The old hen clucked loudly.
Brian looked out on the country garden that was the back of his house.
As the moon peaked between the clouds,
he noticed a glint amongst the stones in the rockery.
Brian went to take a closer look,
thinking that he really should take a trip to the opticians.
Brian wasn't certain that it was what he suspected,
but a grope amoungst the folliage proved him right and left him gasping in excitement.
The alignments were just right,
now would be the best time to put his plans into action.
It would have to have split second timing,
he grasped the hens neck and ripped all of his clothes off.
Soon the twins who lived next door had pole vaulted his garden fence and were naked with him.
The clouds parted and the light of the full moon suddenly illuminated the three figures
and quietness and serenity was restored to the garden.

The next morning Harold Scroat threw open his bedroom curtains at dawn,
wrenched open the window and lobbed his slipper with fury at the direction of next doors rockery.
Missing the offensive cockerel,
he let out a string of obscenities only halted with the recognition that the
rockery had been filled with a pool of blood.
The fake stone circle that his neighbour Brian had been labouring on
for the last few months now looked nearly complete,
only one remaining gap remained.
Harold looked at his one remaining slipper and thought
"Two feet may as well be cold!"
The second slipper hurtled its way to the rockery.
Before it hit its target, Harold had recognised it.
It was of three naked statues,
one male, two female all joined in some obscene sexual congress.
As the slipper slapped its blow on the male anatomy,
Hooky, Harold's dog, was leaving its scent,
by way of his urine, on one of the female statues feet.
At once the female stone foot turned green.

It was two o'clock before the local CID turned up,
DI Scurm was not happy about leaving The Contented Pheasant before closing time -
he had been hoping for a lock-in, courtesy of his favourite barmaid Carol.
His favourite ale,
Old Red Cock had now somewhat clouded his judgement and
he had persuaded the old tart to accompany him thinking this assignment would be cleared up soon.
He knew he was near the final answer but one thing still bothered him...
Why had he felt it necessary to kill Harold Scroat?
DC Lash had screamed and screamed like a baby, so eventually Scurm had shot him dead as well.
Now here he was, a man with a 35 year pension,
covered in rape seed oil,
licking the oozing green foot of a naked female statue.
Scurm awoke the following day,
his mouth was like a bad case of athletes foot,
but not as disturbed as his brain when it focussed on the headlines in the local paper.
It read LOVE TRIANGLE TRYST TRADGEDY.
On reading further it seemed that forensics had already collected some saliva for genetic testing.
I smell a setup snarled Scurm....

Tasmin skipped her way through the cornfield,
it was her sixteenth birthday and she looked forward to the surprise her
family would surely have in store for her.
Being a Scurm had been the bain of her schooldays.
Everyone in the village knew her father,
the plain clothes Policeman who worked in the city.
He was the pride of Shalgrove.
Only she knew the present he had given her on her 13th 14th and 15th birthdays.
Only she remembered the cold December night in the outside urinal of the Lamb public house.
Making an effort to blank these bizarre memories from her mind,
Tasmin sat on the small hill and waited for dawn.
As the sun rose Tasmin was expecting to see the latest intricate design of corn circles revealed before her,
but not this birthday;
there were no circles only flattened corn roughly shaped into letters,
it spelt S C U R M.
Across the field she could see Shalgrove village band playing an ancient pagan song,
which had been played every second Sunday in May (today her birthday) since the 1600s.
As the sun steadily rose,
what she had first taken to be three statues were transformed into the naked bodies
of her neighbour Brian and the twins.
They skipped towards her,
before she could stop them they had fallen over the body of the grotesquely shapen Lash,
a man whose back had always seemed strangely bent,
but now it was bent in the entirely other direction.
She had only known DC Lash for a few months but had soon had him wrapped around her little finger,
now he lay before her helpless.
"Don't anybody move" a voice growled.
Tasmin disobeyed the order and turned around to see the shabby figure of her father,
mobile phone in hand.
Police vans were moving in from all directions,
not towards the three naked figures or Tamsin and her father,
but towards the dawn shadows of the local brass band.
One figure broke free from the group and began a desperate break for freedom.
Tasmin could see that he still had his trombone in his hand....

As drips of LS35-J spilt from the canister,
the laboratory rat, Paul,
let his tongue engulf more and more.
His wife Louise had listened to his tired story of Brian, Tasmin and the rest
and could not follow it at all.
If this is what their drugs did to them,
no wonder the human race was in such a mess.
She found the only recourse was in cannabalism.
But that was another story altogether.

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