PADFOOT

A calf-sized demon dog has started haunting the towns around Glen Hartwell, eating people

Nancy Walken, a tiny redheaded lady of sixty-something, was walking through the forest outside East Merridale, in the Victorian countryside on the 30th of April 2025, when she heard what sounded like a large animal padding along upon the pine needles and gum leaves that blanketed the forest floor, not far behind her.
"Hello, is there anyone there?" asked the tiny lady, hoping it was just her imagination. As a child, her parents had always chided her for having too much imagination. But as an avid reader of science fiction and fantasy, she could not understand what 'too much imagination' could possibly mean. Surely, you can never have too much imagination? Nancy thought. Only too little.
Deciding that she had imagined it, Nancy kept walking toward the outskirts of East Merridale. She had spent the afternoon hunting for mushrooms in the forest. She was aware of the tragedy of Erin Patterson two years ago, serving Beef Wellington with death cap mushrooms to her in-laws, Don and Gail Patterson, Gail's sister Heather Wilkinson, and Heather’s husband, Ian, at her home in Leongatha. The case is about to be tried in Melbourne! However, Nancy had been born and raised in the countryside and was not going to make that mistake. Nancy knew her mushrooms, plus she carried a thin but incisive book on mushrooms and toadstools.
You won't catch me making that kind of mistake! Nancy thought, stopping as she heard the padding footsteps behind her again.
"Hello, is there anyone there?" she called, trying to sound bigger than she was, in the hope of scaring off any animals that might be following her. Being a hundred and twenty-three centimetres (or four feet one inch in the old scale) in height had never bothered Nancy until now. But what if it's a dingo, or a fox trailing me? she thought. Although she realised being sixty centimetres taller probably would not help her against a fox or a dingo.
Looking around the forest floor, she located a metre-long fallen tree branch. She whacked it against a blue gum tree to test its strength, then called out:
"Hello, I'm armed, so don't try anything!"
The padding sound had stopped, so, hoping she had frightened off any possible miscreant, she started walking again.
As did the padding footsteps behind her!
"Oh damn it," said the tiny redhead. Clutching her mushroom book in her left hand, her whacking stick in her right, she took off at a run toward the edge of East Merridale.
One advantage to being tiny, with little weight to carry, Nancy had always been a fast runner, winning many running races at high school sports meets. Until parents of other children complained that her height, or lack of it, gave her an unfair advantage.
Unfair advantage! she thought. When you're as little as me, you have to take any advantage you can get. Fair or unfair!
She was almost at the edge of Adelaide Street, East Merridale, when she heard the large canine whining for the first time.
It's definitely a dog of some kind, then, she thought, almost crying from relief when she raced into the sweet-smelling Adelaide Street. Wattles, pines, and sweet-smelling Lemon-Scented Gum Trees lined the verges of the street.
Maybe I could climb one of the trees for safety? she thought as the yowling continued not far behind her. However, unlike running, she had never been very good at climbing.
Behind her, the padding continued, but the whining had become a sort of hiccupping whoop-whoop-whoop!
Dropping her book and bag of mushrooms in the frantic hope of going faster, she ran down the middle of the road, less worried about being hit by any evening traffic than by being torn apart by the unseen dog.
As she continued running, she could no longer hear the padding footsteps.
Thank Lord! she thought. Then, hearing the hiccupping whoop-whoop-whoop again, she realised that the padding footsteps could no longer be heard, only because the dog was now travelling along the bitumen road, not the pine needles and gum leaves out in the forest.
Its whooping cry seemed to be catching up with Nancy, but finally, she reached the door of her dilapidated red weatherboard, one-bedroom villa house at number 55 Adelaide Street.
Thank God! thought Nancy. She put her key in the lock and started to turn the key, as a deep rumbling growling came from directly behind her. Unable to resist turning to look, she saw a great black dog, the size of a large calf, standing behind her, baring its teeth at her.
As Padfoot leapt at Nancy, almost crying from fear, she managed to force the pink front door open and fell inside, kicking the door closed behind her as she hit the orange-carpeted floor.
Despite always being an animal lover, Nancy smiled in satisfaction as she heard the thud of the dog against the outside of the door. Followed by a pained whining this time.
"That'll teach you to think you can make a meal of little me!" called Nancy as she headed up the stairs toward her bedroom on the first floor. She made certain to lock her bedroom door, then place a chair back against it before having a quick shower, then heading to bed.
That's one to tell my grandkids, if I had any! thought Nancy as she climbed into bed.

Outside, Padfoot was rubbing at his snout with his front paws, growling softly at the tiny woman for hurting him. Then, grinning almost humanly, the huge black dog suddenly became invisible and easily passed through the door and into the tiny hallway. When invisible, Padfoot could walk through walls, etc., when visible, he could not. However, he could not touch solid objects ot hurt anyone when invisible.
So as soon as he entered the villa, the demon dog became visible again, since he certainly planned to hurt Nancy Walken that night, for slamming the wooden door into his snout earlier.

In her child-sized bed since they were cheaper and she didn't need a big bed, Nancy snuggled down into the warm blankets, needed against the cold nights Victoria had had in April 2025, she closed her eyes and was soon asleep. Confident that with the door locked and guarded by the chair, she was safe against the huge black dog.

Outside, Padfoot padded up the stairs, stopping outside the bedroom door. It tried to push the door open, then tried taking the hand into its mouth to turn it. Then, realising the door was blocked, the demon dog went invisible and walked straight through the door, and the chair that was propped up against the handle.
Inside the room, it walked invisibly up to the small bed, then reappeared, listening to Nancy's soft breathing for a moment. Then it opened its jaws around the redheaded woman's face and, with a single crunch, chewed away her face and much of her juicy brain tissue.
Nancy's body convulsed once as the tiny woman died, unable to feel pain as Padfoot continued to eat her juicy brain, before moving down to eat her small breasts, then rip open her stomach and chest to start devouring her heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, and intestines.

Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, they were sitting down to a late tea at 8:30, due to the police officers arriving home late after spending hours tracking down a missing child.
"How come we all have to wait for them before we can eat?" complained Tommy Turner. A short, dumpy man, Tommy was a retiree with shoulder-length yellow hair.
"Because it's only polite to wait until everyone is here," said Deidre Morton, a short, fifty-something, brunette, obsessed with the colour yellow, and the owner of the Yellow House.
"In other words, because Sheila is your favourite guest, we all have to wait until she's eating?" asked Leo Laxman, a tall, thin Jamaican now working as a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.
"Exactly," agreed Sheila Bennett, a tall, athletic Goth chick with orange-and-black striped hair. And the second in command of the local police. "We have a perfect relationship, Mrs. M. loves to pamper me, and I love being pampered."
"Even if the rest of us have to starve while waiting for you?" asked Natasha Lipzing, a tall, thin, grey-haired woman of seventy-one.
"There's always bread, marg, and strawberry jam on the table," pointed out Freddy Kingston. Also a retiree, Freddy was tall and stout and almost bad.
"Man does not live by bread, marg, and strawberry jam alone," misquoted Tommy.
"Personally, I think it's nice that you waited for us, Mrs. M.," said Terri Scott. A beautiful ash blonde, Terri was the top cop of the area and was engaged to Colin.
"Here! Here!" agreed Colin Klein, a tall, redheaded Englishman. He had worked as a London crime reporter for decades before taking up employment with the Glen Hartwell Police Department.
"So what delicacies have you for us tonight, Mrs. M.?" asked Sheila.
"Homemade lasagne with pasta sauce, plus boiled spinach with homemade cheese sauce."
"Sounds delish," said Sheila.
"Then for dessert, some homemade sherry trifle, since Terri always complains I never make her favourite dessert."
"Actually, I keep asking for rum trifle," pointed out the ash blonde.
"Yes, but Sheila doesn't like rum."
"I do!" said Terri, Leo, and Tommy as one.
"Well, I can't always please everyone," said the chubby brunette. "Anyway, I'm giving Tommy a snifter of rum with his tea. You can both have a snifter as well if you like."
"Okay," agreed Leo and Terri.
"Is that my rum you're giving them?" demanded Tommy.
"Oh, don't be a Scrooge!" said Deidre as she poured out the three small glasses of Tommy's rum, before locking the bottle away again, to stop Tommy, a notorious alcoholic, from getting to it.
"It's bad enough she locks away my plonk, without letting others have any of it," complained Tommy.
"The more they drink, the less you can," explained Deidre.
"That's the problem!" insisted Tommy.

Although it was nearly nine-thirty, Mabel Hollander, a blue-rinsed lady of seventy-something, was taking a late stroll to help her tea digest before going to bed. Never one to need much sleep, Mabel rarely went to bed before ten PM, to get up by seven the next morning. Tonight, despite a slight chill in the air, Mabel was enjoying her walk through the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest just outside Briarwood, where she lived.
She carried a blackwood cane which she had inherited from her father twenty years earlier, and so, as long as she went slowly, had no problems walking a kilometre or more into the evening forest.
She had been walking for well over an hour now and decided it was time to head back to town.
She had barely started back when she heard the loud padding on the carpet of fallen gum leaves and pine needles that blanketed the forest floor. At first, she ignored the sound, assuming it was some wild animal, kangaroo, or emu perhaps. But as she continued along, the padding continued also, sounding as though it was coming straight toward her.
Stopping, Mabel called out, "Is there anyone there?"
She listened for a moment, but the padding had stopped, so she turned back and started hobbling along again. Immediately, the padding footsteps started again.
Trying not to panic, and careful not to fall, the blue-rinsed old lady tried to accelerate a little, knowing she still had a long way to go to reach the Atticus Hotel in Sebastopol Street, in Briarwood township.
Don't panic, she tried to reassure herself, it's probably a lost dog out walking, trying to find its way home! Feeling sorry for it, she almost called the dog to her, then her fear got the better of her and she tried accelerating again, almost falling over in her haste. Forcing herself to go a little slower, she thought, A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step! The same for sixteen hundred kilometres!
So, she concentrated upon each increasingly slow step, thinking, just keep putting one foot in front of the other, and eventually you have to get there! Then as her heart pounding drowned out the sound of the padding, she thought, Unless whatever is following me catches up to me!
Forcing herself not to run, the old lady continued staggering along, wishing she had not journeyed so far into the sweet-smelling forest.
After what seemed like forever, Mabel finally found herself at number one Sebastopol Street in Briarwood. However, the Atticus Hotel was at number 133, a long way down the street, when you were a terrified old lady, with God only knows what padding along after you!
Stopping to get her breath, Mabel listened for the padding and heard it coming up fast, seemingly only a couple of hundred metres behind her.
Forcing herself forward, Mabel continued down Sebastopol Street, careful to avoid any cracks in the faded concrete footpath, aware that if she were to fall, she could never get up again with her dodgy arthritic knees.
Slowly, slowly, catchy monkey! she thought, although the heavy padding sound told her that whatever was following her was no small monkey. Not even an old world monkey, like a Baboon, has that heavy a tread, she thought.
As she continued along, she was startled and, despite her care, almost fell over when the creature following her let out a horrifying howling yelp, and its padding grew quiet suddenly.
It's not following me anymore! Mabel thought with relief. Then, hearing the padding, but quieter, she realised the creature was still following her, but its footsteps weren't as loud on the concrete footpath as they had been upon the dried pine needles and gum leaves carpeting the forest floor.
That means it's in town now! she thought, having hoped whatever was following her would be afraid to pursue her right into Briarwood.
As she reached fifty-seven Sebastopol Street, she thought, So far still to go! I've still got so far to go to escape it! Whatever it is?
As though sensing her thoughts, Padfoot let out another howling, followed by a hiccupping whoop-whoop-whoop, as though sensing it was catching up on its intended prey.
Oh my God! It's almost up to me! thought the old lady in terror!
Trying to accelerate a little, she collided with one of the numerous eerie grey-white ghost gums that lined the verges of Sebastopol Street.
I mustn't fall over, or it will be upon me! thought Mabel, clutching at the eucalyptus tree for dear life, until she had steadied herself enough to risk stepping away from it and starting as quickly as she could manage down Sebastopol Street again.
Padfoot let out another hiccupping whoop-whoop-whoop, sensing that he was closing in upon his latest prey.
Almost crying as she ran, Mabel Hollander raced past number 113 Sebastopol Street, thinking, Only ten more houses to go.
Then as Padfoot let out his whooping, hiccupping howl again, in her terror, the old lad had started to stagger past the double glass doors of the Atticus Hotel, before realising she had made it home.
Safe! she thought as she staggered down the gravel drive.
She struggled to open the door, although they were never locked until midnight, then suddenly the doors opened inward.
Caught by surprise, the old lady fell into the arms of Atticus Papadakis, a tall, distinguished-looking man with a vague resemblance to Caesar Romero, co-owner, with his wife, Angelina 'Angel', of the Atticus Hotel.
"Miss. Hollander, are you all right?" asked Angel, a beautiful blonde Greek with a perfect hourglass figure.
"Lock the door! Lock the door, it's right behind me!" screamed the old lady.
"What is?" asked Angel, puzzled. Then, seeing how terrified Mabel was, the blonde raced across to shut and lock the front door.
"There, you're safe now," said Atticus, trying his best not to talk down to the old lady, despite thinking she was frightened of nothing.
Looking around the large reception area, decorated in faux Grecian statues and carvings, Mabel said, "Is there any other way for it to get in?"
"By the back door, which Cosmo, our chef, uses to take rubbish to the bins outside," said Angel. "But I'm sure it is locked for the night."
"Could you make certain?" asked Mabel, trying her best not to scream.
Angel vanished into the dining room, then reappeared to announce it was locked.
Only then would the old lady allow Atticus to escort her across to the slim elevator, to take her up to her room on the first storey.

Padfoot had almost caught up with Mabel Hollander when she fell in through the double doors of the Atticus Hotel. He listened outside till hearing the door being locked, then went invisible and passed through the glass door into the faux Grecian reception area. He watched Angel go into the dining room, then reappear, then, still invisible, he followed Mabel and the Papadakises into the elevator to ride up to the first floor.
"Ooh, can you feel that chill?" asked Angel as Padfoot entered the elevator and the temperature plummeted ten degrees.
"Yes, something must be wrong with the central heating," suggested Atticus. Then to Mabel, "Apologies, but you'll soon be up in your warm bed."
On the first floor, they stopped at room 113, then Atticus, Angel, and Mabel entered the room, followed by Padfoot, still invisible.
"Ooh, it's chilly in here too," said Angel. Leaving her husband to help the old lady into bed, the blonde walked across to adjust the heating on the wall. "It says it's set to twenty-five degrees, but it can't be."
"Turn it up to thirty," advised Atticus, picking up the old lady, who was as light at a couple of pillows, and placed her into bed, having pulled back the covers first.
"Would you like me to stay with you until you're asleep?" asked Angel.
"No, I'm sure, I'll be all right now," said Mabel.
Beside them, Padfoot, still invisible, watched on, hoping the blonde would stay, since she looked like she'd be a juicer meal than the old lady.
Then Atticus and Angel walked out into the corridor and headed down the steps to the reception area, to turn off the lights before heading up to their own room on the third storey.
Padfoot patiently waited twenty minutes to allow the Papadakises to go to bed and to allow Mabel Hollander to fall asleep. Then he became visible again, his red eyes glowing with excitement as he padded across to the bed to rip off Mabel's face and half of her brain to swallow it down whole, before eating the rest of her head, neck and shoulders. Before moving down to rip open her chest and stomach to get at her organs and entrails. Unfortunately for the beast, the old lady had almost no fat on her and very little muscle tissue.
Burping loudly, Padfoot walked across toward the walnut-painted bedroom door, slipping into invisibility as he walked, to step through the door and out into the puce carpeted corridor.

Over at the Yellow House, they were up and eating breakfast by seven-thirty, Vegemite crumpets, waffles with jam and cream, or English muffins with margarine and a choice of half a dozen different jams, or marmalade.
Sheila managed to eat two Vegemite crumpets, three waffles, and a whole muffin with blackberry jam on one half and raspberry jam on the other.
"Slow down, mad Goth chick," teased Tommy Turner, leave some for the rest of us.
"She's a growing girl," protested Deidre Morton, "she needs to eat plenty to keep up her strength."
"For when I have to fight rogue moo cows who can turn people into marble with a glance, or lions with goats growing out of their backs," said Sheila. [See my stories, 'The Catoblepas', and 'Chimæra'.]
"Well, that's as good an explanation as any, I guess," said Freddy Kingston.
"I also work it off at the gym on Saturdays ... monsters and maniacs allowing. Actually I think that's how I met my boyfriend, Derek."
"Didn't you meet him at work?" asked Terri Scott. "Since we're cops and he's a paramedic."
"Oh, yeah, I might have," agreed the Goth chick.

Over at the Atticus Hotel in Briarwood, they were too busy with the breakfast rush to notice that Mabel Hollander was missing until they had finished serving everyone and had a chance to take a breather.
"It's not like Miss Hollander to miss her porridge and treacle," said Jenny Galanis, a serving maid who was engaged to the chef, Cosmo.
"That's for sure," agreed her fiancé, Cosmo Alexopoulos, a huge Greek man who would seem better suited to wrestling than to cooking for a living. "For such a tiny lady, she can sure tuck away the porridge."
"Well, we don't have time to look for her now," said Angel. "We can look for her later, while making the beds."

"So what's for you lot today at work?" asked Natasha Lipzing, a lifelong devotee to murder mysteries, film and novels. "Any juicy murders to solve?"
"Nope," said Sheila, overconfidently. "Today is gonna be just riding around in Terri's Lexus, looking for lost dogs, helping kittens out of trees, and so on. The horrors of April have passed, and May is going to be monster and mayhem free!"
"Don't you just hate it when she makes predictions like that?" asked Terri.
"Yes, it's like she's deliberately calling a curse down on us," answered Colin.
"Ah, no need to be pessimistic," insisted the Goth chick. "We got through brekkie without anyone ringing us about mayhem and horror. That's an achievement in itself these days."
"That's true," agreed Terri as the three cops got up to head outside.
"Here's to a nice day's drive around Glen Hartwell and Merridale," said Colin.
"That's the spirit," said Sheila as they climbed into the police-blue Lexus.
As they started up, they saw George, Eunice and half a dozen other employees from the Department of Building and Works, planting wattle trees in the verges beside the footpath.
"Hey, what gives?" asked Terri as they pulled up beside a large tip truck full of small trees and ferns.
"We're beautifying Merridale by planting wattles and ferns outside all the houses," explained George.
"Why?" asked Sheila. "There are trillions of trees in the forest just outside town."
"Some pollies in Melbourne have decreed we need plant life in country towns in Victoria, not just in the surrounding forests," said Eunice, a tall Amazonian brunette who wore her hair in a ponytail.
Clearly puzzled, Colin asked, "It's not an election year in Victoria, is it?"
"Nope, not until November next year," said George, "But maybe they want to get in early."
"Well, don't block the street outside the Yellow House," said Sheila, "I need to park the Chief's Lexus there."
"Okey dokey," agreed Eunice.

Over at the Atticus Hotel in Briarwood, they had finally finished cleaning up, and while Cosmo and Atticus did the dishes, Jenny and Angel went up to the first storey to start making the beds. Jenny started at one end, Angel at the other, and they met in the middle, at room 113.
"Miss Hollander," called Angel wrapping upon the door. "I'm afraid you missed breakfast, but I'm sure Cosmo can get you something."
"He's very obliging," called Jenny, also wrapping on the door. "I should know, we're engage."
"Quiet, Jezebel, you don't want to startle her," teased Angel. Reaching for her pass key, she unlocked the door, calling, "We're coming in now, Miss Hollander, don't be startled."
The two women walked into the bedroom tentatively, then walked across to the old lady's bed.

Downstairs, Cosmo and Atticus had almost finished the dishes, when the screaming rang out from the first storey.
"What the Jesus!" cried Atticus.
Dropping the plate that he was drying. Turning, he raced out into the reception area, closely followed by Cosmo, who passed him on the stairs to reach the first storey first.
"Jenny? Mrs. Papadakis?" called Cosmo.
Then seeing the door open to room 113, Cosmo raced across to the room, closely followed by Atticus.
"What's wrong?" asked Cosmo, just catching Jenny in time as she fainted.
Angel had already plonked herself in a floral armchair on the other side of the room and was staring almost catatonically at the ceiling.

"See, so far, so good," said Sheila, as she drove the Lexus down Mitchell Street, Glen Hartwell.
"Where are you heading now?" asked Colin.
"Down to the police station, to see if Mrs. M. has left us any tea and scones yet."
"It's a bit early for morning tea, Sheils," said Terri, stopping as her mobile phone shrilled. Picking up the phone she talked for a couple of minutes, then disconnected and said, "Around to the Atticus Hotel, in Briarwood. One of their residents has been eaten alive by monster or monsters unknown."
"It's the mad Goth chicks fault," said Colin. "She brought it down on us with all that crap about May will be a month without monsters or mayhem."
"It's not my fault," insisted Sheila, speeding up, and heading the Lexus toward Briarwood. "These things happen ... especially around Glen Hartwell."
"She's got you there, babe," said Terri.
Just on an hour later, the three cops were in room 113 of the Atticus Hotel, looking down at the gutted remains of Mabel Hollander.
"Yeech," said Sheila. "It's a good thing I didn't have much for brekkie."
"Please tell me she's joking?" begged Colin.
While Sheila was taking crime scene photos with her mobile, Terrie asked, "Did anything out of the ordinary happen last night, or this morning with Mabel."
"Well, yes," said Atticus, "she always goes out for a walk before bedtime. Last night, she came back running, frantic, saying something was chasing her. She literally fell in through the doorway into my arms."
"She begged us to lock both doors to stop what it was from getting into the hotel," said Angel, still looking very daze. "I did that, but she still was terrified."
"Anything else?" asked Colin.
"Yes ... I don't see how it could be related, but the heating started playing up, it suddenly got very cold in the reception area, then in the lift on the way up."
"Then here in her bedroom," added Angel.
"Everything seems to be fine now," said Terri.
"Yes, there's no explaining it," agreed Atticus.
Not long afterwards, three ambulances turned up and paramedics came in to take the grisly remains of Mabel Hollander away.
"Yeech!" said Derek Armstrong, a tall black American by birth, who had been dating Sheila since 2024.
"I already said that, babe," teased Sheila.
A second pair of paramedics came in to take away Jenny, Galanis, however, Angel refused to go to the hospital. "We're gonna have enough trouble making the rest of the beds and getting lunch ready without Jenny, without me being away too."
"Just overnight," suggested Tilly Lombstrom. A tall attractive fifty-something brunette, Tilly was second in command at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.
"No, no, just give me something for my nerves, I'll be all right."
Reluctantly, Tilly did as requested.

Over at Adelaide Street, East Merridale, Cerise 'Sally' Walken was coming to visit her Aunt Nancy. She was carrying two large shopping bags full of groceries to help out the elderly lady. Although was never happy to accept charity.
"Still I can always say they were left over at the grocery shop," said Sally, a tally, pretty strawberry blonde in her late twenties.
Taking her key from a blue lanyard around her neck, she opened the front door and called out, "Aunty Nancy, ooh roo! I've got some groceries left over from the shop. Mr Maxwell doesn't like to throw out good food."
Receiving no answer, she walked into the house, closed the door then carried the two shopping bags into the kitchen to place them on the table.
"Aunty Nancy," she called again. "That's funny, she said she'd be home today."
After a moment, she went out into the corridor again, calling as she went, before walking up the stairs to the first storey.
"Aunty Nancy!" she called outside the bedroom door. She tried the handle, then cried out as the kickback almost broke her right wrist. Rubbing at her wrist she called, "Aunty Nancy, are you in there?"
After calling out for a few more minutes, she went outside to ask next door.
"Well, I never saw her go out this morning," said Lex Clarke, a tall, burly farming type.
"Her door seems to be locked, but she isn't answering.
"Let's see if I can break it open, in case she's unconscious," suggested Lex.
A couple of minutes later, and a lot of shouldering, the lock smashed on the bedroom door, but still it wouldn't open.
"Here we go again," said Lex. He took as long a run up as possible in the thin corridor, and managed to break enough of the chair for it to slide away allowing them into the bedroom.
"Aunty Nancy!" cried Sally racing across to the bed. Then seeing what was left of her aunt, the strawberry blonde screamed then fainted.
"What the Hell?" asked Lex, going over to the bed. Then, clutching his mouth, he just made it to the bedroom window in time, to throw up in the garden below.

Over at the Atticus Hotel in Briarwood, Terri had left Stanlee Dempsey, Jessie Baker, and Donald Esk, three local police sergeants to interview all of the staff and residents. Terri, Colin, and Sheila climbed into the Lexus, with the intention of following the ambulances to the Glen Hartwell Hospital, to sit in upon the autopsy. However, they had barely started out when Terri's mobile shrilled.
Terri spoke on the phione for a moment, the disconnecting said, "It's happened again at 55 Adelaide Street, East Merridale."
"That's little Nancy Walken's house," said Sheila. Then, "How does that song go, 'It never rains in Southern California, it only pisses down'?"
"I don't see the relevancy to that comment, Sheils," said Colin. "We're not in Southern California."
"Sometimes I wish we were," said Sheila, speeding the car back toward Adelaide Street in East Merridale.



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