Molly returned to her terrace house on the outskirts of Pontefract. The kids would be home soon. She was feeling a little tipsy from her impromptu afternoon drinking session with the charming Yorkshire stallion that was Nobby Burnside. Nobby, ever the gentleman, had insisted they take it in turns at buying rounds, so as to avoid Molly feeling guilty at not paying her way, such was the immediate respect Nobby had afforded her.

She set to work preparing the kids dinners for them, after tidying up the corpse in her bedroom, and stowing it under the stairs with the other one.

"I'll have to get rid of these buggers sooner or later" she thought to herself.

A lavish meal of corned beef sandwiches was soon rustled up for her delightful offspring, who heartily tucked in the the feast before them upon returning from their new school. Exhausted, she sent them out to play to enable her to relax in peace.

After flicking through the TV channels, Molly decided to set up the PC, as due to the recent moving, she hadn't checked her emails for several days. How she wished one of the intelligent but dead men in her life were still alive to hook up all the complicated leads and plugs for her. She had only recently mastered changing a light bulb, so this challenge was more than just a mere quandary.

After a couple of hours, she finally got the thing working, and logged in to her 'Yahoo!' account to check her email. The usual junk-mails littered her inbox. Six from 'Kay's Catalogue, three from Amazon.co.uk, and two from the British Murdering Society. Finally, she managed to negotiate her way round the crap,  to access the ones from her friend Lucy. Close pal Lucy Springbottom had known Molly almost all her life, and still kept in touch despite emmigrating to Grimsby some years previous. Lucy often commented on the beautiful way Molly wrote to her. She seemed to have a way of conveying her innermost feelings much more articulately in print, than she ever could verbally.

Intrigued by Lucy's praise, Molly had for several months now been keeping a diary, where she recorded her innermost feelings, her anxieties, her joys, and grim details of all her murders. To keep up with the modern way of doing things, Molly searched the internet for an online diary, one which she could hide away in cyber-space, away from the potential light fingers of any would-be burglar.

Her meandering search through various sites eventually brought her to a quaint little site called 'Great Writing'. It looked friendly enough, from her first impressions. She noticed there were different categories, where members would post their creative pieces. Then, other members would review the work, and offer their thoughts, opinions, or just write something for the sake of writing it. Perhaps this could be a place to write poems, or short stories? A place to put her excellent mind to keyboard skills to some good use?

"This looks fantastic!" Molly grinned to herself. Being new to Pontefract, she hardly knew a soul, so this little online 'Village' could be a great place to make new friends. She negotiated her way to the 'sign up' section, and entered her details. A rectangular box beckoned, requesting she enter an alias.

"I know" she thought, glancing at the tub of peroxide in the box of bathroom accesories she had yet to unpack. "I'll call myself BottleBlondeSurfer, just for the crack!"