RAKSHASA

A Rakshasa starts killing, eating, and raping people around Glen Hartwell

The four American tourists wandered through the sweet-smelling pine, wattle, and eucalyptus forest on the outskirts of Glen Hartwell in the Victorian countryside, late in June 2025.

"What I don't understand is why we didn't get the boat," demanded Gladys Loftus, a short, chubby, forty-nine-year-old brunette with the tendency to speak through her nose. "We found it." [See my story, 'The Writer'.]

"What good is a maxi yacht to us?" demanded her husband, Morty, a medium-height, balding, dark-haired man of fifty-two.

"We found it!" insisted Gladys, not one to back down. "It should be ours!"

"What use is a yacht to us?" demanded her sister Michelle 'Shelley' Seville, a forty-five-year-old, mildly pretty brunette, with a pleasing hourglass figure.

"We found it!" insisted Gladys, refusing to be reasoned with. "We were walking along the banks of that smelly creek...."

"The Yannan River," pointed out her and Shelley's older brother, Tyrone Seville, a tall, dark-haired man with just a hint of grey around his sideburns.

"It coulda been the Yannan Cesspool by the smell of it," insisted Gladys, in her whiniest voice. "That's not important. The important thing is that we were wandering along talking about how cold Australian summers are...."

"It's summer in New York, over here it's winter," pointed out Tyrone.

"That's not important!" shrilled Gladys. "We were wandering along when we found the maxi yacht, Jayne's Lover, spelt like Jayne Mansfield. We saw it first, so it shoulda been ours to claim salvage on."

"You did claim salvage on it," reminded Shelley, "remember."

"Course I remember, do you think I'm feeble-minded?"

The other three exchanged guilty looks, but were careful not to comment.

"But that other couple also claimed it, and for some reason, their claim was accepted, not ours. How come?"

The other three exchanged guilty looks again, then Tyrone said, "We ... sort of ... withdrew our claim."

"You did what?" shrieked Gladys, loud enough to deafen a Banshee. "Why the Hell would you do that?"

"Because we live nowhere near the sea, and it would have cost a fortune to have it transported to America," said Morty.

"We coulda sailed it there ourselves!"

"So now you're an expert mariner, Captain Queeg?" demanded Tyrone.

"There are four of us!"

"None of whom know a main brace from a broomstick," pointed out Morty.

"We coulda paid someone to sail to New York for us."

"Then they would have got the yacht, plus whatever money we gave them!" insisted Morty.

"Besides," said Shelley, dreamily. "The couple who got it are planning to sail on it for their honeymoon in December ... Isn't that so romantic!"

"No!" insisted Gladys. "We shoulda got it. You three had no right to withdraw my claim on it!"

The argument might have raged on forever if the Rakshasa hadn't suddenly leapt out in front of them. Two and a half metres tall (about nine feet), it was shaggy and looked like a cross between a gigantic goat and a bear, with small, but deadly looking horns. And two great incisors protruding down over its bottom lip.

"What the Hell is that?" shrilled Gladys.

"I didn't think Orstralia had bears," said a terrified Morty Loftus.

Lowing at them, more like a bull or a moose than a bear, the huge creature with what looked like dark brown dreadlocks from head to foot, charged the group of tourists.

Doing her best Banshee impression, Gladys thundered off into the sweet-smelling forest.

Before the others had time to react, the creature pushed Tyrone and Morty, sending them flying. Tyrone crashed headfirst into an old-growth, grey and white Snow Gum, knocking him out and requiring a three-week stay at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. Luckily, Morty flew across to land heavily, but without injury to the thick carpet of pine needles, wattle and gum leaves which blanketed the forest floor.

Too terrified to run, Shelley Seville stood staring at the shaggy beast, praying silently that it would not kill her. Unaware that she was about to suffer the proverbial fate worse than death from the goat-like, bear-like creature.

Snorting in excitement, the Rakshasa looked Shelley up and down, then raced forward and, using its sharp bear-like claws, ripped her clothing off, making the pretty brunette shriek.

Then, after looking back at the two fallen men, the beast threw Shelley across its right shoulder and took off at high speed, deeper into the forest, with the brunette shrilling continuously, until she passed out from fear.


Over at the tiny police station in Morcambe Street, Lenoak, the five cops were clustered around a small, vinyl-topped circular table, eating Monte Carlo biscuits and drinking tea or coffee.

"Have you heard the news?" asked Terri Scott. At thirty-six, the ash blonde was Senior Sergeant of the BeauLarkin to Willamby area. She was usually based at Mitchell Street, Glen Hartwell, which was in line to be repaired after most of the street had been destroyed recently.

"What, there's Good Rockin' Tonight?" asked Sheila Bennett, Chief Constable, and Terri's second in command. The same age as Terri, Sheila was a Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair and had a vast knowledge of rock and pop from the 1950s to the early 1980s.

"No, dingleberry, having claimed the maxi yacht, Jayne's Lover, and had their claim granted, George and Eunice have agreed to let us go on their honeymoon cruise in December, after both couples are married."

"But if they're being married at the start of December ...?" began Suzette Cummings, a short eighteen-year-old trainee with long, raven hair.

"No, no, we've agreed to move our wedding forward to December 10th, the same as theirs," said Colin Klein. A forty-nine-year-old Englishman, the tall redhead had worked as a top London crime reporter before quitting to take up employment with the Glen Hartwell Police Force.

"And so you get to go cruising with them?" said Paul Bell, a tall, lean, dark-haired sergeant.

"Not only that," said a chirpy Terri, "but by having a double wedding, we only have to pay half the cost. Eunice and George pay the other half."

"So everything is swinging, to quote Eddie Cochran?" asked Sheila. "Assuming we don't have any psycho or monster attacks at that time."

"If we do, you and the others can take care of one or two monster attacks without any assistance from us."

"But Paul will be retired by then, and Suzette will be in Melbourne, doing her final testing!"

"You'll still have Jessie Baker, Stanlee Dempsey, Don Esk, and Drew Braidwood."

"Until Drew retires in early January."

"We'll be back by then ... so stop making waves."

"Yeah, we aren't on Jayne's Lover yet," said Colin, making everyone except Sheila laugh.

"Good one, babe," said Terri. "Except that George is planning to rename it, Eunice Is My Honey."

"Oh, that is so sweet," said Suzette.


Out in the sweet-smelling forest, Morty Loftus climbed back to his feet. To see no sign of Gladys, or Shelley, and with Tyrone, knocked unconscious against the Snow Gum.

He checked over Tyrone, and, not liking the look of him, rang Triple-O, asked for the hospital, and requested an ambulance.


Further out into the forest, the Rakshasa carried the now unconscious Shelley Seville over its right shoulder until deciding it was far enough away from any pursuers. Then, placing the brunette almost lovingly upon the thick carpet of pine needles and dried leaves, the creature gently spread her soft, curvy thighs apart, then, as gently as possible, trying not to rip her flesh with its claws, it felt her soft, pink body from breasts to thighs. Then, taking her under the knees it lifted, then spread her legs to climb between them. Then with difficulty, it managed to force the massive glands of its penis in through her labia.

Making the brunette scream and awaken, immediately starting to fight the would-be rapist.

Holding the shrieking brunette down, the Rakshasa penetrated her to the womb, making her shrill in agony, then faint, as it continued to molest her with its oversized manhood.

Finally, it ejaculated its fiery seed straight into her womb, making Shelley Seville scream as she awakened again.

As the creature pulled out, the brunette started to gush, seemingly litres, of hot semen from her vagina.

After looking almost affectionately upon the terrified brunette, the creature turned and loped away even deeper into the sweet-smelling forest, reluctantly leaving her behind.


Terri and the others were still at Morcambe Street discussing the upcoming honeymoon cruise when the black landline rang.

"Hello," said Suzette Cummings into the receiver. She spoke for a moment, then said, "Some American tourists claim a bear-like goat-like thing just attacked them, and possibly ran off with the two women in their party."

"They were having a party outside ... in June?" asked Sheila.

Ignoring her second in command, Terri said, "Tell them we'll be there ASAP."


At the site where the attack had occurred, Terri and the others found two ambulances, plus Tilly Lombstrom, Jesus Costello, and four paramedics.

"So this bear-like, goat-like thingy that attacked you?" asked Colin. "Are you sure it wasn't a man-ape-wolf thingy?" Referring to their last case.

"No, it was definitely a bear-like, goat-like thingy, with long brown dreadlocks from head to toe."

"A Rastafarian bear-like, goat-like thingy?" asked Terri.

"Hey, wait a minute, I know you," said Sheila. "Weren't you one of the Yanks who found that yacht, Jayne's Lover, in the Yannan Cesspool?"

"Shoosh," said Morty, "don't let my wife hear you say that. She's still smarting because the builders who shifted it get to keep it."

"I thought you withdrew your claim?" asked Colin.

"Yes, but we didn't tell Gladys until it was a done deal."

"Uh-oh," said Sheila.

"So where is Gladys?" asked Colin.

"She ran off into the forest before I was knocked out, so I don't know whether she got away, or whether the thing took her."

After Morty was taken away by ambulance for observation, Terri asked, "Wasn't that a 1950s movie, The Thing?"

"Correctly, it was The Thing From Another World," said Sheila. "From 1951. It starred James Arness as a carrot-alien who was frozen in ice. So natch they used an electric blanket to thaw him out, and he rewarded them by going on a killing spree."

"When will scientists learn never to thaw out aliens found frozen in a block of ice?" teased Colin.

"So what now?" asked Sheila.

"So now we follow those," said Colin, pointing to the oversized footprints left by the fleeing Rakshasa.

It was nearly an hour before they found the unconscious and well-bukkaked figure of Shelley Seville lying naked on a bed of pine needles and gum leaves further out in the forest.

"So now what?" asked Colin, as he placed his police overcoat across the brunette to conceal her nudity and to stop her from freezing.

"Now we ring for another ambulance," said Terri, proceeding to do that. "Then we get our old ... middle-aged mate to help us find our Rastafarian goat-like bear-like rapist."


An hour later, Morty, Tyrone, and Shelley were all in the Glen Hartwell Hospital, with only Gladys Loftus still missing. Terri had recruited Bulam-Bulam, a tall, grey-haired Aboriginal Elder from Harpertown, who worked pro rata for them as an Aboriginal tracker.

"Me old ... middle-aged cobber," corrected Sheila, racing across to hug the sixty-six-year-old.

"Okay, let's get started," said the Elder, after hugging her.

They walked slowly through the pine and eucalyptus forest for hours following the footprints, until suddenly they vanished.

"Is there any point in getting the dumb mutts out here to have a sniff around?" asked Colin.

"The tracks just vanished," reminded Bulam-Bulam.

"The last time that happened, the culprit was up a gum tree," reminded Sheila. Taking her flashlight from her belt, she shone it up the nearest gum tree to awaken a bleary-eyed koala. "Ah ha, and there it is!"

"If that's the killer, either it's shrunk," said Terri, "or else Morty Loftus wildly exaggerated the size of the goat-like, bear-like, monster thingy that attacked them and carried off then raped Shelley Seville."

"Obviously it's a shape-changer," suggested Sheila. Correct about the Rakshasa being a shape-changer, but wrong about thinking that the koala was the culprit.

"It looks like a poor, sleepy cola, whom you have needlessly awakened, Sheils," said the Elder. "Remember, colas are nocturnal; they sleep during the day."

"Maybe it is, maybe it isn't," conceded Sheila, reluctantly.

"Sheils, if I have to have you locked away, I will without hesitation," teased Terri.

"How dare you?"

They were still discussing their next course of action when Terri's phone shrilled. She spoke on it for a moment, then disconnected and said:

"Gladys Loftus has turned up. She wandered into LePage a short time ago and has been taken to G.H. Hospital."

"Should we go there to interview her?" asked Colin.

"No way," said Sheila, "we're late for lunch as it is. We should all go to the Yellow House to chow down first, then go to hopital later."

"Thus speaks the stomach on legs," teased Terri. "Okay, let's do that."


Later that night, they interviewed Gladys whose story was much the same as her husband's, except that she had run away too soon to see the creature kidnap Shelley.

"What about the bloke who head butted a tree?" asked Sheila.

"Tyrone Seville is doing well, and we think he will survive," said Tilly Lombstrom, a tall, attractive, fifty-something brunette, and a top surgeon at the hospital. "However, he'll be in intensive care for weeks, and may have to stay in Australia for months before it will be safe for him to fly back to the States."

"Why? Are they planning to assassinate Donald Dum-Dum in a few months time?" asked Sheila.

"One can only hope," said Tilly.


At eight-thirty that night, the Rakshasa stood in the shadows from a blown street light, across the road from the Free Love Sex Lounge in Gordon Street, LePage. The sex lounge was a three-storey building with a red neon light, proclaiming its name. The front parlour was filled with faux Victorian four-person sofas, swathed in red.

Beside the concrete steps outside the front door, stood three women: a tall, night-black goddess with a huge chest, named Sherri Waterman, a short, amply chested Asian cutie named Cerille 'Sally' Chiang, and Peggy Pérez, a tall, curvaceous Latina in her early twenties.

It was getting cold, and they had had no action for the last couple of days, so the girls were considering going into the sex lounge to warm up.

Across the road, the Rakshasa concentrated hard, staring at Cerille Chiang, then its image began to shimmer and change, until it was a perfect replica of the Asian cutie. It stayed in that form for a couple of minutes to make certain it could maintain the shape, then concentrated hard again. Once more, it began to shimmer and change, until it was a perfect double for Peggy Pérez, the curvaceous Latina. But it knew who it really wanted to impersonate. So staring hard at the black goddess, it concentrated with all of its might, until it shimmered again, then changed into Sherri Waterman's twin. This was the form that it chose to stay in.

Shivering, Sherri said, "I don't know about you two, but I'm going inside to warm up for twenty minutes." She turned and wiggled her way up the concrete steps to enter the warm front salon of the sex lounge.

"Suits me," said Cerille. "Gives me a one in two chance of getting the next trick."

"What next trick?" demanded Peggy. Turning, she wiggled her way up the steps and was soon inside in the warmth, leaving the Asian cutie alone outside.

After a moment, concerned about being alone outside at night, Cerille called, "Hey, wait for me, girls." Turning, she wiggled after Sherri and Peggy.

After the three ladies of the night had gone inside, the Rakshasa strolled across the road, doing its best to try to wiggle its backside as it walked, the way that the black goddess had done, and stopped at the base of the concrete steps. Trying to look as sensual and seductive as the black goddess, the Rakshasa waited impatiently outside. It didn't feel the cold to the extent that the women had done, but it was concerned that they could come outside again at any time.

It had almost decided to leave when it saw a tall, handsome-looking man standing a house or two away watching it. Trying its best to look feminine and seductive, the Rakshasa smiled lasciviously at the man, who soon trotted over.

"How much for an hour?" asked the tall, raven-haired man, who looked seventeen, but was actually twice that age.

"Three hundred dollars inside," said the Rakshasa. "Or one hundred and fifty, if we do it down the alleyway." It pointed to a dark alleyway down the side of the Free Love Sex Lounge.

"Is it safe down there?" asked the trick, Ollie.

"Natch, I often take private tricks down there, so the nosey bitch inside doesn't find out," said Sherri-Rakshasa.

"Interesting," said Ollie, thinking, I should be able to use that info to blackmail her for regular freebies.

Reading his thoughts, the Rakshasa grinned broadly, knowing that poor Ollie would never get any freebies or even pay-for-use ever again.

As Ollie watched, Sherri-Rakshasa stripped off, allowing the man to ogle the huge black breasts and perfect bubble-butt that he wrongly thought he had an hour to enjoy.

"You have to get undressed too," advised the Rakshasa in the black goddess' voice.

The tall, raven-haired man hurried to strip off, only to find that the black goddess had vanished. Instead, before him stood the Rastafarian goat-like, bear-like Rakshasa, with a massive erection pointing up at the young man.

"On your hands and knees!" ordered the monster.

Whimpering like a whipped puppy from terror, Ollie did as instructed.

The Rakshasa went up behind the young man, spread his butt cheeks apart, then slammed the massive glands of his penis in through the man's unprepared sphincter.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" shrieked Ollie as the Rakshasa began to sodomise him ruthlessly.


Inside the Free Love Sex Lounge, the girls were sitting upon the red, faux Victorian lounges in the front parlour, enjoying the warmth of the central heating, when they heard the scream from poor Ollie.

"What the Hell was that?" asked Peggy Pérez, standing hurriedly.

"Just one of the girls upstairs," assured Cerille Chiang. "Either her latest trick was larger than she expected ...."

"Or she wants him to think he is," said Sherri Waterman, "to drum up repeat business."

"The things you learn in this place," said Peggy, sounding impressed.

"Make a man think his cock is big enough to hurt you, and he'll keep coming back for more," said a busty thirty-two-year-old redhead, Scarlet Rogers. "All men have a touch of sadist about them."

"Not all men," corrected Sherri. "But most tricks do."


Out in the lane beside the sex lounge, poor Ollie had fainted from the agony of the sodomy, but the Rakshasa continued raping him, enjoying the tightness of his virgin rectum. No woman has ever been this tight! thought the creature lying on top of the prostrate man, effectively doing sexual push-ups on top of him as he sodomised him until finally firing his burning hot semen into his bowels.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" screamed Ollie again, awakened from his dead faint by the burning heat flowing through his backside.


"Definitely, she's acting to get repeat business," said Scarlet, making all of the girls in the front parlour of the sex lounge laugh.


Almost regretting that it had to kill him, as the best sex victim it had ever had, the Rakshasa strangled Ollie, then began to devour him: buttocks first, then his genitals, then his thighs and the fleshiest parts of his belly and upper arms, before starting to consume his heart and other organs. Afraid to stay there for too long, in case he was seen, the monster ate the minimum that could sustain it for twenty-four hours, before standing.

Then, taking on the form of Shelley Seville, before it stripped her naked, the Rakshasa walked out of the alleyway as Sherri, Cerille, and Peggy were returning to their spots at the bottom of the steps of the sex lounge. Shelley-Rakshasa winked at the three women, then turned and walked down Gordon Street, more confident now of doing the prostitutes' butt wiggle while walking.

"Who the Hell was that?" asked Peggy Pérez.

"She'd better not have been turning tricks down the alley beside the sex lounge," said the black goddess, Sherri Waterman.

Wiggling across to the dark alley, she wiggled down it, fell over the gory remains of Ollie, and started screaming.


Terri and the others were in the lounge room of the Yellow House at Rochester Road in Merridale, so named due to Deidre Morton's love of the colour yellow, yawning widely, getting ready to retire for the night ... when Terri's mobile phone suddenly shrilled.

"Not just as it's bedtime!" complained Sheila.

"Sheils, there's no pleasing you," said Freddy Kingston, a tall, stout, balding retiree. "You complain if they ring at meal times, now you complain if they ring at bedtime."

"I just want them to always ring between 8:30 and 5:30 said the Goth chick."

"Okay," teased Colin Klein, "we'll pass the word out to all the monsters and maniacs around Glen Hartwell: Sheila wants you only to work bank hours."

"What bank stays open to 5:30?" demanded Sheila.


By ten PM, the police, Jesus Costello, Topaz Moseley, an ambulance, and two paramedics were down the alley beside the Free Love Sex Lounge, watching as Sheila Bennett took the crime scene pictures with her phone.

"Another yeech situation," said Topaz Moseley, a gorgeous platinum blonde nurse in her early thirties.

"Jesus, he's leaking like a sieve," said Cheryl Pritchard, a tall Amazonian brunette, a few years away from retirement age, the top paramedic of the Glen Hartwell area.

She pointed to where semen was still gushing from what was left of poor Ollie's bowels.

As they were waiting, a tall, ox of a man with bright red hair, Jessie Baker, walked up to Terri Scott.

"Chief," he said.

"How are they coming with renovating Mitchell Street Station?" asked Terri.

"Not bad," said the redheaded man. "Although they stopped for a while in panic when they found the bazooka and half a dozen shells from the weapons store. George and Eunice refused to touch them, so Stanlee and I had to."

"They're perfectly safe, until you put a shell into the bazooka," said Colin.

"We told them," said Stanlee Dempsey, a huge man with raven hair.

"So where'd you put them?" asked Colin, already guessing the answer.

"In the back room at Morcambe Street," said Jessie.

"After all, they're perfectly safe," teased Stanlee.

"As long as the big Goth idjit doesn't start playing with them," said Terri.

"Uh-oh," said Stanlee, Jessie, and Colin as one.

"Okay," said Sheila, "you can take over."

"How did you go with the semen samples from Shelley Seville?" asked Terri, going across as the medics walked over to Ollie's corpse.

"It's definitely semen ... I think," said Jesus Costello, a tall, dark-haired man, top surgeon and administrator of the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. "But it's not human, or from any species we could determine."

"Demon Seed, to quote Dean Koontz," said Sheila. Then, when everybody glared at her, "That's one of my favourite horror novels, Demon Seed. Both versions, the original and the rewritten version."

"Wouldn't that make it two of your favourite novels?" teased Jessie Baker.

"Oh, yeah," said Sheila after thinking about it.

With the black goddess, Sherri Waterman, having already been taken to the hospital, the cops went across to interview Cerille Chiang and Peggy Pérez.

After humming and hawing a while, the two women told them about seeing the woman wiggling away from the alley, and Sherri charging down there, angry, in case she was turning tricks beside the Free Love Sex Lounge.

"It could destroy our livelihood!" said Cerille.

"So what did this woman look like?" asked Colin.

"A pretty(ish) brunette in her early forties, perhaps," said Cerille, going on to describe in detail her-Shelley's clothing.

"What?" demanded Sheila. She hunted through the collected crime scene photos on her phone, then showed them a picture of Shelley Seville and asked, "Is this her?"

Cerille nodded, while Peggy said, "Yes, that's her!"

"What?" demanded Terri when Sheila showed her the picture of Shelley.

"That's definitely her!" insisted Cerille and Peggy.

"Goofier and goofier," said Terri, misquoting Alice Liddell. Going back to Jesus Costello, as they were transporting Ollie's corpse to the ambulance, Terri asked, "Shelley Seville is definitely still at the hospital."

"Of course, and heavily sedated," assured Jesus.

"Goofier and goofier," repeated Terri. "Let us know as soon as you get the latest autopsy results."

"But not until after brekkie tomorrow," insisted Sheila.

"Okay, but you do know that breakfast is 6:30 at the hospital," teased Jesus.

"Not amused, mate!" shouted Sheila as Jesus and Topaz climbed into the rear of the ambulance.


The next morning, around 8:00, four cops were seated around the tiny, round table-cum-desk at the Lenoak Police Station. Only Sheila was missing.

"So where the Hell is Sheils?" asked Paul Bell.

"She went into the back room a quarter of an hour ago," said Suzette.

"What?" demanded Terri and Colin as one.

At that moment, Sheila returned to the front room carrying the bazooka.

"Hey, look what I found," said Sheila.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" cried Terri, before she, Colin, Suzette, and Paul all jumped to the floor of the small police station.

"What's the big duh?" demanded Sheila. "It's not loaded."

They started to climb back to their chairs when the Goth chick added, "At least, I don't think so."

As they all leapt to the floor again, she laughed, then said, "Only teasing. There's a little red light on, on top, when it's loaded."

"One day, I'm going to have to kill that Goth idjit," said Terri, as they finally sat back in their seats. "Could you put that thing back where you found it, before we have to change our underwear?"

"I was thinking, if we ever catch up with our Rastafarian bear-like, goat-like thingy, this would probably stop it."

"Or at least make it have to change its underwear," said Suzette Cummings.

"Until then, put it away," said Colin.

"But we won't have it ready unless we carry it and the shells in the boot of Terri's Lexus."

"What?" demanded Terri. "This is my third Lexus. I've already had two written off in as many years!"

"It'll be perfectly safe, as long as we keep the bazooka and the shells separate from each other," insisted Sheila.

Looking at Colin, Terri said, "I'm starting to fear that we're going to have our honeymoon in Heaven."

"Ah, don't be a fraidy junket!" teased the Goth policewoman. "That's an old saying of my Dad's."

"Is that why they had to lock him away?" teased Paul Bell.

"No, he's still a free man."

"God save us all," teased Suzette.


Priya Bakshi was standing in the middle of her bedroom looking bored, as her mother, Zara, and two sisters, Divya and Nidhi, were helping her to dress in traditional Hindu robes, including a brightly coloured orange, red, and yellow sari, ready for her wedding ceremony at the mandir (temple) at 190 to 210 Henry Street, toward the Northern most edge of Glen Hartwell.

"Is all this fancy get-up really necessary?" demanded Priya.

"It is traditional!" insisted forty-two-year-old Zara.

"But I'm not!"

"I know you fancy yourself as a modern girl," said Zara.

"She certainly fancies herself," teased seventeen-year-old Nidhi.

"You shut up!"

"Priya, do not talk to your sister like that! You may be a modern girl, but you cannot get married in jeans and a pink T-shirt."

"No, but I could get married in a long, flowing white gown, like all of my friends, Shannon, Barbie, Debbie, Chloe...."

"All of your friends are from non-Hindu backgrounds. They looked beautiful in their long, flowing white gowns. Just as you will look beautiful in your traditional Hindu dress."

"So is she getting plastic surgery too?" teased nineteen-year-old Divya.

"Yeah, how else could she look beautiful?" asked Nidhi.

"You two bad girls, be quiet!" My Priya is very beautiful, just like her girlfriends."

"Yes," said Priya. "I only hang around with beautiful people. Which is why I don't hang around with you two Fidos!"

"Priya! Apologise at once! Divya and Nidhi are not Fidos."

"All right ... I'm sorry that you're both Fidos."

Zara gave Priya a hard spank, then said, "Do not be rude. Give them a proper apology."

"Mum, I'm twenty-one, too old for spanking."

"Apologise to them at once!"

"Very well, Nidhi, Divya, I apologise. Do you forgive me?"

The two younger girls exchanged a cheeky look, then both said, "No!"

"Nidhi! Divya! Priya has done the right thing by apologising to you. Now you do the right thing and accept her apology. You two are certainly young enough for spankings."

"Sorry, sis," said Nidhi, "I accept your apology."

Reluctantly, Divya said, "Me too."

"Very good, now help me to make Priya as beautiful as possible ... and I'll have no Fido remarks, or jokes about plastic surgery!"

Later that day, Priya had to go through, reluctantly the following rituals: Ganesha Puja: A prayer to Lord Ganesha, the remover of obstacles, to ensure a smooth and auspicious wedding; Haldi: A ceremony where turmeric paste is applied to the bride and groom for purification and beautification, and Mehndi: Application of henna on the bride's hands and feet.

Throughout the ceremonies, Priya did her best not to look bored, despite wishing, Why couldn't it be a simple one-hour service, like Shannon, Barbie, Debbie, and Chloe had? Followed by forty-eight hours of solid boozing!

Then on the day of her wedding, they had to go through the following: Baraat: The groom's procession to the wedding venue, in a decorated vehicle, accompanied by music and dancing. Pokwanu/Welcoming the Groom: The bride's family welcomes the groom and his family. Kanya Aagman/Bride's Entry: The bride's arrival at the mandap (wedding altar). Varmala/Jai Mala: The exchange of garlands between the bride and groom symbolising their acceptance of each other. Kanyadaan: The bride's father gives away his daughter to the groom. Paanigrahan: The groom accepts the bride's hand, signifying their commitment to each other. Vivaah Homa: A sacred fire ceremony where offerings are made while Vedic chants are recited. Mangal Phera: The couple circles the sacred fire four times, with each time around representing a different aspect of their commitment (dharma, artha, kama, moksha). Saptapadi: The couple takes seven steps together, each step representing a vow they make to each other. Sindoor & Mangal Sutra: The groom applies sindoor (vermilion powder) to the bride's hair parting and ties the mangal sutra (sacred necklace), signifying her marital status. Blessings: The couple receives blessings from elders and guests.

The latter, including Shannon, Barbie, Debbie, and Chloe who broke with tradition by squealing like Banshees from excitement while bouncing up and down.

Hearing her girlfriends, Priya broke with tradition, turning to wave to the four girls. Which made them squeal even louder, and bounce even more erratically, like Dodgem-sheep.

Eventually, Priya was allowed to go over to hug her four best friends.

"You look gorgeous, kiddo," said Shannon Tallboy, a tall, busty blonde of twenty-one.

"Really? I feel ridiculous, like I'm dressed in Christmas curtains."

"No, you look lovely," insisted Barbie Barton, a tall, black, twenty-year-old.

"Now, if this were a Western-style wedding," said Debbie Dawson, a short, chubby brunette with glasses, "this is where we'd all sneak away and get sloshed."

"Sorry, can't yet, first we have to do Vidaai, where I officially depart my family home. Then Griha Pravesh, where I officially enter Arjun's family home."

"Then can we all go and get slashed?" asked Chloe Anderson, a tall, attractive redhead.

"Trust me, by then poor Arjun and his mates will be ready to join us in going and getting sloshed."

The five girls started squealing together and jumping up and down like Dodgem-sheep again.

"Girls, please," said Vihaan, Priya's father. "Show some decorum ... at least until the wedding ceremonies are finally over."

As he departed, Priya said, "'Finally' is right," making her four friends giggle like schoolgirls.

Priya had officially departed her family home, and they were welcoming her to Arjun's family house, when they heard a hellish roaring sound. Then the Rakshasa, looking like a cross between a two-legged goat and an oversized bear, burst into the house.

"Rakshasa!" cried Pandit Rohan Ahuja, who had performed the wedding rituals for Priya and Arjun.

"Rak-Whosits?" asked Arjun, just before being thrown across the room by the creature.

Landing heavily, he broke his neck and died.

"Arjun!" cried his mother, Aahana, before being grabbed by the Rakshasa.

Shrieking in delight and to terrify the humans, the creature snapped Aahana's back, then tossed her corpse to the floor.

As the monster continued to rampage, smashing ceremonial objects, tossing people around the room, snapping the spines of others, the people screamed like Banshees and raced for the doors, which were soon gridlocked.

Seeing the beautiful blonde, Shannon Tallboy, trying to escape, the Rakshasa raced across to the fleeing crowd, scattering them left and right, to grab the screaming blonde, tossed her across his left shoulder, then raced outside. In the process, killing as many people as possible.

Growling again, mainly to scare away potential pursuers, the Rakshasa raced down Lawson Street until entering the sweet pine, eucalyptus, and wattle forest.

As the creature ran along, Shannon Tallboy continued screaming until finally passing out from terror.


Over at the Morcambe Street Police Station in Lenoak, the five cops were seated around the tiny vinyl-topped desk, eating Bartholomew biscuits, while drinking tea or coffee, being waited upon by Deidre Morton.

"Can't have my favourite police officers starving, now can I?" asked Deidre.

"No, you can't," agreed Sheila, with a mouth full of Bartholomew biscuit.

"Thanks, Mrs. M.," said Suzette, "your great food makes living in doom-cursed Glen Hartwell seem worthwhile."

"Is Glen Hartwell doom-cursed?" asked the matronly brunette.

"Yes!" said the five cops at once.

"So how are Tils and company doing testing the body fluid samples?" asked Paul Bell, trying to avoid saying semen in front of Deidre Morton.

"The last I heard, Tils was planning to send samples to our animal biologist friend, Totty Rampling, at the Melbourne Wildlife Safari Park," said Terri.

"I wish I could be there to hear Tots squeal like a schoolgirl when she tests the samples," said Sheila.

They were still eating, drinking, and discussing monster semen as diplomatically as possible when they received a phone call from Pandit Rohan Ahuja to tell them about the Rakshasa attack.

"Sounds like the goat-like, bear-like monster thingy has attacked again," said Suzette Cummings, "this time at a Hindu post-wedding ceremony."

"I didn't know that we had any Hindus in Glen Hartwell," said Paul Bell.

"Duh! Of course we do," said Sheila Bennett, "the Pandit, or Priest, Rohan Ahuja has a temple up in Henry Street, one of those new streets they've been building to handle G.H.'s overflowing population."


Out in the forest, the Rakshasa stopped and placed Shannon Tallboy on the carpet of pine needles and dried leaves. It ripped off her clothing to stare at her luscious, large breasts, leaning down to lick them for a moment. When Shannon screamed, the creature looked up at her, with a surprised look upon its hairy face, as though expecting her to want sex with it as much as it wanted sex with her.

Ignoring her screaming, it slowly licked her full breasts, making her nipples stiffen despite her terror, before licking its way slowly down her body. As it concentrated upon her belly button, the terrified blonde, extremely ticklish, couldn't help giggling. Then, the creature licked all the way down to her left foot, before licking its way down her right leg to the foot, making her giggle again as it licked the bottom of first one foot, then the other. Then it mouthed up again to concentrate upon the beautiful blonde's vagina.

At first, Shannon tried to fight the Rakshasa as it started lapping her vulva. Then, as she was overcome with one climax, then another, she sank into the waves of bliss, barely noticing as the hairy creature placed its hands under her knees to raise, then spread her legs. Before climbing between her thighs.

"Aaaaaaaaaah!" shrieked Shannon as the Rakshasa's giant penis ploughed in through her labia, into her vagina, then even into her unprepared womb.

Unable to stop, the Rakshasa continued raping the beautiful blonde, despite her constant screaming. Which finally stopped when Shannon passed out from a mix of terror and excruciating agony.

For more than fifteen minutes the monster raped the unconscious woman, until its fiery semen flooded into her vagina and womb and the blonde woke up screaming and silently praying for God to kill her.

After resting for a moment, the creature started raping her a second, then third time, until her vagina was leaking smelly, pus-like semen, like a burst dam spraying water.

Roaring its satisfaction, the creature stood, threw Shannon Tallboy headfirst over its left shoulder and raced off further into the forest outside Glen Hartwell.


Forty minutes later, the cops arrived amid the chaos at Arjun's family house in Boothy Street, where six ambulances awaited, along with sundry medics and paramedics.

Picking out Rohan Ahuja, Sheila said, "Pandit, we hear that our goat-like, bear-like monster thingy has been killing people again?"

"Actually, it's a Rakshasa. In Hindu mythology, rakshasas are a type of demon. Malevolent supernatural beings who disrupt Vedic rituals and consume humans. They are shape-shifters, who often carry off and rape human women. A famous Rakshasa is Ravana, the antagonist in the Ramayana."

"A Rakshasa?" said Sheila. "They had an episode featuring one of those in Kolchak: The Night Stalker. Apparently, the only way to kill them is with a crossbow bolt."

"Sheils," said the Pandit, shaking his head in disappointment. "Use your head. Crossbows only go back to around 650 BC. Rakshasas have been killing, eating, raping people for three thousand years or more. If the crossbow were the only defence against them, then for thousands of years no one would have had any defence against them."

"So The Night Stalker took liberties with its legends?" asked Sheila, sounding genuinely shocked.

"I'm afraid so," said Rohan Ahuja, unable to avoid smiling at the Goth policewoman's simplistic innocence.

"Well, we do have a bazooka and seven shells," suggested Colin. "Will that destroy it?"

"No! Because you need to use magic weapons against it," said Pandit Rohan Ahuja. He considered for a moment, then said, "Although if I perform magic rituals over the bazooka and shells ... then ... yes, that will do it ... I think."

"You think?" asked a worried Terri Scott.

"As in maybe it will, and maybe it won't?" asked Colin Klein.

"Technically, I'm a Hindu priest, a Pandit, not a magician," pointed out Rohan Ahuja.

"Ha-ha, he got you both there," said Sheila, ignoring the glares that she received from Colin and Terri.


Deep in the forest, the Rakshasa stopped at an abandoned radio station it had discovered. The Houston Radio station operated from the mid-1920s until the mid-1960s. Then again, for a short time in 2024. [See my story, 'Music Of The Damned'.]

From the outside, the single-room corrugated-iron shack looked dilapidated, but inside it was spotless, as though the Rakshasa had always planned it as a love shack. It even had a bowl with fruit, stolen from nearby orchards. Picking up the bowl, the creature handed it to Shannon, who at first just stared at it, then, realising that she was starving, she took a large Jonathan Apple and started eating it, making the Rakshasa smile, as humanly as it could with large fangs protruding down over its bottom lip.

After eating, she asked, "How long are you planning on keeping me here?"

Puzzled, not understanding English, the creature stroked a hand through her long, blonde hair, then started licking her neck, before moving down to her breasts again.

Oh no! thought Shannon, as the creature pulled her into the middle of the abandoned radio station, and parted her shapely thighs, to climb between them again.


Over at the mandir (temple) at 190 to 210 Henry Street, Pandit Rohan Ahuja began a complicated ritual to magically bless the seven bazooka shells which they had brought into the temple.

"So the shells will end up like VORPAL blades," suggested Colin.

"Yes, said the Pandit."

"What does VORPAL mean?" asked Terri.

"Very old, rusty piece a ..." began Sheila. "Something starting with L which means crap."

"Sheila," cautioned the priest as he continued his rituals.

It took nearly three hours, but finally the ritual was completed.

Pointing at the bazooka shells, the Pandit said, "There are your seven VORPAL blades."

"Well, that's the easy part," said Colin. "Now comes the tricky part."

"Finding the Rakshasa so Sheils can fire them at him," finished Terri.

"Exactly."

"So how do we do that?" asked Sheila, almost itching from the need to fire the shells at the Hindu demon.

"I think it's time to hire Louie Pascall's Bell Huey again," suggested Terri.

"Shotgun!" called the Goth chick.

"Sheils, you always sit shotgun in the chopper."

"Yes, but in case you had any notion of changing the arrangement ...."

Louie Pascall landed his chopper outside the tiny Lenoak Police Station. When the three cops came out, he couldn't resist asking:

"Been demoted from Mitchell Street, back to the small time, Terri?"

"Until they rebuild Mitchell Street Station, yes."

"How's that coming?"

"Slowly, we don't have a high priority, since they claim shop owners are losing their livelihoods, whereas we just have to squeeze into a cupboard-sized station in Morcambe Street."

"Well ..." began Louie, stopping when he saw Sheila carrying the bazooka. "That will have to go in the back with Terri and Colin."

"How come?"

"So you don't get excited, and kill us all by firing it in the chopper," said Colin.

Reluctantly, the Goth policewoman handed the bazooka to Colin, who placed it in the rear of the chopper, along with the seven blessed shells.

"What are those?" asked a worried-sounding pilot.

"Seven small VORPAL blades," teased Sheila.

Over the next three days, they hunted without luck for the Rakshasa. But, happy with Shannon Tallboy as it's 'uncommon law wife', the creature failed to murder or rape anyone during that time.

"With any luck, it's headed interstate," suggested Louie.

"Don't say that," pleaded Sheila, desperate to fire the bazooka again.

It was almost 4:30 on the afternoon of the third day when they saw the rusted-out shack amid the trees below."Hey, what's that?" asked Sheila Bennett.

As they went a little lower, Terri said, "The Houston Radio Station, where the Music of the Damned blared out last year, driving everyone insane."

"Should we check it out?" asked Louie.

"Well, we haven't seen any place else it might be hiding in three days," pointed out Terri.

As they started to land, the Rakshasa suddenly ran out of the corrugated iron shack, shook its right paw at the descending chopper, and roared silently, its voice unheard over the whur-whur-whur of the Bell Huey.

"That's our bebee," said Sheila, reaching back for the bazooka.

"You are not firing it in here!" shouted Colin, Terri, and Louie.

"Spoilsports," sulked the Goth policewoman.

As the helicopter continued landing, the creature took off into the forest, hoping to lead the police away from his prize inside the shack.

"Go down far enough for me to drop out to check if Shannon Tallboy is in the radio station," instructed Terri, "then go after it."

Doing as instructed, Louie lowered the chopper to within a hundred and fifty centimetres of the ground, allowing Terri to drop out. Then he took it back up to chase after the fleeing monster.

"It really does look like a Rastafarian goat-like, bear-like thingy," said Sheila as they raced after it.


Inside the shack, Terri found the twenty-something blonde distressed, flooding semen from her vagina, but alive. The policewoman quickly called for the air ambulance to come and collect her.


"Try to get ahead of the creature," instructed Colin, "then we can go down with the bazooka and shells."

"Gotcha," said Louie, managing to overtake the Rakshasa, despite its seemingly supernatural speed.

As they landed a hundred metres ahead of the creature, Sheila grabbed the bazooka and one of the shells. Colin unloaded the other six shells, then signalled for Louie to take the chopper back up to safety.

Once the Bell Huey was safely above them, Sheila aimed the Bazooka at the Rakshasa and fired. Missing only because the creature leapt to its left.

"Hey, stand still, so I can kill you!" shouted the Goth chick.

"Sheils, that's hardly motivation," said Colin, handing her another shell.

This time, as she aimed at the creature, trying to outguess it, at the last second, the Goth policewoman swung the bazooka to the right and fired.

Hitting the Rakshasa dead on as it leapt that way.

"Yatzy!" cried Sheila, as the shell exploded, splattering the creature into mincemeat. Looking at Colin, she asked, "Should I give it another one?"

"Sure, why not, while you're having fun?" said the redheaded policeman, handing her another VORPAL shell.

Again, it was a direct hit, leaving no possible doubt that the monster was dead.

"Yatzy!" cried Sheila again, almost throwing the bazooka into the air in her excitement.

At that moment, Colin's phone rang, and Louie asked, "Is it safe to land yet, or will the mad Goth chick shoot me out of the sky in her excitement?"

"I'd give her another five minutes to calm down," advised Colin.

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