THE BASILISK

A Basilisk comes to Glen Hartwell and starts destroying crops and slaughtering people

Glenda Farmer and Dionyis 'Dion' Galani were walking arm in arm along the banks of the Yannan River, a few kilometres outside Glen Hartwell in the Victorian countryside. It was April Fool's Day, and it was a little cold, which gave them an excuse to cuddle up. Usually, April was the Goldilocks month in Victoria; not too hot, not too cold, just right. However, Victoria would have a disappointingly cold and rainy April in 2025, before it warmed up again in May.

"Phew, what is that smell?" asked Dion, a tall, strongly-built Hellenic man, new to Australia. He was carrying a picnic basket and a throw rug for them to sit on.

"The river," explained Glenda, tall and chubby, with long, wavy brown hair. "I'm afraid the Yannan vies with the Nile as the most polluted river in the world."

"Then, let's get deeper into the forest, away from the smell, my love," said Dion.

Glenda blushed, unaccustomed to compliments, having always been the shy, ugly duckling of the four girls in her family. Until Dion had asked her out a few months ago. They had been going out regularly ever since.

"Do you really love me?" Glenda asked, pleadingly.

"Of course, my love," insisted Dion, "a Greek man does not tell a beautiful lady that he loves her, unless he really does."

"My sisters claim you are just pretending to love me, for some reason."

"Your sisters are obviously jealous of your great beauty."

"I'm no beauty," insisted Glenda. Partly because it was true, partly because she loved to hear Dion say that she was beautiful.

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," said Dion. Then, looking around, "Ah, this looks like an excellent place for a picnic."

"Yes, Dion," said Glenda sheepishly, never disagreeing with anything the handsome Greek man said.

"You will love the Greek delicacies that I have brought," said Dion, naming them as he unpacked them from the basket, "Souvlakia Arnisia." Then, when Glenda looked puzzled, "Cocktail Lamb Kebabs, Spanakotyropita, or in English, Spinach Pie With Feta Cheese."

"I love spinach and cream cheese rolls," said Glenda.

"Then you should love Spanakotyropita, and for appetisers, Greek Batter-Fried Eggplant. It is delicious. Also a little Kalamari tis Skaras. Or in English, Grilled Calamari!"

"Ooh, I don't know about eating squid," said Glenda, from a conservative Anglo-Aussie background.

"Oh, you will love it, my beauty," insisted Dion.

Lifting a portion of the Calamari with his bare hands, the Greek man pushed it into the brunette's mouth, giving her no choice but to chew or spit. Rather than offend her date, Glenda chewed and found the calamari to her liking."

"Mmmm, delicious," she said.

"I knew you would love it," said Dion, delighted. Taking a bottle of wine and two glasses from the basket, he said, "And to drink, Assyrtiko from Santorini. Famous for its high acidity, minerality, and citrus tones."

"Well, I don't know, I'm not really a drinker."

"Nonsense, my love, what is fine food, without fine wine to go with it?"

"Well," said Glenda, blushing as she accepted a glass, "if you say so."

"I do say so," insisted Dion. He opened the wine, then poured them each a tall glass of it."

Before long, they were enjoying the brunch, eating with their fingers, drinking the wine and soon kissing almost hungrily.

"Dion," said Glenda. Uncertain whether she meant for him to stop or to keep going. But as the wine dulled her inhibitions, she did not fight the Greek man as he started to unbutton her cardigan, then her blouse.

"Ooh," she gasped, surprised by how cold his hand was as he crept it under her bra to feel first one breast, then the other.

"You have magnificent breasts, my love," said Dion, before leaning down to start sucking, then gently nibbling first one breast, then the other.

"Oh, Dion!" cried Glenda, starting to respond as he continued to undress her, before undressing himself.

When they were both naked, he began kissing her body gently from forehead to toes, making her giggle as he tickled her toes. Then he lapped out her bellybutton, before moving back down to her vagina.

"Oh God!" cried Glenda as she climaxed.

Then, when Dion climbed between her thighs, she made no protest, allowing him to take her virginity, then begin thrusting in and out of her body.

The lovemaking seemed to go on for hours, but finally, like all good things, it came to an end. Not bothering to dress again, the couple lay naked together on the throw rug, gazing into each other's eyes, until surprised by a gobbling sound in the bushes not far away.

Looking to their left, they saw what looked like the head of a large turkey.

"Do you have turkeys in Australia?" asked Dion.

"They're not indigenous to this country. But there might be turkey farms in the area. Aussies farm virtually everything that can be farmed. Certainly outside Glen Hartwell and the surrounding towns."

"He must have escaped from one of the local farms then," said Dion. Then to the imagined turkey, "What's your name, gobbler?"

The creature gobbled again and then stepped out into plain sight, making the couple gasp in surprise.


[Unfortunately this site auto deleted the sketch which I included here!]


Nearly a metre and a half long, the creature had a high-domed body like a turtle, but was covered in greeny-brown scales. It had a long, snake-like tail, with a short neck, and a head that looked closely like a turkey's."

"Oh my God, it's got eight legs, like a spider," said Glenda.

"It can't have, my love," began Dion, stopping as he saw that she was right. "No, it does, although the front limbs are more like arms, with small hands on them. I've heard you have some exotic animals in Australia, but ..."

"We don't have anything that exotic," said Glenda, unable to take her eyes away from the Basilisk as she spoke.

"So, what are you..." said Dion, stopping before saying 'gobbler'.

By way of answer, the creature exhaled a long burst of air toward a large shrub a metre or so in front of it. In seconds, the green shrub began to wither and die, becoming yellow, then brown, then crispy until it fell apart on the forest floor. The pine needles and fallen gum leaves that carpeted the forest floor also began to wither and decay to become rancid.

"Oh, my God, the smell," said Glenda.

"How can it possibly do that?" asked Dion, slowly standing, naked, to stare at the death-breathing creature.

As though seeing them for the first time, the Basilisk turned to look straight toward them.

"It has red, swollen eyes," said Glenda, the last thing she would ever say, also standing.

The Basilisk exhaled again, this time longer and harder, covering the lovers and the forest for twenty metres in its killing breath.

Like the shrub, Dion and Glenda began to wither and age, becoming ancient in seconds, until their flesh rotted away, as they fell to the forest floor, nothing but rotting corpses. Then, their maggot-covered carcases continued to age until the muscle and fat had all rotten away, leaving them as silently screaming skeletons, with the barest trace of browny-red blood streaked across their bones.

Beyond the two skeletons, the ground had been scorched as though by a heat wave, and two small trees had completely withered, dropping thousands of leaves, which aged and turned to dust in less than a minute. One of the trees leant precariously, the other fell to the ground, vanishing in a whoosh of dust as though devoured by a million termites.

Smiling almost sardonically, the Basilisk turned and ambled away, stopping from time to time to eat small animals which froze in terror at the sight of it, or even sample some of the foliage. An omnivore, the Basilisk's diet could include fish, shrimp or prawns, insects, birds, smaller lizards, and even frogs. It would also eat flowers or fruit. From time to time, it encountered a rare Australian native flower and would gobble it down, not caring if it had just made a whole species extinct.

Wandering into an Aboriginal corroboree ground without even knowing it, the Basilisk was blocked by a three-metre-tall boulder. Rather than turn round and reverse direction, the creature exhaled a great stream of its death-giving vapours, and the rock began to wither and age, until finally collapsing with a whoosh, into a thousand tiny stones. Looking satisfied with its work, the creature stepped through the gap it had created in the ceremonial circle and continued on its way.

It was only by sheer luck that the Basilisk did not meet any of the Aborigines of the Gooladoo Tribe, whose ceremonial stone it had pulverised with its breath.


Colin Klein, Terri Scott, Sheila Bennett, Suzette Cummings, and Paul Bell were sitting around the huge blackwood desk, which took up nearly half of the front room at the Mitchell Street Police Station, in Glen Hartwell.

Before them sat pots of tea and coffee, kindly brought to them by Deidre Morton, (Colin, Terri, and Sheila's landlady), plus a huge plate of waffles with blackberry jam and real whipped cream.

"Mrs. M. really pampers you three," said Suzette. An attractive ravenette, Suzette had just turned eighteen and still had to do her final police exams in Melbourne at the end of 2025.

"She sees us more as her surrogate children than as boarders," said Sheila. At thirty-six, Sheila, a Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair, was the second from the top cop of the entire BeauLarkin to Willamby area, encompassing nearly twelve thousand people, townies and farmers alike.

"A fact that Sheils has never been above taking advantage of," teased Terri. The same age as Sheila, Terri was an ash blonde, the top cop, and engaged to Colin.

"Nonsense! Mrs. M. loves pampering me, and I love being pampered," insisted Sheila. "It's a perfect symbiotic relationship."

"Perfect for Sheila at any rate," teased Colin, a tall redhead. At forty-nine, Colin had retired after thirty years as a top London crime reporter to take up employment with the Glen Hartwell Police Department.

"Well, as long as we get to nosh in with Sheila's largess, I'm not complaining," said Paul Bell, a tall, lean, raven-haired man close to retirement age.

"Ah, you're as big a scrounge as Sheils," teased Terri Scott.

Before they could continue the argument/discussion, a rapping came at the door of the police station.

"Come in, if you're good-looking," teased Sheila.

After a moment's hesitation, the door opened and a tall, grey-haired Aboriginal man entered.

"Bulam-Bulam, me old cobber," said Sheila. She raced across to hug the sixty-six-year-old Elder from the Gooladoo tribe, outside Harpertown.

"Enough of that old stuff," said the Elder.

"We know," said Sheila, and all of the cops, "since sixty is the new forty, you're really only forty-six!"

"Thus, barely middle-aged," agreed Bulam-Bulam with a cheeky grin.

"Come on over and have a couple of waffles with jam and whipped cream," invited Terri. "Before Sheils scoffs the lot."

As they were eating and drinking cuppas, Colin asked, "So what can we do you for, Bulam-Bulam?"

"My tribe were out hunting for kangaroo earlier today, or looking for herbs for cooking in the case of the lubras. When they returned, they found something strange had happened."

"Strange? How?" asked Terri.

"I'd prefer you to see for yourselves," said the Elder.


Forty minutes later, apart from Paul Bell, who stayed behind to man the phones, they were all at the Gooladoo tribal grounds staring at the rectangular hole in the ceremonial stone circle, where a great boulder had been earlier that morning.

"What could have happened to it?" asked Suzette. She picked up one of the small stones that remained, and it immediately crumbled to dust in her hand.

Kneeling, Colin picked up a larger stone, which also crumbled to minutiae as soon as he touched it.

"It's almost as though the chemical bonding holding the atoms in place has disappeared," said the former journalist.

"So the electrons, protons, and so on are just falling apart?" asked Terri.

"Looks like it, babe," agreed Colin. "Although, Lord only knows how."

"I think we need to get Tils. out here to look at it," suggested Sheila.

"I think you're right," agreed Terri, reaching for her mobile phone.


After departing the forest where it had left Dion and Glenda's skeletal remains, the Basilisk had walked through the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest for kilometres. Everywhere it went, pine needles and gum leaves fell by the thousand from trees, disintegrating before they even hit the ground. Whatever the monster exhaled onto withered and died, drying up or crumbling to dust in seconds. It left a yellow-brown trail of seared leaves and pine needles behind it, as though the sun had selectively withered a metre-wide path.

It was almost lunchtime when the creature reached Hetty and Giles Entwhistle's wheat farm. It stopped at the edge of the station and watched the tall, thickset brunette and her short, but strong, dark-haired husband. Having recently despatched Glenda and Dion, the creature had no qualms about killing off the Entwhistles too. Besides, it was hungry, having not found more than snacks on his stroll through the forest.

"Must be nearly tucker time, Mother," said Giles, although at forty, he was eight years older than his wife.

"Guess so," said Hetty. Turning, she headed at a smart walk back toward the farmhouse a couple of hundred metres away.

Although disappointed to lose the woman, the Basilisk decided that Giles would make a hearty meal. So, ignoring the wheat which withered all around it as it walked through the field, the creature slowly advanced upon the farmer.

Giles had been watching after his wife, only turning round as she entered the yellow weatherboard farmhouse.

"What the fuck?" said the farmer, staring in horror at his crop, which had seared away as though burnt by a record summer heat. "But we're a month into spring!"

He might have stayed staring at the withered wheat field, if not distracted by the gobble-gobble of the Basilisk which had crept up until it was standing at his feet. Looking down, he said:

"Where did a turkey come from out here?" Then seeing the domed, brown-green scaled back, and long scaly snake-tail, he said, "What the fuck are you?"

By way of answer, the basilisk stared up at the farmer with its bulbous, glowing red eyes.

"What?" began Giles, stopping as he started to turn to stone and lost the power of speech.

It took less than a minute for the Basilisk to turn Giles into a stone statue of himself. Then, ravenous, the creature opened its jaws to reveal razor-sharp teeth, which it used to chew a great chunk out of Giles's left leg, causing the man-statue to fall over onto its face.

Then, with the tremendous digestive process in its gullet that transformed the stone back into flesh, the creature eagerly consumed it. Pleased with itself, the Basilisk kept chewing chunks out of Giles's statue to turn them back into flesh and bones as it digested them.


Twenty minutes later, in the green-walled farmhouse kitchen, Hetty had cooked some cutlets and made some pea-and-ham soup, Giles's favourite.

"Mum, when are we gonna eat?" pleaded Cyrus, a tall, blonde ten-year-old boy, his parents' pride and joy.

Placing the cutlets on a plate in a wicker basket, with a thermos of pea and ham soup, and another full of sweet tea with plenty of full cream milk, Hetty said:

"As soon as you get back from taking your father his lunch."

"Oh, why do I have to do it?" complained the boy.

"'Cause your Dad needs to eat to stay strong, and you can't eat till you get back from delivering his tucker!"

"Okay," said the boy surlily.

Taking the basket from his mother, he started at a snail's pace out into the farmhouse yard.

"Quicker than that, or you'll both starve!" called Hetty.

Sighing in frustration, Cyrus started to fast walk through the farmhouse yard, refusing to run. His excuse was that he didn't want to drop his father's lunch. In reality, he was too lazy to move quickly.

Finally, Cyrus reached the wheat field and stared in horror at their withered crops.

"What the heck happened here?" asked the boy, looking around for his father.

Instead, he found part of what seemed like a stone statue, which seemed to have had bits chewed off it. But what can chew through stone? Cyrus wondered.

"Dad?" he called, wondering if he'd had a wasted journey.

By way of answer, the Basilisk gobble-gobbled, and Cyrus saw the creature for the first time.

"What in the Lord are you supposed to be?" asked the boy. "Turkey, turtle, lizard, or snake?"

By way of answer, the Basilisk stared into the boy's eyes, with its bulbous, red eyes and soon the ten-year-old had turned to stone also. As the creature kept staring, the stone continued down his arm to the basket, which also began to solidify. But then the Basilisk looked away and the basket stopped changing, so that the half closest to the boy statue was stone, the furthest half was still wicker.

Walking back to the stone remains of Giles Entwhistle, the creature continued eating the man statue until it was all devoured. It looked at the boy statue for a moment, but then decided that it was full.

So, turning its back on the farmhouse, the creature started walking toward the rear of the farmyard, still killing the wheat, then long native Australian grass as it passed by.


"Where can that boy be?" wondered Hetty Entwhistle ten minutes later. "He should have been back by now." Or at least in sight, she thought, looking out the large kitchen window.

Finally, sighing in frustration, she stepped outside and headed toward the wheat field, thinking, I'll tan Cyrus's hide if he's just been lollygagging! Although in truth, neither Hettie nor Giles had ever raised a hand to Cyrus, and neither of them ever would.

Walking slower than Cyrus had done, Hettie finally reached the wheat field and stared in horror at their withered crops. Then she looked at the stone statue of Cyrus, with the half stone, half wicker basket and started screaming hysterically ....

Until finally fainting.


Tilly Lombstrom, a tall, attractive brunette in her mid-fifties, was a top surgeon at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. She was also a research scientist and physicist at the hospital.

Half an hour after Terri's call, Tilly was kneeling before the hole in the Gooladoo Tribe's ceremonial ground, where until recently a great stone had been. Like the others, she picked up one of the small remaining stones, which promptly disintegrated into a fine dust in her hand.

"Well, something has definitely screwed up the chemical bonding in the atoms of the stones, and presumably the larger boulder they came from," said Tilly. Careful not to touch them with her hand, she managed to collect some of the stones in a plastic container. "I'll take them back to the hospital and see what else I can discover."

"Such as what affected the chemical bonding?" asked Colin, hopefully.

"I make no promises," said Tilly as she departed.

"A very wise woman," said Bulam-Bulam.

Her stomach rumbling, Sheila said, "It must be lunch time, I'm starving."

"You're welcome to share in our lunch of kangaroo meat and chips," offered the Elder.

"Two of my faves," said Sheila, as they followed after the old man.

"I'll just have chips, if that's all right," said Suzette Cummings.

After doing a chicken bark-bark-bark noise, Sheila said, "You haven't lived until you've eaten some barbequed kanga meat, Suzette."

"If that's living, I'm happy to stay dead," said the raven-haired teen.

"Sheils is right, kanga meat is delicious," said Terri.

"Personally, I'm with Suzette," said Colin. "I'll stick to chips."

"We did get a few pieces of flake, in case any of you chickened out," said Bulam-Bulam. "Neptune's Fish and Chipatorium in Blackland Street, G.H., does great flake and chips."

"They also do great chicken spring rolls," said Terri, "but I'll happily settle for kanga meat and chips."

They had almost finished their fish, chips, and kangaroo meat when Terri's phone rang.

"For once, we've almost finished before they rang," said Sheila, stuffing the last bit of kangaroo meat into her mouth.

Terri spoke on the phone for a minute or two, then said, "That was Hetty Entwhistle's niece over at the Entwhistle farm. Seems Giles has vanished, and something strange has happened to poor Cyrus."

"What do you mean by strange?" asked Colin as they headed for the Lexus.

"She wouldn't tell me, said I'd think she was loony."

"Around Glen Hartwell, you don't think anyone is loony, just because they tell you a seemingly impossible story," said Colin.


Thirty-five minutes or so later, they were at the Entwhistle wheat farm. As they drove down the narrow path to the farmhouse, they had to park the Lexus to allow a speeding ambulance to pass.

Sheila waved at the ambulance, saying, "That was Derek and Cheryl."

At the farmhouse, they met Hetty's niece, a tall, leggy blonde named Steffi.

"That was Aunty Hetty, they just took away," said Steffi. "I found her unconscious down by the wheat fields."

"She was lucky you came visiting," said Suzette.

"I come most days," said Steffi, leading them down toward the back of the farm.

A few minutes later, they were down looking at the seared wheat fields.

"Jesus, what happened here?" asked Terri.

"Don't know, wasn't here," said Steffi. "But the wheat was ready to harvest two days ago. Not sun-dried or whatever it is now."

Sheila walked across to touch some of the withered wheat, and it collapsed to powder in her hands.

"Just like the stones," said Suzette.

Terri and the others wandered across to try touching the wheat, with the same effect.

"Something has knocked out the chemical bonding, just like with the boulder at the Gooladoo Tribe's ceremonial circle," said Colin.

"When did that happen?" asked Steffi.

"I'm guessing not long before whatever happened here," said Terri.

"But the wheat isn't the worst of it," said Steffi.

She led them across to where the boy statue that had been her cousin Cyrus stood.

"Who carved ...?" began Suzette, stopping as she saw the basket, half stone, half wicker. "How is that even possible?"

"That's a question you have to ask a lot around Glen Hartwell," said Terri.

The four cops and Steffi knelt to examine the stone Cyrus.

"This can't be ...?" began Sheila.

"I think it's young Cyrus," finished Steffi. "Aunt Hetty and Uncle Giles's pride and joy."

"Speaking of Giles, where is he?" asked Terri.

Steffi shrugged, "There's no sign of him. I rang around a few places in Glen Hartwell after ringing you, in case he'd gone in for grain or something. But no one has seen him."

"So is it time to ring for Tilly again?" asked Sheila.

"I think that's a big yes," said Terri.


After leaving the Entwhistle farm, the Basilisk strolled contentedly through the forest, enjoying the pine and eucalyptus smell. As it journeyed, everything it touched withered and died as its chemical bonding unbonded. Occasionally, it let out a great exhalation, pleased by the sight of ferns, shrubs, even small trees disintegrating as its breath undid them.


Tilly Lombstrom was as puzzled as Terri and the cops when she saw the disintegrating wheat. She did her best to scrape some of it into a plastic container to be tested. Then, standing, she said:

"We didn't get very far with the stones, they kept disintegrating when we tried putting some on a slide. And just dissolved away when we tried them in different chemicals."

"Here's hoping you have more luck with the wheat," said Terri, as they led her across to the statue which had been Cyrus Entwhistle.

"So what do you make of this, Tils.?" asked Sheila.

"A statue of ..." began the brunette, stopping as she noticed that half of the basket was wicker, only the half touched by the boy statue was stone. "Well ...?"

"We think it is what's left of the Entwhistles' boy, Cyrus," explained Colin.

"Hetty Entwhistle sent him down to the wheat field to take his father his lunch," said Suzette. "In a wicker basket."

"Then, when the boy didn't return, Hettie came looking and found him, like this," said Terri. "Hence, her being unconscious when her niece Steffi arrived."

"So are we assuming that whatever can shatter the chemical bonding holding together rocks and wheat, also can turn people to stone?" asked Tilly.

"We don't see any other possibility," said Colin. "Unless Glen Hartwell has two wacky monsters or mad scientists stalking the place at the same time."

"And in fairness to the monsters and loonies that stalk G.H.," said Terri, "they haven't overlapped much since Christmas 2023."

"So whatever we're dealing with can turn things to stone, can also shatter boulders, silently, since Bulam-Bulam and the others would have heard any explosion," said Tilly. "Plus it can shrivel fresh wheat ... presumably also silently."

"That pretty much sums it up," agreed Sheila. "Any ideas?"

"Um, no, but I'll try to track down my thinking cap to wear while testing what's left of the shrivelled wheat."

"I knew she wouldn't let us down," teased Suzette.

"No promises," said Tilly, "but here's hoping we can stop this thing, whatever it is, before it does, whatever it does, to a lot more people."

"And there's still no sign of Giles Entwhistle," reminded Colin.

"Yes, we'd better go organise a search for him," said Terri.

"After we ring through to the hospital, just in case he's beside Hetty's bed, holding her hand," suggested Colin Klein.

"Good thinking, babe," said Terri, taking out her mobile.


Out in the forest between Glen Hartwell and Westmoreland, three sisters and world-renowned photo journalists, Tara, Clara, and Sara Hall, were having a picnic while enjoying the scenery. Occasionally snapping off pictures of any interesting flora or fauna.

"Oh my goodness," said Clara, a tall, raven-haired woman of thirty-eight, with dark blue eyes. She reached for the expensive camera which hung around her neck, "I think that's a Rainbow Lorikeet." She pointed to a tree behind her two sisters.

"So what, we've both got pix of Rainbow Lorikeets?" said Sara, looking around. Five years older than Clara, the medium height, medium built, mousy blonde, had been a famous photographer for nearly twenty years and tended to look down a little at her youngest sibling.

"You might have, but I haven't," said Clara. She adjusted the long-distance lens, which was more than twice the size of the camera, and snapped off three or four colour pictures.

"Now there's something worth filming," said Sara, pointing high up a tree behind Clara. "That has to be easily the biggest koala I've ever seen."

She snapped off half a dozen pictures before Tara, keen to protect Clara from her bossy elder sister, corrected, "Actually, dear girl, if you put your glasses on, you'd see that that is a tree kangaroo. Not a gigantic Koala."

"It's still well worth shooting ... only on film, of course."

Turning around to see the kangaroo five metres or more up a Lemon-Scented Gum Tree, Clara also snapped off half a dozen pictures of the kangaroo.

"It's still a fascinating subject," insisted Sara, and soon all three sisters were snapping off pictures.

The kangaroo, curious at their activities, obligingly hopped down a couple of metres, helping them to get better pictures.

"Thank you," said Clara to the creature.

But, perhaps not liking the look of the Hall sisters, the Kangaroo hopped back up the tree until it was nearly ten metres from the ground.

"That was damned unfriendly of the beast," said Sara.

"I don't know," said Tara, a short, attractive honey blonde, with pale, speckled blue eyes "It did obligingly let us get a few close-ups."

As they spoke, a kookaburra started its distinctive laughing cry.

"A kookaburra," said Clara, looking around for the bird.

"So what?" demanded Sara. "They're ugly brown things. There are beautiful kingfishers around the world, without wasting film on a kookaburra."

"Leave her alone," said Tara, helping herself to a halved tomato and cheese sandwich. "You go ahead and film it, if you can find it, sis."

As though needing permission from at least one of her sisters, Clara stood and walked slowly into the bush, trying to follow the laughing cry. After a moment, Sara and Tara heard the clicking of her camera and then the flapping of wings.

Returning, Clara said, "I got a couple of pix, then the darn thing flew off."

"Well, I suppose, to it, we are unwanted paparazzi," teased Tara.

"Yes, I hadn't thought of that!"


After confirming that Giles Entwhistle was not at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, Terri procured a photo of him from Steffi, had fifty copies run off and set out to organise a manhunt for the lost wheat farmer.

This time they arranged for both Bulam-Bulam and Don Esk's Alsatian crosses, Slap, Tickle, and Rub to search for the missing man.

In half an hour or so, Bulam-Bulam arrived with Drew Braidwood, a tall, lanky blond constable, nearing retirement age, and Paul Bell.

"I called up Alice Walker to take over the phones at the police station," said Paul, a tall, lean, raven-haired sergeant. "Hopefully that's okay, Chief?"

"Good thinking, Paul," said Terri. "You, Drew and Bulam-Bulam head out in my Lexus with Colin. Sheils, Suzette, and I will wait for Don and the others to arrive with the dogs."

"Will do," said Paul. Then to Bulam-Bulam, "Come on, old fella."

"I keep telling you ..."

"Since sixty is the new forty, you're really only forty-six," teased all of the cops.

"Exactly," agreed the Elder with a broad grin as they set out.


Clara, Sara, and Tara Hall continued to eat salad sandwiches plus tea from a thermos flask for Sara and Tara, and Zero Sugar Fanta Grape flavour for Clara.

"I don't know how you can drink that stuff?" said Sara.

"Leave her alone," said Tara.

"I love Fanta Grape," insisted Clara. "And it's probably healthier than tea, with all that tannic acid."

"That's your opinion," said Sara, startled by a rustling in the bushes just behind her.

The three sisters looked around as a young emu, only five or six months old, stepped out and stared at them.

"Do you think it can eat a piece of cheese-and-lettuce sandwich?" asked Clara, tearing off a piece.

"Try throwing it to its left side, so he'll turn and we can get some side photos," suggested Tara.

Clara did as instructed, and the Hall sisters were soon snapping away with their cameras. The nestling happily gobbled up the treat, then did a throaty, almost whooping noise, and took a couple of steps forward, hoping for more.

"Well, go on, feed the hungry little blighter," said Sara.

As instructed, Clara threw another piece of cheese-and-lettuce sandwich at the chick, followed by a piece of egg salad sandwich.

"That's almost cannibalism," said Sara as the chick wolfed down the egg salad sandwich.

"No, it's not," said Tara. "I made those sandwiches myself, and the eggs were definitely small, with white shells. Emu eggs are larger than a softball and avocado coloured."

"Trust smarty pants to know," said Sara, picking up a small orange cream biscuit to throw to the fledgling.

The bird looked uncertainly at the biscuit for a moment, then gobbled it down.

Thrumming in pleasure, the chick took another couple of steps toward them.

Then there came a loud rustling from the bushes behind the nestling.

"Uh-oh, if that's its mum, we're doomed," said Tara.


Terri and Sheila were growing impatient at the Entwhistle wheat farm when, finally, they heard the sound of cars approaching. Don Esk's rusty blue Land Rover and a white Range Rover were coming down the long path from the street running past the farm.

"What kept you slow pokes?" teased Sheila.

"We had trouble with the dumb mutts," said Jessie Baker, a huge ox of a man with bright red hair.

"How dare you? Slap, Tinkle, and Rub are not dumb!" protested Don, a tall, strongly built man with shoulder-length brown hair.

"I'll say," said Stanlee Dempsey, a tall, hulking man with short raven hair, "they never shut up barking the whole trip here."

"I didn't mean dumb vocally!"

"Never mind that," said Terri, she held up a pair of Giles's short trousers Steffi had recovered from the soiled laundry basket. "Come on, you dumb mutts," she said, holding the trousers toward them.

"Chief, they're not dumb," protested Donald Esk.

The dogs sniffed the trousers, then sniffed around the dirt, until finding Giles Entwhistle's scent and raced excitedly down the farmhouse yard toward the wheat field.

"They're on the trail," said Don confidently.

Then the three dogs stopped a metre or so past the stone Cyrus Entwhistle and started sniffing at some pebbles, and yelping excitedly.

"No, you dumb mutts," cried Don in frustration, "we're not looking for pebbles, we're looking for Giles Entwhistle."

He pulled two of the dogs away from the pebbles, and they obediently sniffed around, trying to find Giles's scent elsewhere, before charging back to sniff at the pebbles.

"I don't know what's wrong with them," apologised Don Esk.

"I think I might," said Terri. She scooped up a handful of the pebbles, which immediately disintegrated into dust at her touch. "I think they've found Giles."

"Those, those pebbles are all that's left of Uncle Giles?" asked Steffi, doing her best not to faint. But finally failing.

"Whoops," said Don, catching the leggy blonde before she could hit the ground.

"Call for an ambulance for Steffi," said Terri, and Sheila took out her mobile to oblige.


After more than an hour, Paul Bell, Drew Braidwood, Bulam-Bulam and Colin Klein arrived at a small clearing where there was a throw rug with a picnic basket, a bottle of wine and empty bowls. Stopping the Lexus, they got out to investigate.

"Giles wouldn't have taken a picnic basket with him," said Paul.

"Not all this way," agreed Drew.

"And I doubt he would have drunk Greek wine," said Colin, reading the label, "Assyrtiko, from Santorini. That's pretty classy stuff."

"Giles was strictly a Foster's Larger man," said Paul. "Maybe an occasional Boag's Lager, but never fancy Greek wine."

It was only by chance that they discovered the skeletal remains of Glenda Farmer and Dionyis Galani, when Drew backed onto one of the skeletons, which collapsed into fine powder in the basic shape of a skeleton.

"What?" said Drew, looking down. Then to the others, "I think I've just found the missing picnickers."

Colin and the others walked across to look at the two skeletons. The large one was merely a powder outline, Glenda's smaller skeleton was fine bone fragments, but not quite dissolved to powder yet.

"Now all we have to do is work out who they were," said Paul Bell.

"We'll ask around at the bottle shops in Glen Hartwell and the other towns to see who bought Assyrtiko from Santorini recently," suggested Colin.

"And who out of them is currently missing?" finished Bulam-Bulam.

"Exactly," said Colin as he reached for his mobile to ring through to Terri. He spoke for a couple of minutes, then disconnected, and said, "The dogs found Giles. He was pretty much in the same state as them." He pointed to the remains of Glenda and Dion.


Climbing to their feet warily, Clara, Sara, and Tara Hall were terrified of the prospect of the emu chick's mother coming out of the bushes and attacking them. Instead, when the Basilisk stepped out, they didn't know what to make of it.

"What the Hell is that?" asked Sara.

Hearing movement behind it, the nestling turned round, took one look at the Basilisk and ran in terror deeper into the forest.

The basilisk glared at the chick with its bloated, blood-red eyes. However, the chick was out of range, and instead, the creature only turned a ten-metre section of a tall ghost gum to stone, with live tree both above and below the stone section.

Tara and Sara both clicked off pictures of the basilisk as it was trying to turn the fledgling to stone.

"What in God's name is ...?" began Clara, stopping as the Basilisk gave her the evil eye and she turned to stone in an awkward half-standing, half-crouching position.

"Clara!" cried Tara. Attracting the Basilisk's attention, so that it turned toward the honey blond and turned her to stone next.

Abandoning her younger siblings, Sara had already started racing deeper into the forest. However, unlike the fledgling, she did not get far enough to escape the evil eye of the basilisk, and soon was transformed into a stone statue also.


After waiting for the ambulance to take Steffi Entwhistle to the hospital, Terri and the others set off after Colin, and the others.

Looking down at the two skeletons, Terri said, "One of them is a finer powder than the other!"

"Yes, I stepped on that one, Chief, sorry," said Drew.

"It doesn't take much to make them disintegrate," said Bulam-Bulam.

While Sheila snapped off the prerequisite crime scene photos, Terri rang through to the hospital to get Tilly, and a recovery team to rescue whatever they could of the two powdered skeletons.


Later that night, they were sitting around in the lounge room at the Yellow House at Rochester Road in Merridale, after tea, watching TV, or reading.

Sheila was occupied with the Glen Hartwell Enquirer newspaper. She looked round to where Terri and Colin were snuggling together on the yellow, floral sofa, and said, "Hey, Col, there's an article about three famous pommy photographers. Maybe you know them?"

"Being from London, doesn't mean I'm familiar with every pommy photographer," teased back Colin.

"Clara, Sara, and Tara Hall," read out Sheila.

Snatching the paper from the startled Goth chick, he said, "What? I did work with Sara Hall for a year or so, twenty years back. She spent a year or so as a crime scene photographer for the Metropolitan Police, before starting to make it big in the fashion and nature photography bizz."

"Well, she's supposed to be here, in the Glen Hartwell area, with her two sisters to take photos of the Aussie wildlife."

"So it says," said Colin. Handing back the newspaper, he said, "I wouldn't mind meeting Sara again, to talk over old times."

"Down, lover boy," teased Terri.

"Yeah, don't force her to beat you up ... again," teased Sheila.

"Although first, tomorrow, I have to check around bottle shops to see who bought a bottle of Assyrtiko from Santorini recently," said Colin. "Then check the Greek community to see which of them is missing."

"I'll assign Don, Stanlee, Jessie, and the others to help you."


Early the next morning, straight after breakfast, Terri organised for nearly twenty police and pro rata police women to check around the various surrounding towns for purchasers of Assyrtiko from Santorini.

It was a long, boring search, with seemingly no one having bought Assyrtiko, from Santorini, in the surrounding towns. By 2:00 in the afternoon, they had searched all the bottle shops in the nearby towns, leaving only BeauLarkin, a two-hour drive away, and Willamby, eighty-five minutes drive from Glen Hartwell.

"So who's for a two-hour drive to BeauLarkin?" asked Terri.

"I'll go," offered Sheila, "the way I drive, I'll be there in forty minutes."

"Not in my Lexus, you won't!" cried Terri. "This is my third one in two years as it is." [See my stories, 'The Æon Beast' and 'The Drifter'.]

"So what's next, chief?" asked Suzette Cummings.

Before she could answer, Paul Bell turned up and said, "Found it, Chief. The Greek Club in Howard Street, Glen Hartwell, sold a bottle of Assyrtiko, from Santorini to Dionyis a.k.a. Dion Galani four days ago."

"You clever lad," said Terri.

"Dion?" said Sheila, thinking for a moment. "He's currently dating Glenda Farmer. Has been for about three months."

"She's gotta be making it up, doesn't she?" asked Stanlee Dempsey.

"Am not!" insisted the Goth chick.

"Never question the human computer," teased Terri.

"Hey, I know my constituents!" said Sheila proudly. "So now we just have to confirm that Dion and Glenda are both missing."

"Since Paul cleverly found the seller, he, Sheila, and Stanlee can go around to the Galani household, assuming she knows where it is," said Terri.

"'Cause I do, it's at 23 Gallipoli Parade."

"And Suzette, Colin, and I will check out Glenda Farmer's family."

"She lives with her three sisters, Ellen, Tisha, and Helen, with their parents at 48 Robinson's Drive."

"Don't even wonder how she knows all this stuff," teased Colin.

An hour later, they had confirmed that both Dion Galani and Glenda Farmer had been missing for the last couple of days after going out for a Greek picnic together.

"Why didn't you report her missing?" Terri asked Helen Farmer.

"She's an adult, I'm not my sister's keeper," said the tall, chubby redhead.

It was afternoon tea time, and they were ready to head round to the Mitchell Street Police Station, when Terri's mobile rang. Terri spoke on the phone for a couple of minutes, then disconnected and said:

"Some tourists out picnicking have discovered what they call some strange stone statues around a blanket and a picnic basket."

"Uh-oh," said Sheila, "I see a pattern emerging."

"Sheils, Blind Freddy could see a pattern emerging here," said Suzette as they changed direction and followed the tourists mobile phone locational tracking.

Forty minutes later, they were standing around looking at the three statues, which had been Clara, Sara, and Tara Hall.

"Oh, Sara," said Colin, "I wanted to meet you and your sisters again ... But not like this."

"So are they some kind of local art?" asked a tall blonde woman carrying three cameras. "Only, we found these nearby." She handed the cameras across to Terri.

"Wow, they look pricy," said Terri.

"Sara always used only the best equipment," said Colin. "I'm guessing they're worth at least fifteen hundred Aussie dollars each."

"That's about what I get a fortnight, after tax," said Sheila.

"Then there's that," said the tall, dark-haired American man. He pointed to the tall ghost gum, with a centre ten-metre section turned to stone, with live wood above and below it.

"Whoops," said Terri, "I think we'd better get out of here before that falls on us." She took out her phone and said, "I'll contact George at Building and Works to have the tree taken down. In the meantime, we'd better all get back to town."

On the way to Glen Hartwell, Terri phoned George, then said, "Now let's get the film from these cameras developed and see if there's anything interesting."

"Tare, you're well outta date," said Sheila. "These are digital cameras. We just need to plug them into a USB port on the PC at Mitchell Street, and we can download the pix and be looking at them in minutes."

"Well, pardon me, Miss Clever Clogs," said Terri as they drove round to the police station.

Forty minutes later, they had downloaded the pictures onto their hard drive and were skimming through dozens of pictures of Australian flora and fauna. Until they came across a series of pictures of a strange eight-legged creature.


[Unfortunately this site auto deleted the sketch which I included here!]


"What the Hell is that?" asked Suzette Cummings, eating a now-cold muffin, left behind by Deidre Morton for afternoon tea.

"Damned if I know," said Terri.

"But our witchy friend might know," said Sheila.

"Magnolia McCready!" said Terri and Colin together.


1/21 Calhoun Street, Glen Hartwell, was the right-hand half of a subdivided yellow weatherboard house. In the front parlour, Magnolia McCready, a tall, busty redhead with electric-blue eyes, handed around cups of sassafras tea and English muffins spread with honey and whipped cream. On her lap, she nursed Timmikins, her massive, fluffy white Tom cat.

"So what can I do you for today?" asked Magnolia, before biting into a honey and cream muffin segment.

Terri told her what had been going on around Glen Hartwell over the last few days, then handed her a picture of the Basilisk.

Startled, Magnolia dropped the muffin segment onto the floor, and Timmikins promptly jumped off her lap to lick away the honey and cream before chewing into the muffin half.

"Well?" asked Terri.

"It's a Basilisk, they can turn people to stone, disintegrate rocks, and wither anything they come into contact with."

"Other than the name, we knew all that," said Sheila.

"We need to know how to defeat it," said Colin.

"Well, the basilisk's most common weakness is the odour of a weasel. The weasel can be thrown into the basilisk's hole, recognisable because some of the surrounding shrubs and grass had been scorched by its presence. Or you can douse the Basilisk in weasel urine."

"Do we have weasels in Australia?" asked Colin.

"Not weasels as such," said the Wiccan, "however, ferrets which are kept as pets and for rabbit hunting are plentiful down under. Ferrets are closely related to the weasel."

"Does ferret urine work just as well?" asked Sheila.

Magnolia shrugged, then said, "Also, a putto can banish a Basilisk to the nether realms."

"And a putto is?" asked Terri.

"Either a heavenly cherub or Cupid himself. Either can banish or kill a basilisk."

"Strangely enough, we're all out of heavenly cherubs," said Colin.

"And we've misplaced Cupid's mobile number," added Sheila.

"Well, according to some legends, basilisks can be killed by hearing the crowing of a rooster."

"This one's been around local farms, so it seems to be rooster-crowing proof," said Terri.

"Some legends say, like a gorgon, a Basilisk, will turn to stone if it sees itself in a mirror or mirrors."

"They did that in Kinda, a fifth doctor series of Doctor Who," said Sheila. "Eight or ten people carried full-length mirrors and formed a circle of mirrors around the monster to trap it in the mirrors."

"Sheils, you watch way too much Doctor Who," said Terri. "And I can't see us all traipsing through the forest looking for a monster that can turn us into stone, or rubble, carrying two metre tall mirrors."

"Well, it was just an idea," said Sheila. She picked up the last of the muffin halves with honey and whipped cream. As Timmikins leapt up onto her lap, Magnolia warned:

"Watch that little devil, or he'll have that muffin off you."

"You wouldn't steal a muffin from Aunty Sheils, would you?" asked Sheila in a baby voice.

By way of answer, Timmikins snatched the muffin half out of her hand and leapt off her lap to run out of the living room to eat it.'

"You furry villain!" called Sheila.

After laughing, Magnolia said, "Your best recourse is to send hunters out, wearing Polaroid sunglasses, which in theory should protect you from its gaze, being careful not to let it touch you. Then hunt for its hole, where it goes at night. As I said before, the surrounding shrubs and grass will have been scorched by its presence."

"Then what?" asked Sheila. "We pour ferret piss all over it?"

"No, you bash the bugger's head in with a cricket bat or any blunt object," said the Wiccan. "Its powers are weird science, not magic."

"Yeah, we already worked out it destroys the chemical bonding in atoms to reduce things to powder," said Colin.

"So get a bashing," said Magnolia, holding her right hand out. "That'll be a hundred smackers for the consultation."

"Fair enough," said Terri, reaching for her wallet. "We did get tea and honey muffins as well."

"Oh boy!" said Sheila. "I can use my home-made baton to bash its cranium in." Then for the Wiccan's benefit, "It's two metres long and as thick as a big man's ankles. I made it myself when I first became a cop fifteen years back."

"Why have we never seen it then?" asked Magnolia.

"Russell Street forbade me from using it. Said it was a lethal weapon and might set a bad example for any hooligans out here."

"But if she bashes in the Basilisk's head with it, I guess they won't mind," said Colin.

"If they ever find out," added Sheila.


Over the next few days, they hunted through the forest around Glen Hartwell without locating the Basilisk's hole. To keep people out of the forest, they spread a rumour through the towns about a wild bear that had escaped from a travelling animal circus. After three days, things were looking grim. Although more fields, both corn and barley had been seared, no one else had been turned to stone.

"Maybe the damned thing has moved on?" suggested Colin Klein.

"With any luck to New South Wales," said Sheila with a laugh.

"What is it with you Victorians and New South Wales?" asked Colin.

"It's a mutual disrespect going back to when they stole the capital city status away from Melbourne in 1927."

"Before that, Melbourne was the capital city of Australia," explained Terri.

They might have continued maligning New South Wales, however, Terri's mobile began shrilling. Answering it, the ash blonde spoke on the phone for a couple of minutes, then disconnected and said:

"That was Stanlee Dempsey. He and Jessie Baker have found what they think is the Basilisk's hidey hole. And they think it's inside it."

"Hopefully, they won't kill it before I get to try out Wonder Baton," said Sheila. She swung the two-metre-long baton, making Terri and Colin duck for cover.

"Watch that thing," said Terri, as they climbed back into the Lexus.

Fifty minutes later, Terri, plus almost a dozen local cops, were standing around the large, covered hole in the ground. From the hole, they heard a turkey-like gobble-gobble."

"Do basilisks gobble like a turkey?" asked Stanlee Dempsey.

"Funnily enough, we forgot to ask Magnolia that," said Colin.

"So," said Suzette Cummings, looking super cool in her Polaroid shades, "how do we get the bugger out?"

"Like this," said Sheila.

She lowered Wonder Baton into the Basilisk's hole and began thrusting it about wildly, as though churning butter.

"Go, mad Goth chick ... marm," said Paul Bell, also looking cool in his Polaroids, "we'll have a mountain of butter in no time."

Squawking in anger, rather than gobbling, the Basilisk leapt out of its hole and tried to gaze into the eyes of the surrounding police officers. However, their dark glasses protected them.

"Cop that, young Harry," said Sheila, swinging Wonder Baton at the creature.

Squawking, this time in terror, the Basilisk raced through the police cordon, trying to escape into the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest.

"Not so fast, Tweety!" cried Sheila, racing after the monster.

Swinging the baton wildly, the first few swings missed and rebounded off the soft cushion of pine needles and gum leaves blanketing the forest floor. However, her next couple of swings connected with the creature's humped back, making it squawk again in agony.

"What's the matter, Tweety? You can dish it out but you can't take it?" asked the Goth chick.

Having slowed the creature's run, Sheila raced around to face it head-on. Then crying, "Four!" she took a great swing which connected with the creature's turkey-like head, smashing it to mush, and breaking the Basilisk's neck.

"That was more like a six!" said Jessie Baker as the basilisk fell over onto its right side.

"Anyone for barbequed Basilisk?" asked Sheila with a broad grin.

"So can we take the shades off yet?" asked Suzette.

"Actually, you look quite cool in them, Suzette," said Jessie. "Just like Pinky Tuscadero." When she stared at him in puzzlement, he added, "Fonzie's girlfriend. Then, when everybody stared at him:

"Oh, come on, don't pretend you don't know who Fonzie is!"

"Should we keep pretending?" asked Terri, before they all burst out into laughter at poor Jessie's expense.

THE END
© Copyright 2025 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia