Time After Time

They were lifelong friends, but she treated her like family, like a daughter. Every weekend, she opened her door and welcomed her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

There was no cooking. Everything was delivered for their culinary delectation. Drink was either Coke or Prosecco, depending on their mood.

Every weekend was almost ritualistic, and they both loved everything and fell into it because it made them so happy.

They both loved their weekends together, and it was always at her house, which she had been left by a rich old uncle, full of passages, secret rooms and a swimming pool anda cinema in the extended basement which stretched under the back garden,

The beds had the best Egyptian cotton sheets, and every time she came here, she slept perfectly, although her bed was so comfortable, she could stay in there all day, but she would miss the time she had with her hfriend.

They loved spending time together and watching films (usually romcoms or classic comedies, "Mamma Mia" and "Thelma and Louise" were favourites).

Each night when they were getting drowsy, they found their way to their beds, and she tucked her in and kissed her on the forehead before retiring to her own bed.

Each following morning, she brought her a cup of breakfast tea with her own, and when they had finished their cuppas, they went downstairs for buttered toast and strawberry conserve.

While her friend always slept soundly, she never did. It did not worry her. She had no need for sleep and dreamed with her eyes open, remembering the places she visited during her nocturnal sojourns. The night gave her nourishment. She was always at home when the sun was gone.

If the sun were shining, they would spend time in the lavish gardens, listening to birdsong and singing their favourite pop songs. They only wanted each other's company. That was all they needed for their perfect lives.

The friend sometimes thought she saw shadows in the windows, but she told her it was nothing. There were no ghosts in this house. It wasn't haunted at all, and they both laughed it off.

She knew that the shadows were real, though, and would always be part of the house.

Sometimes they would wander the house, discovering new passages and rooms, and they were sure that there were secrets hidden that they had not yet found.

Sometimes they felt they had gone back to the Victorian times of Dickens and Wilde, but they had not seen anyone like the Marleys or Mr Grey.

There were some old paintings on the walls, but they found no portraits, just dusty but pleasant landscapes.

Together, they were like mischievous schoolgirls, but something was not quite right.

The night was her sustenance, and that was when she took from her friend. Was she a vampire? No one knew, and no one suspected her. The reality was that she had been the mistress of this house for hundreds of years, and throughout those years, she had had so many partners.

Now was the time that she never wanted to come, but she knew it always had to.

Her friend gave her life and made her life perfect, but she drew the last of the blood from her.

And that night, another shadow appeared in the windows of the mansion, wandering into the dark forever.

The mistress of the house knew she needed to find another friend. She also knew how easy it would be, as she had money, charm, and a mansion to die for, and all her friends did.