Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The red-headed woman, although rather blonde at the moment, was still wondering where the two gargoyles were; it had been several weeks since she had seen them, although she was convinced that they would pitch up at any moment.

She had been wandering around in that nice cemetery – the one called the Large Quarries, in Montmartre – she smiled to herself, after she saw Scatty a couple of days ago, where she had turned into a fantastic black panther in the night, because she was a shape-shifter, although it was the first time she’d seen that happen – and she almost pinched herself, since it was not the obvious thing to see.

Still smiling, the red-headed woman turned to walk in another direction, and a less used path; and then she saw them.

‘Come on, throw that properly, that’s right, now bowl a ball so that it bounces near to the batter, okay, better… and no, roll it back to me again, and don’t throw it underarm, a bowler will always throw it overarm.’

‘What are you both doing, for heaven’s sake,’ grinned the red-headed woman, ‘I’m so pleased to see you both, by the way,’- ‘likewise,’ said the two gargoyles, who also grinned happily, ‘but can’t you tell what we are doing?’

‘Well, I can see what you are both wearing, nice creamy-white jumpers and long trousers, and also you have those bats and shin-pads at the ready, and yes, it’s called cricket, but playing it in Paris? …are you mad?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

The priest muttered again before leaving to go to a tiny church at the end of the cemetery, ‘hardly anyone goes there anymore, but I’m always speaking very much aloud, since most of the congregation are completely deaf,’ and with that, he left.

The red-headed woman and Francis were both about to speak, but as usual she jumped in first; ‘strands of hair keep getting in my face, I really need to go to the hairdressers – cut and colour, and vibrant, of course.’

There was not much to say about that, thought Francis, so he launched into almost a speech: ‘you know that it’s a full moon tonight, don’t you, and I believe you remember the fiasco several months ago, so we all need to turn it down.’

‘People are very much allowed to walk around our cemetery and including the information about the Large Quarries in the main drag, but I’m putting these notices on all the gates, it says, “no-one is allowed, from sunset to sunrise” – do you think that’s enough?’

‘Sure it’s fine,’ said Joan and Scatty as the two of them appeared, ‘come on,’ said Joan, ‘we can all mingle in the square later, no-one would worry about that,’ – ‘no shape-shifting then I suppose?’ said Scatty.

Later, the red-headed woman appeared in the square; she’d been to the hairdressers, and now she had a new colour on her very short hair, ‘it’s called strawberry blonde – astounding,’ she grinned, ‘just like the strawberry moon, isn’t that right?’

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Paris Photographer – Louis Paulin

‘Another fuse has blown again,’ muttered the ancient priest; he turned his head to see a rather striking red-headed woman who had just stood up and dusted herself down, and then beamed; she looked to Francis (whom she knew really rather well, particularly since he was a vampire), and then she looked to the ancient priest – ‘maybe I can help?’ she said.

The ancient priest muttered again: ‘well, I’m not an oracle, that’s for sure, and it isn’t mention in my job description either, but I don’t know what’s the matter with that thing; I’m stumped.’

But now the red-headed woman was able to say: ‘I am a dab hand at many things, including changing fuses, come on let’s do it.’

So they opened the crypt and crept down, and fortunately a large torch was at hand, and it was charged.

She carefully walked across and opened the fuse box, ‘now, the best thing is to turn off all of it, then changed the broken one, and then pushed them all up again,’ as she grinned; and a moment later the crypt was light again, although it was in the underground, of course.

She looked around, ‘there is hardly anything here,’ she looked rather disappointed, as she said: ‘no coffins now then,’ as she looked to Francis; ‘certainly not,’ he replied, ‘all our stuff is much more modern, and in another place anyway, but I guess we don’t need to go there any more, we can just close it down.’

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