, Tobey and the other gypsies were watching in increasing concern as the Dark Angels winged toward the mount.

"What are they?" asked Tobey. He almost fell into the campfire as one of the Dark Angels roared its tiger roar in excitement at the smell of human beings.

"What the Hell?" asked Potter, Tobey's younger brother.

Then the first Dark Angel arrived, swooping down onto Potter's chest, roaring its tiger roar, before ripping his throat out with its V-shaped beak.

"Potter!" shrieked Tobey, racing to his brother's aid. Only to have the second Dark Angel crash onto his back, driving him forward and downwards, to land face first in the campfire. Unable to stand or roll out of the fire, due to the weight of the three-metre-tall monster standing on his back.

"Toe...beeee!" shrieked Lucinda. Grabbing a cooking pot, she raced forward to attempt to attack the second Dark Angel. However, the first one dropped the corpse of Potter and ripped Lucinda's face clean off her skull, leaving her looking as though she were grinning. Before the creature began to peck away her skull, reducing her brain to bloody mince.

Shrieking in terror, the other gypsies started to run about wildly. Some managed to make it back to their caravans, others made the mistake of trying to run down the mount. Thus making themselves easy prey for the Dark Angels, which zoomed back and forth, ripping and rending one man after another, one woman after another, one child after another. Not sparing anyone in their lust to wreak death, terror, and destruction against the fifty-odd people upon the mount.

On and on the rampage went, until every man, woman, and child was dead -- except for Raven, who had fallen asleep in her caravan, listening to the Devil's Advocates on her MP3 player.

The massacre startled the twenty or so horses, which started to shriek, trying to break away. Drawing the attention of the Dark Angels, which soon added them to their litany of the dead.

Corpses, bones, entrails, body parts, and blood covered the top of the mount by the time that the Dark Angels had finished. Most of the caravans had also been torn asunder to get at the gypsies who had fled within them. Only three caravans remained undamaged, including the one that Raven had entered to listen to the Devil's Advocates earlier, unaware of how horrifically prophetic her musical choice would turn out to be.

Roaring their tiger roars again, the Dark Angels turned and zoomed away again at something akin to the speed of sound.


The next morning, Raven awakened to her MP3 player replaying:

"I fell in love with Bianca Censori's huge phat arse

"It's the source of her attraction

"It's the source of all her class..."

She got up, yawned widely, then called: "Mum, Dad, you up yet." She started to cough, then said: "What is that burning?"

She walked through the caravan, surprised that there was no sign of Tobey or Lucinda. Who usually awakened before her, then rattled pots and pans until Raven conceded defeat and reluctantly rose also.

"Don't tell me they decided to sleep outside under the stars ... again?" she said: "They're more hippies than gypsies!"

She walked across to open the caravan door, looked outside at the carnage which the night before had been fifty-plus people and twenty horses ... and started screaming fit to raise the dead!


Half an hour later the police and half a dozen ambulances (the full compliment in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby region) were standing on the mount. Along with Donald Frazer, Jesus Costello, Tilly Lombstrom, and Jerry "Elvis" Green, the local coroner.

Twelve-year-old Raven had been sedated and was in the first ambulance that was just departing.

Walking across to Donald Frazer, Terri Scott said: "We meet again."

"Under equally weird circumstances as last time," said Donald.

"Sadly most circumstances seem to be bizarre these days."

"It's all my fault," said Donald, looking as though he was about to cry: "If I had driven them off like my father, or grandfather would've done, they wouldn't have been here when ... whatever happened, happened. Instead, I gave them food and said they could stay here for a week or two."

"You couldn't have known what would happen," said Terri, hugging the big man, who easily dwarfed her. She thought: Sadly killing with kindness isn't simply a euphemism, you really can do it. She was careful not to say it aloud though, for fear of distressing Donald further.

Sensing what was going on, Colin Klein and Sheila Bennett went across to comfort Donald Frazer also.

Coming across also, Tilly Lombstrom said: "Maybe you'd better stay overnight in the hospital too, Donald. It's been a big shock to you, finding them."

"No, I ..." began Donald, finally allowing himself to be led across to the ambulance. Where he allowed himself to be sedated without argument. Then the ambulance left for the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, with Annie Colfax, the Nurse-in-Charge going along to look after the big man.


It would be hours before the medics had finished their investigations, and the last of the bodies and body parts had been transported to the hospital. However, Terri, Colin, and Sheila left soon after the ambulance, following it to Glen Hartwell. But turning up Blackland Street heading toward Saint Margaret's Cathedral to speak to Father Thomas again.


"It's happened again," said Sheila as they approached the priest.

"Another massacre?" he asked the orange-and-black-haired Goth cop.

"Afraid so," said Terri Scott.

"Fifty-plus gypsies, Donald Frazer gave permission to stay on Mount Frazer," finished Colin Klein.

"Lord, the poor man must be going through agony, blaming himself."

"He did say his father and grandfather would have driven them off," said Terri.

"Oh yes, they were not kind-hearted like Donald. His grandfather, Old-Man Frazer as he was called from age thirty-five onwards, would have charged for the air people breathed in his area. If he'd known a way to make people pay! But you're not here for a history lesson, are you?"

"No," admitted Terri: "I need you to make a couple of thousand litres of holy water. My idea is to fill the water tanks of the Glen's three fire trucks to have them ready for when the Dark Angels reappear."

"Of course, I've already prepared five hundred litres of it in our water storage unit."

"Now the trick is to get the fire trucks in the right place at the right time," said Colin Klein.

"Trust you to spot the one weakness in an otherwise brilliant plan," teased Sheila Bennett.


Dolly Maguire, a huge-breasted thirty-something with long flowing brown tresses walked around clearing up the dinner plates a little after 8:00 PM that night. At the Whistler's Arms Inn in Prescott Street, Perry. An inn she has inherited from her father.

Coming up behind her, Lothario 'Lotto' Grossman, a seventeen-year-old porter, gave the buxom beauty a none-too-gentle pinch on her generous behind, making her yelp. Leaning down to whisper in her ear, he said, "I think it's time for us to retire for the night."

"It's barely eight o'clock," she protested.

"And that's how I want you in the next ten minutes ... bare," said Lotto, grinning a shiteater grin. He knew that his employer would not dare to refuse him, since he had been blackmailing her for sex for a week now.

"Yes, of course," said Dolly. Wrongly thinking, that she had got drunk and seduced the minor, which made her a pædophile by Australian law. In fact, Lotto had found her sleeping deeply and had raped her in her sleep, lying the next morning to get a hold on her to satisfy his lusts.

God, how I hate you! thought Dolly, obediently following Lotto across to the elevator to head up to her room, 244, for their next rough sex session.

You may hate me, thought Lotto, sensing her thought: But you have to give as much cunt, tit, arse, and face-cunt as I want for the rest of your life, Hotstuff!

He laughed out loud as they stepped out of the elevator on the second floor. Making Dolly shudder, wondering what perversion he had thought of to subject her to this time.


Inside the room, they both stripped hurriedly. Then Lotto gave her a hard slap on her beautiful full behind, saying:

"On your tummy, Hotstuff, I feel like buggerising the shit out of you tonight!"

Oh God, thought Dolly, doing as instructed, realising that she had no choice. Although she hated the sodomy most of all. Even after a week she was not getting used to it.

"Wow, Bianca Censori has nothing on you, Hotstuff, when it comes to huge phat arse," said Lotto, chuckling cruelly. Climbing behind her, he pulled her generous butt cheeks apart, spat on her sphincter, the only lubricant he would allow her, then without warning slammed his twenty-centimetre-long penis deep into her backside. Making the thirty-something brunette shriek and almost pass out from agony.

"Oh God, please!" cried Dolly, realising that she was wasting her breath.

"Tight as a fist, but much warmer!" cried Lotto in pleasure, not concerned by Dolly's plea. Your arsehole is my private fuck hole of the next fifty years at least he thought, chuckling imbecilically. Unaware that he would only be abusing Dolly Maguire for another few hours, then never again!


After three hours of hard sex, Dolly has passed out from exhaustion. Lotto. however, was still horny. Although he had raped her sleeping body before, tonight he had other ideas. Going across to her white, beaded purse on the bedside table, Lotto removed $200, then went across to the en suite to have a quick shower and redress.


Half an hour later he was standing outside the Free-Love Sex Lounge in Gordon Street, LePage, one of the first legal brothels in Victoria.

Outside, the Sex Lounge looked ordinary enough, just a double-glassed door, with the only sign of anything unusual being the neon sign announcing 'Free-Love Sex Lounge'.

Inside it looked palatial. Or at least like a faded palace, with plush red carpets throughout the three-storey building. Yellow floral patterned sofas, upon which sat a dozen or so partially naked women, some of them topless.

"You, and you," said Lotto grabbing the two biggest-breasted women, a twenty-something redhead and a forty-something brunette.

"Sorry, Mr. Cavendish," said a two-hundred-and-twenty centimetre tall Asian-Australian cashier: "You still need to pay in advance.:

Throwing the notes at the man, Lotto said: "Put me down for two hundred bucks worth, Antonio."

"Yes, of course, Mr. Cavendish," said Antonio, picking up the notes. Of course, he knew that Cavendish was an alias, but as long as they paid in advance he didn't mind what names the customers called themselves by.

Dragging the two women up the steps Lotto pulled them both into the first room that was unlocked, locked it behind himself, then hurriedly undressed with the two women stripping, till he called: "Leave your stocking on."

Doing as instructed the two women, Ginger and Adele, raced across to leap onto the bed which had dark blue sheets and pillows similarly decked out, but no blankets.

Who needs them, thought Lotto: We're gonna make our own heat!

Checking the two women out all over, he finally said: "All right Adele, on your hands and knees. For the next hour or so you can call me, 'The Backdoor Man'.

"Ouch," said Adele: "Why do they always pick me for that?"

"Because you have a beautiful big, Bianca Censori-like bum," said Ginger with a giggle. Drawing a glare from Adele and a laugh from Lotto.

Adele shrieked as Lotto penetrated her sphincter without bothering with subtlety. After all, he figured since he was paying for it (with Dolly's money), he didn't have to waste sympathy on Ginger or Adele.

"Lick out my arsehole, Ginger!" Lotto ordered.

Gulping, wondering if Adele was getting the best of it after all, Ginger went around behind Lotto, to do as instructed.

After just over an hour, Lotto had ejaculated twice into Adele's bowels, then he went around the front to make her suck his penis clean. Something which she did on demand, despite hating it. Which is why Lotto always made her do it after sodomising her. Seeing her distress was almost as big a turn-on to him as sodomising her enormous, shapely backside.


Lotto had Ginger up in the cat's cradle, trying his best to rip her tits clean off her body while fucking her frantically when the shouting and screaming from downstairs interrupted his enjoyment. And enjoyment was the only thing that mattered in life, as far as he was concerned. Lotto liked to think of himself as a libertine. But most people thought of him as a creep.

Reluctantly pulling out of the redhead, Lotto stormed across to the door and went out into the hallway without bothering to get dressed.

"What the fuck is going on?" he demanded: "I thought all orgies had to be conducted in the basement ballroom?"

When no one answered him, the seventeen-year-old hurried down the staircase, not worrying about his nudity. Then he stopped to stare in wonder at the state of the reception area. People were lying everywhere, some bleeding, wooden chairs were shattered, and sofas upended with women's and customer's legs protruding from under them.

"Antonio, what...?" began Lotto. He stopped as one of the Dark Angels roared its tiger roar from behind him.

Startled, Lotto span around and saw what he thought at first were black gargoyle statues like you see on the roofs of Gothic buildings.

"Why the fuck did they bring those ugly things inside?" he asked, walking across to where the two Dark Angels roosted, wings crossed over their ugly vulture-like faces. "You can't even see..."

He stopped as both of the Dark Angels spread their wings wide and roared tiger-like at him.

As the blood drained from his face, for a second, he considered running, then the Dark Angels were upon him, ripping with their talons, clawing with their top limbs, pecking with their V-shaped steel-like beaks.

Lotto shrieked when one of the talons ripped off his genitals, which the Dark Angel chewed to a mush, before spitting out. But his screaming soon stopped as the steel-like beaks cracked open his skull and reduced his brain to bloody minced meat.

On and on they slashed, gashed, and tore at the teenager until he had been reduced to bloody broken shards of a man.


Terri Scott, Sheila Bennett, and Colin Klein were pulling late shift, with one of the firetrucks filled with holy water, when the driver announced: "Hold on, we've just got a call from the Free-Love Sex Lounge in LePage that their under attack by black gargoyles."

"That's sounds like them," said Sheila.

"Can we make it in time?" asked Terri, holding onto the fire truck for dear life.

"Only one way to find out," called the truck driver. Turning on the siren, he floored the accelerator, taking the truck up to over a hundred and fifty kilometres an hour.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" shrieked Sheila Bennett, almost flying off the back of the truck.

"You okay?" called back the driver.

"No thanks to you," called the Goth chick, finally regaining her footing upon the rear of the fire truck.

"I warned you to hold on," said the driver.


The Dark Angels were in the process of exiting through the shattered remains of the glass doors, when their fire truck pulled up in Gordon Street, outside the Free-Love Sex Lounge. However, another fire truck, with Stanlee Dempsey, and Jessie Baker (a huge bear of a man with flame red hair) aboard had already pulled up and unwound their fire hose.

Seeing the two fire trucks, the Dark Angels roared their tiger roar but seemed unconcerned. Watching in puzzlement as the firefighters climbed off the second truck and started connecting up their fire hose.

When both hoses had been unfurled, Terri called: "All right let 'em have it."

As the fire trucks started spraying them, at first the Dark Angels were unconcerned. Then as the holy water started to burn them, they roared in anger and fear and tried to fly away.

"Don't let them get away," called Colin Klein.

The firefighters were careful to keep the two monsters in their crossfire, dousing them with hundreds of litres of holy water. Until the Dark Angels first started to spew off smoke, then burst into flames.

"Don't let up on them!" cried Terri. And the firefighters kept spraying the creatures until they had been reduced to mere ashes.


Having heard of the ruckus at the Free-Love Sex Lounge, Father Thomas got into his ancient orange Mini Minor and headed at full pelt toward LePage.

He got there just as the Dark Angels had finished burning and were reduced to smouldering ashes.

"What do we do now?" asked Sheila Bennett.

"That's where I come in," said Father Thomas, surprising them by coming up behind them.

Looking around they saw the priest carrying a large glass jar, on one arm, a small metal spade in the other. Racing across to the remains of the monsters, he hurriedly collected them into the jar, which he then vacuum-sealed.

"Where now?" asked Colin Klein: "Off to be hidden in the vaults of the Vatican along with thousands of other religious artefacts which Vatican City won't admit even exist."

"I can't answer that," said the priest. Then with a laugh: "But off the record, Yes!"


It was morning by the time that they had sorted out who had been killed in the massacre. Ginger and Adele had survived by being upstairs; as had another eight women and their customers.


Having confirmed Lotto Grossman as one of the victims, they went around to the Whistler's Arms Inn in Perry soon after breakfast to inform Dolly Maguire, since Lotto had no relatives in Victoria, that they could track down:

"Thank God! Thank God!" said Dolly, realising that her days of degradation were over. She was almost crying from joy.

Then realising that Terri and the others were staring at her, haltingly, Dolly went on to tell them what had happened between Dolly and Lotto Grossman over the last week or so.

Holding out her hands Dolly said: "I guess you'd better arrest me?"

"First let's see if we can track down Lotto's mobile phone," said Terri. Then to Sheila: "Was it logged as found at the site?"

Sheila checked a computer tablet, leafing through a few screens, before looking up to say: "No, no sign of a mobile with him."

"Well, let's go check his room."


Dolly led the way, using a passkey to get in.

They only had to search a few minutes before finding a small metal LP vault at the back of his wardrobe.

"Ronco," read Sheila: "I've heard these things can be opened with a screwdriver, if anyone's got one."


A few minutes later they had forced open the vault and found no less than three mobile phones. Two cheap disposables, and one expensive phone. It was on the expensive phone that they found nearly a hundred naked photos of a semen-splattered Dolly, plus a couple of dozen short videos.

"She looks like she did after Corbin Birdman seduced or raped her," said Sheila, referring to a recent case.

"Yes," agreed Terri: "I suspect Lotto stayed with her when we chased after Birdman. Then he photoed her and raped her. Conning her into thinking that she had seduced him,"

"So what do we do with the photos?" asked Colin Klein.

"First we need to hunt through the phone to see if he emailed them to himself anywhere," said Terri: "Then we destroy it."

"Good idea," said Colin and Sheila as one.

"Oh thank you, thank you," said Dolly hugging them one after the other.

As they were getting into Terri's blue Lexus, Sheila said: "There's just one thing I still don't get?"

"What's that?" asked Terri with a degree of trepidation.

"How can they call it the Free-Love Sex Lounge, when you have to pay?"

"That we may never know, my dear Watson," teased Colin Klein.

"Elementary, my dear Shear Luck," said Terri Scott, making them all laugh.

THE END
© Copyright 2024 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia