No Explanation by Susie Field

 

I was looking forward to the weekly creative writing group, but as soon as I arrived, I sensed something was wrong. The same people were around the table, but the atmosphere was tense.  What an earth is going on?  Then she walked into the room.  I’d never met her before and introductions were brief.  She was our new President.  How strange, this was usually decided at the AGM, but that was six months away.  I hadn’t received an e mail, so was slightly confused. 

   Eventually, she opened her laptop with a flourish, and smiled, a twisted unnatural smile, quite unnerving, as she was staring straight at me.  Everyone had their heads down, not looking in my direction.

    “Right, let’s cut to the chase.”   She paused, taking her time, enjoying the suspense. 

    I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, this shouldn’t be happening.

   “We have decided that members over 70 years of age are no longer welcome in our group.  The writing is becoming stale, we need fresh blood.”

   What! I’d been a member for over twenty years, and just like that, she was terminating my membership, because of my age.  Is that actually allowed? 

    I glance around the table, everyone remains silent.  These people are my friends, or at least I thought they were.  What have I done wrong?  I open my mouth to voice my opinion, but she raises her hand to silence me.

    “Okay,” she smirks.  “Are we all in agreement?”

     There appears to be no objection. 

    “Please gather your things together and get out.”

    “Why are you doing this?” I shout as tears sting my eyes.  “I love this group.  I don’t want to leave.  Why won’t any of you speak up for me?”

    She begins to laugh, a loud manic laugh.  It seems to spur everyone into action, and I watch in disbelief as my fellow members begin to change dramatically.   Their hands become gnarled and twisted, nails long a dirty.  Faces white, almost transparent, eyes deep in their sockets.  I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move as they turn and smile at me, their teeth brown and rotten, large fangs protruding.  It’s horrible.

     They rise slowly and circle the new President, hiding her from view, but I hear her screams, and know they are feasting on her flesh, the blood flowing freely.  Well, she wanted fresh blood, be careful what you wish for, that’s all I can say.

    I can’t be witness to such a scene, so I collect my things and run from the room into the dark night.  I’m stumbling along the pavement, shocked and disorientated. I’m attracting stares but no one asks if I’m okay, they’re avoiding me, no wish to become involved in my obvious state of distress. It seems forever before I reach the car park at the back of the building and into the safety of my car. I lock the doors and wait a few moments.  My hands are trembling. I can’t drive in this state.  I take a few deep breaths to settle my nerves.  Once I feel reasonably calm, I begin the journey home.  I can’t remember much about that journey, which is worrying, and I’m relieved to arrive home safely. Hurrying into the house, I lock the door and draw all the curtains.  It doesn’t seem real, but I’m not dreaming.  There is absolutely no explanation for what just happened.

    I don’t sleep very well, I’m nervous and keep all the lights on, listening for any unusual sound.   The following morning, I want to e mail my friends, but I’m afraid they may think I’m crazy.  Maybe I am.  Perhaps someone will get in touch eventually.

    I wait almost a week, and then I get an e mail announcing the next meeting. It’s as if nothing is wrong.  I’m not sure whether I should go.  I’m a little afraid, but also very curious.  I shake off my doubts and quickly e mail back confirming my attendance.

     The weather is very cold and it’s starting to snow, but I’m determined to make the journey.

     When I arrive, everything is as it should be, chatter and laughter around the table, and I’m warmly welcomed, which is a relief.  We each read in turn and the conversation flows freely. I glance at each member.   They appear normal, nothing is amiss.  

     At 9pm it’s time to leave.  I offer Andy a lift as usual.  I’m apprehensive, but he looks as he’s always looked, and I feel safer not walking to the car alone. A little voice in my head is telling me I probably would be safer on my own.  Who in their right mind invites a vampire into their car, but it’s Andy, he’s not a vampire.  I would have known – surely. I want to ask him about the week before, but decide against it.  Obviously, it never happened.

      It’s snowing quite heavily, but the roads are clear, although the pavements are covered in a fresh layer of snow.  I’ll be glad to get home.

     The journey to Andy’s house doesn’t take long, and we chat about nothing in particular.  Just our usual friendly banter.

     “Here we are,” I say as I pull into the side of the road, just a couple of metres from Andy’s house. 

     “Is everything alright Andy?”  I have to ask. I can’t sit here in denial.  He’ll be honest with me.

    He turns and smiles, his teeth are white, and his cheeks are rosy.  I must have a vivid imagination.  The image of that night flashes before my eyes, but I ignore it. Andy is not a blood sucking vampire – no way.

     “Everything’s just fine.   Thank you for the lift. Drive carefully.”

     He’s quickly out of the car and closing the door.

    I turn to wave, but he’s already gone.  I look around nervously. The street is deserted.  There are no fresh footprints on the snow covered pavement, where Andy has just walked.  I start the car and slowly head for home.

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