Two Rivers Retail Park, Staines Upon Thames, Surrey, England. 2022.

Police Constable Mark Narrow was trying hard not to look a Blue Thing's balls. Caught by a strong gale, they swung around in a hypnotic fashion. His partner for the day, PC Myra Collins, had seen plenty of large swinging balls over the course of several 18-30 weekends in Greece and was considerably less impressed. She expressed her displeasure at finding Blue Thing reading poetry from the same spot as last week, and without any clothing.

'How many times are we going to have to go through this? You can't be here without permission from the council, and you have to be dressed. This is public indecency.'

Blue Thing, inebriated, pulled a lighter from his satchel and lit a cigarette. With it drooping from the side of his mouth, he challenged PC Collins' logic. 'You think I wanted this? You think I had a choice? This is my curse. Nobody makes boxer shorts for 6 foot rabbits, lady. Go ahead and arrest me. I don't give a shit.'

'What like last time? You were out of cuffs in three seconds flat and urinating in PC Narrow's coat pocket within five. Pfft . . . Is there anyone we can call for you? You need to get off the street.'

Unable to effectively use his magic with alcohol in his sytem, Blue Thing decided attempting teleportation would likely result in a less than favourable outcome, much like the London Zoo bear enclosure incident of 1999. Seeing double, he handed Collins his phone and asked her to dial Viktor.

Meanwhile . . .

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Viktor was the only tax paying rabbit among the seven. As special advisor to the police service on crimes associated with the occult, he was privvy to the dark goings on in the Home Counties of England, a hotspot for some unsettling practices and unsavoury characters. Today, invited by Detective Chief Inspector Harrison to an incident very close to home, he surveyed the scene of a most gruesome murder. The victim was the warren's upstairs neighbour and landlady Mrs Garrity, an octogenarian and collector of ceramic butter dishes, now flayed and laying across a thick wooden dining table. With the lightshade as a centrepiece, a heptagram drawn in blood on the ceiling menaced over the body with a grim insinuation. Viktor knew what It meant. His phone rang.

'Hello.'

'Hi, is that Viktor?'

'Yes, how can I help?'

'We've got Blue Thing here, he's had a little too much to drink and we're wondering if you can come pick him up and get him to a place of safety.'

'Oh for fff . . . put him on would you?'

Viktor could hear background chatter and kerfuffle with the phone.

'Hello dear brother.' Blue Thing said after clearing his throat, very loudly.

'This has got to stop B.T.' Viktor said sternly 'Call Louise, she'll drive you here. We have a problem . . . the owner of our building is dead'

'You mean Ray? Not dear, sweet Ray.'

'Our landlady is called Margaret, Blue. There is nobody in our building called Ray.'

'Really?'

'Just get home you fucking retard.'

*Click