Visits…

Ding. Dong.

The doorbell's ringing.

I open the door to my penthouse above the fiftieth floor of the building in the Whitaker Lane 666.

And there stands… an animal.

Are you a llama, I frown.

Obviously not, the animal replies. I have never been to Tibet and I am not a monk or a holy man. I am not even human at all as you might see.

My frowning continues.

Highway 241 has been closed between Lisbon Falls and Cicely, the animal continues.

There is no Highway near Cicely, I mumble to myself. This cannot be right.

So I took the last exit to Bromford to visit an old friend of mine in apartment 24 in this house on Whitaker Lane 666 to ask it for a little Wolfsbane Potion. But the llama wasn't at home.

What's a Wolfsbane Potion, I ask the animal.

Isn't that obvious as well, the animal replies. I am a werewolf. And I need to drink that thick, smelly juice once a month to prevent myself from turning into a wild, blood thirsty beast. I usually get the Potion from an elk in Cicely but as I already said, the highway is blocked because of all the snow in the North this year. And my good old friend KussKuss, the llama uses to have a few spare bottles in its refrigerator.

I shake my head, squinting my eyes.

There is no lama in the apartment on the floor beneath my penthouse, this little house on the roof of Whitaker Lane 666, I growl. These are and always have been ill hallucinations.

Don't you ever listen, the werewolf asks. That exactly is my problem. The llama is not at home and there is no sign of a Malayan tapir anywhere. You don't happen to know anything about your neighbour's whereabouts or even have a pair of spare keys to its apartment?

No. No. No. My words sound a little too loud in my own ears.

And you don't happen to have some Wolfsbane Potion in your own fridge? Or know anyone who can brew it for me? There is a new full moon in less than a week, you see.

No, I resign. I am sorry.

The werewolf hangs his head.

Now I've got a hole in my pocket, a hole in my shirt, a whole lot of trouble, he says. But life carries on and I'm gonna miss it like a hole in the head.

I blink. And the animal is gone.

Time to pay Mrs Hudson another visit, I think.

But there is still the werewolf's voice echoing in my mind.

OK, see you later, alligator. Have a nice day. And don't forget to visit the Spanish speaking colonies in Africa next time you're around. And don't forget your appointment at the pier.

After a while crocodile, I think. And, this is all a lot of bullshit, totally utter nonsense.

And I close the door again.