Chapter 1

Will shot out of bed and dressed hurriedly. Something wasn't right, he could feel it. The noise in the corridor was getting louder now and whatever or whoever was lurking out there, he didn't want to confront them wearing those damned Tweetie-Pie pyjamas. How could he face the unknown with 'I tought I taw a Puddy Tat' emblazoned across his chest? He imagined the headlines if this became public: 'Internationally Acclaimed Scientist Actually a Bit of a Big Girl's Blouse' and shuddered at the thought. Whatever was Sally thinking of buying him those things? The noise outside was much closer now -an insistent scratching. Whatever the hell was it? From the bedside drawer he grimly pulled out a hefty 45mm Kopfensmeisser, favoured assassination weapon of the former East German Stasi's infamous Eradication Squad. Lucky that was there, he thought - most hotels only have Bibles.

Later, as he stood amidst the remains of the shattered doorway, pulling thoughtfully on a much-needed Gauloise, Will contemplated the scarcely credible sight of a 6 foot yellow canary lying dead under a police blanket in the corridor, three neat bullet wounds in its massive, unmissable head. He stubbed out the cigarette. It must have been the easiest job that Kopfensmeisser has ever done, he reflected wryly, although the bird had staggered and screeched for what seemed like an age before finally toppling like a Redwood. Inevitably the gunshots had brought the cops and the two grizzled police detectives now at the scene were still scratching their heads in astonishment – suddenly no longer quite as hard-boiled and world-weary as they thought they were.

There were so many unanswered questions racing through Will's head - like How? and Why? and What the F*ck?! And was this anything to do with his house mysteriously burning down last week? Maybe Professor Lindstrom's bizarre experiments at the Institute hadn’t been so pointless after all. Should he have paid closer attention to the old man's ramblings? And, on a more practical level, why not use Yosemite Sam as a hitman or that chap who used to hunt down Bugs Bunny? - both carried firearms, both were trigger happy to the point of criminal recklessness. That stupid great canary, he thought disdainfully, couldn't even get its stupid bloody head through the door.

But most crucially of all, he had to ask himself - Why me?

At that same moment he recalled the curious warning of the toothless old crone who had accosted him in the busy lobby that morning. Beware the blonde one she croaked. He had gazed at the bent and misshapen old hag in puzzlement - did she mean Sally? That little flibbertigibbet of a floozy you've been poking, she explained, she means you no good, the little hussy. But Will had dismissing her warnings. Sally - a flibbertigibbet? a floozy? a hussy? - the very idea. He had irritably brushed the crone aside and missed the rest of her warning, Oh yes, and watch out for a great big.... she had shouted after him but her words were lost in the hubbub as he swept purposefully through the revolving doors into the street. Spare a copper dearie? - was her final cry - he did actually catch that but pretended he hadn't.

Will made a mental note that in future he would pay far more heed to the cautionary words of eccentric old soothsayers, offensive and possibly overly judgemental though they may be. He also reminded himself to look up precisely what a flibbertigibbet was.

But how do pyjamas fit into all this? he wondered. Were they somehow an integral part of this implausible attempt on his life -some sort of homing beacon - or was it no more than mere co-incidence? Or were they perhaps a subtle coded warning? It was Sally who had bought him the seemingly innocuous nightwear but she wasn't answering her phone....

Chapter 2

The following morning Will walked into the small, independently run, non-corporate coffee bar across the street and ordered a double de-caff choco-latte supremo with extra toppings but hold the mayo. He was handed a small polystyrene cup filled with acrid brown stuff by a sullen waitress, a fag bobbing sluttishly between her lips. He took a seat by the window. The Kopfensmeisser pistol was securely tucked into his belt - he meant to take no chances. Although it suddenly dawned on him that he was taking a very, very big chance indeed of accidentally shooting himself in the knackers so he moved it to his trouser pocket.

He had arranged to meet his colleague Tom from the Institute. Tom was one of the most tedious and irritating individuals a man could ever have the misfortune to share a small office cubicle with, but he was also the only one who might be able to make some sense of the scientific implications of all this crazy psycho canary business. Will began to mull over some of the conversations he'd had with the wild-haired Professor Lindstrom over the last few weeks:

"Vell you see Vill, vot you haf to realise is zat you cannot attempt to de-stabilise ze bi-sentiary flux without seriously affecting ze tertiary anthropomorphiory continuum. Ze secondary Di-zetrion convertor would almost certainly implode would it not? ha ha ha".
That threw up three questions in Will's mind: a) What did that mean in practical terms? b) what did that mean? And c) why does Professor Lindstrom talk like that when he comes from Rotherham?

"Boo!!" came a sudden shout from behind him. Will sighed, cursing the grinning Tom and his tiresome tomfoolery. "I hear you've been seeing giant canaries Will. Whatever you're on, I want some."

Tom pulled up a chair and ordered a Pecan and Cinnamon Lo-Cal Fudge Kreme Brownie. But they only had some small packets of out of date Custard Creams, which the lank-haired waitress slapped on the table with an insolent resentfulness.

Will then launched into the events of the previous night whilst Tom chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. It was only to be expected, it sounded so implausible. Will could hardly bring himself to relate his theory about the possibly enchanted pyjamas.

"Have you seen Sally recently?" he asked, when he'd finished the story.
"Yes, I saw her at the Institute a couple of days ago - she gave me a present for my birthday." Tom replied smugly, "she bought me these smashing socks look, insisted I put 'em on and everything." He proudly hauled up his trouser legs and placed his feet on an empty chair. A sudden shudder ran through Will and not just because Tom was a committed sock and sandal wearer with a predisposition towards fetid fungal and bacterial foot infections. It was worse than that. It was Foghorn Leghorn.

Will struggled to control his emotions - Jesus Christ! he thought, not him too. And if that damned canary was 6 feet tall and homicidally vicious how much more massively ferocious is Foghorn effing Leghorn going to be? But he said nothing. He gave Tom's Foghorn Leghorn socks a non-committal shrug but threw in a slyly raised eyebrow. Rather than try and convince Tom of the veracity of his story he would let the mighty Foghorn Leghorn do the job for him. Then he smirked guiltily. Even in the worst case scenario he would end up with room to spread out in his office cubicle.

After Tom had recommended a good shrink and left, the sullen waitress came over to redistribute crumbs around the formica table top with a rancid dish cloth. Surprisingly she gave Will a warm and inviting smile, "So," she breathed, leaning forward to reveal a meagre cleavage, "is that a pistol in your pocket big boy or are you...
"Yes it's a pistol." snapped Will irritably and just stopped himself from adding: Don't flatter yourself you old slapper. And even if it wasn't, it's not exactly how I go around picking up totty. But then he reconsidered. It had been a long night. Perhaps they could both do with something more than just a stale custard cream. What the hell,

"So....what time do you get off?" he asked.

That evening Will received an urgent call from Tom, he sounded irate:
"You bastard, you could have warned me!"
Will grinned,
"So what happened?"
"What's happened is I've got an bloody great unconscious Foghorn bleeding Leghorn in my kitchen. I had to clout him with a chair. It those bloody socks isn't it?"
"Well I tried to tell you. Listen, don't do anything, Tom - I'll be over as soon as I can." Will heaved himself out of the welcoming warmth of the waitress's bed, brushed off the biscuit crumbs and dressed quickly.
"Later baby." he murmured as he left, although he didn't mean it.

Chapter 3

"So now what do we do with him?" Tom asked as they propped the unconscious rooster between them in the lift.
"We'll dump him in the skip in the alleyway." Will replied firmly. "What's he made of by the way?" he wondered, prodding the creature's ample stomach.

"He's all chicken as far as I can make out. Probably quite edible. God knows how they've done it, they must have used an Anthropom...." but at that moment the lift halted and a little old lady squeezed in beside them. She smiled graciously at them.

"Is he unwell?" she asked, nodding at the slumped poultry. "That once happened to me you know, one New Years Eve, I was dressed as Little Bo Peep - too much Madiera of course. She smiled wistfully at the memory. "Ooh, find a feather, pick it up." she said, plucking a dislodged white feather from the creature's chest and placing it in her hat. The rooster stirred but didn't regain consciousness. There followed an uneasy silence. Will took a keen interest in his shoes as the lift slowly rumbled to the ground floor.

There they heaved the giant bird outside with a studied nonchalance, curious onlookers were given the old 'one too many' routine. Will halted at the kerb to cross the street.

"I thought we were dumping him in the alley" said Tom. "Change of plan." said Will. "We're taking him to Mr Wang."

Tom gazed across the street to where a large red neon sign proclaimed: WANG'S. Wang's What it didn't say, but from the dragons and lanterns outside Tom guessed it must be a Chinese restaurant.

"He's an old friend of mine," explained Will, "he's discreet, he has a eye for a bargain, a strong stomach and, more importantly, he has a meat cleaver."



It was the night janitor, Frankie, who let Will into the darkened Institute.

"Heyy, howya doin' Will?" he wheezed, switching off his floor polisher. "The old Professors still up in his lab," he indicated with a wave of his stubby cigar, "workin' late." He leaned closer, conspiratorially, "Strange things goin' on around here, Will" he whispered, "you gotta watch out for dem goddamn boyds - goddamn motherfucking boyds. Crap - everywhere. They thinks I don't know" he tapped his nose, "but I know." He returned to his floor polishing, muttering in disgruntled resentment.

Will quickly made his way to the third floor where Professor Lindstrom had installed his own private laboratory. Tom had gone round to check out Sally's flat but so far he hadn't reported back. After keying in the security code Will silently pushed open the lab door. The professor was hard at work, crouched amidst a bewildering collection of archaic lab equipment and electronic circuitry, re-configuring the Di-zetrion convertor on the regeneration booth by the look of it, Will thought. The professor turned suddenly at the sound of Will's footsteps, then smiled,

"Ah velcome Vill, do come in, I haf been expecting you." he proclaimed extravagantly. Will nodded,

"You know, sooner or later, I thought someone was going to say that. But you can drop the pretence, I know what you're up to, I know you tried to kill me. And you can drop the fake accent now. Nobody talks like that." "Ahh Will, Will," he chuckled, "you've always been so perceptive. Come in, come in," the professor beckoned, suddenly far more comprehensible. "I'm sure you have many questions to ask of me. Will glanced at the pile of blueprints and papers on the professor's desk. "So what's the plan Lindstrom - world domination?" The professor laughed,

"Nothing so ambitious. It was initially no more than a whim you know - this business - a scientific indulgence - on old man's obsession. It was my plan to rid the world of all those who think it amusing to wear a novelty cartoon tie. Or humorous socks. But then it took on a new meaning, it became my mission to eliminate the entire.... "OK, OK save your rambling for the cops Lindstrom, what have you done with Sally?"

"Ah yes, Sally - so loyal, so generous, so helpful in handing out those selected items of clothing. But sadly she is of no further use to me now, one Mr Porky Pig is dealing with her as we speak." he chuckled. Will hid his emotions,

"Yeah well I wouldn't bet on it Lindstrom - your hitmen are rubbish, one of your assassins is in the morgue, the other will soon be Chow Mein."

"Ah, yes, that is a pity, they do have their shortcomings its true but a deliciously droll and ironic way to go, don't you think?"

"You're mad Lindstrom."

"That goes without saying but as I was trying to explain - the reason I am doing all this is merely to....

Suddenly there was an explosion of glass as an electric floor polisher crashed through the lab's observation window and Tom and Sally leapt through the shattered frame. Outside stood Frankie the janitor peering in in cautious bemusement. There was an awkward pause, Tom felt he ought to say something:

"The games up Lindstrom!" he shouted, rather self-consciously. But sensing it might indeed be up, Lindstrom made a sudden rush for the regeneration booth's anthropomorphiory transfiguration initialisation switch. "Don't let him touch that switch Will!" cried Sally. Will quickly pulled out his Kopfensmeisser and took aim. But he was too late - smoke rapidly began to pour from the regeneration booth. The process had begun.

"I didn't want it to come to this you know," cried the professor from out of the billowing smoke. "But you knew too much."

Will's brow furrowed, I hadn't got a bloody clue, he thought. Then there was a blinding flash and from out of the haze, a new terror emerged, one much more terrifying than anything they had faced so far. Initially looking a little groggy it soon began to make its way determinedly towards Sally and Tom.

"No more silly poultry Will" the Professor sneered "This....is the Tasmanian Devil! - he will shred you like so much offal and guess what? - now that I have perfected the anthropomorphiory process, your bullets will no longer have any effect."

Undeterred Will emptied the entire magazine into the vicious creature, wondering if he would go to his grave not knowing exactly what type of beast the Tasmanian Devil was supposed to be. The bullets had little effect but strangely, the Devil thing now halted in its tracks as if unsure where to go. It gazed around in puzzlement. Suddenly Will realised why. Amongst the papers on the desk he spotted a novelty baseball cap - a Tasmanian Devil baseball cap. He snatched up the cap and charged towards Lindstrom like a linebacker heading for touchdown. Amidst all the smoke and noise and confusion it took Lindstrom a few moments to realise what had happened. Then with dawning horror he reached up to feel his cranium: "NOOOOOooooooo..." He cried in terror.

Chapter 4

"I tried to warn you." explained Sally as she entered the coffee shop clutching Will's arm the following morning. Will looked puzzled. Sally laughed, "I gave an old crone sixpence to give you a warning - although I don't think she was quite all there."

"You were behind that!? Why? You know I hate crones. Why didn't you just ring me?" Sally reddened, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"Erm, well...Because. That's why".

"And why help the bonkers old sod in the first bloody place anyway?" asked Tom. She shrugged. "Well, it was only a few socks and things initially, I thought he was mad but harmless. But then Porky Pig turned up and tied me up in the bedroom."

The waitress approached, glaring murderously at Will. They ordered cappuccinos all round but no biscuits.

Luckily a spark from the regeneration booth the previous night had ignited Lindstrom's papers gutting the entire lab, destroying all trace of the professors scattered limbs, entrails and head, his fiendish booth and its revolutionary but deadly Anthropomorphiory configurator. The Tasmanian Devil itself had also been engulfed by flame, after the panicked incontinent creature had been eventually been cornered and battered to death with the impatient night janitor's metal wheely bucket - Goddamn motherf*cking whatever the f*ck you are. Luckily Frankie had a temper to match his prey. The police would be asking some awkward questions, although now not quite as awkward as they might have been.

"This coffee is terrible" spluttered Sally.

"Hmmm yes, and mine is particularly bad this morning" Will said, throwing a suspicious glance at the seething, green-eyed waitress behind the counter. She looked very bitter. He wondered if there was any way he might be able to interest the spurned waitress in his friend Tom. That would certainly round off an eventful couple of days very neatly but it would require a strategy of great subtlety and cunning. Not to mention some underhand scheming, conniving and bare-faced lies. He decided to mull that one over more deeply when he had a moment.

"So, how did you two deal with Porky by the way?" he wondered. Tom gave a wry smile,

"Well, by the time I got there, Sally had managed to escape her bonds and had locked the little bugger in the bathroom and...well, lets just say I put a call through to an old friend of ours."

"Wang?" wondered Will.

"Wang." he confirmed.

"Chinese for lunch anyone?" Sally asked brightly.