Well Aged.

It's amazing what one finds while "cleaning out" files on the computer. I stumbled across this little dabble I wrote while bored one afternoon back in 2009.

A group of old folks in a retirement home become convinced one of their own is a vampire stalking them for their extra fine and "aged" blood.

Liam Farrell sat silently down the dim hallway. His silken loafers made no sound as they occasionally slid against the commercial carpet underfoot. He didn’t move as fast as he once had; his movement was impeded by a bad hip and reliance on a cane, which leaned against the side of the armchair he sat in. His white hair hovered around his head like a halo. He stroked his chin and let his mind wander, as it often did.

The man’s left hip had healed crooked after convalescing in an ill-equipped POW infirmary after being shot down by the Germans during World War II. After the war, he’d become a professor of Classical Studies at a California State University. Upon retirement, he traveled with his wife until her sudden death. He lived alone after that. As the years flowed on without him and he grew deeper and deeper into the silence of the forgotten.

His son, with all the best intentions, had suggested moving into a pleasant retirement home. There will be lots of things to do, Dad. Crafts. Oh, look at this. Origami. You’ll like that.

Liam never said he wanted to take a class in paper folding. He didn’t have the patience for that sort of thing. He’d agreed only to make his son happy, and at least he wouldn’t have to worry about doing the yard work.

The people of Smiling Ranch Retirement Home were nice enough.

He had a nice room and his neighbors were welcoming. Myra Croft, who lived to his right, had been born in London. Her husband, Jack, was a retired New York City detective who rarely spoke. He had the eyes of a bloodhound, but the boundless energy of a terrier.

Ichiro Togawa lived to his left. ‘Ichiro-san,’ as he was affectionately called by the nurses, always managed to sweet talk getting “treats,” even when he wasn’t allowed. Only the week before he’d managed to coax one of the staff attendants into bring him some Chinese take-out. He also had the tendency to poke the nurses' behinds with a chopstick during dinner.

In the small community, the four came to rely on each other for conversation, humor, walks and the security a family had neglected.

All four of them were of the opinion that the mysterious person who lived at the end of the hall in Room 46 was “not quite right.”

It was well past midnight and Liam had no intention of returning to his room. He sat in the burgundy armchair in the hallway alcove, watching. He was at the perfect angle to discreetly watch Room 46. He had never seen anyone go in or out. Myra, Jack and Ichiro had never seen anyone, either. They knew the person’s last name was VanGleck; the seat appointed to VanGleck was always sat empty at the meals. The nurses said the mysterious VanGleck was in fragile health and had all meals delivered bedside.

One morning, when Glenda the Nurse knocked on his door to bring him a bouquet of flowers from his son, Liam noticed a strange mark on the young lady’s neck.

“You’ve got something on your neck,” he said as friendly as he could.
“Oh?” she asked, tilting her neck down and casting her eyes downward.
“Yes. Right there. Did something bite you? It looks pretty bad.”
“Oh, it must have been a spider.”
“Better put some ointment on it. I have some if you’d—”
“Oh, don’t bother yourself, Mr. Farrell. Have a nice day!”

to be continued...maybe.