Mandy was a typical, wide-eyed heroine but Meryl was a female Mowgli. She looked normal, apart from dishevelled hair and sharp canine teeth. She was on all fours and Mandy was brushing the tangles out of her hair. ‘Soon be done. Just a little more.’
Mandy saw some chewed up possessions. ‘Oh, Meryl. Not my Marc Bolan records. And my best sling-backs.’
Meryl made a throaty, doggy sound.
‘I know. It’s not your fault. You don’t know any better.’
Meryl balanced back on her hind legs and Mandy was pleased. ‘It’s those wolves that made you do it. Now keep balancing on your hind legs, because today is your first day at school and no one must know your secret.’ She threw a biscuit in the air. ‘Here.’
Meryl jumped up and caught the biscuit in her mouth. ‘That’s a good girl.’
Mandy turned and looked appealingly towards the readers. ‘I was so lonely before I met Meryl. I needed a friend and Meryl is so kind and wants so little in return: just two tins of dog food a day. I hate telling lies, but I can’t tell Mum and Dad the truth about Meryl or she’ll be sent to a Special School and I’ll lose her forever.’
Meryl was still standing on two legs, although a little unsteady. Mandy checked her over, adjusting her uniform. ‘You ready, Meryl? Now, when we get to class, remember you mustn’t mark your territory and no more drinking out of the lavatory bowl.’
Meryl made a doggy sound by way of response.
Mandy observed some strands of wool on her uniform. ‘Meryl … what’s that wool doing there? Oh, you didn’t? Please say you didn’t?’
Meryl’s tongue hung out. She panted and leered at Mandy, exposing her wolfish teeth. ‘Oh, Meryl. This is very bad, Meryl. And in the lambing season, too.’
The front doorbell rang. Meryl suddenly became alert, growling, sensing an enemy.
‘Ssssh!’ Mandy went close to the door to overhear who it was.
Down below she could hear a man’s harsh voice. ‘Mrs Jones? I’m from Cider-Acre Farm just down the road. We’ve got a problem with wolves.’ Meryl growled. ‘I traced the spoor to here.’
Mandy heard her mother reply, ‘I’m sure you’re mistaken. There’s only my daughter and her friend upstairs.’
Meryl started scratching at the door and growling loudly.
‘Meryl! No!’ implored Mandy.
Now the farmer was shouting below, ‘Stand back, Mrs Jones! I’ve got strict orders – it’s got to be shot. It could have rabies.’
Mandy heard his heavy footsteps thundering up the stairs.
She looked fearfully at a snarling Meryl. ‘Oh, no! How … how am I going to save Meryl? She’s done a bad thing and deserves to be punished. But there’s lots of lambs and only one Meryl. My special friend.’
She stared towards the window. ‘One chance! The window!’ She swiftly locked her bedroom door, then turned to her friend, ‘Come on!’
They opened the window and climbed out onto the shed roof, just as they heard the farmer hurling his weight against the bedroom door.
Moments later, Mandy and Meryl fled from their house and ran down the street.
Mandy had put a home-made muzzle on Meryl and a dog’s choke chain and lead. ‘I’ll have to take you back to your wolf parents, Meryl. They understand you and you were happy there. It was wrong of me to take you away from them.’
Meryl growled and lunged at passers-by who backed away in alarm. Mandy pulled her away from them. ‘I hated putting that muzzle, made of satchel straps, on you, Meryl, but I had no choice. Please don’t make me use the choke chain on you.’
The Farmer appeared at Mandy’s open bedroom window. He was clutching a shotgun. Mandy’s terrified mother was beside him.
‘Mandy Jones, step aside! The Wolf Girl must be destroyed!’
He fired.
Mandy’s mother screamed.
Meryl was wounded in the shoulder.
She fell to the ground.
Mandy knelt beside her friend who was moaning in pain.
She removed her muzzle and tried to comfort her. ‘Oh, no. Don’t die, Meryl. Please don’t die. You’re my best friend. I … I couldn’t bear to lose you.’
She held a whimpering Meryl close. Unfortunately, too close because it was hurting Meryl’s wounded arm so she whimpered even louder.
She looked down at her friend. ‘We’ll never get away to the wilds of Berkshire now. How can I stop that farmer? And if I do save you, will they send you to a Special School? And …where will it all end?’
The story concluded, ‘What does Fate hold for Feral Meryl? Don’t miss next week’s Shandy.’
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If you’re new to Serial Killer, start here at Chapter 1.
Greg’s success made Dave feel bitter, competitive and angry. And he hated the story, too, not understanding why it was a success. So it was several moments before he had calmed down enough to respond to it. Finally, he asked, ‘As a matter of interest, did you research this story, Greg? Are there, in fact, any wolves in Berkshire?’
‘It’s dramatic license,’ said Joy, coming to his defence.
‘Originally it was a herd of lions,’ said Greg. ‘But Joy thought wolves were more appealing to girls.’
‘And “Berkshire”?’
‘In-joke,’ winked Greg.
‘It doesn’t affect the social realism?’
‘Not at all,’ said Joy. ‘Readers don’t care. Anyway, they probably pronounce it ‘Burkshire’.
‘So what did you think?’ Greg smiled at Dave.
‘Well, talking of burks …’
‘Doesn’t really matter what he thinks,’ Joy interrupted Dave. She pointed again to the popularity chart. ‘Girls love wolves. Greg understands that.’ She looked pointedly at Greg. ‘He just knows what women need.’
Greg winked at Dave again. He kissed Joy. ‘See you tonight.’
Then turned and grinned at Dave. ‘Oh, yes. You’ve got your interview with the Demon Barber. In The Cock Tavern? We’ll be there.’ He leered. ‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world.’
‘I’ll be wearing one of my Biba outfits,’ Joy promised him.
‘Can’t wait,’ said Greg. He smiled insincerely at Dave. ‘Good luck, mate.’
‘Anyhoo …’ said Joy turning her attention to Dave. ‘You know what I’m looking for now.’
Dave looked for a way to shoot Greg’s story down without making his jealousy too obvious.
‘I still have a problem with Greg’s realism,’ he said critically. ‘Meryl didn’t look very hirsute to me.’
‘She’s brought up by wolves, she’s not half-human, half-wolf. Pay attention.’
‘Sorry. I was so riveted by the sheer power of his writing, I didn’t realise.’
He looked at Joy’s bare arms. It was the first time he’d noticed them. ‘You’re quite downy yourself, aren’t you? I hope you’re not a slave to the razor?’
‘I’ll give you razor. You want to be chibbed?’
That was Dave’s cue to depart and, losing interest in him, she started to water one of her plants. He idly wondered if it was a Triffid. If it was, it had better behave itself.
As he looked back, he was surprised by a sudden stirring in his loins at the sight of Joy’s lithe, svelte body. Her dark, lustrous eyes, heart-shaped face and beautiful, if rare, smile. She was so like her film star mother who had seduced cinema audiences with her beguiling beauty as she courageously faced alien monsters, the undead and Vincent Price.
The only difference between the two women was that Joy was the scary one.
Yet, despite her scariness, he realised he fancied her, which was a first. It had never truly happened to him before. He was lusting after a woman. Not a fur coat. Rather than pretending to lust, to keep up appearances, like when he was a teenager, so other teenagers didn’t discover how strange he really was. Until he reached his twenties and then he didn’t care anymore. Even though he knew it was an impossible lust: Joy was in the first division and he wasn’t even on the league table. The Subbuteo table, maybe.
But lust was lust and he could dream of what might be. The two of them, locked in each other’s arms, caressing and …
Although, ideally, she’d need to be wearing her fur coat, of course.
Serial Killer by Pat Mills & Kevin O’Neill is the first book in the Read Em And Weep series and is on sale digitally or as paperback.
Smashing Pat!