Willow the Vampire lives with her parents at the edge of a small village in rural Stinkforthshire, England. Willow wants to throw a fancy dress party for her human and not quite so human friends and relatives. There's just one problem, her own fancy dress sucks! Who's ever heard of a vampire dressing up as a cuddly fluffy bunny? It's too late to take it back to the shop - so Willow's friend Darren has this great idea...what if the Easter Bunny was really a deadly foe in disguise?
Join Willow and her friends as they do battle with the Black Hare, a mythical creature with fangs and claws and a taste for children...preferably cooked medium rare!
In drei spannenden Krimi Kurzgeschichten fahnden Inspektor Beagle und seine Kollegen mit viel Humor nach Bösewichtern, obwohl doch im Hintergrund die Welt in die Hose zu gehen scheint. Es ist 1941; in der Stadt Mumsgate an der Ostküste von England plagen sich die Einwohner mit unerwünschten Besuchen von Herrn Hitler & Co. herum, während Inspektor Beagle und Sergeant Beanstalk, Constable Roddy Winters und Polizeihund Monty von einer Serie von Morden geplagt werden. Ein reicher Lord ist plötzlich weg und niemand weint ihm eine Träne nach. Eine alte Frau scheint in Spionage verwickelt zu sein und wird abgemurkst. Ein Richter verliert erst seinen moralischen Standpunkt und später noch seinen Kopf. Wortwörtlich. Da krachen die Bomben und Gebäude fallen um, bevor man den Durchsuchungsbefehl geben kann. Der Dienstwagen wird zum Gemüsebeet umgewandelt, denn Benzin gibt’s ja ohnehin nicht mehr. Es mag zwar keinen Speck, Eier oder Würstchen mehr geben, aber was Inspektor Beagle angeht, wird’s nie an Gerechtigkeit und Menschlichkeit mangeln. In three humorous murder mystery short stories set against the backdrop of WWII Inspector Beagle and his colleagues try to uphold the law, while all around them the world is falling to bits. It is 1941; the town Mumsgate on the east coast of England is plagued by unwanted visits from Hitler & Co. Meanwhile, Inspector Beagle and Sergeant Beanstalk, Constable Roddy Winters and police dog Monty are plagued by a series of murders. A rich aristocrat vanishes without trace and nobody sheds a tear. A seemingly harmless old woman is brutally murdered in a baffling crime that leads to a German spy ring. A respected judge first loses his moral scruples and then his head. Literally. Bombs fall and buildings crumble before Inspector Beagle’s even shown his warrant card. His police car has run out of petrol and is turned into a vegetable patch. There may be no bacon, eggs or sausages, but as far as Inspector Beagle is concerned, justice and humanity will never be in short supply.
Willow Band, an eleven-year-old vampire, faces a tough choice:
should she help her former Headmaster and his small son who are being evicted by two greedy bankers and risk giving her secret away or should she let Headmaster Bakewell down and remain an anonymous vampire in the rural idyll of Stinkforth-upon-Avon?
A century old puzzle is finally unravelled, when evil bankers Ebenezer Hardcastle and George Greedy of private banking firm Avarice & Slimeball try to throw Bakewell and his son Kevin out of their home in the middle of winter. Mr Bakewell had lost his job at the local school and could not pay his bills. Now Greedy & Hardcastle see their chance to get their hands on Bakewell's ancestral home, where rumour has it, a treasure is buried, a fortune that could set up two hapless bankers for the rest of their lives and cover up their misdeads at the same time.
Needless to say, with Willow close by those two bankers will get their come-uppance, but what will the personal cost be for Willow the Vampire?
This short story deals with loyalty through the ages and making friends in unexpected places...and that greedy bankers, young and old, big and small, wherever they are...had better watch out, because Willow's on the prowl and knows just how to deal with them.
"How-de-do," whispered Linus as politely as he could, trying hard not to stare.
Swaying dangerously now under the weight of his two colleagues, the First Minister Gobbledygook winked at him. "Top of the mornin' to you, young sir; bet you've never seen the likes of us, have ye, now?"
Linus shook his head silently, never taking his eyes of the whiskered individual closest to his face. That walking stick looked quite capable of poking a human eye out! "What, if I may ask, are you?" Linus felt it was rather difficult holding a polite conversation entirely in whispers. "Are you also noble members of the House of O'Malley?"
"Of course not!" Skinflint said indignantly, his cheeks turning a little pink beneath his white mutton chops.
"Then what exactly are you, if not O'Malley's from Lincolnshire? Gnomes? Pixies?"
"I'll give ye a clue. We're Oirish." Minister Gobbledygook chuckled into his bushy red beard. "As Oirish as rainbows, harps and soda bread." Giggling made him bob his arms slightly up and down, causing an upwards tremor that threatened to undo their pyramid at any moment.
It's not everyday you go for a stroll to explore a new neighbourhood and find yourself nose-to-nose with a leprechaun! But this is what happens to shy 9-year-old Linus Brown, when he follows the advice of a mysterious scarecrow and takes a road less well travelled.
Before long, Linus finds himself at the centre of The Great Leprechaun War, coming face to fist with the school bully and his horrible Uncle Herb. These two polluters could wipe out the world's last remaining leprechaun colony with the poison they dump into Farmer O'Malley's woodland pond. Can Linus safe the leprechauns from Thunderpants the Destroyer and make a friend of brave Princess Hermione in the process?
Linus faces impossible odds. The school bully's built like a tank and it's Thunderpants-a-go! when Uncle Herb's around. Expect plenty of farting jokes, sneaky witches with their own agenda and far more leprechauns than could possibly fit into a single pot of gold.
Maria Thermann's novella is a traditional Victorian ghost story, with a spoonful of romance thrown in for good measure. Set towards the end of the 19th century in the fictional county of Oxtailshire, the novella takes a humerous look at the genre and hopes to entertain, rather than scare readers.
Furious about his son's choice of wife and occupation, Sir Hubert Tulking, life-long enthusiastic hunter of foxes, decides to take drastic measures, when his son Allan returns to England to introduce his American actress wife to the county set. The brazen fortune seeker must die! Just one minor problem: Sir Hubert isn't exactly in a position to wring the lady's neck...for he himself died a year ago in a riding accident. How can a ghost exact vengeance? Sir Hubert leaves no stone - or ancient book - unturned to find an answer!
Still grieving over the death of his young wife, Roderick, Marquess of Tumbleweed, throws himself into his work and follows his passion: fox hunting. He runs a successful Hunt from his estate, but fails to engage on a personal level with anyone other than his childhood friend Sir Alan Tulking. Even lonelier after his friend departs for Broadway and the career of playwright, Roderick is delighted when Sir Allan announces his return, but horrified when he discovers a ghost is out to destroy his friend's new-found happiness. Will Roderick be in time to save the new Lady Tulking from a gruesome death at the ghostly hands of Sir Hubert?
Matters are complicated even more, when Roderick finds himself pursued romantically by author Beatrice, who won't stop at nothing to ensnare Roderick and promote her new novel at the same time. She's one cunning little vixen and the Marquess of Tumbleweed had better watch out or the Master of the Foxhunt will become the prey.
Whatever happens, rest assured, the foxes will have the upper paw in the end - for those who call causing the suffering of animals "sport" deserve all they get!
Every Monday, every bloody week the same. He stumbled into the bathroom, cursing the last four pints he'd had the night before – all Barry's fault – and tore up the toilet seat to relieve himself. He was willing, but nothing came. No tinkle, no waterfall, no manly display of pee-prowess. He looked, refused to believe what he saw, closed his eyes and tried again. Focus! No, this was definitely a change from last Monday morning. Carl stared, fingered the spot where his penis should have been, but was not. Gone. Vanished. No doodah, no balls. Nothing but a smooth pink patch in hairy wilderness.
So begins Carl's Monday morning...and it gets worse from then on...
According to the Good Book, God made the world in seven days. Writers create their own universe...playing at being god. So here are seven stories of humans and other critters not having a terribly good time of it in god's splendid universe.