stalker

However there were eleven girls in the last cell.

StoryKettle » Amy » stalker

Copyright © 2018, Michael M Wayman

So some of the girls beat him up, thumped him stupid. And then they carried him to the local hospital.

“This is our house, our new home, it's big, big enough for us girls. We paid for it with all the money we got from singing. This is our first week by ourselves, nothing planned, no concerts, just doing what we want to do. Amy, Jimmie and the police­woman are on a week's camping holiday on the lakes...”

“No, they're not, wrong story, they've got a cottage on the moors. But you're right, a whole week to ourselves, just us. Or so we thought. This morning we spotted him outside the bathroom window looking in.”

“So some of the girls beat him up, thumped him stupid. And then they carried him to the local hospital. Not that I was involved.”

“My name is Eloise, because I look like Eloise, like those two girls over there.”


“Yes sir, that's what all the girls said: some of the girls beat him up, but I wasn't involved.”

“Take the nine girls down to the station and we can interview them there.”

“But which nine girls, sir? There are more than nine here, more like ninety-nine. I've spoken to at least five girls called Eloise and yes they all looked the same.”

“Then take any nine girls.”

The girls all broke into loud song:

Steuermann, laß die Wacht! Steuermann! her zu uns! Ho! He! Je! Ha! Hißt die Segel auf! Anker fest! Steuermann, her!

“Get those nine girls down to the police station for question­ing, they may have to stay overnight.”


The police sergeant's mouth fell open, the first cell was empty, so were the others. However there were eleven girls in the last cell.

The girls all broke into loud song:

Your friend is in trouble? Your friend is in need? Your friend is unhappy? You have a friend inDEED! Sandwich him in the middle! Sandwich him with care! Sandwich him with tender! Fill him with tender loving CARE! Eat a sandwich! Eat a sandwich! Just a sandwich! Just a sandwich! Thank you Lord Sandwich!

"We'll have to let them go, they all say the same story, we do not know who exactly to charge."


Bonk!

What was that? Two of the girls rushed out to find another stalker lying face-down in a flowerbed; perhaps he had fallen from the drainpipe on the other side of the house. An ambulance came.

The police came, and two reporters and a band of bagpipers and Uncle Tom Cobley and Allan.

The pipers were very loud and all of them looked like Margaret Thatcher. No girls were to been seen. The police questioned Tom Cobley.

“The girls told us yesterday that they were alone here in their house...”

“Oh yes, mostly. But Trace is here too. And to answer your next question Trace is Jimmie's PC, that is personal computer. Trace arranges the band playing the music.”

“So which one of the pipers is Trace?”

“Oh, all of them. You must understand that Trace is not a singular person – certainly not a person and is sometimes plural and sometimes singular. Not that that is a problem.”

The bagpipers played Widecombe Fair at high volume. The next morning the two reporters were found sitting on a bench in Riddlely Village secured with duct tape.


After a few days Amy, Jimmie and the police­woman returned from their holiday and were met by a rush of nine girls. Bussi-Bussis all round; everybody got kissed several times.

Amy had a present for all of them – a pendent necklace with a heart-shaped, jet pendent and a silver, box chain which she hanged around each neck – more Bussi-Bussis.

“Amy, we've got an idea for the first two numbers for our next album:”

Stalker, Stalker, pastry and pie, Do tell us what or why! Stalker, Stalker, just go awa-ay! Don't come again another da-ay!

A video played on the large blank wall. It showed a large house with nine windows with a girl singing at each one.

Stalker, Stalker, pastry and pie, Don't even try! Stalker, Stalker, just piss in your boots! We don't give two hoots. Stalker, Stalker, you have no chance, We're gonna thump you right in your Whitechapel.

The video panned to the right to a big, oak tree and a Mormon Women choir dressed in long, plain, white dresses and white bonnets. They solemnly sing:

Nellie the Elephant packed her trunk And said goodbye to the circus Off she went with a trumpety-trump Trump, trump, trump

In the tree are several drunk policemen who also sing.