Under The Bed

Jack lay terrified in his bed. He'd heard the noise again.

There it went again. AGAIN!

Summoning every ounce of his courage - one - he edged his hand from under the doona slowly toward the panic button. He prayed the monster below would not detect the tiny click that sounded as he depressed it. Closing his eyes and praying vehemently to his God, Garry Lyon, he pushed it down.

His Mum was in the room within seconds, brandishing a broom.

"What is it Jack?"

Jack squeaked:

"It's under the bed Mum. The Dewosaurus. I can hear it rustling and growling."

His Mum shook her head.

"Oh God Jack, there's nothing under your bed. It's just the central heating. That Dewosaurus thing is dead, everybody knows that."

"What if it isn't Mum? What if it came for me?"

His Mum pushed the broom under the bed with great force.

"Look Jack, there's nothing under there. Nothing! Except for that sock you think I don't know about.

"You need to harden up Jack. You'll have to play next year, properly," she said.

"But what about Sam? Look what it did to her!"

"I'm glad she's dead. If you ever manage to get a root, she'd probably put it on the front page of The Era," she replied coldly.

Jack's mother wasn't the only person in Melbourne who was glad Sam was no more. There were 3.5 million, and growing every day as New Australians happened across her hateful screeds, in Melbourne alone.

Sam was not missed by many.

But Caro missed her, and displaying a streak of compassion and loyalty sadly lacking in her journalism, she'd stuck by her protege to the end, doing much of the funeral arranging and trying her darndest to get people to turn up.

At that very minute, Liam and one of the sub editors, a good bloke called Will known universally as 'Thirsty', were packing up and heading to the pub.

"You guyth," Caroline implored, "You'll come to Sam'th funeral tomowwow won't you?"

Liam had been wise and arranged an alibi inadvance.

"Sorry boss, can't," he smiled, "I'm on trade rumour duty tomorrow remember?"

Caroline nodded. She'd assigned him to it at his own suggestion only a few days earlier. She now saw what he'd done.

"What about you Thirthty, thurely you want to thee Tham's thoul asthend to the majethtic kingdom that thurely awaith her?"

Thirsty ummed and ahhed and shifted from foot to foot, desperately searching for a suitable excuse. Finally, he hit on one.

"Sorry, can't. I've got an appointment at the clap doctor. I've specially requested an invasive urethra examination."

Caro sighed. This wath probabwy the motht inventive one yet. The men took their opportunity and quickly departed into a waiting lift.

"Fair enougth," Caro said to an empty newsroom.

It would just be her and Sam's doddering old man, who would almost inevitably crowbar a diatribe about why Tasmania deserved a footy team, in attendance then.