Yesterday evening on the way home on the train a little elderly woman sat next to me who had no jaw, just row upon circular row of teeth.
About 20 minutes from Cardiff Central she leapt atop me and tried to affix her mouth to my throat to extract nutrients from me. When I wrestled her off she emitted gallons of slimy mucus from her skin as a means of escape.
After things had calmed down and she offered me a towel, we got to chatting and she explained to me that she didn't normally try to drink train passengers' blood, but she'd fallen on tough times and was hungry. I gave her a sandwich and she told me that by profession, she was a mystery writer: she'd written dozens of whodunnits, some even adapted into plays.
I'm not a big mystery reader but some of you might have heard of her -- Agnatha Christie?