A LONG SPOON

It was all Bill's fault. You see, he was the brainy one - the one who spent time in libraries, looking at obscure books. When they went somewhere, John would head for the sports shops, and Bill would find a bookstore. And in a second-hand book store, he made the find of the century - a book dated 1777 and called "YE DEVYL AND ALL HIS WORKES"

John couldn't read the first page - Bill disappeared for a week and read the whole thing from cover to cover. When he emerged from his long study, he was full of it.

"It's got spells and things in it," he told John.

"Yes, sure, let's go and play football in the park," John replied.

"But it has - there's one to summon the devil, and to make him do what you want for five minutes. But you have to be careful because the devil tries to trick you and get your soul..."

"You don't believe that crap do you?" John asked, cynically, leading the way to the park.

"Well, it looks authentic in the book," Bill replied, taking a penalty and getting the ball past John into the net. "Won't you at least try it? What have you got to lose?"

"Well, nothing I suppose, apart from looking a right Jessie," John replied. "Ok then, we'll give it a whirl."

It wouldn't be right to give details of what Bill got up to that afternoon. He had to mix a few disgusting things together - who knows where he got a newt's tongue from! - and to mutter a few incomprehensible phrases. But at last it was done, and they waited, apprehensive. Nothing happened. Then there was a ring at the door-bell, and they almost jumped out of their skins. Since it was his family's house, he opened the door - John stood right behind him to give him moral support.

The door opened and a voice said:

"Avon calling!" A very smart lady stood on the doorstep, dressed in a business like trouser suit, and carrying a briefcase.

"Your mother asked me to call with a catalogue," she said. "May I come in?"

Bill stood back, allowing her to enter. She went straight for the sitting room as though she knew her way around - presumably she had visited before. In the sitting room, she sat on the settee, elegantly crossed her legs, and opened her briefcase, taking out a piece of paper.

"I have here," she began, "the details of a summons which I received from one William B. Morton, (Bill's full name) aided and abetted by John F. Carter. (John's full name.) I am summoned under an act of 1777, and am empowered, under the terms of the act, to offer you both, without prejudice, caveat emptor, a foresight of the powers you may be made privy to if you decide to accept and make a suitable pledge of your good faith."

Bill and John looked at each other, puzzled. They didn't understand a word. She caught their look.

"In other words," she said, "I can offer you a no obligation, no purchase necessary, free sample. For twenty-four hours only, mind. So, what would you like. Oh, it has to be the same for both of you. I'm not dishing out two different freebies. So, what's it to be? Untold wealth? Not on a freebie, mate! World domination and power? Takes weeks to get that. I know - unlimited sex? That's what two young bloods like you would want, am I right?"

As usual, Bill was spokesman.

"Now, Mrs ... er ...?"

"Ms Fer," she prompted. "Ms Lucy Fer."

"Ms Fer, it's great to talk to you, but, you know, why talk to the help when you can do business with the chief. Now, just you go back and get the head honcho here to see us."

Ms Fer's eyes flashed, and a strange smell filled the room - like someone striking matches.

"How dare you, you sexist little boy! Head honcho, indeed. Just who do you think you are speaking to?" She snapped her fingers, and for a moment, the room was lit by the reflection of flames. They turned to look out of the window to see what was on fire, but there was nothing there.

"Now, what can I do for you? I'm getting tired of this. There are all sorts of lost souls out there waiting for me to mop up. Don't forget, all you're after is a free sample. Nothing in that for me, short-term, is there? Long term investments are ok, but a nice short-term profit pays great dividends."

"Er, ... did you say something about sex?" John asked.

"Right, now your mother is Ann Carter, 37 years old, 36,24,36, blonde. Am I right?"

John nodded.

"And your mother is Jean Morton, 38 years old, 38,26,35, yes?"

Bill nodded.

"And you both fancy your mothers something rotten, you disgusting horny little creatures. Am I right?" They both nodded.

"Well then...?" The question tailed off, unspoken, but hanging in the air between them, as solid as a wall.

She smiled, a smile so charming and dazzling it would have seduced a stone statue......(cont)