SIBYL

A Sibyl comes to Glen Hartwell and starts predicting doom and death

Over at the full-sized Aussie Rules football field at the Glen Hartwell High School in Biblical Road and Howard Street, four teenage girls were standing around watching the boys playing football.
"They're lucky it isn't muddy yet," said Suzie Carmichael, a tall, shapely seventeen-year-old brunette.
"Well, it is only the 2nd of June," said Adelaide Donadin, a seventeen-year-old, half-breed Aborigine.
"And there hasn't been much rain yet," said Lizzie Chong, a pretty, seventeen-year-old Eurasian girl.
""I'm only here to ogle the boys in tight shorts," said Libby Whyte, a tall, beautiful blonde, seventeen-year-old.
All the girls laughed, then Suzie said, "You pervo."
"Well, why not? The boys like ogling us," said Libby. Then, pointing at a tall, blond boy, "Ooh, look at the tight bum on him."
The girls laughed again, then Lizzie said, "She's right, though, whenever they're not playing footy, or cricket in summer, the boys spend all day perving at us."
"Why not?" asked Adelaide. "We are all so hot!"
"That's so true," agreed Suzie, making the girls all laugh again.
"Hello dweebettes," said Vicky Vickers, a tall, chubby nineteen-year-old girl with curly black hair, who was only in the fifth form due to having failed twice. "What are you losers doing hanging round nattering?"
"We're not the losers, we weren't kept back twice," said Adelaide, immediately regretting it.
"What did you say, you Abo bitch!" demanded Vicky.
"Don't call her that!" said Lizzie.
"Shut it, tiny titties, or you'll be next," said Vicky. So saying, she ran at Adelaide, who wisely turned and ran across the football field.
"Come back here, you darkie slut!" cried Vicky, even though Adelaide was barely any darker than most whites.
"Don't call her a slut," said Suzie starting after the two girls.
"Something tells me we're all gonna get pummelled!" said Libby, before all of the teenage girls started running after Vicky.
"Leave her alone, you bitch!" cried Lizzie.
Almost catching up with Vicky, but too late to stop her from punching Adelaide in the back of the head.
Crying out, Adelaide fell face down on the grassy soil.
"Take that, you slut!" said Vicky, grinning a broad shiteater grin.
"She is not a slut!" said Suzie Carmichael, as the three girls knelt on the grass to help Adelaide Donadin.
"You can't talk, Suzie Carmichael!" cried Vicky Vickers.
"What do you mean by that?"
"With what your Aunty Lysette does for a living."
"She's some kind of night worker," said Suzie.
"She's the madam at the Free Love Sex Lounge in LePage!"
"What's a madam?" asked Libby Whyte.
"Like a female pimp," explained Lizzie Chong.
"My Aunty Lysette is not a female pimp!" insisted Suzie.
"Is too, I'll drive you there tonight after tea to see," offered Vicky. "Unless you're too chicken to find out!" She did a bark-bark-bark noise, flapping her elbows like wings to drive the point home.
"You're on," said Suzie, too angry to refuse. "Pick me up outside my house at eight o'clock.
"You're on loser," said Vicky, turning to leave. Then she turned back and said, "Oh, by the way, Adelaide, thanks for inviting me to your birthday party tomorrow night."
"What?" cried Adelaide, rubbing at the back of her head, sitting up with the help of her friends. "I didn't ..."
"No, you must have forgotten," said Vicky, smiling her shiteater grin, "so my Mum rang your Mum and I got an invite."
"Oh no!" said the four girls, as Vicky stormed away.

Over at the Yellow House on Rochester Road, in Merridale, they were enjoying one of Deidre Morton's sumptuous lunches: roast beef with roast potatoes, pumpkin, and carrots, plus a variety of steamed vegetables, all smothered in rich beef gravy.
"Mrs. M., you've done us a treat," enthused Terri Scott. A tall, beautiful ash blonde in her thirties, Terri was the top cop of the area and was engaged to Colin.
"Magnifique," said Colin Klein. A forty-nine-year-old Englishman, Colin had worked for decades as a crime reporter before relocating to Merridale and taking a position with the Glen Hartwell Police Department.
"Yeah, bonza, beauty," said Sheila Bennett. A tall, athletic Goth chick with orange-and-black striped hair, Sheila was Terri's second in command.
"It's okay, I guess," complained Tommy Turner, a short, fat, blond retiree.
"What's wrong with it?" demanded Deidre Morton. A short, plumpish, sixty-something brunette, Deidre was a cordon bleu-trained chef.
"There's no brandy in the gravy!"
"Yes, because most of my children don't want brandy in their gravy."
"I wouldn't mind it," said Leo Laxman, a tall, twenty-something Jamaican employed as a nurse at the local hospital.
"Same here," said Terri.
"You're as big a pair of plonkos as Tommy," teased Sheila.
"How dare you!" said Terri, Leo, and Tommy.
"I agree with Sheila," said Natasha Lipzing, a tall seventy-something lady with grey hair. "This roast is perfection as it is, without drowning it in brandy."
"Here, here," said Freddy Kingston, even though he wouldn't have minded some brandy in the gravy. A recent retiree, Freddy was tall and stout, with a Larry Fine-style ruff of curly black hair on his otherwise bald head.
"Well, I'm glad not all of my extended family are plonkos!" said Deidre Morton, before starting to eat her own tea.
"Here, here, Mrs. M.," teased Sheila, ignoring the glares that she received from Terri, Leo, and Tommy.

Soon after 8:00 that night, Suzie Carmichael was sitting in the lounge room when there came a loud honking from outside in Lawson Street.
"Who is that honking outside our house?" asked Daisy Carmichael, a tall, attractive fortyish brunette, Suzie's mother, and Lysette's younger sister.
"Vicky Vickers, she's taking me for a drive around town," lied Suzie.
"I thought you hated her?" asked Suzie's younger sister, Ester, a fifteen-year-old brunette with braces.
"So did I?" asked Daisy. "You always say she's the biggest bully in school."
"We made it up," lied Suzie, "we're friends now."
"You used to cry like a baby, just at the mention of her name!" insisted Ester.
"Did not!" said Suzie. Then, as the honking came again, "Anyway, there's my ride."
Getting up before Ester or Daisy could say anything more, Suzie raced across to the door and was soon outside, getting into Vicky's shabby-looking, ancient yellow Ford Fairlane.
"Don't say anything about my car!" threatened Vicky.
"Hey, it's better than mine."
"I didn't know you had a car?"
"I don't," said Suzie, making both girls laugh.
As Vicky started the car, she said, "Hey, for a nerd girl, you're all right."
"Thanks ... I guess."
Half an hour later, they pulled up outside the Free Love Sex Lounge in Gordon Street, LePage. The sex lounge was a three-storey building with a red neon light, proclaiming its name. The front parlour was filled with faux Victorian four-person sofas, swathed in red.
Beside the concrete steps outside the front door, stood three women: a tall, night-black goddess with a huge chest, named Sherri, a short, amply chested Asian cutie named Cerille 'Sally' Chiang, and Peggy Pérez, a tall, curvaceous Latina in her early twenties.
"Stay here," instructed Vicky. Getting out of the Fairlane, she walked across to the three prostitutes. "Hi, I'm looking for work."
"What, as a cleaner?" teased Cerille.
"No, as a prozzie, like you three."
"We prefer to be called Ladies of the Night," said the black Goddess, Sherri.
"What like Elvira, Everybody's Mistress?" teased Vicky.
"Hey, I like this girl, she's got moxie," said Peggy Perez.
"Okay, wait here," said Cerille, "I'll go get Lysette."
In the car, Suzie started as she heard her aunt's name mentioned.
Two minutes or so later, Cerille returned with Lysette Carmichael, a tall Amazonian fifty-something blonde, the madam of the sex lounge.
"I hear you'd like to work here?" asked Lysette.
Vicky looked back to make certain Suzie had seen her aunt. Seeing the teenager staring wide-eyed at the madam, Vicky said, "Sorry, I changed my mind. I wouldn't be a prozzie if you paid me!"
"Ladies of the Night!" corrected Sherri.
"Whatever, Elvira," said Vicky, running back to her Fairlane. As she climbed in, she said to Suzie, "Convinced?"
Unable to speak, Suzie nodded her head dumbly, staring at her Aunty Lysette as they drove away.
"What was that all about?" asked Peggy Pérez, staring after the departing car.
"Guess she chickened out," said Sherri. "Not all girls have what it takes to be pro ... I mean, Ladies of the Night."
"If you say so, Elvira," teased Cerille Chiang.
"Watch it, Shorty!" threatened the black goddess.

That night, at eighty-two Booth Street, Glen Hartwell, Adelaide Donadin's parents, Abigail, a tall, curvaceous blonde in her late thirties, and William, a medium-height man in his early forties, were discussing Adelaide's eighteenth birthday party the next day.
Reading through the list of entertainment, William asked, "A fortune teller?"
:I couldn't resist when I found her in the classifieds," said Abby, "especially since she's named Sibyl Foresight."
"Sibyl Foresight?" asked Willy.
"Yes, well, Sibyls in ancient Greece and Ancient Rome were virginal women who supposedly could foresee the future. Apparently they had some fits or seizures when they blurted out their predictions, almost talking in tongues. Then the priest of Apollo would translate the predictions, so that people could understand them."
"So, depending upon how accurate the priests were in their translations, it was either the Sibyls' predictions, or just the priests putting words into their mouths?"
"Ah, don't be so cynical, Willie Darling."
"Are we going to need Father Montague, or Bulam-Bulam, to be here to translate the predictions into English?"
"No, my sceptical hubby, I asked her that, and she assured me she doesn't have seizures while making predictions. She can use a crystal ball, tarot cards, or ready palms, or tea leaves."
"So, how much did we pay her?"
"Not that much ... really."
"I'll find out, my love, when I get our joint bank statement."
"All right, two hundred dollars. But she has promised to stay until midnight."
"What happens then? Does she turn into a pumpkin?"
"No, she leaves, but she will tell the fortunes of everyone at the party. At least fifty teens, plus some of their parents."
"Fifty teens? I didn't know Adelaide had that many friends?"
"Of course, she is the most popular kid in school, natch. In fact, one of the mothers even rang up to get an invite for her daughter, Vicky."
"Well, let's hope she appreciates the expense we're spending on her."
"She's our only child!"

Twenty-four hours later, Adelaide's birthday party was in full swing. And as Abby had hoped, Sibyl Foresight, a tall, Grecian beauty of indeterminate age, was the life of the party.
"So tell me, who am I going to marry?" asked Suzie Carmichael.
Holding Suzie's hand in hers, Sibyl said, "You will marry a rich businessman, twelve years older than you. You will own mansions in Melbourne, Paris, London, and Madrid, and will own a thirty-five metre, powered yacht, with three masts."
"Whacko," said Suzie, getting up to let her younger sister, Ester, have a go.
"What about me?" asked fifteen-year-old Ester, her brown eyes shiny from excitement.
"You will marry a world-famous, blond American actor.
"Brad Pitt?" demanded the teen.
"No, he's a little bit old for you. This actor is just starting out on his career, but within a few years will win two best acting Oscars, and be world famous."
"Whoopee!" said Ester, making way for Lizzie Chong.
"What about me?' asked the pretty Eurasian teen.
"You have had great tragedy in your life," said Sibyl truthfully. "Your twin sister, Eli, was murdered recently." [See my story, 'Mirror Maze'.]
How did she know that? wondered Lizzie, who still grieved for her lost twin.
"But things will soon improve when you start legal college next year."
"How did you know I want to do a legal degree?"
"You will go on to be world famous, a lawyer to the stars, and you will live and work in Hollywood, California."
"Whacko!" said Lizzie, not sure whether to believe the fortune teller or not.
"What about me?" asked beautiful Libby Whyte.
"I'm afraid you will only be a French teacher at Glen Hartwell High School."
"Magnifique!" cried the blonde. "French is my favourite subject."
"What about me, Professor Know-It-All?" demanded Vicky Vickers, jumping the queue to hear her fortune next.
The Sibyl glared at her for a moment, as though about to tell her to wait her turn. Then, shrugging, she picked up the tall girl's hand and said:
"I can see no future for you. When you leave here, you will be grabbed by three men. They will gang rape you, then slit your throat. I'm sorry."
"Not likely, smart bitch, I have my own car to get home in."
"I can only say what I see," insisted Sibyl Foresight.
"Yeah, right," said the sceptical girl, getting up.
She walked across to where Suzie, Ester, Adelaide, Lizzie, and Libby were standing round drinking soft drinks and scoffing birthday cake.
"Vicky?" asked a worried-sounding Adelaide, the back of her head still a little sore.
"What a fraud," said Vicky, "says on the way home, I'll be grabbed by three guys, gang raped, then murdered."
"Oh my God," said Libby. "Maybe my Dad will drive you home when we go."
"Nah, she's just a shyster, like my lawyer Dad. Anyway, I've got my own car, so I'm perfectly safe."
As though to prove her point, the big girl walked across to grab half a dozen of the party bags, then went across to the front door. The five worried girls raced across to the lounge room window to watch as Vicky got safely into her broken-down yellow Ford Fairlane.
"Bye, losers," she called out just before starting the car and driving away.
Yeah, right, thought Vicky, less than a hundred metres from home, like I'm scared of that shyster's prediction.
Then the motor of her Ford started to sputter, before dying out completely.
"Stupid pile of junk!" said Vicky. Getting out, she kicked the car, then started toward the hood, not seeing the three tall men striding up behind her.
"What?" cried Vicky, as one of the men slapped a Hessian bag over her head and tied it in place with barbed wire. He then tied her hands behind her back with barbed wire.
"Let's get her into the van," said the Leader, Jeremy, a tall, ugly fifty-something man with scruffy black hair.
"Gotcha, bro," said his younger brother Charlie, a greasy-haired blond man in his late forties, grabbing the struggling girl by the legs.
"Boy, this is great," said the third man, Dabney, a shorter, smelly, redheaded man, barely forty. "I haven't had any cunt in ages."
As they carried Vicky across to a black Bedford van with no number plate, Jeremy slid the side door open and said:
"Well you're gonna get all the cunt your heart and cock can desire."
The three men brayed with laughter as they threw the girl onto the ancient, semen-smelling mattress in the back of the van.
Then, for good measure, Jeremy leant into the back and punched the struggling nineteen-year-old in the face,
"That oughta settle her down, till we get her into the forest," said Jeremy, making all three men chortle hysterically.
"Where no one can hear her scream," misquoted Charlie, as he and Dabney climbed into the back of the van to start having some fun with the teenager.
Chortling at his brother's feeble joke, Jeremy climbed into the front of the Bedford van. Unlike Vicky's Ford Fairlane, the Bedford started instantly and ran smoothly. When you got your kicks the way the three men did, you had to keep your vehicle well-tuned. Plus, Dabney was a born mechanic and could tune or fix anything with a motor.
Half an hour later, they had taken Vicky ten kilometres into the sweet-smelling blue gum and pine forest, far enough from town so that no one could hear her scream.
Untying the barbed wire from around the hessian sack, Jeremy pulled the sack from her head and said, "Hello fat stuff, guess who's gonna fucked, all three holes at once!"
The three men all chortled, but Vicky said, "Try putting a dick into my mouth, and I'll bite it off."
"Tough cunt, eh?" said Jeremy.
He punched her in the face again, knocking out two of her front teeth and breaking her nose.
"Don't batter her about too much," complained Dabney, "she was ugly enough to start with."
The three men chortled again, then Charlie said, "She oughta be grateful that we're desperate enough to wanta root her. Most blokes wouldn't bother!"
The men chortled again, while Jeremy reached into his pocket and took out a filthy nose hook. Attached to leather straps, the twin hooks fitted into Vicky's nostrils, so that when Jeremy put the straps around the back of her head and pulled the chin strap tight, Vicky's mouth was pulled wide open.
"Try biting us now, cunt!:" said Dabney, making all three men chortle.
To prove his point, he straddled her face, pissed into her eyes and hair, then slammed his rampant dick down the raven-haired girls throat, making her gag in shock.
"Dumb cunt's never deep-throated before," said Charlie. "By the time we've finished throating her, she'll probably be relieved when we slash her gullet."
The three men chortled again.
Uh-oh! thought Vicky, recalling the fortune teller's prediction.
Reaching into a metal supply box in the rear of the van, Jeremy took out what looked like a broken-off sword, half-length, but razor sharp.
"Stand back, boys, while I strip her," said Jeremy.
Leaving her hands tied with barbed wire behind her back, he quickly cut away all of her clothes, saying, "A bit flabby, but nice big tits!"
He gave her breasts a brutal squeezing, then let Dabney have a squeeze, then said, "Roll her onto her side, so we can all fuck her at once."
"I guess that means I get to bum her first?" said Dabney, chortling like the Fool on the Hill. "Nice big arse on her. A real Bianca Censori. That's the kind of bum I like on a chick!"
Despite doing her best not to clench, Vicky Vickers screamed around the large dick choking her, as Dabney started driving his large manhood into the nineteen-year-old's sphincter.
Oh God, please kill me now! thought Vicky, crying for the first time in eighteen years.
The pain in her rectum was so great, that she barely even noticed when Jeremy forced her vagina open and unsubtlely burst through her hymen.
After three hours, each of the men had ejaculated into each of the raven-haired young woman's orifices, and all were satisfied, although their testicles ached a little from being too empty.
"Boy, I think she was the best cunt we've ever raped!" said Charlie, making all three men chortle again. "Almost seems a shame to have to kill her."
"Can't we keep her?" asked Dabney.
"How?" demanded Jeremy. "We live at the hostel, and you live in your Mum's basement."
No! Just kill me! Kill me now! thought Vicky, her body splattered with bloody fæces and semen, and aching in her throat, her vagina, her anus, and deep inside her bowels.
"Yeah, you're right," said Dabney, as though hearing Vicky's thoughts. "Slash her man."
Doing as instructed, Jeremy neatly slashed Vicky's jugular vein, then they ditched her body. Then they made a half-hearted attempt to bury her under a mound of gum leaves and pine needles.
"That's good enough for the slut," said Charlie, and the three men chortled again, as they headed back to the black Bedford van.

It was nearly midnight when the party at the Donadin house in Boothy Street, Glen Hartwell.
"See ya later, mates," Adelaide said, waving to Lizzie, Suzie, and the others as they headed for their parents' cars.
"See ya!" shouted back the four teens.
"I'll be glad to get home to bed," said a bleary-eyed Ester Carmichael, struggling to stay away as they drove down Boothy Street.
"They had almost driven past the shabby yellow Ford Fairlane when Suzie said, "Hey, isn't that Vicky's car?"
"You hate her," insisted a sleepy Ester.
"Nonetheless, what is her car doing here?" asked Lizzie. "She lives another hundred metres up the road."
On instinct, the Carmichaels drove up to the Vickers household and asked about Vicky.
"We thought she was still at the party," said her mother, Gale, a huge, muscular brunette who looked like, and possibly was, a female wrestler.
"Something tells me we should ring the cops," said Eugene, taking out his mobile phone.

Over at the Yellow House on Rochester Road in Merridale, Terri Scott and Colin Klein were snuggling up together, dreaming. Terri of the pending wedding a week before Christmas, and Colin of winning a Pulitzer Prize for one of the hundreds of stories he had hunted down and written up in his thirty years as a top London crime reporter.
"Thank you, I'm very honoured..." muttered the redheaded Englishman, smiling in real life as he accepted his award in his dream life.
"I do!" said Terri, sleep-talking, just before her mobile phone started shrilling. Sitting up, bleary-eyed, she said, "Is it brekkie time already?"
Then, realising it was the phone, she knocked it to the floor, trying to pick it up, then fell to the floor reaching for it, taking all of the blankets with her.
Still sleeping, Colin reached for the now-gone blankets, muttering, "Don't take all the blankets, babe."
Struggling to escape the sheets and blankets, by accident, the ash blonde found her phone.
"Hello?" she said, still entwined in the blankets.
After a minute or so, she disconnected, then called, "Colin! I'm trapped in the blankets!"
After she called three times, the redheaded man woke up, clicked on the bedside lamp, and looked around, surprised to find the bedding all gone. When Terri called out again, he looked over the edge of the bed and saw her. Unable to resist laughing, he said:
"If I weren't a gentleman, my bride-to-be, I'd take advantage of this situation to leap on you and ravage you."
"If we didn't have a missing teenager report, I'd let you ravage me," said Terri. "Now help me to escape the blankets that bind."
"Coming, my love," said Colin, laughing again.
"And stop laughing."

An hour later, Terri's Lexus was parked behind Vicky Vickers' yellow Fairlane, as well as a rusty Land Rover owned by Donald Esk.
"Well, she got plenty of party bags," said Sheila Bennett, pointing to half a dozen bags on the front passenger seat.
"Yeah, she grabbed half a dozen before leaving the party about nine o'clock," explained Suzie Carmichael.
"Why didn't you complain to her?" asked Terri.
"Didn't you know?" asked Sheila, forgetting that Gale and Eugene Vickers were standing there. "Vicky Vickers was the biggest bully at G.H. High; no one would dare say no to her."
At this, Gale Vickers started to cry, saying, "We tried to bring her up proper."
"But she just went bad on us," finished her husband, Gene.
"Sorry," said Sheila, feeling dreadful.
"Okay, Don, time to bring out Slap, Tickle, and Rub," said Terri, referring to the tall, brown-haired sergeant's three Alsatian-crosses.
"Jessie, Stanlee," called Don, "I'll need help controlling them."
"Will do," said Jessie Baker, a huge redheaded ox of a man.
"Come on, you dumb mutts," said Stanlee Dempsey, another huge man, with short raven-coloured hair.
"Quiet, they're sensitive,' said Don as they headed for his Land Rover.
"They're about as sensitive as Donald 'Dum-Dum' Trump," teased Jessie.
"I wants ta conquer Canada, 'cause it's dare," said Stanlee, imitating Donald Trump, and making all three police sergeants laugh.
"Okay, let's get going," said Terri.
She, Sheila, and Colin climbed into the Lexus to follow behind, while Stanlee, Don, and Jessie struggled to control the three yelping, excited dogs.
As they headed deeper and deeper into the forest outside Glen Hartwell, Jessie said, "If they're just following the scent of a native Australian cat, I'll skin all three of them."
After less than an hour, the three Alsatian crosses stopped at the shallow pile of pine needles and gum leaves, and quickly uncovered the violated remains of Vicky Vickers.
An hour later, Tilly Lombstrom, two paramedics, and an ambulance were also at the grave site.
"Yeech," said Tilly, a tall, attractive fifty-something, who was a top surgeon at the Glen Hartwell and Daley Community Hospital. "Looks like it's another in the series of unsolved gang rape-murders going back to January."
"How many is this, seven?" asked Colin.
"Nine," corrected Tilly.
"We've been meaning to concentrate on the gang rape-murders," said Terri. "But all the wacky supernatural stuff has been getting in the way."
"Maybe it's time you gave this case priority," suggested Tilly, waving for Cheryl Pritchard and Derek Armstrong, the two paramedics, to take Vicky's remains into the ambulance.
"So do you want us to tell her parents?" asked Sheila.
"No, I'd better," said Tilly, "so I can have two ambulances there on the ready."
"So, what now, Chief?" asked Stanlee Dempsey.
"Now we go home to sleep till about nine AM. Then we meet at Mitchell Street to plan our strategy to catch the Gang Bang Killers, as the Glen Hartwell Reporter has so tastefully labelled this case," said Terri.

At 2:00 PM the next day, the staff room at the Cosy Arms Retirement Home at 300 to 360 Howard Street, Glen Hartwell, was crowded. They were holding a retirement party for fifty-year veteran Trotter, a tall, still brown-haired man, who at sixty-seven could easily pass for the early fifties.
Having seen her advert in the local paper, the Manageress of the Cosy Arms, Janine Weis, a tall, bespectacled, fifty-eight-year-old redhead, had paid to have Sibyl Foresight appear.
"Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," said Janine, never Jan, who did not believe in getting to informal with her staff. "Today we have a special treat, a fortune teller, Sibyl Foresight."
We waved a hand dramatically to where the Grecian beauty was seated at a round table, gazing into a crystal ball. Wearing what looked like a large doily upon her head.
"Fortune teller," scoffed Trisha Dollally. However, she raced across to be the first to sit at the table before Sibyl. "What can you see in my future?"
Sibyl gazed into the crystal ball, making passes over it with her hands, then said,
"I am afraid that you are doomed to spend the rest of your working life at this rest home. Then you will end up a patient here, with few if any faculties left."
"No tall, dark stranger in my future?"
"I'm afraid not."
"What a bummer," said Trisha, relinquishing the seat to the next in line.
"What about me?" asked a tall, attractive brunette, holding out her right hand as though expecting to have it read.
"You will meet a tall, dark stranger ..." began Sibyl.
"Oh, come on!" shouted Trisha in disgust.
"Sorry, I only call them as I see them," apologised Sibyl. Then to the brunette, "He will be very rich, and will take you on a twelve-month world cruise as an extended honeymoon after you are married. And you will live happily ever after."
"Oh, come off it!" shouted Trisha.
"Sorry, I can't please everyone."
"Finally, they reached the retirement boy, Scott Trotter, who sat and asked, "What's in the cards for me?"
"Nothing," said Sibyl, "I'm using a crystal ball." She made passes over the ball with her hands, then said, "Beware. Your future is in your own hands. You must never visit Peggy again!"
"Peggy! Who the Hell is Peggy?" lied Scott.
"Peggy has found out about your other lovers: Rochelle, Shelley, Lucy, Tonya, Jan, and even Eleanor."
"I don't know what you're talking about!" blustered Scott.
"If you ever see Peggy again, she will stab you in the heart with a carving knife."
"This is all nonsense!" insisted the tall, brown-haired man. "I don't know any Peggy! Or Rochelle! Or Shelley! Or Lucy, Tonya, Jan, or Eleanor!"
"You must never see Peggy again! Beware!" insisted Sibyl.
"But how can I avoid her? We both live in Wentworth Street," said Scott, not realising that he had just confessed to his peccadilloes in front of the entire room full of people.
"Don't go home!" insisted Sibyl. "Stay at a hotel tonight. Then take the morning train to Melbourne."
"Whatever you say," agreed Scott, before slinking out of the staff room, aware of all eyes being on him.
"Wow, I never thought a retirement party could be so exciting," said Trisha.

By two PM that day, Terri had left Stanlee and the others to hunt for the Gang Bang Killers, while she, Colin, and Sheila interviewed everyone who had attended Adelaide's party the night before. No one had much to tell them, but they agreed that five girls, Suzie and Ester Carmichael, Adelaide, Lizzie Chong, and Libby Whyte, were all holding back something.
At five o'clock, they had gathered the five girls and their parents at the front office of the Mitchell Street Police Station.
"I hope you aren't suggesting that our girls had anything to do with that Vickers girl's killing?" demanded Daisy Carmichael.
"Of course not," said Terri Scott. "But we think they know something that they're not telling us."
"Girls!" demanded Steven Carmichael, a tall, burly builder. "If you know anything, tell us now."
"It's probably just a coincidence," insisted Adelaide Donadin.
"What is?" demanded William Donadin.
"At the party, there was a fortune teller, Sibyl something ..."
"Yes, I know, I had to pay for her," said William.
"Well, she predicted that three men would grab Vicky, gang rape her, then slit her throat," said Libby.
"We offered to let her come home in our car," said Suzie, getting a nod of agreement from Ester. "But she grabbed half a dozen party bags and stormed out, saying that she had her own car, and she wasn't afraid."
"Do you have this Sibyl Something's address?" asked Colin.
"Sibyl Foresight," said Abigail Donadin. "We'll have her address on the receipt, or if not, the day before yesterday's Glen Hartwell Reporter. I saw it in the classifieds."
"She said I was going to marry a rich businessman,' said Suzie.
"And that I would marry a world-famous, blond American actor," said Ester.
"In fact we all had great predictions," said Adelaide, "except for poor Vicky."
"Well, let's go get that address and pay a visit on our Ms. Sibyl Foresight," said Terri.
"Miss Sibyl Foresight," corrected Sibyl an hour later, answered the door to the three cops.
"And you actually have foresight?" asked Colin.
Smiling at the redheaded man, the Grecian beauty said, "Yes, yes, I do."
"So tell us about predicting Vicky Vickers' rape and murder?" asked Sheila.
"I told her what I saw. Some girls offered to let her go home with them to protect her, and foolishly, she refused. If she had gone with them, she might still be alive now. Or they might have grabbed her another night."
They continued interviewing Sibyl for another forty-five minutes without learning any more, then returned to the Yellow House.

At 9:15 the next morning, Scott Trotter was at the single platform station at the Glen Hartwell Railway Station in Theobald Street, waiting for the nine o'clock train, which, as usual, was running late. There were about forty other people with him, most of them planning to get off at BeauLarkin, an hour's train ride away, or Sale, a couple of hours closer to Melbourne.
Looking at his wristwatch, Scott was relieved to hear the sound of the steam train tooting a few kilometres away. When it arrived, surprisingly only twenty minutes late, he had one foot already on the train, when Peggy Mount suddenly stabbed him in the back with a massive carving knife.
"Thought I wouldn't find out about the other women, Casanova!" shouted the short, dark-haired woman, before stabbing him repeatedly in the back. First crippling him, then killing him.
"Lady, put that thing down," said the elderly station master, tentatively sneaking toward the woman.
"Try to take it off me!" demanded Peggy, thrusting it erratically in his general direction.
Then, before the man could decide what to do, Peggy reversed the knife and stabbed herself in the heart, falling on top of her late lover.
"Jesus, this will delay the train forever," said the station master ....
Before collapsing!

An hour later, Tilly Lombstrom, Jesus Costello, Terri, Colin, and Sheila were at the station, along with six paramedics and three ambulances.
After taking crime scene photos, the three cops recorded statements, names, and addresses of all of the witnesses, before allowing them to board the still waiting train. With the station master having died of a heart attack, Colin had to wave out the very late train.
"Just like your childhood playing with trains?" asked Sheila.



One of the Sibyls has survived down history. She causes disasters and death merely by predicting them.

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