A Quiet Night in the Country

Cameron arrived at the hotel an hour behind schedule. He sat in the parkway for a long time, staring at his mobile. He hadn't left London in 12 years. The peace and quiet in the little village of Belshire was a corrupting influence. He was so accustomed to the hustle and bustle that the silence was oppressive, disruptive to his already weakened state.


He thumbed through his address book on his mobile until the entry for "MAGGIE" appeared on the screen. His thumb hovered over the call dial. No, he thought, Best not. I can't share this time with anyone. This is my time to be alone. He got out of his Honda Civic just as a man with a gruff beard and an old tattered hat was walking by. The man was startled as the car alarm gave a soft shriek to confirm that it was locked and armed. Cameron realized suddenly that no one must ever lock their cars out here. It was that kind of little hamlet. Might as well be the 1800's, Cameron thought to himself, and for a moment he mused that he had traveled back in time, with his adorable little blue Honda Civic.

The interior of the hotel did nothing to dispel his fantasy. A little bell rung as he opened the door and a man stood behind the counter with a little notepad where he evidently kept his reservations. A boy, 10 or 11 years old perhaps, stepped up, looking like Oliver Twist, offered to take his luggage. How appallingly quaint, he thought. He decided to go with it, however. This fantasy was just the escape he needed.

"No, I think I'll be alright."

"Well, may I get you some tea?" the boy asked in his cartoonish accent, "Complements of the house."

"Alright," he said, smiling, "I'll have a spot." And without another word, the boy rushed off.

The man behind the counter looked out of time as well. He was wearing an old fashioned suit with an old fashioned tie. "Well, imagine that. Looks like we ough'a be full tonight, Sir. You got our last room."

"Thank you, very much," Cameron said awkwardly, a half-smirk betraying that he wasn't quite sure if he was being tricked or not. He had heard that the villages in this part of the countryside hadn't changed much in the last few centuries, but he couldn't believe just how true that was. He knew the answer, but asked anyway, "Do you happen to have WiFi here?"

"'Fraid we don't have internet yet sir." At this, Cameron was a bit relieved. At least the man knew what the internet was.

He got to his room, Room 6, moments later and began unpacking. He set up his effectively useless lap top on the desk. Perhaps he would want to use it later. Moments later, there was a knock at the door. It was the boy with his tea, and a disturbingly beautiful woman. Disturbing because she looked as out of time as everything else here, and beyond that, she had a kind of dead stare in her eyes. "Do you have enough towels, Sir?" she asked.

Taking the tea from the boy and thanking him, he said, "I believe I have, yes, thank you."

"If you need anything at all, I'm in the room at the end of the hall. Just knock." At that she turned and walked with her head bowed back down the hall. Cameron watched her as long as he could without seeming like a creeper, and then turned back to the boy, who had not moved from his place at the door.

"May I come in, Sir?" the boy asked.

"Where are your parents?" Cameron was a bit concerned.

"They won't be back until later, and I-" the boy stopped and leaned forward, covering the side of his mouth with his hand. "Oswald doesn't like me loitering in the lobby."

"I guess, come on in." The boy stepped in and sat down at the chair at the desk. "Do you like computer games? I've got WAR OF CIVILIZATIONS but there's no internet connection so you'll have to play the computer."

"Where are you from?" The boy seemed to have ignored the suggestion.

"London." Cameron replied. He shook his head and took his shoes off by the bed, and started setting out his toothbrush and toothpaste by the bathroom sink, on a little pedestal with a marble top. "What's your name?"

"I'm Terry."

"Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Terry." He took a sip of the tea, and it was terrible and stale, like someone had reused the same tea leaves a few times. He didn't want to hurt Terry's feelings, so he refrained from commenting about it.

"Are you visiting someone here in the village?"

He had to get that taste out of his mouth so he loaded toothpaste onto the brush. "Nope, no one even knows I'm gone. Not even my..." It would take too long to explain to a child, so he just said "wife, Maggie."

He began brushing his teeth and turned to the kitchen sink to spit and rinse, when suddenly, he felt a great blunt pain in the back of his head which immediately dropped him to his knees. The force came again, before he had a chance to turn his head, and after an intense moment of agony, he lost consciousness.

He realized he was awake slowly, as if he had been drugged. He opened his eyes and things were dark, blurry. The sun had begun to set. He tried to speak but he found he could barely squeak a little air out of his dry throat, and he couldn't move his limbs. He felt totally numb and he was filled with terror, being paralyzed for the first time in his life. As things began to come into focus, he saw the boy, a few feet from him, scrubbing blood off the floor, his back turned to him.

He tried to shout out, but again, he wheezed a breath out which was more of a sigh than anything. The boy didn't seem to notice, and kept scrubbing away at the blood. The boy's hands were covered in dried blood. What's more was, though he was in the same room, it appeared now to be in disuse. Dust everywhere. The wood was rotting out, untended, but for the dampness the boy was scrubbing into it furiously. There were no lightbulbs, no sign of power, and the place felt empty now, whereas it had felt so alive before.

He managed to sling his hand to his leg, hoping to find his mobile in his trouser pocket, but instead he felt a terrifying wetness, and he realized that a piece of his thigh was missing entirely. This shook him so that his body jolted slightly, and he managed to whimper out a little cry. The boy, hearing this, turned to face him, and revealed dried and wet blood all over his mouth, chin and cheeks. The boy's eyes were dark, and he shouted in a hushed tone. "Quiet! Oswald will hear you!" With as little effort he could manage, he reached out his leg and placed his foot hard against Cameron's neck, until he was satisfied that Cameron had ceased breathing, and continued scrubbing furiously at the old rotting wood.