SABINE

Hersilia, a Sabine woman, after 2800 years, is killing rapists & men violent to women

At the Dorset Hotel in Duchess Lane, LePage, in the Victorian countryside, on the 12th of May, 2025, they had just started serving tea. George Mulberry, the proprietor, a tall, muscular man, looking more like a labourer than a hotel owner, was standing in the gaudy blue, white, and yellow reception area, looking through the back pages of the Glen Hartwell Reporter, reading the football scores from the day before.

"Pox idiots!" he cried, seeing that his beloved Weagles had lost again.

"Why don't you help out in the dining room?" asked his beautiful, forty-something, redheaded, large-chested wife, Annette.

"We've got a book-in due in soon."

"She can ring when she arrives," said Annette, pointing at the bell on the reception counter. Then, pointing toward the dining room door, "Now get into the dining room and help out!"

"Yes, my chestalicious angel," said George, dropping the paper onto the floor. Though twice as heavy and many times stronger than his wife, he had learnt years ago 'Hell hath no fury like a redhead right royally pissed off'.

George had just exited the reception area when a gorgeous blonde woman, looking about twenty-eight, with a perfect hourglass figure, sauntered her way in through the doorway.

"Hello," she said in clear English with just a hint of an Italian accent. "I believe you are expecting me?"

"Are you Miss Hersilia?" asked the redhead, checking the PC on the reception desk. "Sabine Hersilia?"

"That is correct," said the woman, who was dressed in a long faun gown, leather thongs, and who was carrying a simple cloth arm bag.

"What a beautiful name."

"Thank you, it is Italian ... So am I." She looked around the reception area and then asked. "What's with the rather garish blue, white, and yellow decor?"

"My husband originated from Western Australia, and he still barracks for the West Coast Eagles, despite my best efforts to convince him that he should barrack for a proper Victorian team."

"Well, you must work harder to convert him to a team with less gaudy colours," teased Sabine. "Can you get someone to carry my suitcases upstairs, please? They're just outside."

"Of course, I'll get my hubby to do it, he's a big, strong man."

"Ooh, my favourite type of man."

Tinging the reception bell, Annette called, "George!"

"What is ...?" began George impatiently, coming from the dining room. However, seeing the beautiful Sabine, he changed his tune, "How can I help out, my love?"

"Stop drooling over our guest and get her cases from outside, and then take them up to room 304," she said, handing him the keys. Then to Sabine, "If you'd like to follow me, I'll lead you through to the dining room. Don't worry, the bedrooms are painted in pastel shades, I wouldn't let George turn the whole hotel into a shrine for his beloved West Coast Eagles."

"Thank goodness," said Sabine, making both women laugh.

"There's nothing wrong with the West Coast Eagles," called George from the doorway.

"Except that they're near the bottom of the league ladder, like usual," whispered Annette, and again both women laughed.

At that moment, Lizzie Enrich, an attractive twenty-year-old leggy brunette, the hotel's maid-cum-waitress-cum-general dog's body, peeped her head around the dining room door to ask, "Am I supposed to wait on everyone by myself?"

"Hold your knickers, I'm coming to help out," said Annette, leading Sabine across to the dining room. "This is our new guest, Sabine."

"Sabine Hersilia," said the Italian woman.

"I love your outfit," teased Lizzie. "Simplistic chic."

"Don't worry about Lizzie," advised Annette as they entered the dining room. "She's a total bitch when she sees women better looking than she is."

"So, most of the time then," said Sabine, making Annette laugh, and Lizzie glare at her.


Over at the Yellow House in Rochester Road, Merridale, they were also settling down to tea.

"So what's the grub tonight, Mrs. M.?" asked Tommy Turner, a short, fat, blond retiree.

"Grub?" demanded Deidre Morton, a short, dumpy sixty-something brunette, owner of the Yellow House, and a Cordon Bleu-level chef. "I only serve haute cuisine!"

"Yeah, haute cuisine grub," teased Sheila Bennett, a tall, athletic thirty-six-year-old, a Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair. And the second in command of the Glen Hartwell Police Department.

"Sheila, really!" said Deidre, not amused.

"Yes, Sheila," said Natasha Lipzing, a tall, grey-haired lady of seventy-one. "We expect that kind of thing from Tommy. He doesn't know any better."

"Hey, what are you suggesting?" demanded Tommy. "That I'm a retardo?"

"Well, if the clown shoe fits," teased Freddy Kingston, a tall, almost bald retiree.

"I think they've got you there, Tom-Tom," said Leo Laxman, a tall black Jamaican, working as a nurse at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"Don't call me Tom-Tom!"

"Yeah, he's afraid of getting drummed out," teased Colin Klein, a tall redheaded Englishman who had worked for thirty years as a crime reporter before coming to Australia and being employed by the Glen Hartwell Police.

"So, ignoring the Freak Stooges over there," said Terri Scott, a thirty-something ash blonde, top cop of Glen Hartwell and the surrounds, and engaged to Colin. "What are we having for tea tonight, Mrs. M.?"

"Homemade fish and chips, with mini chicken spring rolls, since I know you love them, Terri dear."

"And Neptune's Fish and Chipatorium, in Blackland Street, G.H., hasn't been much since poor Lino DiPucci was killed, and Sophia sold up and moved away," said Sheila.

"Then some battered cod, plenty of homemade chips," added Deidre, "some potato cakes, some steamed Dim Sims, my recipe, and for dessert your choice of pineapple fritters or banana fritters, both with fresh whipped cream."

"Yatzy, the mother lode!" cried Sheila.

"How is that comment even remotely relevant to Deidre's superb cooking?" asked Natasha.

"Damned if I know," said the Goth chick shrugging, "but I thought of it, so I said it."

"She can't afford to waste a thought," teased Terri, "she has so few of them."

"How dare you, Tare!"


In the Dorset Hotel in LePage, in the dining room -- this week made up in faux Hawaiian decor, including plastic palm trees complete with green plastic coconuts --, Sabine looked around for a suitable victim. As she was looking around, she saw a tall, heavyset man and his petite blonde wife arguing.

"You'll do what I bloody well tell you, woman!" ordered the man in his mid-forties, Noah Oliver, not caring who overheard.

"Like Hell I will," said his wife, Jasmine 'Jazz' Oliver.

Getting up too fast for him to grab her, the petite blonde stormed out of the dining room. She stopped in the reception area. She looked forward toward the stairs to the bedrooms, then right toward the silver-doored elevator, then turned left and headed toward the twin glass doors to the outside.

"Come back here, you bitch!" ordered Noah, storming out into the reception area.

At first, he was puzzled that there was no sign of his wife. He would have heard the elevator doors chinging open, so he looked to the stairs, then looked left as he heard the glass doors click closed.

"Come back here, you bitch!" he repeated, headed toward the doors at a run.


Inside the dining room, Sabine had finished eating, so she stood and headed outside, trying not to look as though she were following the Olivers. In the reception area, she looked around and saw the front door just closing, so, after checking that no one had followed her from the dining room, she raced across to the door and started outside.

Not quite there, the Dorset was only a hundred metres or so away from where the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest started. So Sabine risked walking across to the forest and soon saw two sets of footprints, a man's large prints and a woman's much smaller prints, clearly delineated in the carpet of fallen pine needles and gum leaves which blanketed the forest floor outside LePage township.

"Come back here, you cunt!" she heard Noah shout at his runaway wife.

"Go screw yourself!" called back Jazz Oliver.

"I'll screw you, in that beautiful phat arse of yours if I have to chase you and drag you back to the hotel!"

"How dare you, you homo!" cried the petite woman.

Man, is she in trouble if he catches her! thought Sabine, putting on the pace, accelerating to an almost cheetah-like speed in a bid to catch the brutal husband before he could start hurting his wife.

In the forest, little Jasmine Oliver was now running for her life until she collided with a sweet-smelling Lemon-Scented Gum Tree.

Lemon! was her last thought before passing out and collapsing to the forest floor.

Running out of the forest, Noah almost collided with the same gum tree, stopping just in time. Then seeing his prone wife lying beneath the tree he thought, Bitch, are you ever getting the bumming of your life!

Although she was a small woman, Jazz did have a real Bianca Censori-style, prominent behind, but had never allowed her husband to sodomise her, no matter how much he had pleaded with her. Now he thought, No more begging, bitch! From now on, I take what I want, when I want, as often as I want, through whichever body hole I want! Conjugal Rights have just returned to our marriage! With that, her ripped off his wife's yellow, floral dress, then tore down her white, frilly panties to expose her delightful behind.

Rolling her onto her face, Noah thought, This'll wake the bitch up as he prepared to penetrate her rectum with his manhood.

When, from behind him, he heard a roaring, too loud to be a lion, and loud enough to make him spin around.

From the forest came a huge beast like a cross between a bear and a giant koala. With small but sharp-looking horns, huge sagging breasts showing that it was female, and muscles like the ones on statues of ancient gods.

"What the fuck?" demanded Noah, climbing to his feet, not realising that his now flaccid penis still hung out of his fly.

Roaring at the man, Sabine raced toward Noah and grabbed him in a bear hug, squeezing with preternatural strength.

Used to being the aggressor, not the victim, Noah shrieked in agony and fear as she crushed his ribs, which splintered like matchsticks.

Roaring again, Sabine crushed him harder, until one of his broken ribs penetrated Noah's heart, ending his suffering.

Then, roaring one last time, Sabine turned and raced back into the forest, slowly transforming back into a beautiful woman as she headed back toward the Dorset Hotel.

Five minutes later, Jasmine Oliver awakened, rubbing at her groggy head.

"Oh God," she said, rolling over.

She jumped as the pine needles prodded her naked behind. Looking down, she saw that her dress had been torn off, and her panties pulled down to her knees. Standing, she checked herself to see that she had not been raped, then picked up her dress to wrap around herself, and started back toward the hotel, only to fall over the corpse of her husband in the dark.

"Noah?" she said, still groggy, wondering whether he had raped her after all while she had been unconscious.

She tried to roll her husband over, since he was lying face down on the carpet of pine needles and gum leaves, however, he was too heavy. So, instead, still holding her dress across herself, she turned and raced back toward the Dorset Hotel, a kilometre or so away.


Sabine, now a beautiful blonde woman again, managed to re-enter the hotel without anyone seeing her. She had started across toward the elevator to go up to her room when she heard footsteps. Annette Mulberry came out of the living room to investigate. Seeing Sabine, the redhead invited:

"We're watching the news in the lounge room if you'd like to join us?"

"Thank you, I think I will," said Sabine. She walked across to enter the living room, which was made up like a bad copy of a scene from a 1960s beach party movie.

"You haven't seen Noah and Jasmine, have you?" asked Annette as they went across to the Hawaiian-themed five-person sofa.

"I'm afraid not," lied Sabine.

They were watching the sporting news, which showed that George's beloved West Coast Eagles had been slaughtered again.

"Don't you worry," said George, "the mighty West will rise again."

"If I didn't love the stupid bastard, I'd dump him just for saying that!" said Annette Mulberry.

"That's the problem with love," said a pink-rinsed spinster, Vera. "You can't leave them, no matter how much you feel like kicking them in the nuts."

"I think that sums up love perfectly from a woman's point of view," agreed Sabine, making everyone, except George, laugh.

The news had finally ended, and the beautiful face of blonde Allison Langdon appeared on the screen as A Current Affair began. On the screen behind her appeared the face of Erin Patterson, accused of poisoning her in-laws with death cap mushrooms in Beef Wellington.

"Oh, this is the kind of juicy stuff I like," said Vera, grinning like a child in a lolly shop.

However, before they could watch the story, an exhausted Jasmine Oliver burst into the living room, and exclaimed, "Something has happened to my husband out in the forest," then she collapsed to the floor, with her prominent behind pointing upwards.

"Nice arse on her," said an old man, Godfrey, sitting in an armchair beside the sofa. When all the women in the room turned to glare at him, he said, "What? Well, she does have."

Ten minutes later, they had taken Jasmine up to her room, if only to stop Godfrey from ogling her backside. Then, while Lizzie and Sabine stayed with Jasmine, the men, plus Annette, headed outside with military-style torches to look for Noah Oliver.


Over at the Yellow House, they were halfway through watching A Current Affair on Channel Nine, rather than Home and Away on Channel Seven, which Natasha Lipzing had wanted to watch.

When Terri's mobile phone suddenly shrilled, Sheila said, "Tell them we're quarantined with the plague."

Ignoring the request from her second in charge, Terri spoke on the phone for a couple of minutes, then said, "That was Annette Mulberry from the Dorset Hotel in LePage, they've found the body of Noah Oliver in the forest a kilometre or so from the hotel."

"Isn't he that big man who slaps around his petite wife?" asked Natasha.

"Yeah, so good riddance to him," said Freddy Kinston.

As the three cops stood, Sheila said, "With all the deaths that keep occurring in and around the Dorset Hotel, they're gonna have to rename it the Bates Motel soon."

As they headed out, Terri said, "Sheils, your knowledge of ancient movies is almost as pointless as your vast knowledge of ancient songs."

"How dare you?" asked the Goth chick. "Although, I did think of saying the Heartbreak Hotel."

"That only proves our case," insisted Colin.

When they arrived at the Dorset Hotel, they found two ambulances already waiting, along with a gaggle of medics, paramedics, and gawkers from the hotel.

"The slow coach has finally arrived," teased Julia Prescott, a beautiful twenty-eight-year-old redheaded paramedic, as they were placing the sedated form of Jasmine Oliver into the back of one of the ambulances.

"Once again, the cavalry arrives late," teased Cheryl Pritchard. At sixty-four, Cheryl was an Amazonian brunette and the senior paramedic of the local area.

"How dare you, Chezza, Jules," said Sheila, "we are always on time. It's just that you Smart Alecks keep beating us to the scene. I'm guessing you have a teleporter or your own private Tardis."

"Sheils, you watch way, way too much Doctor Who," teased Julia.

"That's not possible, Jules!" insisted the Goth chick.

"Well, to end the argument before they start duking it out," said Terri, "what have we got here, Tils?"

Tilly Lombstrom, a tall, attractive, fifty-something brunette and a top surgeon at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, said:

"Noah Oliver was found dead in the forest a kilometre or so away, by the hotel residents. From my preliminary investigation, he's had his chest crushed by a person, animal, or monster unknown. I think one of his ribs penetrated his heart, killing him." Checking that no one else was in hearing range, she added under her breath, "No real loss, the way he used to beat up poor Jazz, his wife."

"That's what we said," admitted Colin.

After going to the corpse to take the crime scene photos, Terri allowed the medics to take away Noah's body as well as the sedated form of Jasmine Oliver.

"You don't think his wife could have done it?" asked Leo Laxman, one of two nurses on site.

"Little Jazz, against a huge man-mountain like Noah?" asked Sheila. "Not very likely, Laxie. Not that you could blame her if she had."

"That's true," agreed the nurse.


After the police and medics had departed, Sabine went up to her room, on the third floor, seemingly to sleep. Instead, as soon as the hotel was in darkness, she opened her bedroom window and leapt outside ....

And landed as the huge beast, like a cross between a bear and a giant koala. Not waiting to see if anyone had heard her land, monster-Sabine raced off into the forest, knowing that she had a lot more to do that night.


Over at Wilson Street, in nearby Lenoak township, Arlene Garfield, a tall, thirty-year-old, leggy redhead, was running, hoping to reach Mrs. Miggins' boarding house, where she lived, before the old lady locked her front door for the night.

As she ran, a sky blue Ford Fairlane without number plates turned the corner.

Inside the car were three brothers, Barry, Harry, and Larry O'Sullivan, all in their late teens.

"Hey, that's a bit of all right," said Harry, an eighteen-year-old with short mousy brown hair. "I wouldn't mind having a slice of that."

"More than one slice even," said nineteen-year-old Barry, a tall, redheaded man, driving the car.

As Arlene approached Mrs. Miggins' boarding house, Larry, a sixteen-year-old with long blond hair, said, "If we're gonna grab her, we'd better do it now. I think she's heading for that boarding house."

"Plant your foot," said Harry, and Barry accelerated the Ford, swinging it onto the footpath, just in front of the attractive redhead.

Unable to stop in time, Arlene ran straight into the blue car, rebounded and fell onto the concrete path, hitting her head and knocking herself out.

"I hope she's not dead!" cried Harry. "I was looking forward to having some cunt tonight."

"Relax," said Larry, an A-student in the sciences at school. "If she's dead, she'll stay warm enough to fuck for at least half an hour."

At first, looking shocked, Harry brayed like a donkey at the suggestion.

"Well, whatcha waiting for?" demanded Barry to his younger siblings. "Get out and get the cunt, before anyone sees us, or she comes around."

Used to obeying Barry without argument, Harry and Larry jumped out of the car, grabbed Arlene by one arm each and half-dragged, half-carried her across to the back seat of the Ford Fairlane.

"Oh boy, I haven't had any cunt in days," said Harry.

"Yeah, and we almost got caught by that snooty bitch, Terri Scott, last time, so hurry up!" ordered Barry.

"Gotcha, bro," said Harry as they climbed into the rear seat.

"Buckle up, I'm taking off," said Barry, accelerating the Fairlane too soon for his brothers to do as he had warned them.

"Hey, watch out!" cried Harry, almost whacking his head against the back of the front seat.

"I did warn ya," said Barry with a broad smirk.

After doing up their seat belts, Harry started to undo Arlene's blouse, then removed her bra, while Larry checked her neck for a pulse.

"Hey, big tits," said Harry.

He took her breasts into his hands and gave them a mighty squeeze, making the redhead moan in distress.

"Yeah, she's alive," said Larry.

"Good," said Barry, not really caring whether the redhead lived or died. "That means we can fuck her for a lot longer than just half an hour."

Harry brayed his donkey laughter again.

"Let's take her to the forest, where no one can hear her scream," said Barry, misquoting from the 1979 horror flick 'Alien'.

Again, Harry brayed as the car accelerated toward the edge of town, to head out into the forest outside Lenoak.

Half an hour later, the three teens had stripped off Arlene, unzipped themselves and were busily raping her, all three at once, through the vagina, the anus, and the mouth, after warning her what would happen to her if the redhead dared to bite them. Although they planned to slit her throat and dump her into the Yannan River after they were finished anyway. As Barry liked to say, 'Dead cunts tell no tales!' They had gangbanged, then killed eight women already in 2024 and 2025.

"Boy this redhead is hot," said Larry, enjoying the redhead's anus, "I think we should keep this one."

"Where could we keep her?" demanded Barry.

"In the basement at Mum's," suggested Harry. "Mum never goes down there, so she'd never find out."

"Hmm," said Barry, for a moment considering the idea. "It would be nice to have cunt on tap."

"Cunt on tap!" said Harry, braying with laughter as he face-fucked Arlene. "That's a good one, bro."

Ejaculating into Arlene's rectum, Larry pulled out and said, "Ooh, my cock's all shitty. Swap holes Harry, so the bitch can suck me clean."

Braying with laughter again, Harry moved around to oblige, saying, "I did wonder what fucking her arse might be like."

The three boys had settled down to some serious fucking when they heard what they first thought was the sound of thunder approaching.

"Shit, I hope it's not gonna rain," said Barry. "It'd be a shame to have to give up this red-furred beaver so soon."

"Yeah, we were hoping to have all night with her," said Larry. He looked up at the sky, puzzled that there was no sign of either thunder or lightning. "Don't think it's thunder, Bazza," said Larry as the thunderous sounds continued to approach where the gang rape was going on."

"Then what the fuck, is it?" demanded Barry.

"Damned if I know ..." began Larry, stopping to stared at the four-metre high creature that came out of the forest toward them:

It was a huge red-brown beast like a cross between a bear and a giant koala. It had small, sharp-looking horns, huge sagging breasts, and the muscles of a young Arnold Swartzenegger.

"What the fuck?" asked Harry, as the three O'Sullivan brothers abandoned Arlene Garfield and tried to run back to the blue Ford Fairlane.

Growling like a bear, Sabine raced after the three brothers. She managed to grab Harry and silence his braying forever by snapping his neck, almost ripping his head off his shoulders. Then growling again, the creature raced down Larry and broke his back, abandoning the two younger brothers upon the pine needles and gum leaves that carpeted the forest floor.

Then, beating her chest like King Kong in the 1933 movie, Sabine charged after the oldest O'Sullivan brother. Barry had already reached the car, had climbed into the driver's seat and was turning the key when Sabine grabbed the floor of the Ford Fairlane and easily flipped it over, so that when the key turned, the wheels were spinning uselessly up in the air.

"Oh, Jesus!" said Barry, knowing that he was as good as dead.

Grabbing the driver's side door, Sabine effortlessly ripped it off the car, before reaching in to grab the last remaining O'Sullivan brother.

"We were just having some harmless fun!" insisted Barry.

Growling at the teenager, Sabine lifted him up face to face, then began to squeeze the life out of him, as she had done earlier with Noah Oliver.

"God, have mercy!" cried the teen, as he heard his ribs cracking.

"Did you have mercy on her?" asked Sabine, in a deep, manly voice as she continued to crush the teen's ribs and spine.

"No!" shrieked Barry, his last word before dying.

"No, indeed not!" agreed monster-Sabine.

Dropping the dead teen, she walked toward a terrified Arlene Garfield, who was more afraid of the creature than she had been of the three rapists.

"No, please don't hurt me!" cried the redhead, before fainting.


An hour later, Arlene woke up at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital, without any idea how she had got there.

"We heard a knocking outside," said Topaz Moseley, a gorgeous thirty-two-year-old platinum blonde nurse, who was dating Leo Laxman. "And when we went to investigate, there you were. Care to tell us what happened?"

At first hesitantly, then more rapidly, Arlene told Topaz and Annie Colfax, a short, forty-year-old blonde, exactly what had happened.


Able to lope in monster form, Sabine made it back to the Dorset Hotel well before dawn, then seeing her bedroom window open, she easily leapt up to it in monster form ....

And landed inside as a beautiful, leggy blonde.

"Time for me to get a little sleep," said Sabine. She went across to her bed, pulled down the covers and snuggled down and was soon asleep.


Over at the Yellow House, Terri Scott was having a wonderful dream about getting married to Colin, who slept next to her, when her mobile phone blared.

"Breakfast time already?" asked the sleepy blonde.

She slapped her hand down upon the alarm clock, without stopping the shrilling.

"Stupid clock, must be defective," she said, sitting up in bed, only to find that the room was still in darkness.

Clicking on her bedside lamp, she realised that it was her phone blaring, and reluctantly picked it up.

"This had better be urgent," said Terri, sounding still half asleep.

She quickly woke up when Annie Colfax told them what had happened.

"Wakey, wakey, lover boy," said Terri, shaking Colin awake.

"Hey, if you're in the mood, you know I am," said Colin, pulling the blonde back down onto the bed.

"Down boy, down!" cried Terri, struggling to escape his advances. "It's happened again."

"No, it hasn't, but if you'll stop fighting, it soon will," said the redheaded man.

"I meant we've had more killings, this time a witness has confirmed that it was a huge bear-like creature."

"Do you mean a naked creature, or one that looks like a bear?"

Sighing, not knowing if he was joking, Terri said, "A giant bear-like creature."

He finally released her, and the two cops climbed out of the bed and started dressing. When they were dressed, Terri knocked on the wall of the next room and called out:

"Wakey, wakey, mad Goth chick."

"Let me sleep a few more minutes, Mummy," said Sheila in a little girl's voice.

Grabbing her mobile, Terri said, "I've really gotta record this."

"Don't you dare," said Colin. Hammering on the bedroom wall, he cried, "Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey."

"Is it breakfast time already?" asked Sheila in her normal voice.

"Don't tell her," said Terri, "I can hear her getting dressed."

They just made it out into the yellow-walled corridor when Sheila's door opened and she came out, looking as bleary-eyed as Terri had a few minutes earlier.

"Hey, wait a minute," said the Goth chick, looking about, "it's still dark. It can't be breakfast time ... unless we were teleported to England."

"Is that for my benefit, mad Goth chick, marm?" asked Colin.

"Sorry, no brekkie yet," said Terri as they started down the steps. "We've had three more murders: the O'Sullivan brothers, Larry, Curly, and Moe."

"Larry, Harry, and Barry," corrected Sheila. "And to quote Tils from earlier, no real loss."

"Yes, they were worthless bastards," agreed Colin.

"Oh, and we got a description of the killer," said Terri as they headed outside. "A four-metre tall, bear-like monster, with huge sagging boobs."

"Which makes it a female," said Sheila, as they climbed into the Lexus.

"Either that, or a really fat, old man," teased Colin.

Waking up Stanlee Dempsey, Jessie Baker, Paul Bell, Andrew Braidwood, and Don Esk -- despite his fiancée, Lisa Williams, initially refusing to wake him for them --, they set out to look for the remains of the O'Sullivan brothers.

"Where did Arlene Garfield say it happened?" asked Jessie Baker, a huge ox of a man with flame red hair, as they stood outside the Glen Hartwell Police Station, in Mitchell Street.

"A few kilometres into the forest, outside Wilson Street, in Lenoak."

"Then let's get to Lenoak," suggested Don Esk, a tall, brown-haired sergeant of forty, who could pass for thirty.

They climbed into their three cars, Terri's Lexus, Don's rusty blue Land Rover, and Stanlee's white Range Rover, and headed out toward the forest.

"Who knows, we might even get there first, this time," said Stanlee Dempsey, a huge, bear-like man with dark hair.

Then three ambulances roared past them, sirens blaring.

"Damn you all!" Sheila shouted at the long-gone ambulances.

"Shush," said Terri, "don't wake the whole street."

"I doubt there's anyone left asleep in Glen Hartwell after those clowns roared through, sirens blaring," said Colin.

Half an hour later, as much by sound, following the ambulances as anything else, the cops reached the forest outside Lenoak where the gang rape, then three killings had occurred.

"What kept you?" teased Julia Prescott, grinning broadly.

"Oh, that's it, I'm killing her!" said Sheila.

"Sheils! Sheils!" cried Terri, as she and Colin held the Goth chick back. "We need you to take the crime scene photographs."

"Okay," said Sheila, surlily, "but that red-furred Smart Aleck had better watch herself from now on."

After photographing the three corpses, plus the upside down Ford Fairlane, they moved across to photograph the bloody carpet of pine needles and gum leaves, where the gang rape had occurred.

"So, now what, Chief?" asked Stanlee Dempsey.

"Who feels like going on a giant bear hunt?" asked Terri, putting her right hand up. When no one else did so, she said, "Thank you all for volunteering."

"Did we volunteer?" asked Drew Braidwood.

"Yes, you did, and very bravely too," said Terri. "Now, let's go get Slap, Tickle, and Rub."

"The dumb mutts will be chuffed at being awakened at this hour," said Drew.

"No, they're usually awake and yapping by this time, waking up Lisa and me," said Don as they set off. "Lisa will probably be thrilled to get rid of them, so she can go back to bed for a while."

Forty-five minutes later, they had the three Alsatian crosses, being led by Don, Stanlee, and Jessie, while the cars followed slowly behind.

They had reached Glen Hartwell, as day started to dawn, and were heading down Baltimore Drive, when Sheila said:

"Who wants to bet they lead to Glen Hartwell Hospital?"

"What makes you think that?" asked Colin.

"This oversized Yogi turned up while poor Arlene Garfield was being raped. It killed the three rapists, then she passes out and wakes up in the hospital ...."

"You think it carried her to the hospital?" asked Terri.

"Seems logical," insisted Sheila. "It killed Noah Oliver when he was slapping about Jasmine, then the O'Sullivan brothers while they were raping Arlene ...."

"So, we've got a vigilante, giant killer bear on our hands," said Colin.

"Seems like it."

"Sheils, you're a genius ... as morons go," teased Terri.

"I choose to take that as a compliment.

A short time later, they arrived at the emergency entrance of the hospital.

"Who'd'a guessed it?" asked Drew Braidwood.

"Actually, Sheils did, the clever clogs," said Terri as they got out of the cars and started to look around.

The dogs sniffed around the outside of the emergency entrance, then started off again.

"Oh, come on," said Jessie, "I've walked for miles, can't someone else follow Tickle for a while?"

"Okey dokey," said Sheila, "you can drive the Chief's Lexus."

"I'll take over Slap," volunteered Drew.

"I guess that leaves me with Rub," offered Colin.

The three dogs yelped excitedly for a moment, then led them back down Wentworth Street, all the way through Glen Hartwell, then out into the forest again. It was almost lunchtime by the time they reached the Dorset Hotel.

"I told you this place should be renamed Heartbreak Hotel," said Sheila.

"No, you said the Bates Motel," corrected Terri.

"Anyway, I'm starving," said the Goth chick, "do you think they'd do us a dinner? It's almost lunch time, and we didn't have brekkie."

"None of us did," agreed Drew.

"We should have stopped in at the canteen while we were at G.H. Hospital," said Jessie Baker.

Inside the hotel, they were just getting ready to serve lunch when Terri and the others entered the reception area.

"Sergeant, what are you doing back here?" asked Lizzie Enrich.

"Would you believe hunting a giant, vigilante bear that murdered Noah Oliver?" asked Terri.

"Around here, we would believe anything," said Annette Mulberry, coming across to them. "Would you care to join us for lunch before leaving?"

"Oh, yes, please!" said Sheila, almost running into the Hawaii-style dining room.

"She didn't have time for brekkie," apologised Colin.


As Annette, Lizzie, and the police entered the dining room, Sabine and most of the other patrons looked toward them.

"It's about bloody time," said Vera. "We're bloody starving. Lunch is supposed to be twelve thirty on the dot!"

Looking at her watch, Annette said, "It's twelve thirty-two, I don't think you'll die of starvation in two minutes."

"We might," said Vera, refusing to back down.

As they ate, Sabine continued to watch the police, wary in case they were closing in on her. The tall, leggy blonde wished that she were nearer to them, so that she could hear what they were saying. She considered wandering past them in the hope of overhearing their conversation, then thought better of it.

No, they might remember later, if they interview us all! thought Sabine.

And as she had imagined, after eating, Terri and the others interviewed all of the hotel staff and patrons about their whereabouts at the time of Noah's death, and then when the O'Sullivan brothers were killed.

"We were watching telly when Noah got his," said pink-rinsed spinster, Vera. "And we were sound asleep when the O'Sullivan hooligans came to justice."

"And you, ma'am?" Terri asked Sabine.

"The same," said the leggy blonde.

"So you can vouch for each other?" asked Colin.

"We weren't sleeping together, if that's what you meant," said Vera.

"No, but you did watch telly together?" asked Sheila.

"Us and everyone else in the hotel."

"Well, that was a big bust," said Colin as they headed out of the hotel.

"Who, the leggy blonde?" teased Sheila.


Later that day, Sabine waited till the hotel had gone dark, then walked across to her bedroom window and jumped out as the leggy blonde, and landed safely three storeys below as the huge beast like a cross between a bear and a giant koala, with small but sharp-looking horns, huge sagging breasts, and muscles like the ones on statues of Atlas.

She sniffed the air for a moment, then headed off toward Brooklyn township.


The Biker Lounge was situated on Williamstown Road, just outside Brooklyn. Despite the name, though, anyone could eat or drink there, as long as they could pay. But that night, half a dozen bikers were sitting there.

Leo Tomlinson, a sixty-two-year-old bald man, a biker for more than forty years, had been coming to the biker lounge for the last thirty-five years since it had opened. It had a long wooden counter like any public house, plus a dozen round tables, and wooden chairs strong enough to take an ageing biker's weight. The music tended to be rock and roll, not that modern twat that Leo hated, and the company usually was nice enough. Although tonight, there were two rough-looking customers. Looking more like Hollywood-styled street punks rather than bikers, in studded leather vests, studded leather trousers, and black jackets with studs on the back saying: HELL'S ARSEHOLES.

Well, they got that right! thought Leo, careful not to say it aloud for fear of being shived by the self proclaimed arseholes.

"Is there any pussy around here?" one of the Hells Arseholes asked Dietrich Manson, a tall thin, bald man of fifty-something, the long-time owner of the Biker Lounge.

"This ain't a biker and cat bar, like some," said Dietrich.

"No, you dweeb," said the second arsehole, "is there any cunt available around here."

"Well, there's the Free Love Sex Lounge in Gordon Street, over at LePage."

"I ain't never paid for it in my life!" boasted the first arsehole.

It's hard to believe either of them could get it anyway except by paying for it! thought Leo.

"Ah, come on, let's get outta here," said the second arsehole.

Downing their beers, the two arseholes turned tail and headed outside.

Thank God they're gone," said Dietrich, saying it at a whisper.


Outside, the two arseholes strode across to their bikes, powerful Harley's painted black, with the words, 'Hell's Arseholes' in italics and capitals painted along the sides of the fuel tanks. As they were mounting their bikes, a pink Morris Minor whooshed past the biker bar.

"Hey," said the first arsehole, "I think there was cunt in that car."

"I think you're right," said the second arsehole.

With a revving of engines, the two arseholes took off after the Morris Minor.


Inside the Morris, a new acquisition, Luella 'Lulu' Wellins, a petite pixie-cut brunette teen, was driving along. In the rear sat the first hairy love of her life, Woof, a huge bull mastiff, who, unlike most dogs, had not objected to her putting a seat belt around him in the rear of the small car. Both Woof and Lulu were enjoying the experience of being able to ride, instead of having to walk everywhere.

Until the two arseholes suddenly appeared on either side of the small car, ogling the petite teen.

"Hey, gorgeous, how about a root?" asked the first arsehole.

"Fuck off!" cried Lulu, hoping to sound braver than she felt.

"That's not nice, Hot Stuff," said the second arsehole.

Swinging a bike chain, he whacked it against the front windscreen of the car, denting but not smashing it.

Barking furiously, Woof fought his way out of his seat belt and jumped into the front passenger seat to bark at the arsehole outside the window.

Leaning across, Lulu lowered the window so that the huge dog could stick his head out of the car, to bark furiously at the arsehole.

"Here, doggy," called the second arsehole, swinging his spare bike chain across Woof's snout, breaking off two of the dog's teeth, and making blood gush from the dog's face.

"You bastards!" cried Lulu. She hurriedly raised the window again to stop Woof from being hurt anymore.

"That's not very nice, hot pants!" called the first arsehole.

He swung a bike chain against the front windscreen repeatedly until the window finally imploded. Coating both Woof and Lulu in tiny squares of safety glass.

"Come on, we just want some cunt!" said the first arsehole.

"And maybe a blowjob or two!" added the second arsehole with a laugh.

"Get lost, you losers!" cried Lulu, starting to fear she could not escape them.

As Woof started to jump onto the bonnet, to bark at the two arseholes, Lulu surprise them all by breaking the car suddenly, so that she could grab the huge dog's collar and pull it back into the car. Then with the two arseholes roaring away into the distance, the brunette hurriedly turned the car and started back the way she had come.

"Hey! Sweet Cunt's getting away!" said the first arsehole.

"Let's get after her!" cried the second arsehole, almost riding his Harley off the road at a sudden sound like thunder.

"Shit that's all we need thunder and lightning!" complained the first arsehole.

"As long as we get some primo cunt as well!"

They started roaring back after Lulu and Woof, having to suddenly swerve, as something four metres tall, looking like a bear, stepped out onto the road in front of them. The first arsehole flew off the road at high speed. His bike span over, landed on top of him, breaking his spine, then burst into flames, to cremate him alive. The second arsehole managed to break to a stop in time, only to picked up by Sabine-monster and hugged against her chest until his back snapped. Then she easily twisted his head around backwards, killing the arsehole.

Sabine looked into the distance, where Lulu's pink Morris Minor was roaring away, and decided that the teenager needed no more help from her. Turning, she started at a run back toward the Dorset Hotel in LePage.


Reaching the Biker Lounge in Williamstown Road, a terrified Lulu drove into the car park, ran into the bar, then fainted. As Leo Tomlinson and Dietrich Manson raced across to the teenage brunette, Woof raced across to lick her face, then woofed at the two men, keeping them away from his mistress.

Rather than risk the wrath of Woof, Dietrich returned to the bar, picked up his phone and rang through to the Mitchell Street Police Station, where Suzette Cummings gave him Terri's mobile number.


"Oh boy, it's been another tough day," said Terri, bending to sit on the yellow floral sofa in the TV room at the Yellow House straight after tea. Only to stop as her mobile phone rang.

"And it's not over yet!" said Colin as Terri stood up again and started talking on her phone.

Disconnecting again, Terri said, "That was Topaz Moseley at the hospital. Two bikers attacked Lulu Wellins and Woof on Williamstown Road. Then, it seems Yogi's Mum stepped out of the bushes and slaughtered the two bikers. Hell's Arseholes according to Dietrich Manson at the Biker Lounge."

"Great place to eat at, the Biker Lounge," said Sheila. "Dietrich's missus does great steak, egg, and chips."

"I can cook steak, egg, and chips if that's all you want!" said Deidre Morton.

"Yes, but we're not always home when we get hungry," said Sheila.

Forty-five minutes later, the three cops were out on Williamstown Road. Sheila took crime scene photos then they went around to the Biker Lounge, while the ambulances took the two arseholes to the morgue in the basement of the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.

"Sheils," greeted Dietrich Manson.

"Diets," called back Sheila. "Leo!"

"You rang us about Lulu Wellins and Woof?" asked Terri.

"Yeah, she staggered in here after being attacked by two arseholes," said Dietrich, "pardon my French."

"Hell's Arseholes to be exact," said Leo Tomlinson.

"Yeah, we were told," said Colin.

They talked for a while without learning anything new, then Dietrich said, "I'm taking care of poor Woof for Lulu, till she's better. They whacked him across the chops with a bike chain."

"So, what's next, babe?" asked Colin as they walked through the car park toward the police-blue Lexus.

"We go see our witchy friend, Magnolia McCready, to see what she knows regarding legends about giant, vigilante she bears," said Terri.

"Actually, a female bear is called a sow," said Colin.


1/21 Calhoun Street, Glen Hartwell, is the right-hand half of a subdivided yellow weatherboard house. In the sitting room, Magnolia McCready, a tall, busty redhead with electric-blue eyes, handed around cups of white tea with pineapple doughnuts. On the floor by her feet lay a huge, fluffy, white Tom cat, watching the doughnut she held in her left hand.

"Here, Timmikins," said Magnolia. She broke off a large piece of doughnut and threw it to the cat, who caught it in his mouth and chomped it down. "So, what's the problem this time?"

"We need to know what legends there are about giant, female, vigilante bears?" asked Terri, taking the Wiccan by surprise.

"Giant female vigilante bears?" repeated Magnolia. You don't mean naked female vigilantes?"

"No B.E.A.R.s," spelt Colin.

Terri went on to explain everything that had happened over the last couple of days.

"And they seem centred around the Dorset Hotel?" asked Magnolia. She threw another half-doughnut to Timmikins, who hungrily gobbled it up.

"The first two sets of killings, anyway," said Terri.

"Do you have a list of the hotel's residents?"

"Yes, we interviewed them today," said Terri. She handed across a notepad with the names written down.

The Wiccan leafed through the list for a few moments, then stopped and said, "Ah, now here's an interesting name, Sabine Hersilia."

"She's a tall leggy blonde about twenty-eight or thirty," said Sheila.

"I suspect more like twenty-eight hundred," said Magnolia.

"What?" cried Terri, Colin, and Sheila.

"Have you heard the story of the Rape of the Sabine women?"

"Vaguely," said Colin.

"Actually, it's a mistranslation. It should be the Abduction of the Sabine women. So the story goes, the abduction of the Sabine women occurred soon after the founding of Rome in the mid-8th century BC by Romulus. Initially made up of thieves and bandits, the early population of Rome was predominantly male, making it difficult for Rome to grow. So, Romulus approached several neighbouring towns, including the Sabines and asked if they could provide women for Roman men to marry, to allow the population to expand. However, afraid that a powerful Rome would attempt to conquer them -- a fear that proved valid, when the Roman Empire eventually conquered much of the world, only being defeated by the Russian winter --, the towns all refused.

"Hence, the Romans devised a plan to dupe the Sabines and get their women during the Festival of Neptune Equester. They announced a festival of games to attract people from all the nearby towns. People from Rome's neighbouring towns – including Caenina, Crustumerium, and Antemnae – attended the festival along with the Sabines, in the hope of seeing the newly established town for themselves. At the festival, Romulus signalled by "rising and folding his cloak and then throwing it round him again." At the signal, the Roman men grabbed the Sabine women, fighting off the Sabine men.

"All of the abducted women were virgins except for one married woman, Hersilia, who became Romulus's wife, and therefore the first empress of Rome."

"Sabine Hersilia!" said Terri.

"Exactly," said the Wiccan, "she's really Hersilia, the Sabine woman." She considered for a moment, then said, "Although there is nothing in the legend about her being a werebear or whatever."

"If she's been alive for twenty-eight hundred years, maybe she somehow acquired the ability to change into an avenging vigilante bear," said Colin.

"Yes," agreed Magnolia. "And after the abduction of the Sabine women all those centuries ago, she is centring her attacks upon men who hurt women."

"Then how do we stop her?" asked Terri.

"I could use a calling spell to bring her here."

"Then we shoot her dead?" asked Sheila, before throwing a bit if doughnut to a grateful-looking Timmikins.

"I doubt that you could shoot her dead. Not if she's had nearly three millennia to learn how to protect herself."

"So what then?" asked Colin.

"Reason with her. Point out to her that there are countries, like America, where the level of domestic violence is far greater than here in Australia."

"Send her somewhere else to do her killings, to get her out of Glen Hartwell?" asked a shocked-sounding Colin Klein.

"Why not?" asked Magnolia. "You've done it before."

"That's true," said Sheila, we sent the Banshee back to Ireland, and convinced the Valkyries to go back to the Northern Hemisphere." [See my stories, 'A Banshee Shrilling', and 'Ride of the Valkyries'.]

"Okay, but I don't entirely like it," said Terri.

"Good," said the Wiccan, smiling broadly. She held out her right hand and said, "Two hundred simoleons, please?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather have spondulicks?" asked Sheila.

"No, thank you!"

A few hours later, they were a kilometre or so into the sweet-smelling pine and eucalyptus forest outside Glen Hartwell. Magnolia had collected herbs and ointments, plus a wooden bowl and spoon to mix them with while performing the calling. Before she started the ritual, however, the Wiccan asked:

"Now, what are the chances that you three could sit down, shut up, and not interrupt me for the next hour or so?"

"With Colin and I, pretty good," said Terri.

"But with Sheila, you're on a hiding to nothing," said Colin.

"That's pretty much what I expected," said the Wiccan.

"How dare you?" asked Sheila.

Over the next hour or so, Magnolia chanted while mixing her potions, trying to call Sabine Hersilia to them.


Over at the Dorset Hotel, Sabine wasn't sure whether she should go to bed or go out again that night.

There is still much good to be done, she thought, before being suddenly tugged backwards. As though attached to a gigantic elastic band which had reached its limit and was starting to retract.

What the Hell! she thought. Before being jerked out of the bedroom, through the open window, and into the night forest.


"All right, we're getting to the nitty-gritty now," said Magnolia. "So please, Sheila, shut up!"

"I haven't said a word in an hour!" protested the Goth chick, getting glared at by the Wiccan.

"Well, so that you don't!"

Magnolia continued with the ritual, and Sabine, despite fighting the calling with all of her might, was gradually pulled through the forest from LePage to the forest just outside Glen Hartwell.

"What is the meaning of this?" demanded Hersilia, the twenty-eight-hundred-year-old Sabine woman.

"You have to stop your vigilante killings in Glen Hartwell!" said Terri, after getting a nod from Magnolia.

"Who says so?" demanded Hersilia.

"I do," said Terri. "We, Colin, Sheila, and I, are law enforcement officers in this area. It is our job to punish violence by men against women. Not yours!"

"And who punished those who kidnapped me, and hundreds of my fellow Sabine women, all of those years ago?"

"No one," admitted Terri. "Because in those days, there were no civilian police forces in the world. Today there are! And we are not helped in our work by vigilantes taking the law into their own hands."

"But violent men can't be allowed to keep hurting women!"

"No," agreed Colin. "And we will stop them, or punish them for their violence against women."

"Besides," added Terri. "Violence against women by men is not high in this country, compared to some others. The United States, for instance."

"Most men in the U.S.A. beat up their women daily," said Sheila. "You could do much better work there than in Australia."

"Hmm?" said Hersilia, considering. In her twenty-eight centuries, she had travelled extensively across Europe, Asia, and Africa, and recently Australia and New Zealand. But she had never been to the Americas. "Very well, perhaps it is time for me to travel to the New World, where I can do some real good."

With that, she raised her arms above her head, as though she were casting a spell, and promptly vanished.

"A job well done," said Magnolia McCready.

"You mean the easiest two hundred simoleons you've ever earnt," teased Sheila.

"How dare you?" said Magnolia, sounding genuinely offended. "I earnt every single simoleon!"

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