CROCOTTA

A Hindu demon starts luring people to be eaten, around Glen Hartwell

Archie Neumann, George DuBois, Eunice Grayson, and nine other employees of the Department of Building and Works were working around the smelly Yannan River, not far outside Glen Hartwell, in the Victorian countryside on July 1st, 2025. Their assignment, to put up a temporary dam to empty the river long enough to clear away any old white goods, then clean up the ooze from the river as much as possible. Not to beautify the river, but rather to reduce the stench to something akin to a bearable level.
"Did we do something to piss off Terri Scott, that we got stuck with this job?" asked Archie, a thirty-two-year-old redheaded man who was thin but very strong.
"We should remind her that we're letting her and Colin come on our honeymoon cruise after we're married on the 10th of December," said Eunice Grayson, a tall Amazonian, forty-eight-year-old, brunette who wore her hair in a long ponytail.
"No, it's orders from above," said her fiancé and foreman, George DuBois, a tall, strongly built man of fifty-two, with balding brown hair.
"What, from God himself?" teased Archie.
"Don't tell me the stench is reaching all that far up?" teased Eunice.
"No, my beloved. Orders from Head Office to clean it up. The sewerage smell is bad for tourism."
"Fair enough," said Archie, "but don't call me your beloved."
"Very funny," said George, ignoring Eunice's laughter.
Hidden behind an old-growth red gum tree, they were watched by a Crocotta, a creature with the body of a stag, a lion's neck and head, cloven hooves, and a wide mouth with sharp, bony ridges in place of teeth.
"I'll be glad when we can get back to planting saplings in the verges at Glen Hartwell and Merridale," said Archie, still smelling the noxious odour through the COVID mask that she wore.
"Yeah, even if the ungrateful wretches did keep backing into them accidentally, on purpose," said Eunice. "Forcing us to replant them."
"Oh, well, just keep reminding yourself that on December 10th we'll be sailing away upon the Eunice is My Honey with Terri and Colin."
"I would, but you're taking along Eunice, not me," teased Archie.
When they finally completed the temporary dam, the water on the right of the dam slowly started draining away. Then, as the Crocotta watched, puzzled by their actions, the Building and Works staff started removing rusty old fridges, stoves, washing machines, even an occasional small car with two large cranes which had been standing beside the banks while they were damming the river.
"We seem to do this two or three times a year," said Eunice, "yet each time there seems to be more white goods, cars, you name it ion the river bed."
"Yeah," agreed Archie, "where do Glen Hartwellians get the money to keep buying new cookers, fridges, cars, et cetera, all the time?"
"Hey," called one of the workers, a tall, raven-haired man, Cliff Forde, "I think I've just found an ancient Moog Synthesiser."
"Let's have a shufti," said Eunice.
She and a dozen other workers downed tools to check out the keyboard, which came with a black control panel with dozens of lights, switches, sliders, knobs et cetera.
"Wow, looks like a mid-1970s model," said George.
"Can it still play?" asked a tall blonde, Rhonda Rhodes, in her mid-thirties.
"I doubt it," said George. "Having been in the Yannan River, it's lucky not to have melted away."
"Now if only Emerson, Lake, and Palmer were here to test it out for me," said Cliff.
"Well, if you're gonna keep it," said Eunice, "let it dry out for at least a week, then take it to a good electrician to have it checked over before plugging it in."
"Isn't Wayne, at Building and Works, an electrician?" asked Rhonda.
"Good thinking, girl," said Cliff.
The Crocotta watched these strange goings on, hearing the humans laugh as Cliff pretended to play the keys on the synthesiser.

Over at the tint police station in Morcambe Street, Lenoak, five police officers sat around being served tea or coffee, and homemade chocolate biscuits by Deidre Morton.
"Mmmm, these are delish, Mrs. M.," said Wendy Pearson, a forty-six-year-old Honey blonde who looked more like a beauty queen than a cop.
"Marvelloso," said Alice Walker, a forty-seven-year-old brunette. An amateur weight-lifter and gym mate of Sheila on Saturdays.
"Superb, Mrs. M.," agreed Terri Scott, a beautiful ash blonde, in her mid-thirties, who was Senior Sergeant of the region, and engaged to Colin.
"Magnifique," said Colin Klein, a tall redheaded Englishman of forty-nine.
"Scrumptious as always," said Sheila Bennett. At thirty-six, Sheila was a Goth chick with black-and-orange striped hair and was Chief Constable Terri's second in command.
"So gratifying to be appreciated," said Deidre Morton, a short, chubby, sixty-something brunette, and a trained cordon bleu chef. "But where are Suzette and Paul today?"
"Oh, we sent them outside to patrol the cold streets, while we stayed inside in the warmth," said Sheila.
"She is so cheeky," said Deidre, giving the Goth chick a friendly tweak on the cheek, "but she is my favourite member of my extended family."
"Ouch," said Sheila. "You don't know your own strength, Mrs. M."

By five-thirty, George, Eunice and the others were all well and truly ready to go home for the night.
"I'm starting to fear this is going to be a two- or even three-day job," said George.
"Well, I'm not complaining," said Cliff Forde, "I've got my synthesiser to play with. Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!"
"If I'd been alive in the 1970s, I might even recognise that tune," teased Rhonda Rhodes.
"Just remember to let it dry out for at least a week, then get Wayne at work to check it out for you," warned Eunice Grayson.;
"Yes, Mummy," teased Cliff.
"No way am I old enough to be his Mummy," complained the Amazonian brunette.
"Of course not, honey," said George, putting an arm around her. "So would you like a ride home, Archie?"
"Yes, thanks," said the redheaded man running to catch up with them.
"Not me," said Cliff, "I've got my Cortina, and I've got my Moog to play with, Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!"
"If he keeps doing that until the darn thing dries out, his wife, Wilma, will kill him long before that," said Eunice as they climbed into their dark blue Ford Ranger.
"Aided and abetted by his three daughters," said Archie.
"I think they'd all get away with a verdict of justifiable homicide," said George, making them all laugh.

Over at 97 Vernier Street, Glen Hartwell, Bernice Forde was kneeling upon the black leatherette sofa in the boat race blue lounge room, looking out the front window as a pale orange Cortina pulled up outside.
"Mum, I think Dad's home," called Bernice, a tall, ravenette of fifteen.
"Well, let him in," called Wilma Forde from the kitchen at the other end of the house.
"Okay," said Bernice. Climbing off the sofa, she ran out into the lilac-walled corridor, opened the front door, and said, "Hello, Dad."
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!" said Cliff, playing with his new treasure.
"Mum, Dad's gone insane!" called Bernice.
"Well, it had to happen one day," called back Wilma, a tall, chesty redhead like her namesake Wilma Flintstone.
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!" said Cliff as he continued down the corridor toward the kitchen, followed by a puzzled Bernice.
In the lime-walled kitchen, Wilma, Ida, and Dolores Forde were all working hard, preparing tea for the five of them.
"Hello, darling," said Wilma.
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!" said Cliff, before kissing her on the cheek.
"Bernie is right, he has gone insane," said Ida, a tall, sixteen-year-old redhead.
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!" said Cliff kissing Ida on the cheek, then Bernice, then Dolores.
"He's also tone deaf," said Dolores, a short, plump fourteen-year-old blonde.
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!" said Cliff, leaning down to say it right in Dolores's face.
"He's also teasing me, Mum."
Looking around from the stove, Wilma saw the ancient Moog synthesiser her husband carried and asked, "What is that piece of junk, Honey?"
"Junk?" demanded Cliff. "This is the fifth love of my life. After my beautiful chestalicious wife, and my three beautiful but cheeky daughters."
"What does chestalicious mean?" asked Dolores.
"I means Mum has big boobs," explained Ida.
"Oh, yeah, so she does," said Bernice.
"Girls, stop talking about my boobs," said Wilma. Then to her husband, "And what are you planning to do with this piece of junk?"
"First, I have to dry it out, doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah!" said Cliff
"It'd dry out quickly in the rubbish bin," suggested Dolores.
"Or in a fire in the backyard," said Bernice.
"My beautiful but sarky daughters, I will have no more talk of cremating my beloved Moogie."
"Moogie?" asked Wilma.
"That is what I have named her."
"How do you know it's a her?" demanded Dolores.
"Mechanical things are always hers," explained Ida. "Ships, planes, cars, computers ... and now it seems, prehistoric synthesisers."
"I prefer to say a classic synthesiser, pet, not prehistoric."

After tea of lamb chops, mashed potatoes, pees, and carrots, the Forde family went into the lounge room to watch a two hour session of reruns of the classic TV show Medium, starring Patricia Arquette, then Wilma and Cliff went up to bed to make love while the girls stayed downstairs watching TV.
"Wrinkly sex," said Ida as her parents went upstairs, "ooh!"

As she undressed, Wilma said, "Be warned, if you call me Moogie while we're making love, I will kill you."
"I have been forewarned," agreed Cliff.
After making love, they both fell asleep, unaware that the three girls downstairs stayed up watching television till nearly midnight, before finally sneaking up to bed, tiptoeing past their parents' room.
It was nearly three o'clock in the morning when Cliff awakened again. He lay in bed for a moment, then heard what sounded like a synthesiser outside playing, doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah.
If that's the girls outside playing with Moogie, they're in for some serious spankings! thought Cliff as he slipped on his dressing gown and slippers, then sneaked downstairs. Never considering that Moogie could not play until she had been dried out for a week, then checked out.
Outside the doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah was loud enough so that Cliff was able to follow it down the backyard, to the iron-walled tool shed, which he had bought when they were first married, and which he had never used.
Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah came the electronic noise from inside the shed.
"Who the Hell is in there?" demanded Cliff, swinging the rusty door open with some difficulty.
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah," mimicked the Crocotta again as Cliff stepped into the shed.
"All right, who's in there?" demanded Cliff, stepping into the shed tentatively. "If one of you girls has Moogie, you'll also have a very red bum soon."
He switched on the overhead light, which blew in seconds, causing him to fall forward, landing face-to-face with the Crocotta.
"What the fuck?" cried Cliff, staring in horror at the creature with the body of a stag, a lion's neck, cloven hooves, and a wide mouth with sharp, bony ridges in place of teeth.
"What the fuck?" mimicked the Crocotta in Cliff's voice, before tearing out the startled man's throat.
Then slowly, over the next three hours, the Crocotta slowly devoured Cliff's flesh, fat, muscles, and organs, until there was nothing left, except blood-soaked bones. And even most of those it had cracked open to suck out the juicy marrow.
"Doo dah doo-doo dah doo dah," mimicked the Crocotta as it headed out into the back yard. Then, as it climbed the wooden fence to head out into the lane behind the house, "What the fuck?" in Cliff's voice again.
At seven-thirty, Wilma Forde awakened to find her husband missing. He had left Moogie on the bedside table on his side, taken his dressing gown and slippers and vanished.
Dressing quickly, Wilma headed downstairs with Moogie and found her three daughters all dressed and eating breakfast, porridge for Dolores, Wheat Bix for Ida and Bernice.
Seeing the moog, Ida asked, "Would you like me to burn that for you, Mum?"
"I'm tempted," admitted Wilma, "but no, just take it out to that old shed down the back yard to dry out."
"Who wants to bet Dad's forgotten it by tea time tonight?" asked Bernice.
As Ida took Moogie and headed out the back door, Wilma asked, "Have any of you girls seen your father this morning?"
"No!" said the three girls.
"Well, why not?" muttered Wilma.
"I guess we just got lucky," said Dolores.
"No, I meant, where is he? He wasn't in bed when I woke up this morning."

Over at the Yellow House in Merridale, they were sitting down to a breakfast of pancakes with maple syrup, raspberry jam, or breakfast marmalade.
"Need I even ask what you want, Sheila dear?" asked Deidre Morton.
"Three large flap jacks, one with maple syrup, one with raspberry jam ....;"
"And one with breakfast marmalade," teased Natasha Lipzing, a tall, thin, grey-haired lady of seventy-one.
"You can read her like a book, Miss L.," said Leo Laxman, a tall, thin Jamaican, employed as a nurse at the local hospital.
"Hey, when there's more than one good thing going, I like to sample everything available," insisted Sheila Bennett.
"I'm not sure, one large flapjack of each counts as sampling," said Freddy Kingston, a tall, plump, balding retiree.
"I'll have the same as Sheils," said Tommy Turner, a short, fat, blond retiree. "But smother mine in rum, please."
"He really is a Philistine," said Terri Scott, laughing.
"Leave religion out of it," insisted Tommy.
"He says that at church, too, when they ask for a tithe," teased Colin Klein.
"Hey, the Pope is a lot more cashed up than I am. He should be giving me a tithe! Not the other way around."
"Forget Philistine," corrected Terri, "I think he's a full-blown heretic."

Over at 97 Vernier Street, Glen Hartwell, redheaded Ida Forde skipped down the backyard, carrying Moogie, then stepped into the iron shed, saw her father's remains, dropped and smashed the moog, and started screaming.

"Ooh, dis is dewish," said Sheila with her mouth stuffed full of pancake and Maple syrup.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," said Deidre Morton.
"If she didn't, she'd never talk," teased Tommy Turner.
"How'll dared youse," said Sheila, almost choking as she spoke.
At that moment, Terri Scott's mobile phone rang.
"Owl woe!" said Sheila, still struggling to speak through a full mouth.
"Don't worry, I'll pack up your pancakes for you," offered Deidre.
"And Terri's and mine?" asked Colin, clenching his hands as though praying.
"Of course, dear," said Deidre, happy to wait upon her extended family.
Disconnecting, Terri said, "That was Tilly Lombstrom at the Forde's place ...."
"At 97 Vernier Street," interjected Sheila.
"Poor Ida Forde has just found the rather gruesome remains of her father."
"Yeech, she's only sixteen," said Sheila, as the three cops got up to head outside.

Pulling into Vernier lane between Vernier Street and Howard Street, the three cops found five ambulances, plus myriad medics and paramedics waiting for them. They got out of Terri's police-blue Lexus and walked in through the back gate.
"In there," said Tilly Lombstrom, a tall, attractive, fifty-something brunette, and a top surgeon at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital.
"Yeech," said Sheila as they stepped into the shed and saw the broken remains of Cliff Forde's mostly shattered bones.
"What the Hell got at him?" asked Terri as Sheila started taking the crime scene pictures with her mobile phone.
"That is the sixty-four million dollar question," said Tilly, entering behind them.
After Sheila had finished, Tilly, plus a gorgeous platinum blonde nurse, Topaz Moseley, had the unpleasant task of examining the remains as much as possible.
With Ida Forde already on the way to the hospital, Terri, Colin, and Sheila managed to interview Wilma, Bernice, and Dolores before they were also whisked away.
"So, he got up in the middle of the night, without waking Wilma," said Terri.
"And something did that to him," finished Colin.
"Gangway," said Cheryl Pritchard, a tall, Amazonian brunette, the senior paramedic of the area, as she and Derek Armstrong carried the shattered bones on a stretcher out to the last remaining ambulance.

Over at the dammed Yannan River, George DuBois, Eunice Grayson and the other Department of Building and Works men and women were still removing white goods, car frames, TVs, almost prehistoric radiograms, when Terri, Colin, and Sheila arrived to tell them in person what had happened to Cliff.
"Oh shit," said Eunice, crying into her hands.
"And he was so excited about finding that damned Moog synthesiser yesterday," said George, going on to tell them about it.
Hidden behind a large lemon-scented gum tree, the Crocotta watched the humans talking. It recognised that the towering female was crying, but could not understand human speech. It was still toying with the notion of taking its next victim from the people cleaning up the river.
"What about Wilma and the girls?" asked Rhonda Rhodes.
"They've been taken to the hospital for now," said Colin Klein.
"But how will they get by without Cliff earning?" asked Archie Neumann.
"Wilma has parents and brothers in Western Australia," said Sheila. "Maybe they will go there."
"We'll be sorry to see them go," said Rhonda, before bursting into tears.
"Maybe, we'd better take the rest of the day off ... bereavement leave," suggested George.
Watching them packing up so soon after arriving, the Crocotta was puzzled. But its instinct told it to follow the tall blonde, Rhonda Rhodes.



Crocotta or Cynolycus: a creature with the body of a stag, a lion's neck, cloven hooves, and a wide mouth with sharp, bony ridges in place of teeth. It imitates the human voice, calls men by name at night, and devours those who approach it.

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