THE WHISTLER

Lonnie Tate was walking through the sweet-smelling forest of eucalyptus and pine trees when he first heard the whistling.

"What the fuck?" he said to no one in particular. Thinking: Have we magically jumped back in time seventy-odd years? The last time anyone thought whistling was cool, or in, or even the ginchiest was the early nineteen fifties. Before rock and roll swept away banjos, and musical jugs, washboards, whistling, and other non-music forms that people once loved.

Yet, despite his cynicism Lonnie soon found his right foot starting to tap and do minor dance steps despite his proclaimed loathing for whistling.

All right, it is quite a catchy tune, thought Lonnie as his other foot started doing minor dance steps also. Lonnie had never been a dancer and the crudeness of his technique would have shown this to anyone watching, had anyone been watching.

I might not be Gene Kelly, or even Gene Vincent for that matter, but who cares, thought Lonnie, as he started dancing his way through the sweet-smelling forest, heading in the general direction of the Whistler's Arms Inn in Prescott Street Perry, where he was residing.

An idiotic grin had come over his face, and he was dancing arms akimbo like Scottish Country Dancers.

As he approached the Inn, he started to pass people he knew, who would say, "Hello Mr. Tate" or "Good morning, Lonnie". But Lonnie Tate just kept dancing on, arms akimbo, with a broad insane grin on his face.

"Weird mucho?" asked a teenage girl as he danced his way past her toward the front of the Whistler's Arms Inn.

Then, unable to stop to open the door of the inn, all he could do was high kick, toward the door, occasionally managing to knock on the door with the toes of his feet.



Inside, Dolly Maguire, a huge-breasted thirty-something with long flowing brown tresses, called: "Come in, it's not locked."

Then as the strange knocking continued, she walked out from behind the registry desk, to open the door.

"Mr. Tate," she said puzzled, stepping back, as he kept grinning idiotically, arms akimbo like Superman or Wonder Woman, even as he danced his way into the hotel.

"You forgot your key," said Dolly, grabbing it off the rack to run after him as he danced up two flights of steps to start kick-knocking on the door to his room.

"Hey, hey, don't do that!" called Dolly, racing across to open the door for him, careful to avoid his kick-knocking feet.

As she stood back, pushing the door wide open, he danced his way into the room, danced across to the bed, and then collapsed onto the bed from fatigue. Although he still had a moronic grin on his face, his arms held Akimbo, while occasionally his legs spasmed. No longer having the energy to actually dance.

"My God, what's wrong with him?" asked Tessa Whyte, an attractive blonde thirty-something resident looking in through the door from the corridor.

"Other than him being a lousy dancer?" asked her husband.

"Shame on you Manfred," she chastised him. "Can't you tell that the poor man is ill?"

"Ill in the head," said Manfred, more accurate than any of them realised. "No wonder Irish Country Dancing and Scottish Country Dancing both fell out of vogue, twenty years back. They're completely crap."

"Manfred!" called his wife, sneaking into the room to see if there was anything that she could do for the Lonnie Tate, as Dolly went back down to the reception desk to call for an ambulance. "Mr. Tate, are you all right, dear?"

"Course he's not all right," persisted her husband. "He's as batty as a fruit cake."

"The expression is nutty as a fruit cake, or batty as a belfry," corrected Tessa as Lonnie, continued his horizontal country dancing, until finally passing out from exhaustion.

"Poor dear," said Dolly Maguire returning to the bedroom. "I have called for an ambulance to take him to the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. Now I have to go to tend to the front desk."

"And I have to post this on YouTube," said Manfred, holding up his mobile phone. "It'll soon have a million likes."

"What is it?" asked Tessa.

"Bozzo there doing his sideways country bumpkin dancing," said Manfred Whyte.

"Manfred, you bastard," chastised his wife. "Sometimes I wonder why I ever married you."

"Because I have a big cock and know how to use it to tickle your G-spot," said Manfred, chuckling at his wife's shocked expression.

"That may well be, Mr. Holmes," she said, "but there are limits to what I'll put up with from you."



Twenty minutes later they heard sirens and Jesus (pronounced 'Hee-Zeus') the administrator and head doctor at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, arrived with two paramedics.

"Where is he?" asked Jesus.

"On his bed," said Manfred. "He finally flaked out. But this is what he was doing before that," he said, showing the two men and one woman what Lonnie Tate had been doing before collapsing from fatigue.

"The poor man," said Tessa Whyte.

Staring in puzzlement, Cheryl, the female paramedic, a tall, thin woman of sixty-ish, with long, badly dyed hair, asked: "Did he always like Scottish or Irish Country Dancing?"

"Not in the three months that we've been here," answered Tessa.

"Nah. Long walks amongst the pines and eucalypts is the only physical activity we've ever known him to engage in," said Manfred. Looking down he was delighted to see that he already had nearly two thousand likes on his YouTube post of Lonnie Tate.

"Well, let's get him to the hospital," said Jesus Costello, and the two paramedics lifted him onto a stretcher, and with difficulty got him out into the grey walled corridor, then started precariously down the stairs.

Almost dropping their charge, he suddenly awakened and started sideways country dancing while lying on the stretcher.

"Oh, this is what I call country dancing gold," said Manfred Whyte, lifting up his mobile phone to film Lonnie again.

"Give me that," snarled Tessa trying to snatch the mobile away from her husband. In their struggle, the phone flew out of their hands, crashed to the floor in the reception area, and shattered.

"Oops," said Tessa, her broad smile belying any suggestion that she was sorry.

"Bitch," said Manfred.

"Jackal," said Tessa. "Trying to cash in on another person's problems."

"What about my financial problems?"

"If you'd just stop drinking, smoking, and gambling we wouldn't have any financial problems."

"I'm going to assume that you're as mad as that dancing hatter!" said Manfred indignantly.

"Shut up, you heartless bastard,' said Tessa usually slow to rile, but pushed past her limit by her husband this time.



At the hospital Jesus Costello had Lonnie Tate's arms and legs strapped to his bed. Although he still twitched, grinning like the Joker on dope, he was unable to do his frenetic dancing.

"If he doesn't stop soon, we'll have to transport him to Melbourne for specialist treatment," said Jesus. Then to Annie, the Nurse in Charge. "In the meantime, I want him fed intravenously, and give him an injection to knock him out."

"Yes, Jesus," she said, passing on the instructions to other nurses.



Donny DeVito was walking through the sweet-smelling pine and red gum forest when he heard the whistling a long way off. Donny smiled, remembering his childhood, in the eighties when his mother and aunts would entertain him by whistling. Something that also angered his father, since, like Donny himself, his father could not whistle.

"It's a specialist art form, like any other," thought Donny. Not critical of whistling, the way that Lonnie Tate had been before the Whistler, had converted him to a dancing fool.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," hummed Donny, walking along, starting to grin idiotically, just as Lonnie Tate was doing still in the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, despite being unconscious.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," hummed Donny, again, starting to twirl a little as he walked along.

"Are you all right?" asked Tessa Whyte, as the huge, muscle-bound lumberjack began twirling toward her, humming: "Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum."

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," hummed Donny by way of answering. Unlike Lonnie Tate, he was able to grab the door knob to let himself into the Whistler's Arms Inn, to start across the reception area.

"Hello, Mr. DeVito," greeted Dolly Macguire as the resident twirled across to the staircase.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," he said by way of greeting.

"What the...?" said Dolly, dropping the flowers that she had been arranging to start after him.

"Mr. DeVito, are you all right?"

Turning, he grinned moronically at her and answered: "Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum."

"Hi," said Manfred Whyte passing Donny on the steps, heading out to see where his wife was.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny, twirling, almost ballerina-like past him.

"What?" asked Manfred startled.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," repeated Donny without stopping.

"Has he gone nuts?" asked Manfred, watching the huge lumberjack dancing and twirling. "Or did he just decide to come out?"

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny, vanishing into his bedroom on the first storey.

"Don't be such an insensitive "B"," said his wife, starting across the reception room floor. "Can't you see that it's happened again?"

"What's happened again?"

"Whatever the Hell happened to poor Mr. Tate."

As Tessa was talking, Dolly Macguire was ringing through to Jesus Costello at the Glen Hartwell hospital.



Jesus talked on the phone for a while, then said to the Nurse in Charge, Annie: "It's happened again."

"What has?" she asked.

"We've got another dancing imbecile. Only this one is twirling like a ballerina, and humming 'Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum.' From what Dolly Macguire told me."

Jesus went down to the ambulance bay, taking Annie with him, and they started out for the Whistler's Arms in Perry township.



"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny, still twirling around his bedroom, while the others stood in the doorway watching.

"Am I the only one a little freaked out by seeing a huge, burly lumberjack twirling around like a ballerina?" asked Manfred.

"No," said Dolly, Tessa, and half a dozen other residents as one.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny DeVito.



Over the next half an hour, Dolly had to keep running down to the reception desk, whenever somebody tinged the bell on the desk. Then run back upstairs to rejoin the queue watching the burly male ballerina.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny. Unlike Lonnie Tate, the burly logger was strong enough to keep dancing for hours.

Finally, they heard sirens as an ambulance arrived outside. Then after a few moments, Cheryl, a black paramedic Derek, Jesus Costello, and Annie the Nurse in Charge all raced up the steps.

"How is he?" asked Annie.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny by way of answer.

"Not good, I see," said Jesus watching the lumberjack twirl for a while, before leading the other hospital crew over to him.

"Come on Donny, we need to give you a little check-up," said Jesus, trying to lead him over the door to the corridor.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny, easily brushing aside the hospital coordinator.

"Let me have a try," said Derek, an amateur bodybuilder in his spare time.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny, easily brushing Derek aside also.

"Let me try," said Annie, whose younger sister was a ballerina with the Royal Melbourne Ballet.

Holding her arms above her head, she said: "Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum." And started twirling around.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," agreed Donny, watching the Nurse in Charge.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," she said, starting to twirl across to the doorway.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny twirling after her.

"Well, I'll be," said Derek, genuinely impressed.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Annie, twirling out into the corridor.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," agreed Donny, twirling out after her.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Annie, twirling down the stairs toward the reception desk.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," agreed Donny, twirling along behind her.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Annie, twirling across to the ambulance parked outside.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Donny, twirling out after her.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Annie twirling up the steel ramp that they had lowered before entering the Whistler's Arms Inn.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," agreed Donny, twirling up the ramp after her.

"Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum," said Annie one last time, sticking him with a syringe filled with a strong sleeping draft.

"Dum Dee Dum," muttered the lumberjack, falling onto the stretcher bed, with a little help from Annie.

Grinning broadly as the others followed gape-mouthed in awe of her, Annie said: "It's as easy as Pi Delta Kappa when you know how."



Forty minutes later they were at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. Like Lonnie Tate, Donny DeVito had been strapped down to his bed, an oversized bed only used for extras large patients.

Like Lonnie, Donny was on a food drip, and sleeping draft also.

"Now what do we do?" asked Annie.

"Well, in your case, good girl, give yourself a pat on the back," said Jesus, making her smile.

As for the rest of us, I think it's time to bring in Paul and Elvis.



Elvis Green (so nicknamed due to his long black sideburns and devotion to the late King of Rock and Roll), was working at his morgue in Dien Street Glen Hartwell when he received a call from Jesus Costello in the Hospital.

After listening to the hospital administrator for a while, he asked: "What do you want me to do about it, Jesus? I'm a coroner, not a psychiatrist."



Twenty minutes later four people stood around looking at Lonnie Tate, and Donny DeVito, who had been moved to the same two-bed ward: Jesus, Annie, Elvis, and Paul Bell, a short wiry raven-haired man, the chief of police for LePage, whose area more or less included Perry, which was too small a township to have it's one police force.

"To answer your question, Elvis," said Jesus, "you've had more experience than I have with these wacky goofy cases which keep cropping up in the Glen Hartwell to Willamby area."

"So tell me their exact symptoms," said Elvis.

"We can do better than that with the first one," said Annie, holding up her mobile phone to show him Manfred Whyte's film of Lonnie Tate grinning idiotically while trying to Scottish Country Dance while lying on his side on his bed at the Whistler's Arms inn in Perry.

"Holy shit," said Elvis and Paul, both struggling to believe their eyes.

"What about the other one?" asked Elvis.

"No film of him," apologised Jesus, "but he was twirling like a ballerina humming, 'Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum', over and over."

"Could it be some kind of plague...?" Elvis wondered aloud.

"A plague that makes people dance, and grin moronically, while humming 'Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum'?" said Jesus Costello. "Possibly except there's no sign of infection in their urine or blood."

"Although their brain waves can best be described as wacky backy," said Annie.

"So it's a mental thing, not a physical disease," said Elvis, his brow wrinkling as he puzzled over the two strange patients.

"If we can't figure it out in the next few days," said Jesus, "I'm going to have to arrange for the air ambulance to take them both into Melbourne. Although Lord alone knows what they can do for them in Melbourne either?"



Seeing her husband starting to walk toward the forest, Tessa Whyte asked: "Where do you think you're going, mister?"

"For a walk, where the air is fresh and the nagging is minimal."

"But that's where it happened!"

"Where what happened?"

"Whatever happened to poor Mr. Tate and Mr. DeVito."

"Oh, relax woman," insisted Manfred, you know I can't dance. And I'm not about to start humming, 'Dum Dee Dum Dum Dum'. You know I hate humming. Almost as much as I hate whistling. And as for nagging..."

"Well you never can tell," said Tessa, sighing in frustration as her husband ignored her sage advice and wandered out into the sweet-smelling pine and eucalypt forest.



Manfred had been walking for nearly half an hour and was thinking of heading back when he heard the whistling.

He started to grin moronically then to drone: "Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo."

Starting to pull an invisible partner toward himself, then pushing her away again.

Dancing with his invisible partner, chanting: "Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner, Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," he started dancing through the forest in the general direction of the Whistler's Arms.

"Hi, Mr. Whyte," said a paperboy on the way to make the noon delivery to the inn.

"Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," said Manfred by way of answer. Pulling his invisible partner toward himself, then pushing her away again.

"Say what now?" asked the paperboy, almost crashing into a sweet-smelling red gum tree.

"Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner, Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," said Manfred again. Again he pulled his invisible partner toward himself, then pushed her away again.

"Oh, I see," said the paperboy riding off in alarm.



"Well it's about time you got back," said Tessa, as her husband danced into the clearing around the inn. "It's almost lunchtime."

"Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner, Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," said Manfred to Tessa. Pulling his invisible partner toward himself, then pushing her away again.

"What the...?" asked Tessa goggle-eyed in shock.

"Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner, Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," repeated Manfred. Still swinging his invisible partner around and around.

Racing toward him, Tessa started to scream.



"What the hell," said Dolly Macguire at the reception desk, having been ready to leave to help prepare the lunches.

She ran outside to see Tessa crying as she tried to shake Manfred out of his daze.

"Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner, Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," said Manfred, seemingly not even noticing his wife shaking him. Still twirling his invisible partner, now around in circles.

"Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo," said Manfred again, as Dolly raced into the inn to ring Jesus at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.



"It's happened again," said Jesus after talking on the phone. Then to Elvis and Paul Bell, "This one thinks he's a square dance caller."

"A what now caller?" asked Paul, too young to have heard of square dancing.

"It's a type of twirling dance that squares and nerds used to do," explained Elvis, as they set out for the Whistler's Arms again. "Hence the name square dancing. It could just as easily have been called nerd dancing."

"Oh, I see," said Paul Bell.



Standing in the doorway half an hour later, they watched Manfred Whyte twirling and chanting: "Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo, swing your partner, Peggy Sue, twist and shout till you knock yourself out, Dosey Doe and Kalamazoo."

"So how do we get him into the ambulance asked Derek, as they watched in amazement.

"Let's try taking a leaf out of Annie's book," said Jesus. He started clapping his hands loud enough to get Manfred Whyte's attention.

"Kalamazoo and Ecuador," chanted Jesus, "Let's dance over to the door." Dancing across to the doorway.

After a second Manfred repeated: Kalamazoo and Ecuador. Let's dance over to the door." And he preceded to do just that.

"Kalamazoo and Ecuador," repeated Jesus still clapping his hands, "Let's dance into the corridor." Doing just that.

"Kalamazoo and Ecuador," chanted Manfred, "Let's dance into the corridor." Following after Jesus.

"Kalamazoo and London Town," said Jesus still clapping his hands. "Run to the stairs then climb straight down." Doing just that.

"Kalamazoo and London Town," repeated Manfred clapping along. "Run to the stairs then climb straight down." Following the hospital co-ordinator.

"Kalamazoo and Ecuador," chanted Jesus, "Let's dance over to the door." Dancing across to the front door.

"Kalamazoo and Ecuador," repeated Manfred, "Let's dance over to the door." Dancing after Jesus.

"Ecuador and Kalamazoo," chanted Jesus, "duck your head and dance right through."

"Ecuador and Kalamazoo. Duck your head and dance right through," repeated Manfred dancing out through the front door.

Walking across to the ambulance. which hand a metal ramp pulled down, Jesus chanted: "Kalamazoo and be a champ. Run right up the metal ramp."

He did just that, followed by Manfred, chanting along with him.

"Kalamazoo and Melbourne Town, bend right forward, then sit right down."

Repeating the call, Manfred sat on the stretcher beside Jesus. Who reached into the medical supplies, and took out a syringe and a small bottle. He injected the needle through the cork top of the bottle, filled it with a strong sleeping draught, and then said:

"Kalamazoo and New York town, be a good boy and lie right down." He jabbed Manfred with the needle, then helped him to lie down, before strapping him down to the stretcher.

As he came out of the ambulance, the others stood around and applauded him.

"Thangu, Thangu," said Jesus, doing the worst ever Arthur Askey impersonation.

"Who's a clever boy then?" said Cheryl climbing behind the steering wheel of the ambulance.



An hour later they were at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, having collected the three dancing fools into a four-bed room.

"Who's the fourth bed for?" asked Paul Bell.

"Number four," said Jesus. "This time we're planning ahead.

"So what's the next step?" asked Derek, the black paramedic.

"It's time to bring in an expert on legends," said Elvis Green.

"Oh God, not Colin Klein?" asked Jesus Costello. Referring to a redheaded English reporter, currently in the area. Wherever Klein went, monsters seemed to follow.

"No, but a friend of his. Bulam Bulam," said Elvis.



Dolly Macguire was behind the rear of the Whistler's Arms Inn, checking on the hot water system, when she heard the whistling from a distance.

She was soon grinning like a moron, and clapping her hands together, singing: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."

She forgot about checking the hot water system. Instead, she walked around to the front of the inn, clapping her hands together, singing: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."

"Are you all right?" asked one of the residents.

By way of answer, Dolly clapped her hands together, singing: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."

"Oh my God, it's happened again," said the elderly woman resident.

Clapping her hands together, Dolly sang: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."



"Looks like we've got another one," said Annie, Nurse in Charge, at Glen Hartwell Hospital, after speaking on the phone.

"Anyone we know?" asked Jesus.

"Dolly Macguire, owner and receptionist at the Whistler's Arms," said Annie.



Forty minutes later, while Paul Bell and Elvis were out hunting for Bulam Bulam; Jesus, Annie, Derek, and Cheryl were at the Whistler's Arms Inn.

At the reception desk, Dolly was sitting at her chair, clapping her hands while singing: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."

"Hello, Dolly," said Jesus Costello.

Smiling at him, clapping her hands together, she sang: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."

"How would you like to come for a little ride with us?" asked Cheryl, taking Dolly gently by the left arm to start leading her toward the ambulance parked outside the inn.

Smiling sweetly at Cheryl, Dolly sang: "Jimmy, crack corn, I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care. Jimmy, crack corn and I don't care ... My master's gone away."



An hour later they had Dolly sedated in the fourth bed, in the room with Lonnie Tate, Donny DeVito, and Manfred Whyte.

"Wonder how Elvis and Paul are doing?" Jesus said, to no one in particular.



Paul Bell and Elvis Green had parked the Land Rover outside the grocery shop in Chappell Street Harpertown. The owner of the store, Bulam Bulam was a grey-haired elder of the Gooladoo tribe. Although he lived in a lean-to in his tribal village, he owned and worked a small grocery shop in town.

Bulam Bulam was also known as an authority on local legends, indigenous and otherwise.

The old man listened as they described the four dance-crazed patients, then thought for a moment before saying: "Sounds to me like you're dealing with the whistler. A local, but non-indigenous legend. The Whistler hypnotises people with his whistling so that they start dancing and singing like crazy. If they're not stopped, in time they will dance themselves to death, which increases the Whistler's power. Like a lot of fiends, he feeds off death and misery."

"Is there any way to break his spell?" asked Elvis. "Or better yet drive him away or kill him?"

"According to legend, the Whistler is a fanatic for correct rhyme, meter, and melody. They say that you can drive him away by playing hideous, non-melodic rhythms and tempos."

"So, what?" asked Paul Bell. "Like Kylie Minogue and Britney Spears then?"

"No, even worse," insisted the elder.

"So, like disco, rap, hip hop, technobabble, electro ...?" suggested Elvis Green.

"You left out reggae," said Paul Bell.

"Hey, I like reggae. Well at least ska, the more jazzy, melodic form."

"No," said Bulam Bulam, "even worse than disco, rap, hip hop, technobabble, electro, ska and reggae."

"You must mean classical music and opera then?" said Paul Bell.

"Even worse," insisted Bulam Bulam.

"You don't mean ..." said Elvis Green hesitating, "AC/DC."

"No, even worse than AC/DC."

"Nothing is worse than AC/DC," said Paul and Elvis together.

"Yes it is," insisted the native elder. "You don't want real music at all. Just disjointed, discordant noise," insisted Bulam Bulam.

"Flamenco!" shouted Paul and Elvis.

"No, no!" shouted the indigenous elder.

"The only thing left is Salsa," said Paul Bell. "Admittedly that is pretty awful."

"The music, or the sauce?" asked Elvis.

"Both," said Paul making Bulam Bulam lower his head and sigh in frustration.

"No what is worse than any music style being played?"

They thought for a while, then Paul said: "A really bad orchestra warming up."

Bulam Bulam thought for a moment then said: "I think at last we're on the right track. So what is the worst orchestra possible?

They thought again for a moment, then Elvis Green said: "A high school kids orchestra."

They thought for a moment, then Paul and Bulam Bulam said together: "Yes!"

"And I just happen to know where the worst high school orchestra of all time is playing," said Paul. He removed a folded sheet from his shirt pocket, unfolded it, and held it up."

"How convenient is that?" asked Elvis Green. "The day after tomorrow."

"Yeah," said Paul, "my niece, Noulla, who would sound more musical running over cats, than she does with a trombone, will be playing, so I've got to attend. Or my sister will kill me. It's at Harpertown combined. Primary and high school that is."

"Let's go around and see her then," suggested Bulam Bulam.



Seeing Paul's Land Rover parked outside her home, his sister Glenys, came out fuming.

"All right, Buster, what's your excuse this time?"

"For what?"

"For not being able to attend Noulla's trombone solo at the school orchestral this week?"

"Nothing," said Paul. He lied, "I'm looking forward to attending it. In fact, I've invited my two friends, Elvis and Bulam Bulam to attend it."

"Oh," said Glenys sounding delighted.

"In fact, we wanted to ask you a favour," said Elvis Green. "We'd like to be able to record the concert."

"Really?" asked Glenys.

"Yes," lied Bulam Bulam. "We'd like to be able to listen to it again and again whenever we want to."

"Well, this is a pleasant change of heart," said Glenys smiling. "I'll have to talk to the school principal, but I'm sure that she'll agree."

"Excellent," said Paul, as they turned to head back to the Land Rover. To Bulam Bulam, he said, "Make certain that your list of things needed includes six earplugs, or we're all in for Hell."

"Don't worry, I've already got them on the list."



After visiting her husband, Manfred at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, Tessa Whyte needed to be alone for a moment. So, without thinking of the possible consequences, she started for a short walk in the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest behind the Whistler's Arms Inn.

She had barely started out when she heard loud, very fine whistling coming from the forest.

She started to smile at the tune, remembering when her Uncle Petie had entertained her by whistling when she was a little girl. However, her Uncle Petie had never been as talented a whistler, as whoever was whistling now.

She stood still, listening for a few moments, then started whistling along, smiling idiotically, as she started marching in the exaggerated way that high school kids had to do on parade in the nineteen seventies, and earlier.



At the Whistler's Arms, a handful of residents were sitting around in the shade, when they suddenly heard whistling approaching. Looking around they were surprised to see Tessa grinning widely while whistling and marching along.

"You've cheered up suddenly," said Bella Ricci.

Instead of answering, Tessa kept whistling and marching, right past them and into the inn.

"What's that she's whistling?" asked Bella. "It sounds familiar."

"Bridge over the River Kwai, by Colonel Bogie," said her husband. Adding, "I didn't know she could whistle. I've never heard her before."

"Neither have I?" said Bella Ricci thoughtfully.



Inside the inn, the stand-in registry clerk said, "Hello, Mrs. Whyte, you seem to have cheered up. Has your husband improved?"

Ignoring him, Tessa started marching up the stairs, grinning moronically as she kept whistling The Bridge over the River Kwai." All the way up to her and her husband's room. Where she marched round the bed in semi-circles for nearly an hour, before collapsing from fatigue, onto the floor.

An hour later Tessa was discovered by Bella and her husband and was rushed to the Glen Hartwell Hospital.

"Well, that makes five," said Annie, the Nurse in Charge, stating the obvious. "Now the question is how many more before we find a solution?"

"Hopefully none," said Bulam Bulam, going on to tell Annie, Jesus, Derek, and Cheryl of their idea.

"If you want the most discordant, unmusical sounds of all time," said Annie, "I could have lent you Peggy Sue by Buddy Holly and the Picks. The original version with Holly and the Crickets is wonderful. But John Pickering's Picks are so bad that they make AC/DC sound borderline musically competent by comparison."

"So we don't have to go and listen to Noulla running over cats with her trombone after all."

"What do you mean we, white man," teased Bulam Bulam. "You have to go or your sister, Glenys, will kill you. But Elvis and I are off the hook now."

"Bastards, one and all," said Paul. Making the others laugh.



They made an extended ninety-minute version of Buddy Holly and the Picks shrieking out Peggy Sue, then set out to drive around the Whistler's Arms Inn. On top of the Land Rover, they had welded two DJ-sized speakers.

"This seems to be the area of fallout," said Elvis, "All of the victims have lived here, including Dolly."

They started off driving around the inn, then gradually extended outward, deeper into the forest until they heard the distant sound of whistling on the third day.

"Right earplugs in," shouted Elvis, and the three men quickly plugged their ears. Then turning on the extended tape of Buddy Holly, with the Picks shrieking behind him, they drove in the general direction that the whistling had seemed to come from.

After ten minutes, Bulam Bulam risked removing one of his earplugs for a few seconds, then pointed to the left, and Paul Bell turned the pale blue Land Rover in that direction.



After another twenty minutes or so, they drove up a small hill and found a strange vaguely humanoid creature lying on the grass, covering its ears, no longer whistling. It was a peculiar purplish shade and seemed to have a small pipe sticking out of its mouth. But as they got closer, they realised that the trumpet-like protuberance was part of its mouth. Through which it had made its hypnotic whistling sounds. The creature's eyes were night black, with no sign of pupils or irises. Its face was haggard and corpse-like.

"So that's what's been driving people insane?" said Paul.

"Hopefully, only temporarily," said Bulam Bulam as the creature closed its eyes, obviously dying.



Back at the hospital, they were waiting for news from Paul Bell, and the others when their five patients started to wake up.

"Where am I?" asked Lonnie Tate. The first to become somnolent. The first to wake up again.

They explained to him what had happened, but it was obvious that he did not believe their story. "If you think you can get a fortune out of me with a cock-and-bull story like that, forget it. I've got friends who are barristers."

Under her breath, Alice said: "I didn't know barristers had any friends."

"No, Mr. Tate," said Jesus with a sigh. "No charge. We'll just be glad to see the last of you."

"Well, the feeling's mutual," said Lonnie, trying to stand up, but falling flat on his face.

"Should we help him up? Or leave him?" teased Derek.

Thinking for a moment, Jesus said, "You'd better help the ungrateful bugger up."

So Derek and Cheryl stepped forward to lift Lonnie back into his hospital bed.

Soon after, Donny DeVito woke up. They avoided telling him what had really happened, and he was a lot more grateful than Lonnie Tate had been.

Next to wake, was Manfred Whyte. Seeing his wife still unconscious, he called: "Tessa?" then seeing Jesus and company asked: "What's wrong with her?"

"Just exhaustion," said Jesus semi-truthfully. "You can all go back to the Whistler's Arms Inn in a few day's time."

"What that rat trap?" asked Tessa finally waking. "No thank you, we'd be better off moving to the Come On Inn in Lenoak."

"You said it, baby," agreed her husband.

Last to wake was the amply busted brunette, Dolly Macguire. She started to get out of her bed. Then seeing that she was surrounded by gawking men, quickly changed her mind.

"What am I doing here?" asked Dolly.

"Fatigue," said Annie, the Nurse in Charge. "You all collapsed from fatigue and had to be brought here for a couple of days."



At the mount the Whistler gave one last discordant whistle, then it began to dissolve into an abominable foul-smelling mess, forcing the men to run back to the Land Rover and to pull up the windows.

THE END
© Copyright 2023 Philip Roberts
Melbourne, Victoria, Australia