No Connections Whatsoever
Where were they? she wondered as she sipped her tea; a deep orange-red tea, smooth, with a delightful aftertaste. She sat in her great armchair, staring out into the night from the convenience of her living room. It was actually a nice night out for a change.
It was full dark however, and the stars were nowhere to be seen. Which she found rather mysterious, although not for the same reasons others would expect.
“I wonder what could have happened to them?” she said aloud. The steady tick-tick of the kitchen clock answered her.
And so on and so forth.
She wasn’t bothered too much by the thought. She had never really knew them to begin with, and had held them with contempt. Immediately after giving them rooms she had regretted ever setting eyes on them, so when they left she was immediately relieved.
There was something about them she was not quite ready to concede to herself, something that she had known but had willfully ignored.
Gently setting the tea down, the old woman got up with a great sigh. “I’m getting too old for this,” she muttered to herself. The old inn had been in her care for a long time, and never once had she ever come across such a bizarre case.
Well . . . That wasn’t quite the truth. She shook her head at herself. There you go again, lying to yourself! You old coot! As her feet carried her up the stairs, she closed all of the curtains, the same way she had for the past forty years. A long time for such a practice. The guests had often ribbed her for it; her inn was in a respectable neighbourhood after all, there were no prying eyes, no would-be-thieves . . .
She stopped. For a while she stared at the wall. People often came to her inn, people with something not quite right about them. They always left at dusk, never to be seen again–
–until their bodies were found a week later. It was always a week. She knew what they were doing.
The fools . . .
Willfully sacrificing themselves to . . .
The old woman shook herself out of her stupor. It was time for bed.