'I'm so lonely,' the old lady complains. 'Won't you at least come and have a cup of tea?'
'I can give you something better than tea, love.' Her eyes light up.
'Oh, would you, dear?' She waggles her hips in a saucy yet tragic manner. Les backs away, not knowing whether to feel disgusted or desperately sad. Chatting to his next door neighbour has become somewhat of a morning ritual.
'Are you worried about death, Mrs Broadbent?' Les looks at her kindly. 'I can give you the gift of immortality.'
'What? You'll have to shout. The gift of what, love?'
Les takes her old, frail arm in his. 'Are you worried about death?'
'A little, yes. What's all this, dear?'
'I can make you one of the Undead,' Les says.
'Oh, I don't know about that, dear. I don't like all these new horror films,' Mrs Broadbent says. Although the sun is not yet visible the air is starting to warm. She always comes round at 6am for some reason and Les is too polite not to answer the door.
'You,' Les says. 'You're worried about death I know. I can make that worry go away. Permanently.'
'Oh,' the old lady says. 'That does sound nice, dear.'
Les takes her arm. But instead of leading her to sit at his table for a cuppa as usual, he rolls up her sleeve. Before she has time to protest he sinks his fangs down into her skin. She gasps but doesn't try to struggle. When he has finished, she sinks down onto his kitchen tiles. When he draws away, she clutches her arm before clinging to him for support.
The dawn is coming and he will have to rest soon. But Les has the urge to run outside, for there is a new gleam in her eyes, which unnerves even him.
'Oh, I can see,' Mrs Broadbent says, giving him a manic stare. She takes off her ancient glasses and tosses them to the ground. 'Thank you, dear. I've been waiting all my life for this.'
Pixee_Styx and seasofme tagged me. I couldn't shorten this story but I hope you liked it anyway.
