AFREET

An evil Afreet comes to Glen Hartwell and starts killing people

Abdullah Aziz and his family immigrated to Australia ten years ago (February 2015), but they only moved to Glen Hartwell in the Victorian Countryside eight months ago, in July 2024.

Abdulla and his wife, son, and two daughters were seated in the countryside a few hundred metres outside Glen Hartwell township, having their first picnic lunch in Glen Hartwell.

"Goat meat?" asked Fatima Aziz, holding out a plate toward her two daughters.

Zahra, thirteen, and Amira, fourteen, looked horrified at the suggestion.

"No, thanks, Mum," said Zahra, "we'll stick to the chicken."

"Yeah, the chicken is great, Mum," said Amira.

"You girls should not be ashamed of your heritage," chided their mother. "Goat is a traditional food in Islamic culture."

"Yes, but we're Aussies," insisted Zahra. "Aussies don't eat goat meat."

"They do if they are Muslims," chided Abdullah.

"Not if they're teenage girls, who prefer chicken," countered Amira.

"It really is great chicken, Mum," placated Zahra.

"You should be more respectful of your mother," said Imran Aziz, their only brother, at eighteen.

"How is saying the chicken is great in any way disrespectful?" asked Amira.

"You are not even wearing veils," said Imran.

"Ah, duh, Aussie teenage girls don't hide their faces," said Zahra.

"Yes, I have noticed you both paint your faces, like scarlet women."

"How does lippy and a little rouge make us scarlet women?" asked Amira.

"Whatever they are?" added Zahra.

"Now you are cheeking me!" insisted Imran.

"Firstly, you're not Mum or Dad, you're our bossy big brother," said Amira.

"Secondly, it's an Aussie tradition that teenage girls cheek their big brothers," added Zahra.

"Well, it's a tradition that ends now!" said Fatima sternly. "In Islamic societies, women should show respect, even deference to their husbands and brothers."

"Glen Hartwell isn't an Islamic society," pointed out Amira. "Most Glen Hartwellians are Christians, with some Jews, Hindus, and even an odd atheist or two," said Zahra. "But the Islamic community is only about fifty people."

"All the more reason for those fifty people to stick rigidly to Muslim traditions!" insisted Imran. "So our culture does not get swallowed up in the Australian Christian-Judean traditions."

"What does that even mean?" demanded Zahra.

"It means, as Muslims, we must stick together and support Mohammed and Allah and the Quran loyally, even fervently," said Fatima.

"Actually," said Amira, ignoring the head shaking from her younger sister, "my boyfriend, Seth Ryan, is a Catholic, and I promised to start attending St. Margaret's Church at Blackland Street from next Sunday." Ignoring the horrified stares of Imran and her parents, foolishly, she continued, "I'm not sure that I'm ready to convert to Catholicism yet, but Father Thomas Montague has been very encouraging, without being pushy."

"What!" demanded Abdullah, his face flushed tomato red. "I cannot believe the blasphemy that I am hearing from my eldest daughter's lips."

"Blasphemy!" repeated Fatima and Imran as one.

"Our family has always followed the one true faith, Islam!" insisted Abdullah.

"Not if it goes back before 610 AD, that's when Islam was made up!" said Amira.

"Made up!" cried Abdulla, Imran, and Fatima together.

"Well, it didn't exist before then."

"Sis, now would be a good time to shut up," whispered Zahra.

"610 might be when the term Islam came into being," said Abdullah, looking ready to explode. "But Allah himself goes back before the dawn of time!"

"So how come no one knew about him until 610 AD?"

"Sis, what part of 'a good time to shut up' are you too suicidal to understand?" demanded Zahra.

"I'm just saying!"

"Well, don't say!" insisted Abdullah. "I have always tried to be more lenient toward your mother and you two girls than many Islamic men. But maybe I have gone too far, allowing you to stray too far from your faith."

"Islam isn't my faith!" insisted Amira. "I have just decided to convert to Catholicism!"

"You, wicked, wicked girl," said Fatima, for the first time ever slapping Amira across the face.

"How dare, you, you bitch!" shouted Amira.

Leaping to her feet, she raced deeper into the forest, crying as she ran.

"Go after her, Imran," said Abdulla; however, the youth was already on his feet, racing after the runaway girl.

"Amira, come back here, you silly girl!" called Imran as he ran.

Older and stronger than his sister, Imran caught up barely a hundred metres into the forest.

"Come back here, you silly girl!" Imran repeated, grabbing his sister by the arm.

"No," she cried, trying to pull out of his grip. "I am never going home."

"So you are planning to live out in the forest from now on?"

"Maybe," said Amira. Then, realising how silly that was, "No, I'll move in with Seth and his family."

Shocked, Imran stepped away from his sister, releasing her arm, "You would live in sin!"

"Not necessarily," said Amira, careful not to rule it out. "The Ryans have a spare bedroom on the first storey."

"That is almost as bad, at only fourteen!" cried Imran.

"How is living...?" began Amira, stopping as there was not so much an explosion as a loud puff a few metres away.

"What in the name of Allah?" said Imran.

Seeing a large, purplish figure shrouded in smoke. Smoke that began at his knees, below which there was no sign of his body.

"Holy shit, are you a Genie from a bottle?" asked Amira hopefully. "Do I get three wishes, or maybe even five?"

"No, blasphemer!" shrieked the Afreet. "You get only death and an eternity in the Underworld."

"Just because I wanna change my religion?"

"Yes!" shrieked the Afreet.

He pointed his arms at the teenage girl, and great streams of purple and red smoke billowed from his fingertips, engulfing the girl and her brother.

In seconds, Amira and Imran were screaming as their souls were burnt away first, before their bodies were reduced to so much charcoal.

"Thus ends all blasphemers against the Lord Allah!" cried the Afreet, then with a wave of his hands, his form began to swirl into purple smoke, before finally dissolving away.


At the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, on the 2nd of March 2025, they had just finished one of Deidre Morton's Magnificent and bountiful meals.

"Magnifique," said Colin Klein.

At forty-nine, he had worked as a top London crime reporter for thirty years before retiring and starting employment with the Glen Hartwell Police.

"Exquisite," agreed Terri Scott.

At thirty-six, the beautiful ash blonde was top-cop of the BeauLarkin to Willamby area, as well as Colin's fiancée.

"Yeah, great, especially the red-wine sauce," said Tommy Turner, a reformed alcoholic, due to Deidre Morton finding and locking away his stash.

"I knew you'd like that," said Deidre, a short, plumpish sixty-something brunette, whose cooking skills were up to cordon bleu standards."

Looking across to where Sheila Bennett was reading a newspaper, Terri asked, "What's that you're reading, Sheils? It doesn't look like the Glen Hartwell Enquirer?"

"It's not," said the orange-and-black haired Goth chick, who was the second-top cop of the area. "It's the Glen Hartwell Islamic Community News."

"I didn't know we had an Islamic Community in Glen Hartwell?" asked Leo Laxman, a tall, thin Jamaican by birth, working as a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"'Cause we have," said Sheila, lowering the paper. "There's a mosque at 97 William Jantz Way, the last street at the Northern end of G.H., before it turns into forestland. It's run by Imam Mohammad Husayn, a very nice man."

"How does she know all this stuff?" asked Natasha Lipzing. At seventy-one, the oldest resident at the Yellow House.

"I like to keep up with our constituents," said Sheila.

"So do we," said Terri, "but we don't know one tenth of the stuff you do."

"And she used to say she had a lousy memory," teased Colin.

"I like to keep up," said Sheila. "For the last few Friday nights, I've been attending services at the mosque, to learn something about Islam and to get to know some of our Muslim Glen Hartwellians."

"So that's where she's been vanishing to the last few Friday evenings," said Freddy Kingston.

A tall, stout, recent retiree, Freddy was bald apart from a thin ruff of curly black hair around the back and sides of his head.

"I would've invited you lot," said Sheila, "but I didn't think you were as open-minded as me."

Looking shocked, Terri said, "I think she just insulted us."

"Sounded like it," agreed Colin.

"Well, you are rather set in your ways."

"Girl doesn't know when to keep her yap shut," teased Leo.


Having heard the screaming, Abdullah, Fatima, and Zahra Aziz raced deeper into the forest, looking for Amira and Imran.

"I am so sorry," cried Fatima, "this is all my fault. I should never have slapped the girl."

"It's not your fault, woman ..." started Abdullah, stopping as he saw the two charred corpses lying amid the pine needles and gum leaves which carpeted the forest floor.

Realising what the ashes were, Abdullah and Fatima dropped to their knees and started wailing in distress, while Zahra fainted.


Terri and the others had just started out in Terri's police-blue Lexus when the top cop's phone rang. Opening her mobile, she spoke for a few minutes, then disconnected, and said:

"That was Suzette Cummings at the police station. She's just received a hysterical call from someone called Abdullah Aziz. Seems two of his kids have been reduced to carbon somehow in the forest outside G.H."

"Abdullah and his family are all parishioners at the mosque in William Jantz Way," said Sheila. "Not too strict with their kids, the two girls at least being very Aussified, if that's a word."

"I repeat, how does she know all this stuff?" asked Colin.

"Anyway, Suzette has already rung through to Jesus, Tilly, and Elvis, so they should be on their way ..."

Terri stopped as five ambulances roared past them, sirens blaring.

"I think you were gonna say, they're already on their way," teased Sheila.

Twenty minutes or so later, Terri and co. arrived at the death site. Abdullah, Fatima, and Zahra were already in ambulances, sedated, ready for transportation to the hospital.

Jesus Costello, Tilly Lombstrom, and Elvis Green were standing around, staring at two piles of human-shaped charcoal.

"We didn't know how to examine them," said Jesus, the administrator and top surgeon at the Glen Hartwell Hospital.

"So, we decided to wait for you to have a gander," said Tilly. Jesus's second in charge, Tilly, was a tall, attractive, fifty-something brunette.

"Yeech, what happened here?" asked Sheila, staring at the two carbonised teenagers.

"Your guess is as good as ours," said Elvis, the local coroner, and an avid Elvis Presley fan.

"So how do we proceed, Chief?" asked Donald Esk, a tall, muscular, raven-haired sergeant.

"Sheils can snap off a few pix first, then just transport them to the hospital, and see what, if anything, you can work out by way of an autopsy."

"Assuming they don't both fall apart when we first touch them," said Tilly.

"Excellent, I'm glad we understand each other," teased Terri.


It was 11:00 PM, and the seven teens were walking slowly down William Jantz Way, trying unsuccessfully not to look like they had evil on their minds.

"I'm not so sure about this," said Tasha, a sixteen-year-old honey blonde.

"What's not to be sure about?" demanded her boyfriend Ravi, a tall Indo-Aussie youth. "They wage war against our British way of life and expect us to welcome them with open arms in our country."

"Yeah," said Tasha's cousin, Mikhail, an eighteen-year-old with long, greasy blond hair.

"But it doesn't seem right," persisted Tasha.

"I'm with Tash," said her younger sister, Raylene, also a blonde.

"Oh, you always agree with Tash," said Hennessy, at nineteen, the oldest of the seven.

"Yeah, don't be whimps," teased Kenji, a seventeen-year-old Japanese-Australian. "Or should that be whimpettes?"

"Very funny ... Not!" said Raylene.

"They're right, though, we can't let these foreigners take over our country!" insisted Jakub, who at seventeen had only immigrated with his family from Poland two years ago.

"Still, it doesn't seem right," protested Tasha. "They haven't done anything to us."

"Cause they have," insisted Mikhail. "They're taking over our country with their strange, non-Christian ways!"

"Well, I don't want to do it," insisted Tasha. "I'm going home."

"Me too," said Raylene. She started back down the street with her sister, then stopped and asked, "I don't suppose one of you boys would walk us home?"

"You don't suppose right," said Ravi. "We have important work to do, standing up for the Australian way of life."

"Then screw the lot of you!" said Raylene, running to catch up with Tasha.

"If only!" shouted Hennessy. "Then we might be prepared to walk you home."

"Don't worry, sis," said Tasha, "it's perfectly safe to walk through the streets of G.H. at night."

"Are you kidding?" asked Raylene. "If the term Zombie Apocalypse hadn't already existed, they would have made it up to describe Glen Hartwell."

"Don't exaggerate!" Kenji called after the two girls. Then to the boys, "Although it is a great song, 'Zombie Apocalypse' by the Public Enemies!"

"Best instrumental rock song since 'Fanfare for the Common Man' by Emerson, Lake, and Palmer," agreed Mikhail.

"Stop nattering, girls and concentrate," said Hennessy as they reached 97 William Jantz Way, a large, multi-domed structure with numerous thin but tall arched windows.

The five boys were each carrying heavy cloth bags. Reaching into their bags, they took out a couple of large rocks each and started throwing them at the arched windows. The first seven rocks missed the windows and hit the concrete walls, doing minimal damage.

"Concentrate, ladies!" cried Ravi, although his first shot had also missed the windows.

However, his second shot connected with the first of the four windows facing into William Jantz Way. There was only a tiny jangling sound. The window cracked slightly, but did not shatter. However, a second stone thrown by Jakub landed in the same spot, and the crack widened noticeably.

When three more stones connected around the same spot, the window finally cracked wide open.

Kenji unleashed another stone, which did no damage, flying straight through the hole in the window, crashing into the mosque.

"Why are you wasting ammo?" demanded Ravi, as though they were at war.

"Not all the glass has fallen out of the window."

"And there are still three completely unsmashed windows," pointed out Ravi, racing across to collect some of the stones which had bounced off the walls or windows. "Let's get them all smashed before we worry about getting the last of the glass out of that window."

"Fair enough," said Kenji.

The five boys moved a metre or so to the right and started hurling rocks at the second window. Again, the first few rocks missed and rebounded from the concrete sections of the wall. Then, they started to get their aim and five stones in quick succession smashed against the second window, which exploded like a mini grenade, leaving virtually no glass in the frame.

"Now, that's more like it, you blokes," said Hennessy.

Laughing now, the boys moved across to the third window, and despite a few misses, soon most of the glass lay shattered upon the footpath or inside the mosque.

"Now you're getting it!" cried Ravi, like all the boys getting an adrenaline rush as the mayhem continued.

"This is so cool," said Mikhail, as he threw the first stone toward the fourth window. In his excitement, he missed the window, and the stone rebounded, almost hitting Kenji.

"Hey, watch out," protested Kenji. "I'm not the target."

"And we're almost out of stones," said Hennessy, "so we've gotta make them count if we want to take out all four windows."

"There are plenty more on the ground," pointed out Mikhail. "No reason why we can't reuse them."

"All right, smartarse," said Kenji, and the four boys raced across to pick up all of the stones which had not gone into the mosque.

At first, the fourth window seemed unbreakable, but as the boys continued hurling stones, it finally exploded with a satisfying boom.

"Almost like a bomb!" said Jakub in excitement, his face seemingly shining in the night.

"Yeah, it did sound like a bomb," said Hennessy, "so we'd better get out of here before anyone comes to investigate."

"You're not wrong," said Ravi.

Finally, with their work finished, the adrenaline rush had gone and all five boys suddenly realised that they could spend years in gaol, or at least Juvenile Hall, if caught.

"Let's amscray," agreed Jakub.

The five boys turned to run back along William Jantz Way, but stopped as there was a sudden explosion in front of them. Purple and red smoke gushed out of the footpath as though it were spraying out coloured mist.

"What in the name of Christ?" asked Kenji.

"Do not blaspheme against the prophet, Jesus," said the Afreet, a large, purplish figure shrouded in smoke. Smoke that began at his knees, below which there was no sign of his body.

"Who are you? What are you?" stammered Ravi.

"I am Afreet," said the creature, "I come to punish blasphemers against the house of the one true Lord, Allah."

"Allah, Smallah," said Hennessy, "Jesus is the one true Lord."

"Yahwe-Jehovah," corrected Mikhail, a Jehovah's witness. "Jesus is the son of God, not God himself."

"Silence!" shouted the Afreet and Hennessy together.

"Allah is the one true God!" shouted the Afreet.

To prove his point, he pointed his arms at Hennessy and great streams of purple and red smoke billowed from his fingertips, engulfing the youth and swirling around him.

The boy began screaming and crying, trying without success to flee the burning mists. His screaming reached operatic level as his souls were burnt away first, before his body was reduced to a charcoal statue of the boy in the foetal position.

"Run for your lives!" shouted Ravi.

He and Jakub started running down William Jantz Way, while Mikhail and Kenji stood bound to the spot, too terrified to run.

"Run, blasphemers, run!" cried the Afreet, laughing at their wasted efforts.

He waited until they were almost out of sight, giving the teenagers false hope, then held out his smoky arms and sprayed out great streams of purple and red smoke from his fingertips, engulfing the youths and swirling around them.

Screaming and swirling like whirling dervishes, the two teenagers tried unsuccessfully to beat out the flames, even as their souls, then their bodies, burnt away.

"Try to fight the flames of damnation, if you dare!" cried the Afreet, laughing again, at the terror and excruciating agony of the youths being burnt alive.

The two youths swirled in the death-giving mists, then finally, they collapsed to the footpath, charcoal statues that had recently been teenage boys.

"Three down, two to go!" cried the Afreet, enjoying himself. Then, seeing Mikhail and Kenji huddled together in terror, he stopped laughing. "For Allah's sake, at least try to make a game of it! Run for your lives!"

"What would be the point?" muttered Kenji. "We can't outrun your flames. The others tried and failed."

"Look at them now," said Mikhail, pointing at the three charcoal statues of teenage boys in the foetal position.

The Afreet said in exasperation, "You two are no fun. At least the other three gave me some sport!"

"If killing is your fun, go ahead," said Kenji.

Sighing in frustration, the Afreet aimed his hands at the two cowering boys, and the death-giving red and purple mists spewed out again, covering the two boys. Despite themselves, Kenji and Mikhail started spinning like Dervishes as their souls burnt away, then screaming like Banshees as their bodies incinerated.

Still unhappy at the behaviour of Mikhail and Kenji, the Afreet waved his arms around and disappeared in a puff of smoke as instantly as he had appeared.

Leaving behind five carbonised bodies, the last two clinging together, looking for all the world like Pompeii's two-sisters, who, after DNA testing, turned out to be young boys, not girls.

After the Afreet vanished, a handful of people came out of their houses and shone torches to see what had happened. Not seeing the five carbonised corpses, merely the smashed mosque windows, they shrugged and returned to their houses.

"No point bringing the cops out at this hour, sirens blaring, just for a bloody mosque," said a redheaded man, leading his wife back indoors.

"Yeah, we can report it tomorrow after breakfast," agreed a blue-rinsed old woman who lived next door to him.


They had just settled down to breakfast at 7:00 at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, the next morning when Terri's phone rang.

"Oh, no!" cried Sheila Bennett. "Why must people ring at brekkie time?"

"Or lunchtime, or tea time," teased Colin Klein. "We are cops, Sheils, we're on duty 24/7."

"Well, considerate crims, or monsters, would wreak their chaos between meal times," insisted the Goth chick."

"Then it'd be morning tea or afternoon tea time," teased Tommy Turner.

Terri spoke on the phone for a couple of minutes, then disconnected before saying, "That was Suzette at the mosque at William Jantz Way. It seems some hoons have smashed in all the front windows in the night."

"Bastards!" said Sheila, no longer concerned about missing breakfast.

"There's also the charcoaled remains of what looks like five teenagers."

"Oh!" said Colin as they got up to leave.


Half an hour later, they were standing outside the mosque, alongside Jesus Costello, Tilly Lombstrom, and Elvis Green, who were doing whatever they could to examine the remains of the five boys.

"Like last time, they were reduced to charcoal statues," said Jesus.

"Though the Lord only knows how," added Tilly.

"Anywhere except Glen Hartwell, I would say it was impossible," said Elvis.

Standing around the mosque were Imam Muhammad Husayn and some of his parishioners. Sheila went across to hug the Imam, not certain if it was the right thing to do, but feeling as sick to the stomach as the religious leader looked.

"Why would anyone do such a thing?" asked the Imam.

"Xenophobia. The fear of anything different," said Terri. "The Yanks and their so-called War Against Terror have brought about a worldwide state of paranoia in the Christian-Judean world."

"They should have listened to Imran Khan after the 9/11 attacks," said Colin. "He wisely said the Americans, before retaliating, should step back and take a long, hard look at themselves, to see why the rest of the world hates them."

"That's not the American way," said Sheila. "Truth and Justice the American Way, means blaming everyone except yourself ... Even when you're guilty of war crimes!"

"Sad, but true, Sheila," said the Imam, returning her hug.

They were still taking pictures and trying to make sense of the previous night's activities when a grey BMW pulled up beside the mosque.

"Sorry, sir, this is a crime scene," said Suzette Cummings, a short, raven-haired eighteen-year-old trainee.

"I've got some information about last night's outrages," said a tall, balding man. "Or rather, my two daughters have."

Looking sheepish, Tasha and Raylene reluctantly exited the BMW.

Walking across, Terri asked, "Mr. Harriman, do you have information for us?"

"Yes, or rather my daughters do." Then sternly, "Tasha! Raylene."

"We were with the boys at first last night," said Tasha.

"Which boys?" asked Terri.

"Ravi Ahuja, Mikhail Sidorov, Hennessy James, Kenji Tanaka, and Jakub Adamik," explained Raylene.

"Were you with them when they desecrated the mosque?" demanded their father.

"No, Dad!" cried both girls.

"We tried to talk them out of it," insisted Tasha. "Live and let live is my motto."

"But the boys wouldn't be reasoned with," finished Raylene. "So we left, hoping they'd give up and follow us."

"No such luck," said Tasha, staring down at her feet.

"Thank you, girls," said Terri, then to their father. "If you could go with Suzette to the Mitchell Street Police Station, she can take down official statements from Tasha and Raylene."

"Come on, girls!" said their father, making it plain it was not a request.

Returning to the others, Terri said, "Well, we now know who the boys were," telling them the five names. "Now if only we knew how they had been reduced to carbon statues?"

"Gee, none of those boys seemed like extreme racists," said Sheila Bennett.

"Xenophobia, as I said before," explained Terri. "It can turn the most reasonable people into animals!"

"That's a little unfair to animals," said Sheila.


An hour later, the five carcases had been transported to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. For a while, Terri, Sheila, and Colin stood around the basement morgue watching the doctors puzzling over these latest corpses, before heading back to Mitchell Street to see that Suzette had taken the statements of Tasha and Raylene Harriman.

Then it was a matter of tedious footwork, as Terri and all of the local cops patrolled William Jantz Way, desperately hoping to find witnesses to whatever had happened. By lunchtime, they were exhausted and frustrated, with nobody admitting to seeing or hearing anything.

"So much for Neighbourhood Watch," said Sheila, as they started for the Yellow House for lunch.

"It's more like Neighbourhood Don't Care around here," said Colin.


The sun had just set when Borys Sidorov, Theobald James, and Antoni Adamik ambled down Dirk Hartog Place. The three boys, the younger brothers of Hennessy James, Mikhail Sidorov, and Jakub Adamik, had decided to get revenge for the deaths of their brothers and friends the night before.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Antoni, at sixteen, the youngest of the three teenagers.

"'Cause we're sure," said Borys, seventeen. "What's not to be sure about?"

"Whether Imam Whatsisname is responsible for their deaths?" asked Antoni, the most sheepish of the three boys.

"They were barbecued outside his stinkin' mosque," said eighteen-year-old Theo, "so it's his fault."

"The sins of the Fathers and all that crap," said Borys.

"How does that apply?" asked Antoni, puzzled. "And they were there to smash up the mosque."

"The mosque can be fixed," said Theo, as though that justified the racist attack upon it. "Hennessy and the others can't be brought back to life."

"Can't be brought back to life," echoed Borys.

"Even so," said Antoni, not happy about their plans to attach a religious leader. Even a Muslim religious leader! he thought.

"So are we all in on it?" demanded Theo.

"All in!" said Borys excitedly, experiencing an adrenaline rush at the thought of what they intended to do.

When Antoni hesitated, Theo said, "Look, we're not gonna kill anybody, just smash up the place and maybe put a few people in the hospital. A few broken bones, nothing too serious."

"A few broken bones!" echoed Borys, smirking.

Sensing they were waiting for his response, reluctantly, Antoni said, "All in."

"Okay, we're the three musketeers," said Theo, "out for justice."

If the three musketeers wore hoodies and carried pinch bars and claw hammers, thought Antoni.


Imam Muhammad Husayn and his family were sitting down to a late dinner, roast lamb, with roast potatoes, carrots, and pumpkin, plus boiled peas and beans, all with rich lamb gravy. All made only with Halal ingredients.

First, however, the Imam said grace to Allah, while his three sons, Ali, Javed, and Omar, his daughter, Sidra, and his wife, Maryam, bowed their heads.

The Imam finished, "Allahumma barik lana fima razaqtana waqina athaban-nar!" (O God! Bless the food You have provided us and save us from the punishment of hellfire!)

"Now we may eat the bounty that Allah has provided," said Maryam.

"Yummy, I love roast lamb," said Sidra, at twelve, the youngest member of the Husayn family.

"Please wait for your father to serve out the meal," instructed Maryam, as Sidra reached with her fork for a piece of roast carrot.

"Sorry, Mum," apologised the girl.

"In the old country, you would have to serve us, then wait until Dad and we were all satisfied before you could even eat," teased Ali, aged nineteen.

"You were born a year after Mum and Dad came to Australia," protested Sidra, "how do you know what the old country was like?"

"Dad and Mum have told me," protested the boy.

"Well, give me Australia any day," said Javed, less chauvinistic than Ali.

"Blasphemy!" said Ali sternly, making his whole family laugh at him.

"What's so great about Australia?" demanded Omar. "Would the mosque have been vandalised in the old country?"

"In this day and age, quite possibly," said Maryam.

"Yes, despite the bigotry of a small number of Aussies, Australia is a much safer country than the old world," said Muhammad, finally serving his hungry daughter.

"And we have met many nice people in Glen Hartwell, like Sheila Bennett, Terri Scott, and Colin Klein," said Maryam.

"I think being in the Southern Hemisphere helps," insisted Javed. "The Northern Hemisphere is so war-mad."

"That's for sure," said Sidra, getting stuck into her meal, carrots, cauliflower, then pumpkin first. She always left the peas, roast potatoes and meat to last.

"If you don't want your meat, I'll have it," teased Omar, reaching out toward his sister's plate with his fork.

"You know I always eat my favourites last," said Sidra, pulling her plate toward herself.

"Stop teasing your sister," said Imam Muhammad with a broad grin.


Having finally reached 101 Dirk Hartog Place, Theo, Borys, and Antoni took out the hammers and pinch bars they had been carrying in their school bags.

"Time to teach some foreigners not to mess with Aussies," said Theo.

"Not to mess with Aussies," agreed Borys.

"It's still not too late to stop," pleaded Antoni.

"It must be her time of the month," teased Theo, making Borys bray like a donkey.

"I just meant ..." began Antoni.

"Should we smash in the windows?" asked Borys.

"No, let's keep it simple," said Theo. Raising a claw hammer, he rapped loudly on the solid oaken door.


"Who can that be, at meal time?" asked Muhammad.

"I'll get it," said Ali. "If I may be excused."

"Of course," said Muhammad.

"Hello," said Ali, after opening the front door.

"Hello, to you," said Theo, slamming the head of the hammer into the teenager's forehead.

Ali screamed as the hammer smashed through the flesh, causing blood to gush across Theo.

"Avon calling!" said Borys, before braying with laughter again.

Borys and Theo raced into the hallway. However, Antoni dropped his jemmy and knelt to see what he could do for the teen boy who had started to go into convulsions.

Please, don't die! thought Antoni, pressing two clean handkerchiefs against the muslin boy's head, without managing to stop the flow of blood.

"Where the Hell is Toni?" asked Borys as he and Theo headed down the corridor toward the dining room.

"Forget sissy boy, we've got work to do!"

"Although it's more like pleasure than work," said Borys, donkey-braying again.


"Ali, who is it?" called Muhammad, hearing footsteps approaching down the corridor.

When he received no answer, he opened the door.

"The Easter Bunny," said Theo, slamming the pinch bar into his face.

While Borys donkey-brayed at the joke, Sidra and Maryam screamed, and Javed and Omen made the mistake of challenging the two teenagers to protect their mother and sister.

"Leave this house at once!" ordered Javed, trying to sound braver than he felt.

"You killed our brothers!" accused Borys, slamming his pinch bar down onto Javed's head, knocking the teenager unconscious, blood spraying from his pate..

"Quiet, idiot, or they'll know who we are," said Theo.

"I meant you killed our friends ... barbecued them, so it's your turn to die!"

"We're only here to hurt them," reminded Theo, worried that Borys might lose control and really kill someone.

To make his point, Theo smashed his hammer repeatedly upon the mahogany dining table, taking great chunks of wood out of it.

Ignoring the two screaming females, Borys advanced upon fourteen-year-old Omar.

"I don't want any trouble," pleaded Omar.


At the front of the house, unable to stop Ali's forehead from gushing blood, Antoni had used his mobile to ring for an ambulance. He'll die if I don't, sorry mates! He thought.


"Oh, you've got plenty of trouble, mate," said Borys, swinging the pinch bar at Omar's head.

At the same moment, Sidra threw a bread-and-butter plate at the teenager. It connected with Borys's head, making him drop the pinch bar.

"See how you like it," said Omar. Grabbing up the pinch bar, he slammed it into Borys's stomach, winding the teenager, who collapsed to the floor.

"What the fuck?" asked Theo, having thought the family would be easy beats.

"Now it's your turn to feel pain," said Omar, racing at Theo, adrenaline surging.

"Leave me alone," cried Theo, dropping his hammer.

Grabbing the gasping Borys, he dragged him out in the corridor to abandon the fight, almost falling over Antoni and Ali as they ran out the doorway and straight into Dirk Hartog Place.

"Let's ... get ... outta here," gasped Borys, still struggling to breathe.

"You comin'?" Theo called to Antoni.

"No, I can't leave him," called the teenager, using his T-shirt in a bid to stop Ali's forehead from spraying blood.

"Then, let's go," said Theo.

Stopping, as there was not so much an explosion as a loud puff a few metres away. Then a large, purplish figure shrouded in swirling purple and red smoke appeared before the two teenagers. Smoke that began at his knees.

"Who are you? What are you?" demanded Theo.

Thinking he was hallucinating from fear, the teenager rubbed at his eyes with his knuckles.

"I am justice! Revenge for your blasphemy against the one true faith!" said the Afreet.

"The one true faith," started Borys, wisely stopping before saying, 'is Christianity.'

"Islam, you infidels!" said the Afreet.

Holding his hands out toward the two teenagers, he sprayed out his death-giving red and purple fires, starting Theo alight.

"Help me!" screamed Theo, as the flames burnt away his soul first, then started upon his flesh, which was soon reduced to carbon, till he collapsed to the ground like a charcoal statue.

Having been missed by the flames, Borys started at a run, down William Jantz Way, even as the sound of sirens came from the distance.

"You cannot escape justice!" cried the Afreet.

Aiming his hands again, he fired a massive burst of the purple and red flames down the street, until Borys was enveloped, swirling like a Dervish as his soul burnt away from his body, which was soon reduced to carbon.

Watching from the doorway, even as he administered to Ali, Antoni expected the Afreet to come after him next. Indeed, the creature turned and looked at him for a moment. Then, seeing him helping the Muslim teenager, the Afreet waved its arms around and quickly vanished into a swirl of purple, red, and blue mist.

Seconds later, all six of Glen Hartwell's ambulances pulled up outside 101 Dirk Hartog Place.

Derek Armstrong, a tall, muscular black American by birth, and Cheryl Pritchard, at sixty-four, the senior paramedic of the region, raced out of the first ambulance carrying a stretcher.

"Over here!" called Antoni Adamik. "I tried staunching the bleeding with my T-shirt without much success."

"Leave him to us," said Cheryl. She applied an Ambulance Australia black and white bath towel to his forehead and pushed down firmly.

"There's probably more inside the house," called Antonio as other paramedics raced forward with stretchers. "Down the hallway."

"Lucky you were here," said Derek to Antonio.

"I was with them," admitted the teenager, looking down at his hands. "But after Theo knocked a bloody great hole in the bloke's head, I couldn't leave him to die."

They were still talking as two stretchers were carried out of the house, past them, containing Muhammad Husayn and his son Javed, with two paramedics leading Omar, Maryam, and Sidra.

The ambulances were loaded and already starting toward the hospital when, siren blaring, Terri Scott's police-blue Lexus pulled up

"As always, the cavalry arrives late," teased Cheryl Pritchard before starting the ambulance, siren blaring as they headed off.

"How dare you? We're in the nick, as always," said Sheila as the cops stepped out into Dirk Hartog Place.

"It's happened again," said Colin, pointing to the carbonised body of Theobald James.

"That's Theo James," said Antonio, "the ringleader."

"There's another down here," said Terri, shining her torch down the street to where Borys's carbonised body lay on the footpath.

"That's Borys Sidorov," said Antonio.

"Mikhail's younger brother?" asked Sheila.

"Yes," said Antoni, as two paramedics placed the charcoal statues into the rear of the sixth ambulance.

"We don't usually take two in one ambulance," said a tall redheaded female paramedic. "But I don't think these two will mind."

Antoni hesitated for a moment, then hurriedly told Terri and the others everything the three teenagers had set out to do, up until he had stopped to help Ali.

"Well, you weren't involved in any of the mayhem, so, assuming none of the Husayns die, you should get off with a warning," said Terri, as they led Antoni away to take him to the Mitchell Street Police Station to get his statement typed up.

"He probably saved Ali's life," said Colin as Sheila started the Lexus.


It was three days later before they could talk to Imam Muhammad Husayn.

They told him what Antoni Adamik told them about the purple figure in the swirling smoke.

"An Ifrit, efreet, afrit, or afreet," said the Imam. "An Afreet is a powerful type of demon in Islamic culture. They are often identified with the Underworld and associated with spirits of the dead, and have been compared to evil geniī in European culture. In Quran, hadith, and Mi'raj narrations, the term is always followed by the phrase 'among the jinn'. In later folklore, they developed into independent entities, identified as powerful demons or spirits of the dead. Their true habitat is the Jahannam or the Underworld.

"In some legends, the Afreet is simply an evil demon who will murder anyone, good or evil. But some legends refer to it as an avenging spirit, which only kills those who blaspheme against Islam and Allah."

"Something tells me that's the kind we've got here," said Sheila.

"Yes, especially based on what Antoni said about it sparing him because he helped Ali," said Colin.

"Yes, I am grateful," said Muhammad, "a beautiful blonde nurse told me how the young man had saved my eldest son. So, I forgive him for whatever he originally intended to do."

"And we'll put in a good word for him in court," said Terri.

"Is there any need for a court case?" asked the Imam. "I've been told Ali and Javed will recover fully. And the two who attacked us have been dealt with."

"Well...?" said Terri, considering.

"Uh-oh, don't encourage her, Muhammad," said Colin Klein. "It's a crime what these two get away with, with Glen Hartwell being so far from the prying eyes of the Chief Commissioner of Police, away in Melbourne."

"I think he just maligned us," teased Sheila.

"Actually, it's the Assistant Commissioner who usually shouts at me," said Terri. "I mean, whom I normally deal with?"

"I think that says it all," said Colin with a grin.

"So, how do we deal with this Afreet?" asked Sheila. "We've been lucky the last few days; there have been no more racial attacks."

"Partly because someone leaked the story of the avenging ghost striking down infidels to the news media," said Terri.

"So the racists are all indoors hiding," said Colin. "But that won't last forever."

"To deal with the Afreet," said Imam Husayn, "I must perform two rituals. The first ritual calls the Afreet to us. Then the second to send the creature back to the Underworld. But I cannot do that in the hospital, since the Afreet could destroy much of the locale when it tries to escape my sending spell."

"Good thinking," said Sheila.

"I might ask Father Thomas Montague to assist me in the ritual."

"Would he, a Catholic Priest, help you?" asked Terri.

"Of course, Father Thomas and I are great friends. He only hates Protestants, not Muslims."

"Uh-oh," said Colin, making them all laugh.


Four days later, still in a wheelchair, despite protesting that he could walk, Muhammad Husayn sat in a clearing in the sweet-smelling pine and gum forest, fifteen kilometres outside of Glen Hartwell. Father Thomas Montague, Terri Scott, Sheila Bennett, Suzette Cummings, and Colin Klein were also gathered with the Imam. Not far away, Hermione Meldon, the local fire chief, waited with a fire truck in case things went wrong.

"This ought to be far enough away, so we don't burn down Glen Hartwell," said Sheila Bennett, only half joking.

"Let's hope so," said Muhammad Husayn, more seriously, as Father Thomas helped him to prepare for the calling ritual.

For more than half an hour, the Imam chanted and pleaded with Allah and the Prophet Muhammad to send the Afreet to them, to protect the people of Glen Hartwell and the surrounding towns.

"Nothing's happening," whispered Sheila.

She received a glare from Father Thomas, although Imam Husayn ignored her as he continued with the calling ritual.

It was another eight minutes before there came a loud puff, and purple and red smoke billowed from the pine needles and gum leaves which carpeted the forest floor. Finally, the Afreet materialised amid the smoke.

"Who dares call me from my slumbers?" demanded the Afreet.

"I do," said Muhammad Husayn, sounding more confident than he felt. "You have been murdering people in Glen Hartwell. I cannot allow that to continue."

"I have been cleansing Glen Hartwell of vermin, who blaspheme against the Lord Allah and his followers."

"That is their job," said the Imam, pointing toward Terri, Sheila, Suzette, and Colin.

"And who are they?"

"We are part of the police force of Glen Hartwell," said Terri. "We can deal with racists and criminals without any help from you."

"Bah, did you catch the infidels who smashed the windows of the mosque in William Jantz Way? Did you catch the infidels who attacked Imam Husayn and his family?"

"No, because you interfered before we could," said Sheila.

"Interfered!" roared the Afreet. "How dare you?"

"Let us put an end to this," said Imam Husayn, before starting the sending ritual. "It is time for you to return to the Underworld, where you belong."

"No!" bellowed the Afreet, twisting and swirling, as though trying to vanish.

However, as the Imam and Father Thomas began the second ritual, it was as though a giant, invisible hand were holding the spirit being in place. The Afreet twisted, turned, gyrated, roaring in increasing rage as the ritual continued. But try as it might, the demon was unable to break free from the ritual that the Imam and Father Montague were performing.

"Nooooooo!" shrieked the Afreet one last time, before disappearing in a puff of smoke, as Imam Husayn collapsed to the forest floor.

Crying out in fear, Sheila raced across and, with Father Thomas's assistance, managed to get Muhammad Husayn back into his wheelchair.

"I think you should return to the hospital for a few days," suggested Terri.

"No, no, I'm fine," insisted the religious leader.

"That's what they all say," said Sheila. "It's back to the hospital for you, Muhammad."

"That is one of the cultural shocks of life in Australia," teased Muhammad Husayn, "we have women giving orders to men."

"As it should be," said Terri, making everyone laugh.

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