The Mammoth Book of Vampire Stories by Women

Author:Stephen Jones (ed)
Language: eng
Format: epub

Frank wasn't in school the next day. Andrew wanted to share his discoveries about Turkey with him, not that it was the kind of thing Frank would have wanted to know. Turkey was right near Russia. It had the Black Sea on one side and the Mediterranean on the other. The country had its own language, called Turkish. He hadn't gone far enough in the book to learn if Turkish delight came from Turkey, though. He also read that they had bad earthquakes there. Maybe Frank would find all the deaths that came from their earthquakes interesting. That was the kind of thing he found fascinating. On his way home, he stopped by Frank's. Mrs Delaney answered the door.

"Is Frank at home?"

Her face screwed up and she leaned over to put her nose about an inch from Andrew's. She stank of brandy. "Well, now, he's supposed to be with you, Mr Andrew Crawford, so I should be asking you just that thing. He told me he was going to meet you on the tarmac and you were both going to the church to see about helping that old man."

"To the church…" Andrew tried to recall which church that might be. "Well, I must've got it wrong, Mrs Delaney. I thought we were meeting here. I'd better get on to the church then, hadn't I?" He smiled sheepishly.

"You two aren't cooking something up together, are you?"

"No, Mrs Delaney. We honestly want to make the man feel better. His kid was about our age and we just thought…"

"How nice. You had better get going, Andrew. It'll be dark soon." She shut the door before he could reply.

Why hadn't Frank told him he was going to the church? And which church? He couldn't recall. He walked down to the Catholic church which was closest and looked for someone to help him. A washerwoman told him the old man was staying with a family up by Strutts School. The Methodist chapel was where they were coordinating aid for the Turkish man. He thanked the woman and started off in the direction of Strutts. It occurred to him that his Aunt Molly would be sick with worry if he didn't stop home first. But then he risked being told he couldn't go at all.

It was a long walk down to Strutts. The only way to get there before dark would be to take a bus. He checked for change in his pocket and raced to the bus stop where a bus had just pulled up. It was the number 14 that stopped right across from the Methodist chapel at the bus station. Just his luck.

Though the bus was crowded, he got a seat by the window behind the driver. He watched the people walking determinedly up and down the streets, the cars moving ever so slowly in the traffic of the A6. Another bus crawled along going in the opposite direction. They were across from each other at one point. Andrew stared into the other bus, scanning the faces.

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