The Haunted Harridan

Being a private investigator means two things. You can be sure you'll run into trouble and you can never be sure you'll get out of it. Not much you can do about it I guess except like Julie always says.

Walk self please. Please a try. And now Peter Troy investigates the haunted Hareden. I guess you've all become pretty used to the routine that takes place when my office door opens. Well just to be different I might as well tell you about Harriet mailing.

Now, my guess is that from the age of about ten upwards, she could have got herself a job anytime on one of those old-time radio shows they used to play late at night. You know the things I mean?

They opened with some flesh-creeping music, and then this old witch screams and cackles away, nearly splitting aside, laughing, while she boils up a supper of Newt's eyes and toads' feet. Yeah, there are no two ways about it.

Harriet Maling was the witchiest witch, whichever was. I'm worried about Aunt Hayley, I really am. I can't see what the problem is, Tony. I mean, I know your aunt has always been... well, a bit odd.

I don't mean that I'm kindly. I know what you mean. You don't have to apologise about that. Anybody had taken for a witch. Well, witches have been a little out of fashion lately. But at least she doesn't frighten you.

She used to when I was a child. And that creepy old house of hers still gives me the willies even in daylight. Even in daylight, I'd say she wouldn't leave it for the world now.

She's always said she'd only leave that house to die. Oh well, it's her house. If she likes that, squat worries me, Julie. Lately she says she's been getting messages telling her she must get out.