George received an invitation. The pleasure of his company was requested at a reunion of the class of nineteen thirty-one, transport to be provided. He thought it odd. Surely, he was the only one remaining.
Nevertheless, on the appointed afternoon he donned his best suit, a crisp white shirt and even found his old school tie.
Georges attempts at making conversation with his driver were met with silence. He was just dropped at the hall, then the car sped off.
The door was ajar. It creaked as he pushed it open.
Through the gloom, he could just make out ten figures, scattered around, motionless. One by one ten heads turned to face him. Ten gaunt expressionless faces stared at him.
He began to recognise them. But they’d passed away years ago, hadn’t they? He’d attended some of their funerals.
As one, they stretched out their arms toward him. He shivered. Deciding not to stay he turned to head for the door, but where was it? No door. No walls, no ceiling. Just … nothing.
Slowly the figures circled around him, hands beckoning as they closed in. Closer and closer they came. Then they were gone. They were all … gone.
Thanks to Donna for hosting.
Photo courtesy of Morguefile