THE MOOSE MAN

A gigantic moose (?) is killing people around Glen Hartwell.

"Just smell that sweet pine fragrance," said Eloise, a tall, mildly pretty blonde, leaning her head slightly out of the opened passenger-side window of their copper-coloured Kia Cerato.

"It leaves for dead the petroleum smell of Melbourne and Sydney," agreed Monty. At forty-eight, the tall, thickset man was a decade older than his wife. Like Eloise, he had been born and raised in the inner suburbs of Sydney: "I remember the petroleum pong of Sydney even five years after moving to Glen Hartwell in the Victorian countryside."

"You're not wrong," agreed the blonde: "I wish we could convince my sister Darla, Jake, and their kids to move here."

"Darla might agree, but I'm afraid Jake is a born city slicker. I think he might be even phobic about the countryside."

"All those spiders and snakes," said Eloise, laughing. Then she explained: "That's what he said when I told Darla and him that we were moving to the countryside."

"Yes, I remember that in our school days, Jake Montrose was always a bit of a sook about spiders and snakes. Although he was a hundred and eighty-fives centimetres tall by the age of thirteen, and built like a brick shithouse, so no one ever teased him about it. Except for me, I was his best friend, so I sometimes risked it."

"Yes, but you were the school's long-distance running champion, so you could always outrun him if he took it badly."

"That's true," agreed Monty, joining his wife in laughter. He looked across at Eloise in wonder, amazed that he had managed to get such a perfect woman to marry him.

They were driving at a safe forty-five kilometres an hour along Williamstown Road, even though the speed limit was fifty-five, when they saw the large object on the road ahead of them.

"What the hell is that?" said Monty.

Peering to see, Eloise shrugged and said: "A bear maybe. Do we have bears in Australia?"

"Possibly up north. In the eighteen hundreds, the early settlers imported everything from rabbits, to sparrows, to foxes, to water buffalos, to camels, to God knows what else. So maybe some drongos did import bears."

As the car drew nearer, however, they saw the creature was much too large for a bear.

"Two or three bears standing together?" wondered Eloise.

"Possibly ...?" began Monty, stopping as he saw what it really was: "It's a bloody moose ... Like they have in Canada ... Or as Donald Trump is already calling it 'the fifty-first state of the U.S.A.'."

"Were mooses ever imported to Australia?"

"Damned if I know, and it's moose. It's one of those wacky nouns where the singular and plural are the same: like sheep, craft, fish, series, and whatever else."

"Well, what's it doing on the road outside Glen Hartwell?"

"There, my love, you have me."

He kept driving until they were less than twenty metres from the massive deer that stood diagonally across the road, blocking both lanes.

As Monty went to honk the horn, Eloise grabbed his left hand to stop him:

"No, don't, you might make it mad!"

"Well, we can't stay here all day because Bambi's great grandfather wants to eat grass beside the kerb."

"Give him ten minutes or so."

"Maybe we can sneak past him?"

"He's covering both lanes, and he's massive," pointed out Eloise: "And look at those antlers on him, they're huge."

"Okay, my love," said Monty with a sigh. A less patient person than his wife, Monty preferred to impress his will on others, including fauna, rather than let others decide what he could or could not do.

It was nearly fifteen minutes later before Monty decided that he had had enough.

"Sorry, babe," he said, before honking the horn twice.

As though not hearing noise, the massive Cervidae kept its head down, gnawing at juicy grass shoots beside the road.

"Come on, Bambi's Granddad!" Monty shouted out his window, this time honking the horn three times.

This time the moose lifted its head up from it meal, but did not bother to look around at the copper-coloured Kia Cerato.

Angered by this indifference by the great creature Monty shouted: "Hey, dickhead pay us some attention."

He honked the horn half a dozen times to get the great beast's attention. This time it slowly looked around at the Plymouths, but showed no intention of moving. Finally, it lowered its majestic head again and started eating once more.

"Monty, don't anger it," pleaded Eloise.

"Anger it!" shouted Monty, raising his voice to his wife for the first time in their more than ten years of marriage: "I'll anger the bloody bastard!"

This time he planted his left hand on the horn and held it there. As the horn blared repeatedly, at first, the great creature ignored it. Finally, it raised its head and looked around at the Kia again. After a moment, it lowed in anger.

"Moo at this dopey!" cried Monty, still honking the horn incessantly

"Monty, don't!" cried Eloise, frightened by the size of the creature.

As the honking continued, the great moose lowed half a dozen times in anger, then lowered its head, bringing its massive antlers down to attack level.

"Monty, it's going to charge us!"

"So what, we're in a car?"

"A small car, and that is one gigantic deer!"

"Oh, relax," said Monty, then as the moose began charging toward the Kia: "Maybe you're right."

The moose, truly angry at the honking nuisance, was running full pelt along the Macadam, toward the small car.

Monty threw the car into reverse and tried to back away. However, it was too late. The moose charged straight into and through the tiny Kia Cerato, killing Eloise and Monty without even stopping.

Finally, ten metres passed the wreck of the Kia, the moose stopped, and shook its great head to shake away debris from the car, along with a small fragment of one of it great antlers.

The beast looked around, glared at the detritus of the once-was-car, then slowly started trotting back the way it had come. It stopped at the same spot as before to chew grass for another twelve minutes or so, then, finally satisfied, wandered slowly off along the road.


Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road in Merridale, they were setting down to a tea of Duck a L'orange to be followed by Cherries Jubilee for dessert.

"Yum, yum," said Sheila Bennett. A Goth chick with orange-and-black striped hair, at thirty-six Sheila was the second-top cop in the BeauLarkin to Willamby area: "Both of my favourites."

"Yes," complained Freddy Kingston, a tall, heavyset man bald except for a Larry Fine-style ruff of curly black hair: "How come we always seem to get Sheila's favourites."

"Because she's my favourite out of all of my guests," said Deidre Morton. A short, dumpy, sixty-something brunette, Deidre was the owner of the Yellow House, so named due to the boarding house being painted yellow inside and out.

"Yes," agreed Terri Scott. A tall, beautiful ash blonde, the same age as Sheila, Terri was Sheila's immediate boss, as well as Colin's fiancée: "We're all aware of that by now."

"Yeah," said Colin jokingly: "Deidre puts up with stuff from Sheils that she would kill any of the rest of us for."

At forty-nine, the tall, handsome redheaded man had been a London crime reporter for thirty years before emigrating to settle in the Victorian countryside.

"Well, luckily I love them both," said Natasha Lipzing, at seventy-one the oldest resident of the Yellow House.

"Me too, as long as you put an extra helping of brandy on my Cherries Jubilee," said Tommy Turner, a recent retiree like Freddy.

"You do know brandy is highly flammable?" asked Leo Laxman, a tall, thin male nurse at the Glen Hartwell Hospital where he had worked for about a year since emigrating from Jamaica.

"Yes, I don't want to burn my house down, just so that you can get blotto," insisted Deidre.

They were still arguing the point when Terri's mobile rang.

"Hello," she said into the phone. She listened for a couple of moments, then disconnected and said: "That was Suzette Cummings. They've found a wreck on Williamstown Road. They think it might be the Plymouths's Kia Cerato."

"Aren't they sure?" asked Colin, puzzled, as they got up from the table.

"Suzette says you have to see the remains to understand."

"Aw," whined Sheila: "Make certain to keep plenty for me when we get back Mrs. M."

"Will do, Sheila."

As they headed outside to Terri's police-blue Lexus, Sheila was still complaining: "Why can't these things happen on nights when Mrs. M. is serving stuff I don't like?"

"Because that never happens," explained Colin as they set off down Rochester Road.

"Yeah, we always get what you like," said Terri, laughing.

Half an hour later, they arrived at the crash scene, where Suzette Cummings, a short, lithe, eighteen-year-old raven-haired policewoman, was standing alongside eight or ten other people, two ambulances, and Ed Bussy's tow truck.

"So, let's see ..." started Terri. She stopped to stare at the tiny shards of metal and detritus left over from what had once been a car.

There were also the minced remains of two human beings scattered amid the wreckage, which was spread over thirty metres of the roadway.

"Holy ...!" said Sheila, crossing herself, despite not being a Catholic.

"So what the Hell happened here?" asked Colin Klein: "I've seen less wreckage after a demolition derby!"

"Don't ask us," said Jesus Costello (pronounced Hee-Zeus), the chief surgeon and administrator at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital: "All we can say for certain is that two people, possibly Eloise and Monty Plymouth, got turned into minced steak."

"The only time I've seen anything like this," said Elvis Green, the local coroner, and a huge Elvis Presley fan: "Was when an express train couldn't stop in time when a Mini Minor broke down on the tracks ten years ago."

"Why do you think it was the Plymouths's Kia?" asked Sheila.

"Because of this," said Suzette Cummings. She handed them a piece of metal about the size of a bread and butter plate. It was rusty red on one side and copper coloured on the other: "We can't think of anyone else with a copper coloured car from BeauLarkin to Willamby. Most cars these days are pale blue, white, silver, or grey."

"Good detective work, Suzette," said Terri.

"So what's the procedure now?" asked Colin.

"Scoop up all the minced meat and DNA test it to be certain," said Tilly Lombstrom. An attractive fifty-something brunette, Tilly was Jesus's second in command: "I believe they both have relatives interstate?"

"In New South Wales," chipped in Sheila.

"How the Hell does she always know stuff like that?" asked Suzette.

"I pride myself on knowing my residents."

"In other words, she's a smarty-pants," said Terri.

Finally, Andrew Braidwood, a local constable with long, stringy yellow hair, had the job of scooping up the human remains into plastic containers. Then Ed Bussy used the scoop on the front of his truck to collect up the remains of the Kia Cerato.

As they returned to Terri's Lexus, Sheila complained: "Up until now, it had been a good week. I passed my Victoria Police Make-Up Exam, in the final of the 'The World's Stupidest Stuntman Down Under' last night, the stupid bitch who knocked me out of the contest got defeated, and we will, eventually, have my faves for tea. Now we see this."

"Surely you can't eat after what we've just seen?" asked Suzette Cummings.

"It's my faves, Duck a L'Orange and Cherries Jubilee."

"Enough said," said the ravenette with an ironic laugh: "I might stick to two dry Saladas for my tea."


Early the next morning, they were just sitting down to breakfast when they heard a hammering at the front door of the Yellow House.

"Aw, come on," complained Sheila: "If it's not at tea time, they disturb us at brekkie time."

"Sheils, we are cops," said Terrie.

"I'll get it," said Deidre Morton.

She went out into the corridor and returned a moment or so later, with Ed Bussy in tow.

"What's up, Ed?" asked Colin.

"Found this in the wreckage of the Kia," he said. He placed a small shard of bonelike material on the dining table.

"What is it?" asked Sheila.

Ed Shrugged: "Beats me, but it isn't part of the car, and doesn't look like human bones ... sadly I've seen plenty of those in my job down the years."

Picking it up, Terri examined the fragment for a minute or so, brow wrinkling in puzzlement, then handed it to Leo Laxman: "Whatcha think, Leo?"

The black man examined it briefly, then said: "It isn't human bone, looks more like part of a tusk or something."

"How many tusked animals do we have in Australia?" asked Colin.

"Well, if we disallow elephants, rhinos, tapirs, and hippos ... none of which exist in Oz," said Sheila: "I'd say ... approximately none."

"A great help, Sheils. But I think she's right," said Natasha Lipzing.


Luella "Lulu" Wellins, a petite pixie-cut brunette teen, was sitting at the checkout counter at the Glen Hartwell Mall in Boothy Street at eight o'clock on the 18th. In truth, it was barely more than a double-level supermarket.

Bored shitless, she thought, Why doesn't anything exciting happen around here? Unaware of just how exciting things were about to become.

Hearing a commotion from outside, she looked back at the glass double doors and saw dozens of people running around wildly, screaming and colliding in panic.

"What the Hell?" she said, as her supervisor, Hiram P. Brody, was passing at that moment.

"What's up, Lulu?" asked Brody.

"There's a commotion outside," said Lulu. Standing, she went across with Brody to step outside to see what was happening.

"What the Hell is causing it?" asked Brody. Seeing a large bovine-like creature in the distance, he asked: "Is that a cow in the car park?"

"More like a bull by the size of it, and all the panic it's causing."

"Maybe it's D'Arcy Norton's bull Angus, or should that be his Angus bull?"

"No, poor Angus was killed by a fox a couple of weeks ago," said Lulu, as they continued to watch the approaching creature.

People continued shrieking and running for their cars or trucks. Lowering its head, the enraged moose started charging the people, running them down and ripping them limb from limb.

"That couldn't have been Angus anyway, he was as gentle as a kitten," said Lulu.

Cupping his hands over his mouth, Brody shouted: "Try to make it to your vehicles, or into the mall."

Too hysterical to understand him, the people continued running around wildly, colliding with each other, being run down by desperately escaping drivers, or being ploughed down by the great creature.

Eventually, a dozen or so of the people heard as Brody kept shouting to them, and headed for the mall. Five of them were run down and gored to death by the moose; the others made it across to where Brody was still shouting, while Lulu rang through to first the Glen Hartwell Hospital, then to the Mitchell Street Police Station.


"You sure it's a moose?" asked Terri Scott, astonishing Suzette, Colin, and Sheila, who listened on.

"Definitely," said Lulu over the phone.

As they got up to leave, Terri asked Colin: "How big can a moose grow?"

"A bull moose can tower over a draught horse. If enraged, it could easily run through a Kia Cerato."

"Well, that answers my next question," said Terri.

"I don't suppose we have any moose rifles in the armoury?" asked Suzette.

"Strangely enough, no," said Terri as they headed toward the weapons closet at the rear of the police station: "Since no one has ever reported a moose attack in the Glen Hartwell area before."

"In fact," said Colin, passing out shotguns and shells: "I don't think anyone has ever reported a moose attack anywhere in Australia before."

"Excuses, excuses," said Suzette, taking a shotgun and a box of shells from the tall redheaded man.

"Yeah, we really do need to stock our armoury better," teased Sheila, as they headed outside.


At the mall, Lulu and the survivors rushed into the imagined safety of the building, while Hiram Brody stayed outside, calling out advice to people.

"Mr. Brody, come inside," pleaded Lulu: "It's much too dangerous with that moose on the rampage."

"Moose?" said Brody, realising for the first time what the marauding creature was: "No, I can't just hide inside."

Finally, seeing an elderly lady just metres from her pink Cortina, with the moose charging her, Brody risked racing out to grab the lady and literally carry her to her car. Then, throwing her into the driver's seat, he could only jump in to the passenger seat beside her ... just seconds before the moose arrived and tore off the open passenger-side door with its great antlers, lowing in rage, and frustration that the two people had escaped it.

Before Brody could climb out of the car again, Doris Whitehall, the old lady, started the motor, spun the car and roared out of the car park into Boothy Street.

"No, let me out, I've got to stay," protested Brody.

"You saved my life," said Doris as she drove away: "Now I'm saving yours."

"What's happening?" asked Heather Proctor, a thirty-something blonde crouching near Lulu, just inside the store.

"Doris Whitehall has just kidnapped Mr. Brody, best as I can tell," replied Lulu.

With cars whizzing every which way, the moose stood its ground for a moment, letting them escape the car park, rather than risking losing more of its antlers in a head-on collision with the vehicles. However, as the cars started to thin out, the huge creature started charging after the pedestrians again. Most of whom had abandoned their groceries in a bid to get away.

Many of the pedestrians had the sense to run to the relative safety of the mall, however, a few foolish ones tried to run out into Boothy Street.

Lowing in excitement this time, the moose charged after the wrong-headed people, managing to mow down all except two, who managed to get out into the street. The creature looked for a moment as though it were going to chase them down. Instead, it stopped, turned, and headed back toward the mall. First slowly, then gradually faster.

"Uh-oh, it's coming back," warned Lulu: "Head toward the back of the store, it might not be able to get down the aisles."

Even as the pixie-cut brunette spoke, there came a loud crash as the moose tried to charge through the glass doors, which did not slide open in time.

Shrieking in terror, Lulu led the charge toward the back of the mall.

Outside, the moose staggered around groggily, for a moment, shaking its huge head, before approaching the door slowly this time. Although damaged by the head-on assault, the doors managed to slide open enough for the creature to push its head and shoulders through into the store. Then, lowing in rage, the great creature used brute strength to force the doors open enough to enter the front of the store.

At the rear of the mall, Lulu, Heather, and the others watched in terror as the huge creature started down the centre aisle toward them.

"Upstairs to the first floor," called Lulu before running up the wooden staircase. Half a dozen people had the sense to follow her, however, twenty or thirty people panicked and ran helter skelter around the back of the store, planning to run down other aisles to reach the front of the store to escape.

"No, up here!" cried Heather Proctor, charging upstairs after Lulu. However, most of the soon-to-be-dead shoppers were too panicked to listen to reason.

Lowing in a mixture of excitement and rage, the moose charged down the centre aisles, its great antlers sending hundreds of jars, bottles and packages flying off the shelves, as it only just managed to fit between the aisles. Lowing continuously, it accelerated as it ran, not stopping at the end of the aisle. Instead, it tried to charge up the wooden stairs after Lulu and co.

Instead, its great antlers shattered the bottom rungs of the stairs, allowing the moose to charge straight through, stopping just in time before it could collide with the steel doors at the rear of the mall. As it turned to start after the ground floor shopper, the top half of the weak staircase collapsed, leaving Lulu and the others trapped on the first storey.

"How do we get down now?" asked Heather.

"Just at the moment we don't want to," answered Lulu: "Later the police or fire brigade will have to help us."

Ignoring the fallen staircase, the enraged moose turned left and started after the fleeing people. As it ran, from outside Lulu and co. could heard the sirens of approaching ambulances and police cars.

The moose easily charge through nine or ten terrified flee'ers, then stopped, lifting his huge head to listen to the sound of the sirens as vehicles roared into the car park outside.


Terri's blue Lexus pulled up outside the mall seconds before Donald Esk's Land-Rover arrived.

"This way," called Terri, as Don, Andrew Braidwood, Paul Bell, a tall, thin fifty-something sergeant, and Jessie Baker, a huge bull-like redheaded sergeant, all alighted from the Rover.

They had reached the front of the mall, where the glass doors were stuck wide open, when a tall, raven-haired man of fifty or so ran outside.

"Don't go in there!" cried the man in an almost-American sounding accent: "There's a massive great moose running riot."

Before they could reply, the man ran past them and raced through the car park to disappear into Boothy Street.

Wondering who the man had been as they tentatively entered the store, Terri thought, A Canadian by the sounds of his accent. Although the obvious conclusion escaped her.

"Who was that guy?" asked Suzette as they split into pairs to start down different aisles to search for the reported creature.

"Don't know," said Sheila: "And I usually know everyone from BeauLarkin to Willamby."

"Tourist, maybe," suggested Jessie Baker, then: "It's strangely quiet considering a rogue moose is supposed to be charging around."

"Yes, but don't let your guard down," warned Terri, as they started cautiously down the aisles.

As they travelled through the aisles, they encountered the shattered remains of twenty or thirty people killed by the moose. At the rear of the mall, they found thirteen or so people huddled together, sobbing in terror.

"Hey," called Lulu from the first storey: "Can you get us down?"

Looking up at where Lulu and the others were trapped upstairs, Terri said: "We'll need to give Hermione Meldon a ding-a-ling, to see if she can get you down," referring to the local fire chief.

"If not, you'll have to spend the rest of your lives up there," teased Sheila.

"There's a conveniently placed window at the side," said Lulu, pointing toward the left wall.

"First, we have a moose to hunt down," said Colin.

"I think it left," said Heather Proctor: "Apart from the crying of survivors, things have been very quiet for the last few minutes."

"How could it have left without us seeing it as we drove up?" asked Jessie Baker.

"It shouldn't have been able to," said Donald Esk.

However, twenty minutes later, by which time the fire truck had arrived to help Lulu and the others down to the ground, they had searched the whole store without finding a sign of a moose or any other animal.

"Curiouser and curiouser," said Suzette Cummins, as they started tentatively back out into the car park.

"Don't 'spose you've seen an enraged moose out here anywhere?" Sheila asked Jesus Costello.

"No! Is it safe to go inside?"

"Yep," said Don Esk.

"We'll come back to help you with the dead and injured, once we make sure there isn't a rogue moose out here anywhere."

Half an hour later, they had searched around the car park, behind the mall, and even into Boothy Street without finding and sign of a moose.

"Curiouser and curiouser," repeated Suzette Cummins as they finally started helping move the injured to ambulances, and ferrying the dead to the morgue in the basement of the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"Are you sure it was a moose?" demanded Terri at last.

"Look around you," said Lulu, waving her arms around at the damaged aisles and people: "It wasn't a rampaging Shetland Pony! I've only ever seen moose on TV, but that's definitely what it was."

"Definitely," agreed Heather Proctor.


Over at 7 Dirk Hartog Place, a white brick three-storey house, Lyle Cavendish entered the gate panting from the long run he had had from Boothy Street.

"You should pace yourself better Mr. Cavendish," said his landlady, Lillian Longley, a tall, heavyset brunette of nearly seventy: "Exercise is all very well, but you don't want to overdo it."

She looks like she's never exercised in her life! thought Lyle, careful to smile broadly at Lillian (as she liked to be called - never Lily!).

"Actually, I was running in terror," he explained, pushing past the chubby woman to enter the floral carpeted hallway: "Some great beast was running riot through the Glen Hartwell Mall."

Almost nonchalantly, Lillian shrugged and said: "Not the first time that's happened; probably won't be the last. Glen Hartwell is a funny place for wild animal attacks and God knows what else."

Smiling at his landlady, Kyle took the steps two at a time until he stopped at room eleven on the first storey. Stepping inside he thought, What a stupid old cunt! For just a second, his image flickered, like someone in a teleporter in a sci-fi TV show, and then he changed from man to moose. Then, by a concentrated effort of willpower, he managed to return to human form.

Flopping onto the single bed, he thought, A small nap will help me regain control. Although his adrenaline was still racing through his system from the excitement of having killed so many people at the mall.


Bulam-Bulam was a grey-haired elder of the Gooladoo Tribe, outside the township of Harpertown in the Victorian countryside. That night, he was sitting around the cook fire at his tribal grounds. While a kangaroo was cooking on the fire, they were waiting for some young bucks to return with chips from Neptune's Fish-and-Chipatorium in Blackland Street, Glen Hartwell.

Beside the old man seated on a fallen log, sat Agnes Wandin-Din, an elderly lubra, who despite the recent wintery weather, went topless, pretending not to notice when the young bucks couldn't keep their eyes off her huge, pendulous breasts. Until recently, Agnes had been the Chief Female Elder at the Mulla-Mulla Tribe, based about twenty kilometres outside Glen Hartwell. Until most of the Mulla-Mulla people had been slaughtered, and the remainder had been invited by Bulam-Bulam to join the Gooladoo Tribe. [See my story, 'The Werebison'.]

Doing his best not to ogle Agnes's overly-generous chest, Bulam-Bulam said: "Can't wait for the chips to arrive; fish and chips is the best thing our people have ever got from the White Man."

"Yes," agreed Agnes, cheekily giving her top half a slight twist, so her huge breasts swayed gently from side to side. She did he best not to giggle as the old man's face flushed from excitement and embarrassment.

Bulam-Bulam was still flushed with embarrassment when they heard the sound of footsteps through the neighbouring bushlands, as half a dozen young bucks returned carrying a number of large bags of hot chips between them.

"Good eatin' tonight," said Winston Wulumu with a broad grin.

A survivor of the Mulla-Mulla Tribe, the teenager did his best not to ogle Agnes's huge breasts as plates were set out with kangaroo meat and hot chips. However, most of the young bucks did not even pretend and stared openly at the elderly but still arousing lubra.

"Pass around the plates," said Bulam-Bulam, finally managing to lift his gaze away from Agnes, as the kangaroo meat and chips were divided between the sixty or so members of the tribe.

They all ate their fill and some were even ready to go to bed, when they heard the lowing from not far off in the forest.

"What was that?" asked Winston.

"Sounded like a bull," said a worried-sounding teen buck, Henry Diingali.

"Are there any cattle stations near us?" asked Mary Brinkin, a twenty-something lubra, her brown eyes shining in excited fear.

"Not close enough for us to hear the lowing of cattle," assured Bulam-Bulam.

"Unless a bull has escaped," said Mary, unable to hide her fear as she looked around for a place to hide. However, the lean-to she shared with her mother, Tammy, was not solid enough to protect against a bull attack.

"Relax, most of the bulls in this area are as tame as kittens," insisted Winston: "It's probably lowing from fear because it's lost."

"It doesn't sound afraid to me," insisted Mary, as the angry lowing continued: "More like enraged."

"You can run and hide if you're afraid," teased Agnes Wandin-Din.

"Where?" demanded Mary as the angry lowing came nearer: "Lean-tos aren't designed to protect against bull attacks."

"It's not a bull attacking ..." began Bulam-Bulam, but as the lowing grew louder and more urgent, he started to have his doubts: "Maybe we should head for the corroboree ground ... " The ceremonial ground for the Gooladoo tribe was a circle ringed by great basalt stones three to four metres tall, with just a small entranceway: "A bull will never get in there."

"Go ahead if you're afraid," teased Winston: "Personally ...." He stopped as the great moose suddenly broke cover and appeared only metres away from the cooking area.

"Run!" cried Bulam-Bulam.

The old man did his best to herd the panicked Aborigines into the right direction, toward the corroboree ground almost one hundred metres away. However, at the appearance of the massive, lowing creature, the Aborigines started shrieking in terror and running every which way.

Unable to abandon his tribal members, Bulam-Bulam risked his own life, trying to force the terrified natives to run in the right directions.

"The Corroboree Grounds!" shouted Bulam-Bulam and Agnes as one.

Lowering its great head to bring down its massive antlers, the moose charged after a dozen or so Aborigines who had, in a panic, charged off into the bushland, in the wrong direction for the corroboree ground.

"The Corroboree Grounds!" shouted Bulam-Bulam again, unable to take his eyes away from the sight of the moose running down and killing a dozen of the Gooladoo people.

As the massive creature took delight in ripping and rending its victims with its antlers, most of the survivors started to run in the right direction at last. However, many of them had strayed too far from the corroboree grounds to be able to make it in time.

The massacre continued for more than twenty minutes, as the moose chased down braves and lubras who had tried to flee into the neighbouring pine and eucalyptus forest. A few managed to climb great ghost gums and escape the murderous creature. Bulam-Bulam, Agnes Wandin-Din, Winston Wulumu, Henry Diingali, Mary and Tammy Brinkin, and twenty or so others made it into the safety of the corroboree circle ringed by great basalt stones.

Inside the circle, Bulam-Bulam lit the ceremonial fire, more for heat than from any thought of performing any magical ritual. There was no ritual in the Dreaming-Time Legends for this situation, since the moose was not included in Aboriginal mythology.

Instead, all the tribe could do was huddle together in fear, as they listened to the screaming of the dying outside the circle, as the great creature continued to run riot, running down and slaughtering most of the Gooladoo Tribal people.

"When will it end!" asked Winston Wulumu rhetorically. However, as though in answer to his question, the screaming suddenly ended, to be replaced by an almost preternatural silence. Even the kookaburras and other native birds seemed to have fallen silent.

"Is it over?" asked Tammy Brinkin.

"I don't ..." began Bulam-Bulam, stopping at the sound of uncontrollable sobbing from outside the corroboree circle.

"Should we go out to check?" wondered Agnes Wandin-Din.

Bulam-Bulam looked around the collection of terrified Aborigines for a moment, then finally said: "No, better wait an hour, to make certain that that monster has really left."

It was the longest hour in the life of any of them, as they did their best to block out the sound of crying from the survivors, guilt-ridden for not going immediately to help them.

Finally, hesitantly, Bulam-Bulam at the lead, followed by Agnes, then the others, they went to investigate.

The sobbing came from braves and lubras who had managed to escape up gum trees. But had not managed to escape the sight of their friends and loved ones being mown down like long grass.

No one on the ground who had been outside during the attack was still alive. Bulam-Bulam thought, I only hope they didn't die waiting for us to come to help them! But he knew at heart that his primary duty had been to look after the survivors inside the ceremonial circle, to save his tribe from extinction.


It was six o'clock the next morning at the Yellow House. Deidre Morton and Natasha Lipzing were already up, but Terri and the others were still sleeping, when a knocking came at the front door.

"Who could that be?" pondered Natasha going to investigate.

A few moments later, she returned with Bulam-Bulam, Agnes Wandin-Din (now wearing a thick red T-shirt), and a dozen or so other members of the Gooladoo Tribe.

"Hello, I was just getting ready to make waffles and whipped cream for breakfast ..." began Deidre, stopping as she saw the solemn looks on the faces of the survivors of the previous night's massacre: "You need Terri and the others, I suppose?"

Bulam-Bulam nodded, so Natasha and Deidre went upstairs to awaken their sleeping lodgers.


Half an hour later, Terri, Colin, Sheila, Don Esk, and the others were at the scene of the slaughter.

"Holy ..." said Sheila seeing the rendered remains of what had recently been Gooladoo braves and lubras.

"We tried following the creature in the dark, but without much success," said Bulam-Bulam.

"Well, let's see how the dogs do in daylight," said Donald Esk. He returned to his Land-Rover, to remove Slap, Tickle, and Rub, his Alsatian-crosses, from the rear.

They had barely set out through the still eerily quiet pine and eucalyptus forest when they heard the sound of sirens as Glen Hartwell's six ambulances began to arrive at the death site.

Even with Bulam-Bulam holding the leash of Rub, it was all Donald Esk could do not to be pulled off his feet, as the excited dogs led them through the forest outside Harpertown, gradually circling around until they reached the outskirts of Glen Hartwell.

"Quiet!" called Don as the dogs started yelping excitedly as they almost dragged him off his feet as they raced up Wentworth Street.

Halfway down Wentworth, they suddenly turned right into Dirk Hartog Place, stopping at number 7.

"This is Lillian Longley's boarding house," said Sheila as they started up the pathway toward the front door of the white brick three-storey house.

"How does she always know that?" pondered Colin Klein.

Terri hammered on the front door, calling: "Open up, please, Lillian."

It was a couple of minutes before the tall, heavyset brunette woman opened the door, and looked startled to see the police outside.

"Hello," said Terri, going on to introduce herself: "We're investigating a series of bizarre killings around Glen Hartwell over the last few days...."

When Terri faltered, Colin said: "We were wondering if you'd had any non-locals move in to your rooming house over the last week or so?"

"Only Mr. Cavendish in room 11 on the first storey."

"Is he in at the moment?" asked Colin.

"Yes, he came running in late last night. After midnight, short of breath. He said he had been out exercising. I told him too much exercising could do you more harm than good ...."

Afraid the old lady would never stop talking, Terri interrupted: "Well, we need to see him, immediately if possible."

"Certainly," said Lillian. The heavyset brunette was short of breath herself by the time she had led them upstairs.

Knocking on the door to room 11, she called: "Mr. Cavendish? The police want to see you about something." Then to Terri: "Is this about the creature that ran through the Glen Hartwell Mall yesterday?"

Terri considered for a moment, then said: "In a way."

When Lyle Cavendish did not answer, Colin asked: "Are you sure he's in there?"

"Certainly, he hasn't come downstairs since going up." She knocked on the door again and called: "Mr. Cavendish, are you there?"

When he still didn't respond, Terri asked: "Could you let us in with your passkey?"

"Well ... I don't know," hesitated the landlady.

"It could be a matter of life and death," said Sheila Bennett.

"Well ... all right," said the old lady. Taking her passkey, she unlocked the door, calling: "We're coming in now, Mr. Cavendish."

She opened the door to show Lyle Cavendish standing near the small bed in the floral-carpeted room.

"I'm sorry for the disturbance ..." began Lillian as they stepped into the small bedroom.

The image of Kyle Cavendish began to flicker like he was in a teleporter in Star Trek ... Then, a huge, angry moose stood before them instead of a human being. Roaring in rage, the moose lowered its head and started across the small room toward them.

"Everyone back into the corridor!" called Terri, leading the charge out of the room.

As the four people ran, or staggered in Lillian's case, along the corridor, the moose charged out of the bedroom, breaking off most of its left antler in the process. Then, unable to stop in time, the moose ran straight through the thin banister and plummeted off the edge into space.

Lowing in terror, the moose crashed down into the ground-floor hallway, not far away from Terri and Colin, who had reached the ground floor ahead of Sheila and Lillian, whom the Goth chick was assisting.

As it died from the fall, the moose transformed back into the carcase of Lyle Cavendish.

"A were moose, we might have known," said Sheila: "Glen Hartwell has already had werebison, werewolfs, werefoxes, and weredingos." [See my story, 'Oh, Baby Dhole'.] "What's next, a wererabbit?"

"A wererabbit wouldn't be as deadly," said Terri with a laugh.

"Not unless it's three metres tall, like the wererabbit in the Wallace and Gromit movie!"

This time everybody laughed.

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