I stared at the three gold stars on the ticket, jaw dropping as I realised…

I’ve won the lottery? I HAVE WON THE LOTTERY?!?!

The man behind the counter notices my exited dancing and squealing, and smiles.

Then his face drops and he notices the black laminated paper in my hand.

I am surprised as he pushes me out of sight and whispers, “Don’t tell anyone! Oh no! This is bad!”

My joy dissipates.

“What?”

“This ‘lottery’ ,” he curls his fingers in the air. “Is a sham by the mafia to move money! They call it The Secret Lottery! You need to get out of here and not tell anyone you have won! Or the mafia will get you!”

I give a dry laugh, “yeah, yeah. Where’s the cameras? This is a joke, right?”

The door slams open and a figure wearing a fedora struts through. The shop keeper pushes my hand holding the ticket behind him.

“I’m here for a lottery ticket. Oh, hey! I’ve won! How about that! I’ll be by tomorrow for my winnings.” He stuffs the ticket into his coat and walks out again.

“Don’t tell anyone!” The shopkeeper whispers and I nod slowly.

Later, at home, I’m looking at my bank account and breathing through a paper bag.

It’s gone from £24.95

To £1000,000,000,000,000,000,24.95. (I’m no good at numbers formatting!)

I was so rich! But I couldn’t tell anyone…

My partner burst through the door. “What the heck happened to our account! Have we been hacked!?” They screamed.

I calmed them down.

“I won- Uh- I mean, my dear great-great-great-great-great auntie died. She had a lot of money from, Uh, her… llama farm in… ITALY!”

“Why did she give it to you?”

“Uh, I’m not sure, I mean SHE ONLY LIKES ME!” I blurt.

An eyebrow is raised. Not mine.

“What was her name?”

My eyes scan the room. “Auntie… fan..daisy… water… books.”

I lick my lips.

“I’m sure I mentioned my dear Fandaisy waterbrooke before?”

“When’s the funeral? Why didn’t she give the money to anyone else?”

My mind spins. “She… died at sea. And my side of the family hate her.”

“Why?”

“She was a stripper.”

“I thought she had a llama farm?”

“It was… also a strip club?”

My partner looks at me askew.

“An auntie fandaisy waterbrooke died at sea and left her entire fortune to you because this side of the family hate her because she was a stripper at her llama farm in Italy?”

I lick my lips again.

“Yes.”

“Okay then.” He shrugs. “We can visit into the llama farm/strip club to pay our respects.”

“I wouldn’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because… because she trained her llamas to eat… people? That weren’t her? And the strip club is under investigation from the IRS.”

“Her llamas eat people? What happened at the strip club?”

“Everyone forgot to pay taxes on… thongs.”

I keep my face straight as he looks baffled.

“O-kay… maybe we can visit her family?”

“She had none. They got eaten by the llamas.”

“What about her house? Does she live in Italy?”

“Yes but she kept llamas there as pets and left the estate to them.”

“Hmm. I would have liked to meet your auntie Fandaisy.”

“Me too.”