LILITH

Adam's first wife has come to Glen Hartwell and has started killing men!

The gorgeous leggy blonde sauntered down Chappell Street, toward the Chandler Hotel on the corner of Chappell Street and Rushcutters Road.
The Chandler was a bit broken down, desperately in need of a paint job, but that didn't worry Lilith; she was here to feed, not to sleep. The reception area was medium-sized, with dusty, jaundice-yellow walls, and a large faux teak counter on the right, beside the staircase, which had navy blue carpeting.
Inside the reception area, she met the manager, Gordon Gillespie. A quarter-breed Australian Aborigine, who looked all white and didn't bother to tell people otherwise, Gordon was a tall, rather handsome, blue-eyed blond man of forty-something.
Delicious! thought Lilith Newman, as she strode in her slinkiest manner across to the reception desk.
"Hello, gorgeous," said Gordon, staring goggle-eyed at the great beauty. "Can ... can I help you?"
"I need a man," she cooed, "To help me with my luggage."
"I can carry your suitcases to your room he said, walking around to her side of the desk. "What room is it?"
"I don't know yet," she cooed: "I haven't booked in yet ... I believe you are expecting me though?"
Trying to keep his tongue in his mouth, Gordon typed into an ancient-looking PC in the reception area, then, after nearly two minutes, asked, "Lilith Newman?"
"That's me," cooed the gorgeous, large-chested blonde.
After typing into the PC again, Gordon lifted the flap on the reception desk and stepped out, saying, "Just let me get your suitcases."
He raced out the front door and found two strange-looking, pinkish-white suitcases.
Returning, he said, "Follow me, please," carrying her cases across to the elevator, a metal-cage model, a real clunker that sounded worse than the Tardis taking off as it lumbered down toward them.
The elevator doors groaned open, and they stepped inside. Louie pressed button three.
At the third storey, they went across to room 320, then he used a rusty-looking key to open the door, and they went inside.
Putting down her suitcases, in the lilac coloured bedroom, Louie said: "This ought to...." He stopped as he turned around and saw the gorgeous, chestalicious blonde standing there stark naked.
"There's no point wasting time, is there, lover boy?" she said.
Stopping as a young female voice in the corridor called out, "Gordon, are you about?"
"Who is that?" whispered Lilith.
"The owner, Toni Chandler."
"I thought you were the owner?"
"No, just a hired manager. Toni's father was killed two years ago, and she inherited the Chandler."
Poor bitch, inheriting a dump like this! thought Lilith.
After taking one last, long, slow look at the naked chesty blonde, Gordon said:
"We'll have to finish this after dinner. My room is just across the corridor, room 317. Maybe at eleven o'clock."
Then he stepped out into the corridor, seeing Toni, a tall, thin, nineteen-year-old redhead, he said, "I was just showing our new arrival to her room."
"Oh, that's right, we were expecting a woman today."
"Lilith Newman," said the leggy blonde, stepping out of room 320.
How? Gordon mouthed to her, wondering how she had dressed so quickly.
Ignoring him, the blonde stepped across to Toni to take her right hand and gently shake it.
"Hello," said Toni, grinning at the blonde. "You arrived just at the right moment. We're about to start serving dinner."
"Oh, yum, yum!" said Lilith, making Toni giggle like a schoolgirl.
I think I'm going to like her, thought Toni, not realising the evil that they had just allowed into her hotel.
Downstairs, they walked across the jaundice yellow reception room, then in through a pink door to the dining room. Less seedy than the reception area, the walls were boat race blue, with twenty or so round tables with yellow and green floral vinyl table cloths. Two people sat at each table.
Despite already having a victim selected for that night, Lilith looked slowly around the room, before sitting, smiling lecherously at any even halfway decent male in the room.
"Are you all right?" asked Manwell Collins, a tall, dark-haired twenty-something waiter, only recently hired by Toni.
"Just looking around, before sitting," said Lilith truthfully.
"What would you like to eat, madam?"
"Do you serve steak tartar?" asked the beautiful blonde.
"I'll have to ask Chef Thatcher, but I think so," said the tall man, walking to the back of the dining room to enter through a swinging door, which said enter.

"Steak tartar!" shouted the tall black American chef, as though Manwell had just said something obscene to him.
"It's for the beautiful blonde lady who just booked in," said a cowering Manwell.
"What beautiful blonde lady?" demanded Chris Thatcher, pushing open the swinging door to look out.
"Right near the door to the reception area."
Chris did a low whistle when her saw the chestalicious blonde.
Looking straight at him, Lilith gave the handsome American a broad, toothy smile.
"So can she have it?" asked Manwell.
"She can have anything she wants!" said Chris Thatcher with feeling, a lump forming in his throat, and another one in his crotch.

Over at the Yellow House on Rochester Road in Merridale, they were also sitting down to their tea.
"So, what culinary masterpiece have you prepared for us tonight, Mrs. M.?" asked Terri Scott. At thirty-six, the tall, beautiful ash blonde was the top cop of the BeauLarkin to Willamby area, and was engaged to Colin.
"Screw culinary," said Tommy Turner. A short, fat, blond man, Tommy was a recent retiree. "What great tucker have you got for us?"
"Tucker!" demanded Deidre Morton. Obsessed with the colour yellow, she was a short, plumpish, sixty-something brunette, owner of the boarding house.
"Don't be a Philistine, Tommy!" said Natasha Lipzing, at seventy-one, having spent more than half of her life at the yellow house.
"Don't bring religion into this!" said Tommy.
"He really is a Philistine," said Leo Laxman. A tall, black Jamaican, Leo was employed as a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.
"Yes, I think he's serious," agreed Freddy Kingston, a tall, chubby, balding, recent retiree.
"So what great tuck ... cuisine have you got for us tonight, Mrs. M.," asked Sheila Bennett, correcting herself just in time. At thirty-six, Sheila was a Goth chick with orange-and-black striped hair and was Terri's second in command.
Deidre looked hard at Sheila, her favourite guest, for a moment, then said, "Two of your favourites, Duck a L'Orange, and Cherries Jubilee."
"Whoopee, my faves!" cried Sheila.
"Whoopee, lots of brandy on the Cherries Jubilee!" cried Tommy.
"So how do you think you're going curing Tommy's drinking problem, Mrs. M.?" teased Colin Klein. A tall redheaded Englishman, Colin had been a crime reporter for thirty years, but now was a constable for the Glen Hartwell Police.
"Not very well," bemoaned Deidre Morton.
"My only drinking problem is that she locks my plonk away, and doles it out to me in tiny measures!" complained Tommy Turner.

After dinner, at the Candler Hotel in Harpertown, they all went into the television room beside the kitchen to watch the news, then A Current Affair.
I wouldn't mind having a current affair with her! thought Manwell, gazing across the room at the chestalicious blonde.
"Down, boy, down," teased a blue-rinsed old lady, Agatha Tentrees. "She's way outside your pay grade."
"You think she's a prozzie?" whispered Manwell.
"Maybe, maybe not. But even if she's not, a looker like her wouldn't waste time with a lowly waiter. She wants either a millionaire, or at least a six-footer, with bulging muscular arms and legs."
"What's a six-footer?" asked a puzzled Manwell.
"Six feet is about a hundred and eighty-five centimetres."
"Then why didn't you say a hundred and eighty-five centimetre-er?"

At a few minutes to eleven, Gordon Gillespie went outside into the reception area, followed a minute or so later by Lilith Newman.
On the dot of eleven, she knocked quietly upon the door to room 317, whose walls were painted pale blue with white edgings.
"Hello, gorgeous," said Gordon, standing aside to allow the blonde to flit into his room hopefully unseen.
Gordon looked out the door, then turned around to say, "All clear!" Delighted to see that Lilith was naked again. "Did you ever work as a quick-change artist by any chance?"
"No. I prefer quick undressing," said Lilith, almost ripping his clothes off him in her impatience.
Finally, with them both naked, she grabbed him by the arm to drag him across toward the queen-sized bed. Lying on her back, legs spread wide, she said:
"Room for one more on top."
Leaning toward him she took his manhood into her mouth and started to suck it expertly.
"Holy Jesus!" shrieked Louie, having never been fellated before.
"No, more like the other chap," said Lilith.
She pulled him across to the bed so that he fell on top of her.
Soon they were going Hell-for-leather, both shrieked like Banshees as he came deeply inside her.
"Oh God, I've just been to Heaven!" gasped Gordon Gillespie.
"Well, let's see if we can take you there again," said Lilith, climbing onto her hands and knees to offer her perfect, heart-shaped backside to him. "Pick a hole, any hole!"
Gordon hesitated, then climbed up behind the gorgeous blonde, rock hard again, even before he placed the glands of his penis up against her tight sphincter and began to shove forward,
Lilith screamed like a Banshee as he penetrated her anus, despite inviting him, but did not tell the blond man to stop. At first, she had to squirm a lot to take his manhood inside her backside.
In the neighbouring rooms, some people slept through the scream, others assumed it was on the TV downstairs.
"Push harder!" demanded Lilith, despite the agony ripping through her bowels.
Never one to refuse a lay, as he liked to say, Gordon Gillespie started ramming his manhood ruthlessly in and out of the beautiful blonde's bleeding rectum, taking his pleasure by force, no longer caring how much he damaged the blonde in the process.
"Yes, fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck me! Don't make love to me! Fuck me!" Lilith screamed, seeming loving being sodomised, no matter how much it hurt her, or tore her sphincter.
"Can't hold off any long ...!" cried Gordon, suddenly climaxing deep within her bowels.
He shrieked from ecstasy as he came, then passed out on the bed beside the gorgeous blonde.
Lilith reached back and tentatively fingered her ravaged sphincter and looked at the coating of blood on her hands, smiling in delight.
She suddenly gasped, then shrieked as her stomach began to expand outwards, as though she were becoming pregnant in stop-motion. Gradually, her stomach expanded out until she looked six weeks pregnant. Then three months, then six months. Before rocketing up to seven, eight, then nine months pregnant.
Lying on her back, she strained to give birth, grunting and gasping, sucking in her breath to strain again, until something the size of a large cats popped out of her body. Out of her torn and bloody anus,
"Oh God of the Underworld!" cried Lilith, straining again.
Until another cat-sized 'baby' popped out of her backside, followed by a bloody mass of afterbirth.
"Oh Satan!" cried Lilith, smiling at the two monstrous babies, stroking one like the demon cat that it resembled, all covered in fæces and blood.
Then the 'cat' opened its mouth almost impossibly wide to show an array of glinting steel-like teeth that any shark would have been proud of.
"Dinner time, my little angels," said Lilith.
She pointed across toward the sleeping figure of Gordon Gillespie.
Shrilling like howler monkeys, the two babies raced across to the sleeping man. While one ripped out his throat, killing him, the other devoured his genitals.
"It's a pity really, he had such a lovely cock," said Lilith weakly, before falling asleep.
While she slept, the two demon children rapidly devoured the hotelier, even grinding up his bones, so that when the gorgeous blonde awakened not long before dawn, there was nothing left of George Gillespie, other than some blood stains upon his yellowy-cream coloured quilt.
Smiling broadly at her two babies, Lilith said, "Come to Mummy, my little Devil's Angels."
The two cat-rats raced across to the blonde, squealing in delight.
Reaching down, Lilith grabbed the two creatures by the scruff and quickly broke their necks. Then opening her mouth to seemingly impossible width, she swallowed whole one demon child, then the other.
She rechecked her anus, smiling as she found it had completely healed while she was sleeping.
Then, climbing off the bed, she hastily made the bed, in the process turning over the quilt, so that the blood stains were invisible, then quickly dressed, before running out into the third-floor corridor, to head back into her own room.

At seven thirty the next morning, Toni Chandler and Manwell Collins were rushed off their feet, serving all the guests, without any sign of Gordon Gillespie.
"Where can the slacker be?" demanded Manwell, never fond of the tall, muscular man.
"Don't know," said Toni, "I rang up to his room, but we don't have time to look for him now."
Sitting by herself, gorgeous Lilith Newman saw the tall, black Chef Chris Thatcher walking toward her. Leaning down till they were almost face to face, he said:
"I made you a special order of steak tartare-ala Thatcher."
"Most kind of you," said Lilith, never taking her blue eyes off his brown ones. "I wish there was some way I could thank you." She looked carefully around the blue-walled dining room, then added, "Maybe tonight, after everyone has gone to bed."
Trying not to look too excited, Chris said, "My room or yours?"
"Yours," said the gorgeous blonde.
Almost touching her mouth with his, the black American said, "Room 211, after ten PM."
"Thank you," said Lilith.
"What's going on there?" demanded Toni, thinking for a moment that they were kissing.
Looking around, Lilith smiled sweetly, then said, "Just thanking this kind gentleman for this special order."
Looking surprised, Toni said, "I thought you said steak tartar was only fit for swine."
"No, no," lied Chris Thatcher, "I said steak tartar is very fine."
"Oh," said Toni, puzzled, but too busy to stand still.

After breakfast, they did the dishes, still with no sign of George Gillespie.
"If he's just sleeping, I'll sack the bastard," said Toni.
"We really need another maid-cum-waitress-cum-general dog's body," said Manwell.
"That's my job," said Toni, heading toward the elevator, "are you trying to get me to sack myself?"
"Of course not," said Manwell, following her to the elevator.
Up in room 317, the redheaded teen knocked on the door, with no response.
"Allow me," said Manwell, pummelling the door with his fist, calling, "Open up, sleepyhead."
After exchanging a puzzled look with Maxwell, Toni used a rusty-looking passkey to open the door, saying, "Coming in, ready or not."
They stepped hesitantly into the blue-walled room and looked around.
"Well, his bed's made," said Manwell. "So, either he didn't sleep here last night, or he made it himself this morning."
"Knowing that Lothario, I'd say he didn't sleep here last night," guessed Toni. "Damn, I can't make all the beds by myself."
"I'll help out," volunteered Manwell. "Conditional that you promise to hire another maid-cum-waitress-cum-general dog's body, as soon as possible."
Sighing, Toni said, "Very well ... thank you."

By the time they had finished making the beds, it was nearly ten AM, with still no sign of Gordon Gillespie.
"I think I should report him missing," said Toni. Picking up the phone, she rang through to the Mitchell Street Police Station in Glen Hartwell.

Over at the Mitchell Street Station, Terri, Colin, Sheila, Paul, and Suzette had just started drinking tea or coffee while scoffing some homemade Boston Bun, provided by Deidre Morton.
"Mrs. M. likes to keep me well fed," said Sheila, before scoffing some of the buttered Boston Bun.
"Sheils, are you pregnant, or just too well fed?" teased Suzette Cummings. An eighteen-year-old ravenette, Suzette, still had to do her final testing in Melbourne at the end of 2025.
"I was wondering that?" teased Paul Bell. Due to retire at the end of the year, Paul was tall and lean, with short, dark hair.
"Don't give up your day jobs," teased Sheila. "'Cause neither of you has much of a future in the comedy business."
Before the argument could continue, the phone rang.
"Mitchell Street Police Station," said Suzette into the receiver. Then to Terri, "That was Toni Chandler, her manager vanished overnight. She claims he's a bit of a Don Juan, but is usually back at work by breakfast time."
"Okay, let's go," said Terri. "Stay here to man the phones, Paul."
"Yes, we've gotta get Suzette used to going out on cases," said Colin.
"Fine with me," said Paul, reaching for the last piece of Boston Bum.
A second too late, before Sheila grabbed it.
"You have to be faster than that, Paul, if you want to eat around here," said Colin as the four cops headed outside.

Forty-odd minutes later, Terri's police-blue Lexus pulled up outside the Chandler Hotel in Harpertown. After repeating what she had told them over the phone, Toni Chandler led them up to the third storey, so they could look over Gordon Gillespie's room.
"It looks surprisingly neat for a bloke's room," said Sheila.\
"How dare you?" said Colin. "My room is neat."
"Our room," corrected Terri, "Because Deidre cleans it for us."
"Oh, yeah, I knew there was a reason."
They spent nearly half an hour looking through drawers, checking behind cupboards, and even under the bed. Then, almost as an afterthought, Sheila ripped the quilt off the bed and spun it over. To reveal a fatal amount of blood on the underside.
"Yeech, could you lose that amount of blood and live?" asked the Goth chick.
"I doubt it," said Colin.
"So we're now moving this case up from missing persons to possible murder," said Terri Scott. "We'll need to get Drew, Paul, Jessie, Stanlee, Don Esk, and anyone else we can think of to help us out."
"But first, we'll need to interview everybody at the Chandler," said Colin.
"Staff as well?" asked Toni.
"Afraid so," replied Terri.
"At the moment, there are only the three of us. Me, Manwell Collins, a waiter, and Chris Thatcher, our chef. Although I will need to get a new manager, if Gordon has been killed, and I promised Manwell to hire another maid-cum-waitress-cum-general dog's body to help out."
"Okay, well, let's start with you three," suggested Colin.
It was twelve-thirty, past lunchtime, by the time they had got statements from everybody at the hotel.
When they got to Lilith Newman, she considered lying, but then thinking, What if someone saw us go up together? So, she said, "Mr. Gillespie went up to the third storey with me around eleven o'clock last night, and I saw him go into room 317, before I entered 320. But I am a very sound sleeper, so I don't know if he went out again."
"I don't think he did," said Colin.
After leaving the hotel, Terri rang through to Tilly Lombstrom, the chief research chemist at the Glen Hartwell Hospital, and asked her to send someone to collect the quilt for blood testing. It was almost dark by the time Terri called off the police search for the night.
"Home now, Chief?" asked a yawning Sheila Bennett.
"No, around to the hospital to see what, if anything, Tils can tell us about the blood on that quilt."
"Well," said Tilly, a tall, attractive, fifty-something surgeon at the hospital, "there were three distinctly different types of blood on the quilt. Human blood Type B-negative, which our records show was Gordon Gillespie's blood group. Then a second type that was almost, but not quite human, and a third type which was nothing like human."
"Are you saying one was ape blood, and the other some other kind of animal?" asked Terri Scott.
"No!" said Tilly emphatically. "One was like what prehistoric man's blood might well have been like, if he had never evolved very far. The other is just crazy. I took the liberty of sending some of the not-quite-human and nothing like human samples to Totty Rampling at the Melbourne Wildlife Safari Park."
"And what did Tots have to say?" asked Sheila.
"Firstly, she squealed like a schoolgirl. Then she said she'll be at the Glen Hartwell Railway Station on the nine o'clock train tomorrow morning."
"So, we should go round to pick her up about 11:00 AM?" asked Sheila.
"Don't be such a sarky cow, Sheils," said Terri. "The nine o'clock train from Melbourne has never been more than seventy-five minutes late in my lifetime."
"Okay, we'll head there about 10:00 AM," suggested Colin.
"That's more like it," agreed Terri.

At the Chandler, Chef Chris Thatcher had been extra attentive to Lilith again at dinner time, serving her steak tartare à la Thatcher again, since it seemed to be the only thing that she ate. And he was careful to remind her of their planned tête-à-tête after 10 PM in room 211.
"I'll be there," she assured him breathlessly.
Trying to avoid suspicion, Chris Chandler headed up to his room a little after nine o'clock. Then it was a few minutes to ten, when Lilith headed upstairs.
"Come inside, gorgeous," invited Chris Thatcher, grinning like that cat that was about to get the cream.
He moved aside to let her glide into the purple-walled room, then closed the door, and turning, was surprised to see that she was already naked.
Smiling at his shock, she said, "I never wear underwear, so I just have to slip off my long gown."
Grinning lecherously, the black American walked across to grab the blonde's more than ample breasts in his hands to squeeze them hard enough to make most women complain. But Lilith just leant forward to swap tongues with him, while he was squeezing her breasts almost hard enough to burst them.
"Now, my black stallion, carry me across to your bed."
"Yours to command, gorgeous," said Chris.
He undressed hurriedly, then picked her up to do as instructed. Chris dropped her onto her back on the bed, then made to climb between her legs. However, the blonde climbed back to her knees quickly, saying:
"Ah-ah, my stallion. On your back so I can ride your big black cock." Then when he seemed uncertain, she added, "While you do your best to rip my big tits clean off my chest."
"You got yourself a deal, lady," said Chris, climbing onto his back on the bed.
Lilith laughed, then said truthfully, "I'm no lady, as you will quickly discover."
Squatting over him, she lowered herself onto his large, black cock, as though lowering herself into hot bath water. Then, when she finally achieved full penetration, the chef reached up to grab her large breasts and indeed tried to rip them off her chest, as she cow his manhood, waving around an imaginary hat, while crying, "Ride him, cowgirl!" and laughing.
Finally, he ejaculated deep inside the blonde beauty, who climbed off his manhood. Then to Chris's delight, she took his penis into his mouth and started to suck it clean.
"Holy shit!" cried Chris, ejaculating again, taking Lilith by surprise as she had to swallow his seat down.
"I hope you can manage one more, handsome?" asked the blonde, a little worried.
"Sure can, gorgeous," said Chris, but that's my limit.
Kneeling on the bed, with her perfect heart-shaped arse pointed at him, Lilith said, "Why don't we try something different?"
"You want it doggy-style?" asked Chris.
"No, I want it up the arse!" said Lilith pointedly.
"Do you think I'm some kind of a faggott?" demanded Chris.
"No, I think you're the most manly bloke I've ever had sex with. But I am desperate to try it up the arse."
"Well ... " said Chris, still uncertain.
Until Lilith started wiggling her perfect behind sensually, making the black man's mind up for him.
"Okay, let's try it!" cried Chris, climbing up behind the beautiful blonde.
More carefully than Gordon Gillespie had done, he started to probe at her sphincter with the glands of his penis.
"Tell me if the pain becomes too great," warned Chris.
He is such a gentleman, thought Lilith, it seems a shame to have to kill him!
Ever so slowly, Chris worked his penis into the blonde's anus. Despite the almost unbearable pain, she was careful not to cry out, for fear that he would stop, before the dark procreation was completed.
"Shove it up my arse!" cried Lilith, fighting back the screams of agony at each excruciating penetration.
Finally, she was almost fainting from the sodomy, and she was forced to cry out in surprise and pain, as Chris ejaculated deep into her bowels.
Sounding pleased with himself, the black man said, "That's my limit for the night, beautiful!" Then he collapsed into a deep sleep on the right side of the bed.
Lying on the left side of the bed, again, Lilith seemed to become pregnant in stop motion photography. Rapidly going through the stages from impregnated to a month pregnant, then two, three, then four months pregnant, jumping up to six, eight, then nine months pregnant in record time.
Then, again, she strained to give birth, grunting and gasping, sucking in her breath to strain again, until one of the hideous cat-sized rat-like creatures finally popped out of her torn and bloody anus,
"Oh, God of the Underworld, thank you!" cried Lilith, straining again.
Until another cat-sized rat-thing popped out of her backside, followed by a bloody mass of afterbirth.
"Oh Satan! God of the Nether Regions," cried Lilith, smiling at the two monstrous babies all covered in fæces and blood.
"Dinner time, my dark angels," said Lilith.
She pointed across toward the sleeping figure of Chris Thatcher.
Shrilling like howler monkeys, the two creatures raced across to the sleeping man. Again, one ripped out his throat, killing him, and the other devoured his genitals.
"Such a pity! He was a true gentleman! Far more considerate than the first one!" said Lilith, before falling asleep.
While she slept, the two monster children rapidly devoured the hotelier, devouring flesh, fat, muscle tissue, organs, and even bones. So that when the blonde awakened not long before dawn, there was nothing left of George Gillespie, other than blood stains upon his dark blue quilt.
Smiling broadly at her babies, Lilith said, "Come to Mummy, my little monsters."
The two rat-like things raced across to the blonde, squealing in pleasure. Until she snapped their necks, killing them.
Then opening her mouth to a should-have-been impossible width, she swallowed whole one demon child, then the other.
"Yum! Yum!" she said, Before rechecked her anus, smiling as she found it had completely healed while she was sleeping.
Climbing off the bed, she hastily made it, carefully turning over the quilt, so that the blood stains were invisible, then quickly dressed, before running out into the second storey corridor, to run up the stairs to the third floor.

At breakfast that morning, everyone filed into the blue-walled dining room, including Lilith, and Toni and Manwell took their orders, then went into the kitchen, only to find it in darkness.
"The stove isn't even hot," complained Manwell. "We'll never cook everything in time."
Checking the cupboards, Toni found box after box of cornflakes, Wheat Bix, Fruit Loops, Coco Pops, plus half a dozen other cereals.
"Change of plan," said Toni, checking the fridge for milk. "Get these and the milk on the big trolley, while I break the news of the new choices to the starving masses."
"Sooner you, than me," said Manwell, as Toni returned to the dining room to announce:
"I'm sorry, but due to an unexpected illness by Chef Thatcher, we can only offer you Cereal for breakfast this morning."
"What! No ham, eggs and mashed potatoes?" demanded a tall blond man in his mid-forties.
Sneaking across to his table, Lilith said, "This is such an outrage."
"You said it ..." began the man, stopping to stare at the gorgeous blonde. "Hello, I'm Johnny. Johnny Latrobe."
"Hello, I'm available," said Lilith with a lecherous smile, while squeezing his right thigh under the table.
Gulping, Johnny said, "And I'm interested. How about in my room, 141, at 10:30 tonight."
"Excellent," said the beautiful blonde, squeezing his leg a little harder. "I'll be there."
She blew him a kiss, then got up to leave, followed by half the irate guests.
"Oh well," said Toni, as Manwell brought the heavily laden breakfast tray into the dining room, "at least we've only got half as many people to feed now."

Over at the Yellow House, in Merridale, they were sitting down to a more satisfying breakfast: bacon, eggs, breakfast steaks, mashed potatoes, and mountains of fried bread.
"Wow," said Terri, "what are you having, Sheils?"
"A little of everything, I'm a growing girl."
"You'll be a-growing fat," teased Colin, "if you eat all that!"
"Nonsense, she works out every Saturday at the gym," pointed out Deidre.
"If she keeps eating like this, she'll have to work out every Sunday as well," teased Leo Laxman.
"Rubbish," said Tommy Turner. "She doesn't eat any more than I do, and I'm a fine figure of a man."
Staring in horror at the tubby, blond man, Sheila said, "Maybe I'll forego the fried bread."
"Wise choice," said Natasha Lipzing. "You don't want to end up with a figure like tubby Tommy's."
"How dare you!" complained Tommy.
"He really doesn't know, does he?" said Freddy Kingston.
"How dare you!" repeated Tommy.
After breakfast, they checked at the Mitchell Street Police Station for any news about Gordon Gillespie, then went to the Glen Hartwell Hospital, only to find Tilly Lombstrom was on a vacation day.
"How could she, when we've got a case going?" demanded Sheila.
"Sheils, you lot have always got a case going," said the chief surgeon and administrator of the hospital, Jesus Costello. "Usually involving monsters and magic. If we didn't take days off when you have a case going, we'd all be working three hundred and sixty-five days a year."
They hung around the hospital, harassing Jesus until 8:45, then Terri said, "We'd better head round to Theobald Street to collect Totty."
Looking at her wristwatch, Sheila said, "It's not even ten o'clock yet."
"AS soon as we turn up at ten o'clock, this will be the first time ever the train arrives on time," said Colin.
"Then poor old Tots will have to wait an hour for us," finished Terri.
"Okay," grumbled Sheila, "well, I suppose it's better than hanging around this depressing place."
"Sheils, it's a hospital, full of sick people," said Jesus. "It's supposed to be depressing."

They pulled up at the Glen Hartwell Railway Station a couple of minutes to nine, just as the train from Melbourne was pulling into the single platform.
"It's early!" said Terri, goggle-eyed.
"No way is this our dimension," said Sheila as they got out of the Lexus to head into the station. "We must have fallen through a dimensional rift, and ended up in a parallel universe."
"Sheils, you really do watch way, way too much Doctor Who!" said Colin.
"That's not possible!" insisted the Goth chick as they started looking around the platform for Totty Rampling.
"There, she is," said Colin, pointing to an attractive thirty-something brunette standing beside two oversized suitcases.
Running down the platform to meet her, Colin and Sheila each grabbed one of the cases."
"Tots," cried Sheila, giving the brunette a big hug. "No time, long see."
"I missed you, too, mad Goth chick," said the brunette. "Can you take me to the hospital first, then drop my luggage off at Mrs. M.'s?"
"Still afraid to meet her?" teased Terri. "She'll never forgive you for dumping my Colin."
"Well, not until we get married, the week before Christmas," said Colin.
"Oh no!" said the brunette as they headed out of the station. "You'll only get one set of presents."
"I've tried to convince them of that!" said Sheila.

Johnny Latrobe, Lilith's third victim.

Rabbi Levi O'Shane explains that his family were Irish Protestants until coming to Australia when they converted to Judaism.



Later, Sheila says, "Usually when men start disappearing from hotels around here, some female monster has moved into the hotel. Do you have any female monsters staying with you at the moment?"
"No, when monsters, female or male, try to book in, we send them off to Hotel Transylvania."
"Really? I thought that closed down after the dreadful fourth movie?" asked Sheila.


Adam's first wife, according to ancient Hebrew texts.
She was thrown out of Eden by God for devouring her children.

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