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Panthers Ahead by Jacqui Dent

There was only one car on the road and that was Molly’s. Molly was an interminably cheery woman with a smile that smelt of desperation. She dressed like a librarian, drove a Volvo and her favorite colour was green. And she was a god. Not a very important one: she was the god of walking into a room and forgetting what you came in for. But unlike some other gods Molly took her job very seriously and always handed in her paperwork on time.

Tonight Molly was on official business. She had a house-call at the residence of one L. T. Pardy on a small island somewhere in the Falklands. Molly squinted at the signs; they were hard to make out through the rain which, like the darkness, was incessant on the immortal highway. Molly was just passing the turn-off for Nepal when she spotted the hitchhiker. He lurked in the shadows, upright and alert, paws aligned in front of his sleek, black body, which was as large as a man’s. At his feet a cardboard sign said ‘Mozambique’.

Molly checked her watch. Normally she would not even consider picking up a hitchhiker. But if she left a poor, defenseless panther to sit in the rain, Molly knew she would scarcely deserve the name of animal lover.

So she flicked the indicator and swung the steering wheel, the panther’s eyes flashing like ghostly headlights as she pulled over to the side of the road.

Stranger things than a panther have come out of the office of Jack, the god of whims, at the end of a working day. When the divine tax returns are due it’s not uncommon to find troops of creeping vine-men, eight-armed spider-monkeys and carnivorous office chairs wandering the halls of paradise. Such things always seem like a good idea at the time.

The trouble was that without Existence Termination Permission – which was notoriously difficult to obtain – such creatures had to stick around for good. But there was plenty of work in the basement for creatures with basic literacy skills and a little house training. Fed on a diet of protein supplements, somewhere in a dark maze of cabinets, the parentless creations of the gods conveyed documents to their proper locations whilst trying to imagine the colour of the jungle.
This is how panthers end up working as filing clerks.

At first the panther had seemed reluctant to be strapped into the car with Molly. When she had cooed and given him a scratch behind the ear he had even made attempts to exit the vehicle. Now he sat folded into the passenger side of Molly’s car, seatbelt fastened, pink towel wrapped tightly about his dripping frame. He had his head leant against the window, engaged in an epic staring match with the night.

“Not many people know there’s a god for walking into a room and forgetting what you came in for,” Molly prattled. “So I don’t get many house calls. But honestly, I’ve always preferred the satisfaction of good, solid paperwork. Are you sure we haven’t met before? You look familiar.”

The panther turned his yellow eyes on Molly and gave the tiniest shift of the head to indicate that no, they had never met before, then turned and regarded the rain with a longing expression.

“But of course those filing animals spoil all the fun,” Molly continued. “They’re so unfriendly. I was down there yesterday and all I asked the sloth to do was brush the fur out of the cabinet and I could have sworn he gave me – well, I won’t repeat it – but it was very rude. And it’s the same with all of them. Too proud. Especially the larger ones –"

Molly stifled a sharp intake of breath as something inside her head switched on. She threw the panther a furtive side-glance; he was watching her with rapt attention.

Of course, Molly had received a memo from management only a week before on the seriousness of filing escapees. There was a reason why filers were not allowed onto Earth. She didn’t know what it was but she was sure it was a good one.

So Molly cleared her throat and said in a voice that quavered only slightly, “Speaking of work – I just realised I’ve forgotten a very important document. Would you mind if we made a quick detour back to the office? Won’t take long.”

A large, black paw was placed firmly over her hand on the steering wheel, extending hook-like claws into her skin.

“Oh, you’re rather close there,” said Molly, tremulously. The panther had leaned forward, his face close enough to kiss her. Slightly light-headedly, Molly reflected that she hadn’t really appreciated how large and yellow his fangs were. From his mouth was coming a sound like a satanic lawn-mower – a throaty, menacing kind of purr.
“All right then,” said Molly, in a would-be calm voice, “we’ll just head straight to my house call, shall we?”

The lawn-mower became a tractor engine as the panther indicated with a claw the long stretch of road before them. Molly nodded, whimpering.

Now the panther’s breath was making warm eddies inside her ear. They passed a sign indicating the approach of the Falkland exit and Molly’s frumpy bottom began to squirm. Her eyes darted nervously between the panther and the road. The turn-off appeared ahead and, without thinking, Molly swerved.

The panther’s response was immediate. With a deep-throated roar, claws were inserted into each finger of Molly’s left hand and before she had time to wonder at the panther’s dexterity, she found her arm being operated like a puppet, swinging the steering wheel back around. The car skidded in a graceless arc and hurtled back onto the highway. Molly was screaming, blood running down her arm where the panther’s claws still clung.

The car slid off the road, began a half-hearted traversal of a rubble incline and then gave up. Having just enough presence of mind left to pull on the hand brake, Molly then placed her bloodied hands over her face and collapsed into the steering wheel, uttering strangled moans.

“My house call, my house call, I’ve missed my house call,” she was wailing. “It was the first one in five years. Management only knows how long I’ll have to wait for another one.”

Buy the next edition of the Compendium to find out what happens next…

About the Author of ‘Panthers Ahead’…

Jacqui Dent is an emerging writer living in Sydney. With a degree in Creative Writing from the University of Wollongong, Jacqui has had fiction published in Short and Twisted, Voiceworks, Ecclecticism, TIDE, Tertangala and INK and had her work read on radio. In 2009 she won second place in the FAW Angelo B. Natoli National Short Story Competition and received a Highly Commended in The Best of Times short story competition for humorous writing.
She currently works at the NSW Writers' Centre and interns at Southerly journal.

See Jacqui's site at http://www.jacquident.yolasite.com/

-If you’d like to read the end of the story, you can subscribe to the Compendium today by e-mailing viola@wellingtonwriters.co.nz. Alternatively look out for Volume Three at all good bookshops soon.