The pearly wedding dress floated softly to the ground, draping itself around Sarah like a shroud. Chosen with love and speckled now with .droplets of scarlet, it fitted her so well. She had rejected ruby rosettes but the choice had been made for her. Sarah sighed and slowly turned her head, smiling sadly at the crumpled, cardboard carton lying beneath the car. She would still be carried to church
The heavy door creaked open on hinges badly needing oiled. A sepulchral voice spoke from above me, chilling my heart and freezing my soul: “You rang?”
Summoning my meagre hoarde of courage I fearfully glanced up and up and up until my head was bent so far back I was in danger of falling over.It or He hovered over me, alabaster countenance gazing blankly into the distance, red-rimmed eyes flickering fire and when he deigned to lower his head to look at me his sadistic smile was gruesome.
I attempted to answer this freak of nature without causing offence or gibbering like an idiot. I succeeded only with the former.
“I-I-I have c-c-c-come about the position of h-h-housekeeper.”
My common sense told me to run but my feet seemed glued to the step. I didn’t even want the job now. I could survive on beans and toast for the next fifty years. They are very nutritious, you know. As for clothing sure the shops are filled with cardboard boxes. Yeah, I don’t need this job. I was half way turned to flee when I sensed rather than heard these words:
“Enter freely, go safely and leave some of the happiness you bring.” Strange words.He stepped slowly to one side to allow me passage and like a lamb to the slaughter I obeyed.
“Be seated. The Master will be with you shortly.”
He indicated an ornately carved Victorian chair, intricately upholstered in blood red velvet. I sat. Glancing round I was impressed with the opulence of the furnishings. Being no connoisseur of antiques, I was nevertheless sure that these items would fetch a pretty penny at auction. I was nervous, this being my very first position as any kind of housekeeper. My knees were knocking loudly enough to waken the dead, not knowing that they already were. The dropped hand on my shoulder caused me to spring from my chair, my heart wildly palpitating.
He was beautiful, the man who had touched me, although a little pale perhaps. Ruby red kissable lips, raven black hair and a six pack I itched to caress .He exuded pure, raw sex! Leaning towards me, he whispered:
“My Dear, your scent intoxicates me, Your aura is enchanting. May I come closer to inhale your perfume?”
“You can inhale and exhale all of me,” I sighed, my insides melting and the most delicious tingle travelling up my spine.”
Compulsion drove me to gaze into his smouldering eyes, so dreamy, so hypnotic, so… Oh! His lips at my throat. I was ecstatic. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.
“Anton, desist! Leave her. She is not for you.”.
My eyes flew open.I was disorientated. My mind eventually cleared and I saw him. So regal, aristocratic with an air of ancient authority. Add to that piercing eyes that promised nocturnal delights in the bedchamber A decidedly older version of my handsome boy who at this point was slinking away like a scolded dog. So much for the six pack and the hypnotic aura.
“I apologize for Anton, my Dear. He has a lot to learn. Please. Come with me.”
That voice! So sexy, sultry and Oh so manly. He stepped towards me when the words:
“Cut! Cut!” thundered through the room.
“Roger, stop those mincing steps and hip swaying. You’re a vampire, for Pete’s sake.”
“Well really, Donald, I’m doing my best. I’m not used to these dark clothes. You know I like bright colours.”
My leading man pouted, sulked and flapped his arms resembling a windmill on speed. The spell was broken. The illusion gone. Realistic looking plastic fangs were fired across the room, spraying all and sundry with bogus blood. Perhaps gay vampires may become the rage. I must send Anne Rice a wee note. Ideas for her next novel.
It would be decidedly more fun!
The three Mouseketeers stepped out once again
Angela, Joseph, Phyllis stepped on the plane 
The destination was hot and dry
Dry on two counts, no whiskey or rye
They’re off to Morocco, the red painted town
Still very hot when the sun goes down
Three hours later they step off their flight
Morocco is warm and pretty at night
Their taxi was driven by a guide who would
Explain the city as best he could
Six pairs of eyes darted around
Devoured every sight, heard every sound 
Of this desert built city that they’d only seen
On brochures and pamphlets and T.V screen
Our trio were ejected in a dark cobbled street
Coats on their shoulders, bags at their feet
They looked at each other and were deathly afraid
Rumours of kidnap and evil slave trade
Angela and Phyllis they could understand
Concubines for a rich, old African man
But Joseph? Well, he is a good raconteur
He could entertain guests in the Presidents lair
The three stood still in this street very narrow
As a young boy approached with an outsize wheel barrow
The luggage was lifted and stashed in the cart
Fear in their eyes, terror in the heart
They lowered their heads in silent defeat
Too late now to beat a retreat
With a wave of his hands the driver yelled “Go!”
“Go! Go! with the boy, the way he will know,
He’s sure where to take you, it’s not very far.
But I sure can’t bring my motor car.”
With leaden steps and side by side
Three figures followed their Moroccan guide
Round creepy corners and cul de sacs
Weary travellers near heart attacks
But then the boy stopped and pointed down
To an iron grilled door painted brown
“Riad Irene,” he said with a grin
“Zis is you. You go in?”
Our friends gazed at the sinister door
The final destination scared them more
Maybe insects galore as big as a house
Then meet little Minnie and Mickey Mouse
But at least they’re not kidnapped
Let’s see what’s in store
Behind that dark, iron-clad front door.
TO BE CONTINUED…….
Phyllis McKenna 