leggingsunhappy@60+com

I'd been at it for months, watching the house with the hanging strips, the woman inside, territorial, terrified, watching out of the window with hooded eyes. I was now on friendly terms with the team, the neighbours we'd co-opted, the houses beyond. All the ideas, scams and schemes were worked out. We just kept them rolling along.

In the morning early, the oldies were out with the clip boards, asking questions. If she was about they'd ask louder, so that she recieved puzzling, strange messages. I'd then walk about picking up the clipboards from them, smiling and laughing, as I took them away. We had someone watching her computer, easy access, for mindreaders, reading emails, and looking for information. She was hesitant in her usage now, no longer sure she was safe. She invested in a paid up virus checker, which didn't cover what could be done. Technology wasn't a friend, it was full of holes.

The radio staff kept watch too, turning off in shops as she came into view, claiming alternatively curiosity and knowledge. Playing the 'find her' game invited people to ring in with information. More people used public transport than ever. The radio staff explained happily that if you upset or angered her you too could have part of her inheritance - even if she never had any of it.

Sharon had been busy: she set up a poster in one of the shops, asked mum's and daughter's to sign up for a date with the 'would be boyfriend', she wanted him to have what he might have had with her. She said it helped in the evenings to play another game with her. The post was watched for all over the estate, they claimed family relationship.
"I don't think that's quite fair!" I said softly, waiting for the snap back.
"We don't think she should have anything," Sharon said coldly, "My Mum should have it, afterall why should she be the only one to get it all? She was mean to my Mum years ago. No matter what she says we won't forgive her."
"I'm beginning to think it's too big and too mean." I complained crossly. "Can't we stop?"
"No," she yelled back, "I'm going to marry him, and I'm going to be her. It's not as if anyone would know the difference anyway. He only wants her as his Dog now, he told me so. He says she didn't love him enough to marry him in the first place."
"His dog?" I asked, totally fazed.
"BDSM!" Sharon said sweetly, "Phyliss is making my wedding dress for the big finale. He's had all the women on the list now, we've told him she's mentally ill. The church is helping us by finding people to come watch over her. They say she's just an old lady.... Everyone is keen to help!"

For a minute I was dumbstruck. Was this all true. I didn't want to do it anymore. I wanted to go back to work, back to the city, sit in my lounge, watch tv, see my man, talk to Phyliss. I didn't know why I was trying to hurt someone. This was taking years to sort out. Yet no one seemed to care. The rewards they said were worth it.

"You'll never guess what!" she said struggling not to laugh, "She woke up in the middle of a recording the other night, we had some of the locals read one of her books for audio, and she couldn't do anything about it. We'd just have said she was mad if she'd involved the police. One of us is having her books and poetry, wait and see!"

...................................................

Later Phyliss showed me the dress, a cut away bdsm dress with strange holes at o strategic places.
"She's never going to wear that?" I said giggling.
"Sharon says he's neofancyical, or some such," Phyliss responded grimly, "Says he can't wait. You have to present immediately."
That was it. We both broke down and laughed till we cried.

"Is he a nice man?" I asked.
"Isn't the same man," she said putting the dress on a stand, out of sight. "I can't scare the other customers with this."
"Does the target know?"
"Oh they won't tell her that, she's just become someone for them to take their spite out on."
....................................................

I was invited to their wedding, so was Phyliss, we were both strangely curious. Apparently a choir was to sing.
The clock struck midnight and we all waited. The groom was to come round later on and the ceremony was to take place immediately, apparently all she had to do was to kneel at his feet and he would collar her.

"Does that make her his dog?" Phyliss whispered to me quietly.
We slipped out for a bite, and returned to see her half hanging out of the dress wobbling everywhere, in a submissive position. He put a collar and lead on as we watched and led her away. It was dark, we couldn't see faces or establish identity. It lasted till till the morning when he deposited her outside the house with a strip of worming tablets.

"Just isn't healthy!" he yelled at the house. "Get me another!"
"Mum," sobbed Sharon, "He doesn't want me...."
"He will do," snaked a horrible voice murderously, "He will do!"