CERBERUS

With evil souls escaping from Hell, Cerberus is on the warpath in Glen Hartwell

Cuthbert Rumbelow was grieving for the loss of his first and only love, Elizabeth, who had died a week earlier after sixty years of married life together.

Looking across at the balding old man, who had not even bothered with his comb-over since Lizzie's death, his granddaughter, Elspeth 'Elli', whispered to her older sister, Roberta 'Robbie':

"We've gotta do something to cheer up Popsy."

Looking across to where the old man slumped forward upon an ancient, red velvet lounge chair, in front of a radiator, Robbie said:

"Don't worry, Elli, Dodie, and I have got things all sorted out."

"How?" demanded twelve-year-old Elli, a short, attractive ash blonde.

"No worries, sis," said sixteen-year-old Robbie, a tall raven-haired girl. "Dodie and I are gonna help him to talk to Nana, to see that she's okay."

"Um ... she's dead, sis, you can't get much less okay than that."

"No sweat, Dodie and I have it all worked out."

"Isn't Dodie a bit of an occult nut?"

"She prefers to say that she's in tune with the preternatural."

"In other words, an occult nut?"

"Yes, but don't say that in front of her. She is a friend of mine."

As they were talking, they heard footsteps, and looking around, they saw their mother, Juniper 'June', and their father, Tolland 'Tolli', coming down the stairs from their bedroom. They were dolled up to the nines, ready to go to a friend's house for tea.

"There is Chop Suey cooking on the stove," said June, a tall raven-haired woman in her late thirties, "it should be ready in about half an hour."

"Are you girls sure you'll be all right alone, looking after Popsy?" asked Tolli, a tall, fiercely blond man of forty.

"No sweat," assured Robbie, "my friend Dodie and her mum Elvie are coming over soon to help us out."

"Okay, be good," said June, going across to kiss them both on the cheek.

"Mum," complained Robbie, "not in front of Popsy."

"I doubt that your granddad even noticed," said Tolli. "See you in a couple of hours, girls."

"Don't hurry on our account," assured Robbie, "with Dodie and Elvie here, we'll be fine."

"Okay," said June, "if they arrive before tea, there's plenty of Chop Suey."

"Mum, they're vegans," protested Robbie, sounding surprised that her mother did not already know that.

"Well, sor-ree," said June as they headed outside.

As soon as they heard the car starting up, Elli asked, "So is this where we ring for our boyfriends to come over, so we can partee?"

"As good an idea as that sounds," said Robbie, "we have to put Popsy's needs first."

"So Dodie and her creepy mother, Elvira Vampire of the Night, really are coming over?"

"Of course," said Robbie. She got up as the doorbell rang, "I might lie to Mum and Dad, but not to you, sis."

"I must find a way to tell Mum and Dad that."

"How about mumbling through broken teeth after I thump you," suggested Robbie as she opened the front door.

"Who is mumbling through broken teeth after being thumped?" asked Doremy 'Dodie' Mitchell, a night-black girl of sixteen.

"Elli, if she starts blabbing," said Robbie, opening the door for them.

"Do we have to invite you in before you can enter the house?" teased Elli.

"Ignore her, she's only twelve," said Robbie to Dodie and her mother, Elvira, a night-black West Indian woman in her late thirties.

"We're about to have tea with Popsy," said Elli, "would you like some? It's Aussie-style Chop Suey, yum-yum!"

"We do not eat the meat of animal corpses!" said Elvie, in a cultured West Indian accent, as they walked into the lounge room. She sat in the next armchair to try talking to Cuthbert Rumbelow: "Mr. Rumbelow, my name is Elvira, I am a Mama Loa, a Vudun priestess who may be able to help you to contact your departed wife, Lizzie."

Cuthbert had stared blankly into space, seeming unaware of Elvie's presence ... until she said 'Lizzie', then he looked around at her and said:

"My wife is named Lizzie. But I don't know where she is at the moment."

"Your wife is fine, Mr. Rumbelow. Hopefully, I can contact her for you after dinner tonight."

"I would like to talk to Lizzie again," said Cuthbert, sounding as though in a trance, "she hasn't been around here lately."

"Don't worry, we will find her for you to talk to after dinner."

"Chop Suey's ready!" called Ellie from the doorway, enjoying teasing Dodie and Elvira.

"Your dinner is ready now, Mr. Rumbelow," said Elvie, helping the old man to his feet, "allow me to help you to the kitchen."

"Most kind of you, and my name is Cuthbert," said the old man.

"Very well, Cuthbert, let us go and eat."

In the pale-blue walled kitchen, Elli was serving out the Chop Suey in blue-and-white bowls.

"I wasn't sure if you might have changed your mind about the Chop Suey," teased Elli, "so I put out bowls for you both."

"Thank you," said Elvie, refusing to take the bait. "We can eat our salads in them."

She took two plastic containers from a shopping bag that she carried, and emptied green salads into two of the bowls.

"Hey, you don't have any hard-boiled eggs," teased Elli, "would you like me to cook you a couple?"

"Thank you, but no," said Elvie.

"What about some nice egg mayonnaise on it then?"

"No, thank you," said the night-black woman, sitting herself at the black-topped kitchen table. Then to the old man, "Would you like me to help you with your meal, Cuthbert?"

"No, thanks," he said, "is Lizzie going to join us for tea?"

"No, we will speak to Lizzie after tea."

"Spirits willing," teased Elli.


Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road in Merridale, they were also sitting down to tea in the yellow-walled dining room.

"What have you got for us tonight, Mrs. M.?" asked Sheila Bennett. An orange-and-black haired Goth chick, at thirty-six, Sheila was the Chief Constable of the local police force.

"A lovely chicken paella," said Deidre Morton, a short, dumpy, sixty-something brunette who was a cordon bleu-trained chef.

"I thought paella was a fish dish?" asked Terri Scott. A beautiful ash blonde, the same age as Sheila, Terri was the Senior Sergeant of the local police force and was engaged to be married to Colin on December 10th.

"According to Manuel in Fawlty Towers, it is," said Leo Laxman. A tall, lean black Jamaican, Leo was a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"That's not quite right," corrected Deidre, "despite what Manuel thought, paella is not specifically a fish dish. It is often made with fish, but the only required ingredient is saffron-infused rice for the base. As long as you have that, you can make fish paella, vegetarian paella, or meat paella. I've chosen to make chicken paella since I know that Sheila loves chicken."

"We always seem to get what Sheila likes," complained Freddy Kingston, a tall, balding retiree.

"As long as there's plenty of brandy in it, I'm not complaining," said Tommy Turner, a short, blond, chubby retiree.

"There is no brandy in it," said Natasha Lipzing, a tall, thin, grey-haired lady of seventy-one, "I helped Deidre to make it."

"But I'm sure Deidre will give you a snifter of brandy with your dinner," said Colin Klein. A tall, redheaded Englishman, Colin was a constable in the Glen Hartwell Police Department.

"I have snifters of brandy for Terri, Leo, and Tommy," said Deidre, "I don't want to play favourites."

"Is there any point in asking whose brandy you're using?" asked Tommy.

"Remember ...."

"It is better to give than to receive!" Tommy finished for her.

"Exactly," said Deidre, smiling at the reforming alcoholic.


After they had finished their main meals, Elli and Robbie passed out bowls of vegan apple pie for everyone.

"Do you want some scrummy egg custard with yours?" Elli teased the vegans.

"Ignore her, she's twelve," said Robbie, "at that age, all girls think they're funny, but most aren't!"

After they had finished their dessert, the women got up to do the dishes. As Cuthbert started to rise, Elvira put a hand on his shoulder to stop him, saying:

"We haven't finished at the table yet."

"Will Lizzie be here soon?" asked the old man.

"I certainly hope so," said Elvie as they started the dishes.

Once they were finished, Elvie and Dodie placed an even dozen scented candles in little cups upon the table and turned off the kitchen light.

"Are we having a blackout?" asked Cuthbert.

"No, Cuthbert, we are going to contact Lizzie for you," said Elvie. As she reached into her shopping bag for her voodoo implements, Elli asked:

"Are you going to slaughter a chicken at the kitchen table?"

"Ignore her, she's only twelve," reminded Robbie.

"'Cause if you are, we can have it for tea tomorrow night."

"No ... I am not going to sacrifice a chicken at the table!" stated Elvira, starting to rankle at all of the twelve-year-old's teasing. "Your grandfather is distressed enough without me doing that. I am going to call upon Papa Legba to help the spirit of your grandmother to come to talk through me."

"So, you're gonna put on a silly voice to cheer up Popsy?"

"No!" said Elvira, almost shouting.

"Little sisters!" said Dodie, shaking her head.

"Yeah, who needs them?" agreed Robbie.

"Oh, Papa Legba!" cried Elvie, raising her hands as though in prayer.

"Let us pray," teased Ellie.

"Shut up!" shouted Elvie, Robbie, and Dodie as one.

"Oh, Papa Legba!" cried Elvie. "Please bring Lizzie Rumbelow here so that she can talk with her grieving husband, Cuthbert."

"Woo-woo," said Ellie, sounding more like a steam train than a ghost.

"Get out!" shouted Elvie.

"I'll take care of her," volunteered Robbie.

Standing, she dragged Elli to her feet and led her sister out of the kitchen, back into the lounge room.

"Now, watch some telly! Quietly!" Robbie ordered.

"You have no sense of humour, big sis," complained Elli.


In the kitchen, Elvira continued to plead with Papa Legba, a prominent spirit in Haitian, West African, and Caribbean Vodou traditions. Papa Legba acts as a bridge between the human and spirit realms, specifically between humanity and the other spirits.

For more than an hour, nothing seemed to be happening. Then, inexplicably, one by one, the candles started to flicker, then go out, until they were in darkness. Then in a clear, European voice, not Elvie's West Indian accent, a female voice spoke through the night-black woman, saying:

"I am Lizzie. Why have you summoned me from the spirit realm?"

"Your Cuthbert has been mourning your departure from the living realm," answered Dodie.

"My Cuthbert?" asked Lizzie, sounding puzzled.

"Cuthbert Rumbelow," explained Dodie, "your husband."

"My husband," mimicked Lizzie. "Yes, oh, my husband," the voice suddenly said, as though having come to an important decision. "Hello, Cuthbert, this is your Lizzie."

"Lizzie?" asked Cuthbert in the dark. "Where are you?"

"She is speaking through my mother," explained Dodie Mitchell.

"Speaking through your mother?" repeated Cuthbert.

"Yes."

"Lizzie, I have missed you so much," said the old man, almost crying.

"And I have missed you, my Cuthbert," said Lizzie. "I will return to you soon. Later tonight."

"What does she mean by that?" asked Robbie.

"I don't know," said Dodie, sounding puzzled. "They have never said anything like that before."

They continued to make small talk for another half an hour or so, then the candles mysteriously came back on, one at a time, and Elvira stopped talking in Lizzie's voice.

"Did it work?" asked the night-black woman.

"My Lizzie spoke to me," said Cuthbert, sounding almost back to his usual euphoric self. "She said she's coming back later tonight."

"What?" asked Elvie.

"That's what she said," confirmed Dodie.

"I wonder what she could have meant by that?" asked Elvie. "Let's get everything cleared away before your parents get back, Robbie."

"Good idea," said the teen, standing to help put away the candles.

Then, picking up a can of air freshener, she sprayed it heavily in the kitchen to mask the smell of the scented candles.


When June and Tolli came home ninety minutes later, they found Elvie and Cuthbert drinking tea in the lounge room, while the three girls were drinking zero-sugar, zero-caffeine Coke.

"How'd everything go?" asked June.

"Everything went swimmingly," said Elvira, smiling at Robbie and Elli's parents.

"Swimmingly," agreed Cuthbert, saying his first words to them in almost a week.

"Popsy seems to have cheered up," stated Tolli, puzzled.

"I hope I helped to bring him out of himself a little," said Elvie. "Well, Dodie and I had better be getting home now."


An hour or so later, Elvira Mitchell woke up in bed in her Boothy Street, Glen Hartwell home. As she lay there, an old nursery rhyme went through her head:

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

"She gave her mother forty whacks.

"When she saw what she had done

"She gave her father forty-one."

Smiling broadly, Elvie sat up in bed and started to whisper the rhyme, careful not to awaken her husband, Lennox.

Standing, she walked out of the room, then, without switching on any lights, she headed down the dark corridor to the stairs. She walked, trancelike, down the steps to the ground floor, where she headed out into the garage-cum-workroom. Still muttering:

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

"She gave her mother forty whacks.

"When she saw what she had done

"She gave her father forty-one."

She looked around at the tools on hooks around the garage walls. There was no axe; however, there was a long-handled tomahawk. Picking the tomahawk up, she gave it a few practice swings, then, smiling broadly, she returned to the house and to the master bedroom. Where, no longer whispering, she said:

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

"She gave her mother forty whacks.

"When she saw what she had done

"She gave her father forty-one."

"What was that, honey?" asked Lennox Mitchell, still more than half asleep.

By way of answer, Elvie began whacking the tomahawk as hard as she could into his face.

Not knowing what was happening, Lennox tried to defend himself, only to have one of his hands almost chopped off, as Elvie continued reciting:

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

"She gave her mother forty whacks.

"When she saw what she had done

"She gave her father forty-one."

Elvira continued whacking him in the head with the tomahawk until she and the bed were both coated in blood, and her husband was long dead.

Still reciting the rhyme, Elvira turned and walked back into the corridor, then headed to Dodie's room. Taking the doorknob into her left hand, she turned the knob and pushed. However, the door stayed shut.


"What the hell was that?" asked the tall, blond seventeen-year-old boy, Lonnie, lying naked in bed with Dodie.

"Shit! It must be my Mum," whispered Dodie, "just pretend to be asleep."

"Will she kill me if she finds me in here with you?" asked Lonnie.

"No, but Dad will. He's a great believer in white weddings."


"Dodie, let me in, baby," called Elvira from the corridor.

Then, receiving no answer, she began chanting the rhyme, while chopping at the bedroom door with the long-handled tomahawk.


"What the Hell is she doing?" whispered Lonnie.

"I don't know. Just lie still, and hope she gives up after a moment."

Then the tomahawk broke through the thin bedroom door.

Screaming, Dodie switched on the overhead light and saw her mother's face glaring at her through a gaping hole in the door.

"You little slut," said Lizzie/Elvie, hammering at the door again. "Your father would kill you ... If I hadn't just killed him."

"What?" asked Dodie, shocked. "Mum!"

"Not your Mom," said the American-sounding voice, "I'm Lizzie."

"Let's get outta here," said Lonnie. Climbing out of bed, he quickly redressed, then opened the bedroom window wide.

Ignoring him, Dodie picked up her mobile phone and started to ring.


Over at the Yellow House, Terri Scott was marching down the aisle to marry her beloved Colin Klein ... at least in a wonderful dream ... when she was rudely awakened by her mobile phone ringing.

Almost falling out of bed, she picked up her phone and said, "This had better be important."

Almost crying, Dodie Mitchell said, "My Mum has just killed my Dad with a tomahawk and is now after me."

Suddenly wide awake, Terri asked, "Who is this?"

"Dodie Mitchell at number 9 Boothy Street."

"We'll be right there," said Terri, disconnecting.


"If we can hold off for twenty minutes, the cops are on the way," Dodie said to Lonny, as, still chanting:

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

"She gave her mother forty whacks.

"When she saw what she had done

"She gave her father forty-one," Elvira tried to reach in through the hole in the bedroom door to push the wooden chair away from the door handle.

"We can't let her in!" cried Dodie.

They raced across to a half-metre by half-metre, tiny, white wooden bedside cabinet.

"Give me a hand," said Dodie.

Lonnie raced across to help her pick up the tiny cabinet.

"Sorry, Mum," said Dodie, just before they slammed the small cabinet into Elvie's left hand, breaking it.

Shrieking in rage as much as agony, Lizzie/Elvie kept whacking at the door with the tomahawk in her right hand.

"I'll kill you! Kill you! Kill you!" shrieked the mad woman in an increasing American accent.

"Why is she talking like a Yank?" asked Lonnie. "Has your Mum ever been to the United States?"

"Not that I know of."

"I'm not your Mom!" shouted Lizzie/Elvie. "I'm Lizzie! Lizzie Borden!"

"Your Mum has gone batshit!" said Lonnie, still wondering about trying to climb down the drainpipe to get to freedom.

"Lizzie Borden took an axe

"She gave her mother forty whacks.

"When she saw what she had done

"She gave her father forty-one," Lizzie continued chanting.

"Maybe you're right about the drainpipe," said Dodie, and she and Lonnie ran across to the wide open window. Looking out, she said, "It's a long way from the window."

"I can lift you across to it."

"Then I'll have to go first."

"Sorry, babe, but I can't lift you from outside."

After a moment's hesitation, Dodie agreed to let Lonnie lift her out to the rusty red drainpipe nearly a metre from the open window.

"Take it slowly, babe; it isn't a race," said Lonnie. "If we can get a metre or so down, we can hang on and wait until the cops get here."

Despite Lonnie's suggestion, Dodie kept climbing, despite almost falling twice, until reaching the grassy ground behind the two-storey red brick house.


Inside the bedroom, Lizzie Borden (in Elvie's body) had managed to break through the door from the corridor, only to find that the two teenagers were gone.

"Dodie, where are you, honey?" called Lizzie/Elvie. "Come to your Mom."


"So she can bash my head in, no thanks," said Dodie in a whisper.

The two teens were huddled as close to the red brick wall as possible for more than six minutes before hearing the sound of sirens approaching.


"This is number nine," said Sheila Bennett, braking the blue Lexus outside the Mitchell House.

Sheila, Terri, and Colin raced out, climbed the three concrete steps and slammed against the solid oaken front door.

"Ouch!" said Terri, rubbing at her shoulder. "We won't get through that in a hurry."

"Stand back, weakies," taunted Sheila, who spent her Saturdays at the Muscle-Up Gym.

Backing up as much as possible, she raced forward and slammed full force into the door, which rattled, but held fast.

"You were saying, marm?" teased Colin.

After glaring at him, she charged the door a second time, almost breaking the lock. Then, she backed up for a third assault, when from behind them, Dodie said:

"Hold up, I've got a key."

Dodie and Lonnie ran across from the side of the house, and Dodie unlocked the front door.

"Get your guns out, she's totally batshit," warned Lonnie, "she thinks she's Lizzie Borden.

"Hey, she's my Mum ... even if she is totally batshit!" protested Dodie.

"Don't worry," said Colin, "we've got tasers now."

"Oh boy," said Sheila, "I've been dying to taser someone since we got these."

"Let me repeat, she is my Mum," reminded Dodie. "Batshit or not."


Inside the house, they saw the upstairs lit up and heard movement in Dodie's bedroom. Terri held a finger up to her mouth as, tasers drawn, the three cops tiptoed up the red-carpeted stairs to the first floor.

They had reached the top floor landing and were creeping along, when Lizzie/Elvie suddenly ran out of the bedroom shrieking and waving the tomahawk about.

Without saying a word, all three cops tased her, and despite being possessed by the spirit of Lizzie Borden, Elvira collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

"You don't think only one of us should have tasered her?" asked Terri.

"A psycho who thinks she's Lizzie Borden, waving a tomahawk at us?" asked Sheila. "No way. I say let's zap her again."

"Ah-ah, I know you've been eager to zap someone since we got the tasers," said Colin, "but I think once is enough."

"Okay," said Sheila morosely, walking across to handcuff the prone woman.


An hour later, Elvira Mitchell was in the security wing of the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. She had been sedated and cuffed to a metal bed. Andrew Braidwood and Paul Bell were standing the night watch outside the locked door.

"Will you two be okay till morning?" asked Colin Klein.

"No sweat," said Paul Bell, a tall, lean, dark-haired man.

"Yeah," agreed Drew Braidwood. "A little overtime money won't hurt with us both due to retire in six months or so."

"That's what I call looking on the bright side of life," teased Sheila, as she, Colin, and Terri turned to head back toward the car park.


Down in Hades, a huge three-headed blue dog, Cerberus, was stirring. The gatekeeper of Hell, it was the monster dog's duty to see that no one ever escaped from the Underworld. But the monster canine's senses were tingling, its snake-headed tail was swaying in a breeze that did not exist. Its three tongues also swayed, sniffing at the millions of souls in Hades, trying to see if any were missing. Finally, it realised that parent-killer Lizzie Borden had somehow escaped and resided in a small, Victorian country town, Glen Hartwell.

Roaring its rage at Lizzie and itself for having failed in its duty, the twenty-metre-tall canine exited the Underworld through one of several tunnels, which only it was supposed to know about and entered the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest outside Glen Hartwell.

Sniffing at the air as it went, the great blue beast entered from the northern end of Baltimore Drive and slowly strode down the lemon-scented-gum-tree-lined street until approaching a four-storey high building at the southernmost end of town.

Still sniffing the air, like a mortal dog, Cerberus soon detected the smell of Lizzie Borden's soul around the rear of the four-storey yellow-brick hospital.


Outside the security ward, Paul Bell and Drew Braidwood sat on chairs on opposite sides of the metal door.

"So do you want to sleep first, while I sit and watch?" asked Paul Bell. "Or can I have the first sleep?"

"I thought we were being paid overtime to both stay away all night?" said Drew.

"You're getting as pedantic as Terri and Colin," complained Paul.

Before they could argue the point, there was a hellish crashing sound from the room behind them.

"What the fuck," said Drew as the two cops staggered to their feet.\

Unlocking the door, he switched on the light and started forward, only saved from falling to his death by Paul Bell grabbing his left shoulder to pull him back.

"What the Hell?" said Drew.

He stared into where the room had been, only to see a gaping crevasse looking out onto the back yard, where a massive three-headed blue dog stood staring at them. Holding Lizzie/Elvira in its middle mouth, the two outer heads leant down to snarl a warning to the two cops, then, accidentally knocking down more of the security wing, the Hell Hound turned and raced back down Biblical Road to take Elvira Mitchell and Lizzie Borden's spirit back to the Underworld.

"How are we gonna explain this to the Chief?" asked Paul.

"Tell her the truth," said Drew, "she's seen enough weird stuff in the Glen over the last couple of years not to have us locked away."

At that moment, alarms started blaring on their storey and the two below them.


By morning George DuBois and Eunice Grayson from the Department of Building and Works had dug out the collapsed security section of the hospital, finding nine corpses in the ruins.

"Nine dead," said Sheila, resisting the urge to say that since they were all loony, they were possibly better off dead.

"So where did this three-headed, giant, blue pooch take Elvira Mitchell?" asked Terri Scott.

Drew and Paul pointed down Biblical Road.

"Then let's go doggy hunting," said Colin as they started back to Terri's police-blue Lexus GX.


Cerberus had returned to Hades with Elvira possessed by Lizzie Borden. Since he had no way to separate them, he had no choice but to keep Elvira as well.

This time, as he curled up into a gigantic ball, the Hell Hound was determined to be more vigilant against dead souls escaping from the Underworld.


Dolores, Bernice, and Ida Forde were sitting up in the dusty attic with two friends, Bernadette 'Bernie' and Paris Holliston, twins. They were seated around a round card table, upon which they had a dusty old Ouija board that they have found in the attic while hunting for anything to play with.

"So what do we do with this thing?" asked Dolores 'Dotty', fourteen, a plump but pretty blonde.

"You asked it questions," explained Paris, like her twin, Bernie, a beautiful sixteen-year-old blonde.

"You ask a board questions?" asked fifteen-year-old Bernice, a tall ravenette.

"And it talks back?" teased Ida, a tall, sixteen-year-old redhead.

"No, silly," said Bernie Holliston, "that's what the glass is for."

She held up a fine bone China glass that she had borrowed from her mother's best glassware.

"We each put a finger on it, in the centre of the board," explained Paris, "and the spirits move it to spell out words, or give a yes or no answer."

"Which spirits, brandy, whisky, or rum?" teased Dotty.

"Ha-ha," said Bernie, not sounding amused.

She took the glass from Paris and placed it upside down in the centre of the Ouija board, then instructed, "All right, everybody place a finger lightly on the bottom of the glass, or it won't work."

"It won't work anyway," insisted cynical Ida Forde.

"Maybe, but it'll be fun to find out," insisted Paris, giving her friend her saddest moo-cow-eyed look.

"Oh, all right," said Ida.

She reluctantly placed a finger on the bottom of the glass, and after a few seconds, all the girls did the same.

"What should we ask?" asked Bernice.

"Is there anybody out there?" asked Bernie.

The glass moved across to the Yes symbol.

"Okay, who pushed it?" demanded Ida.

"No one," insisted Bernie.

"All right, will I marry a millionaire?" asked Dotty.

The small glass moved to the Yes.

"Whoopee!" said the plump blonde.

Then it spelt out: But you will die just before your fiftieth birthday after falling overboard from your yacht.

"Bummer," said Dotty, laughing a little uncertainly.

"Relax, sis, it's just a game," assured Ida.

"Who will I marry?" asked Bernie Holliston.

The glass spelt out: You will marry a handsome & talented painter, and live in poverty for the rest of your life.

"Bummer," repeated Dotty.

"I don't know whether that was better or worse than your prediction, Dotty," said Bernie.

"Relax, it's just a game," repeated Ida.

"Okay," said Ida, "who will I marry?"

The glass began to move immediately, and spelt out: Frederick Deeming.


Down in the Underworld, Cerberus had almost fallen asleep when he suddenly came fully awake, his fur bristling as though something loathsome had just crawled across his grave.

Without standing, the blue, three-headed dog began to growl deep in one of his throats, while the other two heads began sniffing at the air, to see if any other soul had escaped from Hell.


"Frederick Deeming?" said Paris Holliston. "That name is familiar."

"Yeah, I think we were taught about him in history class," said Bernadette.

"Well, if he's a historical figure, I don't see how you can marry him, sis," said Bernice. "Unless Doctor Who arrives to transport you back in time."

"Hang on," said Paris. She took out a small PC tablet and hunted the internet. Finally, she read, "Frederick Bailey Deeming was an Englishman hanged at the Old Melbourne Gaol on May 23rd, 1892, for killing his two wives and children from his first marriage. Many people still believe that Deeming was Jack the Ripper."

"Hey, sis, you're gonna marry Jack the Ripper," teased Bernice.

"Very funny!" said Ida, sounding unamused. "Now I know that one of you was moving the glass. Come on girls, fess up."

"We weren't!" insisted all of the other girls.

"Yeah, right, like Jack the Ripper is coming back from 1880s London, just to marry me!"

"1892 Melbourne, actually," corrected Dotty.

"Same thing! You all know I'm planning to marry Anton Hillary."

"Does Anton know that?" teased Bernice.

"No," admitted Dotty, "I haven't got around to telling him yet."

The other girls all giggled.


Over at Mrs. Miggins' boarding house at Wilson Street, Lenoak, Anton Hillary, a tall, fiercely blonde eighteen-year-old, was relaxing on his king-single bed, not sleeping, but resting his eyes, and thinking. Although she was only sixteen, he had already decided that he wanted to marry Ida Forde.

Yes, Ida Forde, he thought.

He suddenly spasmed as though struck by lightning.

Yes, Ida Forde, and all the other fallen women in Glen Hartwell, thought Frederick Deeming from inside Antony Hillary's body. He had already had one go at wiping out the fallen women of the area. [See my story, 'Deeming'.] But had been stopped by Terri Scott. But not this time! he thought.

Getting up from the bed, he staggered a little, not yet used to this body, as he started toward the door, then into the corridor, down the stairs, then out into Wilson Street.


Down in the Underworld, Cerberus leapt to his feet and started to whine as he headed for the tunnel leading to the forest outside Glen Hartwell.


The Free Love Sex Lounge in Gordon Street, LePage 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. Several working girls, draped out in fancy undies, some Victorian, some modern, some crotchless with peephole bras, sat around on the sofas.

At the bottom of the concrete steps outside the front door stood three women: Bumblebee, a huge-breasted night-black goddess, a good one hundred and seventy-five centimetres tall, with a thin waist and a perfect Bianca Censori bubble-butt; a short, amply chested Asian cutie named Cerille 'Sally' Chiang also with a perfect bubble-butt, and Peggy Pérez, a tall, curvaceous Latina in her early twenties.

"You know that Sherri will murder you if she finds you standing in her spot at the bottom of the steps," said Cerille.

"Sherri doesn't own this spot!" insisted Bumblebee. "And I'm not afraid of that black bitch."

"That's what the last three women she killed said, Bumble," teased Sally.

"Oh my God, here she comes now," teased Peggy Pérez, laughing as the black beauty spun around to look behind her.

"Very funny, you spick bitch," said Bumblebee.

"Don't call me that, you nig ..." began Peggy, stopping as she decided that she would not sink to the same level as Bumblebee. "Don't call me that, you pig!"

"You're the ..." began Bumblebee, interrupted as Peggy called:

"Customer approaching." She pointed to where tall, blond Anton Hillary-cum-Frederick Deeming was approaching.

"Best behaviour, bitches," said Bumblebee.

"He's only a kid," insisted Sally Chiang.

"Young blokes have money these days ... and costly needs," said Peggy Pérez. Then, as Hillary/Deeming stopped near them, "Something we can do you for, handsome?"

"Or would you prefer to do us?" asked Bumblebee.

Hillary/Deeming looked the three prostitutes over, then, grabbing Bumblebee by the hand, said, "Black is my favourite colour."

"See ya, losers," said Bumblebee, skipping up the concrete steps with her trick.

"I could kill that black bitch," said Sally.

"Do you think we'd do better if we wore black face?" asked Peggy.

"We'd need to wear black-all-over," said Sally. "I think it's because there aren't many black chicks in Australia, that Aussie men all wanna fuck them."

Inside the reception area, Hillary/Deeming paid $200 to the Madam of the sex lounge, Lysette Carmichael, a tall Amazonian fifty-something blonde. Then hand-in-hand, Bumblebee and Hillary/Deeming raced up two flights of stairs to room 212, Bumblebee's private boudoir made out in pink and white silk, pink drapes, white sheets on the bed, and pink-and-white furniture.

The girls had been taught to lead the tricks up the stairs, not into the small elevator, to wear them out as much as possible before starting, and also to waste time by getting them talking.

"So what do you like doing?" asked Bumblebee, sitting herself on a pink-and-white, wooden-backed chair.

"Cunt," said Hillary/Deeming hurriedly undressing.

So much for that, thought Bumblebee. Standing, she hurriedly undressed and moved across to sit on the white silk-sheeted bed.

"So how do you want it?"

"Let's try, kinky," said the blond man. Picking up the black doctor's bag that he carried, he took out some leather straps.

Gulping, Bumblebee lay back on the bed and spread-eagled herself, ready.

Hillary/Deeming came across to tie her hands and feet to the bed, before putting her pink panties into her mouth, despite her protests, then used masking tape to completely silence the night-black beauty.

"We don't want anyone hearing your screams," explained Hillary/Deeming as he reached into the black bag to take out a long carving knife. "Unfortunately, I couldn't get a proper boning knife to use, like before, but this should do nicely."

"Mmm-mmm?" mumbled Bumblebee.

"Shush," teased Hillary/Deeming, "we don't want anyone to hear us; this is just between you and me."

He then leant down and used the carving knife to effortlessly remove her large, opulent left breast, which he sliced skilfully before placing it upon the pink dressing table. He then repeated the procedure with her right breast, skilfully slicing the large mound, like a skilled butcher hand-slicing ham.

"As they say, you can't have one without the other," teased Hillary/Deeming as he began slicing open Bumblebee's belly to remove her intestines, which he draped across her left shoulder.

"Oh, poor Bumblebee," teased Hillary/Deeming as the black beauty's eyes began watering.

Taking pity on the prostitute, he slit her throat, before removing her heart and lungs, wishing that he had the means to cook and eat them. He then continued to remove her liver, kidneys and other organs, before slicing away the fatty sections of her large thighs, then calves. Then, removing the straps, he spun the prostitute over, so that he could slice away the swelling cheeks of her perfect bubble-butt, again slicing them skilfully and placing them upon the dressing cabinet.

The killer was so absorbed in his play that he lost track of time and was surprised when a knock came on the door and a woman's voice called out: " Lysette says your time is almost up."

"Thanks, I'll be down in five minutes," called Hillary/Deeming.

Abandoning what was left of Bumblebee, he walked across to a small en-suite, took a quick shower, and washed his knife, before redressing.


Having entered the forest outside Glen Hartwell from the Underworld, Cerberus quickly sniffed out that the wayward soul of Frederick Deeming was not in the Glen and started toward LePage township, where his powerful nose told him that Jack the Ripper was.

Running, for fear of missing the Ripper, the three-headed, giant blue Hell Hound was soon at Gordon Street LePage as Hillary/Deeming was stepping out of the shower after slaughtering Bumblebee.


Smiling in satisfaction at a good night's work, Hillary/Deeming had just dressed when he heard a hellish roar from outside the room.

"Cerberus! He must have followed me here!" said the Ripper. Just before the outside wall imploded, and a large rock smashed into Anton Hillary's head, killing him and releasing the soul of Jack the Ripper.

Cerberus roared again, then reached into the room to grab the soul of Frederick Deeming, to back out of the brothel. Turning, the Hell Hound reversed and started at a run back toward the tunnel leading to the Underworld.

Hearing the roaring, a redheaded prostitute tentatively opened the door a crack, peeped in and shrieked as she caught a glimpse of Cerberus, just before he took off at a run.

Hearing the scream, Lysette Carmichael and three or four women raced up the stairs to look into the room, and out into the alley behind the brothel.

"What the fuck happened here?" demanded the blonde, Amazonian Madam.

"Dog ... blue ... huge ... three-headed ... snake for tail," stammered the redhead before fainting.


Forty minutes later, Terri Scott and the others were at the brothel, along with medical staff from the Glen Hartwell Hospital.

Sheila Bennett had taken the crime scene pictures, including risking a lean out into the alleyway to snap some shots, so the medics were examining the remains of Anton Hillary and poor Bumblebee.

"Looks like Frederick Deeming's back," said Terri, looking at the corpse of the black prostitute.

"So what happened to the wall to the outside?" asked Colin Klein.

"Dog ... blue ... huge ... three-headed ... snake for tail," stammered the redheaded prostitute, now being attended to by a gorgeous platinum blonde nurse, Topaz Moseley.

"That's all she's been saying since ... whatever happened, happened," said Lysette Carmichael. "If that makes any sense at all."

"Strangely enough, it does," said Sheila, remembering what Paul Bell and Drew Braidwood had told them after the attack upon the security section of the hospital the previous night.


"So, do you think it's time to speak to our witchy friend?" asked Colin, as they finally returned to Terri's blue Lexus.

"Something tells me that it is," said Terri, as Sheila started the car.


An hour later, they were sitting around in the living room at 1/21 Calhoun Street, Glen Hartwell, the right-hand side of a subdivided white weatherboard house. Inside lived Magnolia (nee Mavis) McCready, a tall, busty, forty-eight-year-old redheaded Wiccan (white witch) with electric-blue eyes.

They sat down in the turquoise-coloured living room, savouring cups of Crème Brûlée coffee with smooth vanilla tones, creamy custard, and the bittersweet bite of butterscotch, accompanied by homemade chocolate fudge.

With Magnolia's huge, white tomcat, Timmikins, eyeing off the fudge, Terri quickly explained what had happened over the last couple of days.

As Timmikins leapt up onto the white witch's lap, eyeing the fudge that she held in her left hand, Magnolia said:

"It sounds like you're dealing with Cerberus. Cerberus is a mythical creature from Greek mythology, known as the multi-headed dog that guards the gates of the Underworld. He prevents the dead from leaving and the living from entering the realm of Hades. Cerberus is typically depicted with three heads, though some accounts give him fifty, and he also has a serpent's tail and snake heads growing from his back."

"No one mentioned snakes growing from his back, but the rest fits," said Colin.

"More importantly, how do we stop him?" asked Terri.

"Even more importantly, why is he coming here?" said the Wiccan.

"He took back the souls of Lizzie Borden and Frederick Deeming," said Sheila Bennett.

"Exactly. Cerberus isn't evil per se; rather, he is trying to protect the upper world from evil spirits escaping from the Underworld."


Over in Briarwood Township, in Tenement Street, which strangely had no tenements, or flats of any kind, only two-, three-, and four-bedroom houses, Michelangelo Da Vinci, or Father Micky as he had been known before being defrocked, was performing a black mass in his living room, in the hope of gaining eternal life for himself and his flock of dedicated Satanists.

"Satan, King of the Underworld! Hear our plea! We are your loyal followers! Please help us to obtain everlasting life!"

"Everlasting life!" repeated the forty or so members of the satanic sect.

"Everlasting life!" shouted Father Micky, tearing off his black raiments to stand naked and erect in front of his largely female flock.

"Everlasting life!" agreed the flock, also tearing off their clothing to start the usual orgy-cum-service, which often lasted all night.

Seeing a huge-breasted brunette of no more than twenty, Father Micky stormed toward her, picked her up, and slammed her down upon his massive manhood, making the brunette cry out in agony and ecstasy as the fallen priest took her down to the ground, almost tearing her large, opulent breasts off her chest with his hands, as he rutted like an animal on top of her, with no pretence of making love.

"Oh Satan, Father of the fallen, hear our plea!" shrieked Fr. Micky, before losing himself to rutting with the brunette, who soon had her long legs wrapped around his body, helping to pull the fallen priest deeply inside of her.

Following Fr. Micky's example, the flock were soon rutting, men with women, women performing cunnilingus upon each other, or using Sappho belts with dildos, cucumbers, or oversized carrots attached, to ride each other like men.

When the orgy had finished, after nearly four hours, Father Micky called, "Bring the sacrifice!"

Two men, still naked, raced across to grab a tall, thin girl of fifteen, who had not joined in the orgy. Dragging the girl across to a large stone slab at the back of the 'church', the two men held her down while Father Michael intoned:

"Father Satan! God of all that is Evil, please grant us immortality!"

"Immortality!" chanted the naked parishioners, eyes glazed as though high on speed, as Father Micky picked up a large, carving knife from beside the stone slab.

"Father Satan! God of all that is Evil, please grant us immortality!" intoned the fallen priest again, this time slashing the blonde girl's throat as he intoned.

"Immortality!" chanted the naked parishioners.

"Immortality!" shouted a mysterious voice.

There was a loud explosion, grey flames roiled up from the floor, then the figure of Satan, a tall, blood-red creature, looking half-way between a man and a goat, with long goat horns on his head, cloven feet, and a gigantic erect penis appeared out of the smoke clouds.

"Immortality!" shouted Satan again, waving his muscular, orange-red arms around like a stage magician making magical passes.

"Yes, immortality," agreed Michelangelo Da Vinci, suddenly speaking in a British accent, as his soul was displaced by the soul of Peter William Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper!

"Immortality!" shouted the two men who had held down the blonde teen.

"Yes, immortality," agreed Satan, waving his arms around again.

And the two men's souls were displaced by the souls of Albert DeSalvo, the Boston Strangler, and Clyde Barrow.

"Immortality!" shrieked three tall, large-breasted women only a metre from the Prince of Darkness.

Satan had their souls displaced by those of Bonnie Parker, Ma Barker, and Myra Hindley, the Moors Murderess.


Down in the Underworld, Cerberus awakened with a start, sniffing around for the souls in Hades. He began to whine in distress as he recognised that there had been some kind of mass breakout. Leaping to his feet, the massive, blue, three-headed Hell Hound started for the tunnel back to the Glen Hartwell region.


"Immortality!" shrieked the congregation.

And soon, their souls were disposed by the souls of the greatest murderers and maniacs in history: Alexander the Great, Ivan the Terrible, Catherine the Great, who had died having sex with her favourite horse, Attila the Hun, John Wilkes Booth, Adolf Hitler, Eva Braun, Benito Mussolini, Josef Mengele, Elizabeth Báthory, sometimes known as Countess Dracula, Napoleon, Stalin, and so on, until forty or more living people, had had their souls dispossessed to make way for the souls of many of the most evil men and women in history.

"Immortality!" shrieked the congregation one last time.

"Immortality!" agreed Satan, the King of Hades, the Prince of Darkness.

At that moment, a great roaring came from behind the four-bedroom house.

"Get thee behind me, Cerberus, Hound of Hell!" cried Satan.

Then one of the walls of the house imploded as Cerberus burst into the living room-cum-church, killing half a dozen of the possessed parishioners with falling bricks and debris.

"Curse you, Hell Hound!" cried Satan.

He stepped toward the massive blue canine as though to attack it, then, as the three-headed dog exhaled flames from its three mouths, setting the remaining possessed parishioner alight, Satan changed his mind.

Glaring at the blue dog, Satan raised his arms above his head, smoke roiled from the floor again, then, when it cleared, the Prince of Darkness was gone. Abandoning the souls of the most evil men and women in history to be burnt to a crisp by the Guardian of the Gates of Hades.

Once the forty or so bodies had been burnt to ashes, Cerberus strode across to the stone slab, where the blonde teen girl's body lay. The massive Hell Hound blew a stream of greenish-blue mist onto the girl.

Then, despite her throat being viciously cut, the girl began to rouse and slowly opened her eyes. She tried to ask what was going on. But was unable to speak.

Grabbing the forty souls of the murderers and maniacs, Cerberus turned and strode away through the great hole that he had left in the living room wall.


Over at Calhoun Street, Glen Hartwell, they were still discussing Cerberus, and what, if anything, they could do about the great beast, when Terri Scott's mobile phone rang.

Putting down her Crème Brûlée coffee and piece of homemade fudge, Terri picked up her phone, giving the tomcat Timmikins the chance to jump up onto her lap to steal the piece of fudge, before running off with it.

After talking for a moment, Terri disconnected and said, "There's been some kind of massacre at Tenement Street in Briarwood. Forty or so people have been burnt alive."


An hour later, Terri and the others were at the Tenement Street house in Briarwood, along with Tilly Lombstrom, Jesus Costello, Elvis Green, and a dozen or so paramedics, along with the Glen Hartwell area's six ambulances.

"We've also sent for the air ambulance to help out," said Tilly Lombstrom, a tall, attractive, fifty-something brunette, assisting Jesus to sew up the teen blonde's throat enough to get her to the hospital.

"By all rights, she should be dead, with her throat cut from ear to there," said Jesus, a tall, strongly built, fifty-something man, administrator and chief surgeon of the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"It reminds me of the case of South African woman Alison Botha back in the mid 1990s," said Jerry 'Elvis' Costello, the local coroner. "Two men abducted and raped Alison in the bushes adjacent to Nelson Mandela Metropolitan University’s South campus. Stabbed so many times that doctors could not count her wounds, disembowelled, and her throat slit, Alison was left for dead. But miraculously she crawled centimetre by centimetre from the bushes to the roadside, where she was eventually found and assisted by a passing motorist."

"Yeah, I remember the case, although I was only starting out as a crime reporter in 1994," said Colin Klein. "Quite inspiring."


It would be weeks before the teenage blonde could tell them what had happened. Finally, she did, ending by telling them of Cerberus standing over her, breathing green mist upon her.

"I think the giant dog brought me back to life."

"Well, stranger things have happened in Glen Hartwell," admitted Terri Scott.

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