Mrs Jones' Book Club

Mrs Jones walked around the house one last time before her guests arrived. She wanted to ensure that everything was in order and that no mess was visible.

While she resented doing this, she accepted that it was necessary.

Last month, Judith had actually wiped her finger around a lampshade and proudly shown her neighbour the thin coat of dust that had covered it.

Mrs Jones felt that people like Judith would be the first against the wall come the revolution.

Of course, not all messes were able to be hidden. The cobwebs in the corner of the room were impossible to reach - even with the extendable duster her grandson had bought her.

And small spots of black mould were beginning to appear at the bottom of the curtains. But those would have to be dealt with at a later date.

There was a loud knock on the door, and her cat, Arthur, sprinted out of the cat flap to the safety of the garden. Arthur was usually a very friendly cat, but book club meetings always brought out the introvert in her beloved tabby.

Mrs Jones shuffled slowly to the door, wondering which member had decided to turn up early.

Probably one of the newer members, most of the older group had become somewhat laissez-faire in their attitude to punctuality. Often arriving at ten or even a quarter past the hour.

Newer members often arrived on time, and then slowly came to the realisation that turning up on time only meant sitting in awkward silence with the host while awaiting the others.

She opened the door and almost let out a gasp of surprise. Only managing to stop herself at the last second. The woman in front of her was tiny. And so very old. As with most inhabitants of the village, Mrs Jones would hardly consider herself young, but this woman looked to be somewhat north of 100.

She was dressed all in black and wore a small hat that would have been considered fashionable in the 1890s. But the woman wore her outfit with confidence, and it somehow suited her.

In her hands, she clutched a large handbag. It was made of very old and cracked leather. It too was black.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Jones, my name is Eva. I'm here for the book club"

Chapter Two

The first thing that struck her was the woman's accent. It was definitely Eastern European, but she wasn't sure exactly what part. Hungarian? Czechoslovakian?

Basil was not going to like this, she thought to herself. He struggles with people born outside of Lincolnshire, let alone people from Eastern Europe.

It was interesting, thought Mrs Jones, that Eva had turned up. Usually, new members were roped into joining by a current member, rather than joining of their own free will. But the book club needed some new blood, and Mrs Jones was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

This was a tremendous opportunity, and Mrs Jones knew that the others would be pleased.

She stepped to one side and gestured for Eva to enter.

"Hello Eva, come right this way, you're the first one here, so you get to pick the best seat in the house"

The woman paused for a fraction of a second before walking through the doorway, and Mrs Jones could have sworn that she had shivered as she passed the threshold. But that might have just been her imagination.

"You have a beautiful home", Eva exclaimed as they walked through the hallway and into the living room. "I adore this coffee table".

"Yes, it's been in my family for generations", said Mrs Jones, who was very pleased that Eva had noticed the table. It really was a thing of beauty. Dark, black wood, with markings all along the side.

Eva took a seat by the fireplace and lightly ran her fingers across the surface of the table.

The doorbell went, and as it did, Eva jolted slightly, her finger catching on a small splinter. "Would you like me to get you a plaster, my dear?" Mrs Jones asked, looking anxiously down at the carpet beneath the bleeding finger.

"No, that's fine, Mrs Jones. It's just a small scratch," Eva sucked her finger and sat back in her armchair. The doorbell rang again.

"That will be Basil, the man has absolutely no patience"

Mrs Jones stalked to the front door and opened it with perhaps a little more energy than she would normally have done.

"Afternoon, Gladys, gorgeous weather we're having. Not a cloud in the sky."

Basil stood wearing his standard red cardigan, mustard yellow corduroy trousers, and, somewhat surprisingly, a pair of Crocs on his feet.

"My granddaughter bought them for me" he said, a tad defensively, when he caught Mrs Jones' raised eyebrow. "They look ridiculous, but by the Gods, they are the most comfortable shoes I've ever worn".

"Well, come on in then, Basil. Don't forget to wipe your Crocs before you come in"

"Oh, ha, ha"

They walked through the hallway into the living room, where Basil slapped eyes on Eva. "Ah, new blood", he exclaimed, walking over to her, hand extended. "Very nice to meet you ..."

"Eva"

"Very nice to meet you Eva, I'm Basil. Is that an accent I hear?"

"Well, yes, I'm actually from a small village in Romania. I moved to England in the 90s, but my accent never left me"

"Ah, well then, very nice to meet you", said Basil, though he looked a little uncomfortable. Mrs Jones suspected that Basil had a number of thoughts about Romania that were better left unsaid.

"Have you brought a book?" She asked Eva, mostly to change the subject. The advert for the book club made it very clear that new members must bring a book to their first meeting.

"Why, yes I have Mrs Jones" said Eva, with a small smile on her face. "But, I'll save it until after the meeting. That way it can be a nice surprise" Mrs Jones felt a tingle of something (excitement? fear?) when she heard that, but she couldn't say why.

The doorbell rang again, and Mrs Jones hurried to answer, leaving Basil and Eva sitting in awkward silence.

Chapter Three

Over the next 20 minutes, seven other members came to the door. Mrs Jones got her tea orders in, and everyone agreed that the heatwave they were in was definitely a record-breaker.

This was no exaggeration; there hadn’t been a drop of rain in weeks, and the local farmers had spent the past fortnight complaining to anyone who would listen about the state of their finances. All while standing beside the bar in the Coach & Horses pub.

Archie Gray, the oldest man in the village, said that the last time the village had had a heatwave such as this it had lasted 6 weeks and three farms had gone bust. Mrs Jones didn’t put too much stock into Archie Gray’s words though; the man had lost his marbles about 20 years ago.

But she had to admit that in all her years, she had never experienced anything like this. Something had to be done.

Now that everyone was here, she decided to get the meeting started.

"We've got a new member of our club today, her name is Eva"

There was a chorus of semi-enthusiastic welcomes from the group. Mrs Jones paused, giving Eva a chance to introduce herself.

"Hello everyone, my name is Eva Ardeleanu. I am new to your village, but not new to your country. I was born in a small village in Romania, but moved to England in the 90s. I love your literature, and it has certainly helped me to learn your tongue."

"And have you brought a book for us to read?" Asked Judith, eyeing up Eva's large handbag.

"Yes, I have brought a book that I think is very interesting, and one that you will hopefully enjoy very much"

This last sentence had an odd effect on the audience. Though the words themselves were straightforward, the way that Eva pronounced them made it almost sound like a threat.

A collective shudder seemed to travel through the group. Mrs Jones had to admit to herself that she wasn't sure she liked Eva. Not because she was a foreigner, of course, it was something else.

"Err, thank you for that Eva. I'm sure we'll love whatever book you have brought. But as usual, we'll start by discussing last week's novel. I know that you haven't read it yet, but please feel free to contribute where possible."

And with that, the group spent a fun 30 minutes discussing Eric's book from last week, The Thursday Murder Club.

Mrs Jones, had sighed inwardly to herself when Eric had chosen it, book clubs were supposed to be about unearthing new and interesting books that you may not have otherwise read. The Thursday Murder Club was currently the best selling fiction book in the country. Not exactly a hidden diamond.

But despite her misgivings, she'd enjoyed the book immensely, and felt that the actual mystery at the heart of the book was as solid as any she'd read in a long time.

Basil told Eva that she would definitely enjoy it if she had a chance to read it as "one of your lot is an important character". He was referring to a Polish character, but Mrs Jones decided that he was at least trying.

For the most part, the group agreed that the book had been an excellent choice.

Eva hadn't joined in with the conversation; instead, she just sat quietly in her chair. But as she hadn't read the book, this wasn't unusual. She'd paid close attention to each member and listened carefully as they each dissected the book.

Shadows crept along the room as the discussion drew to a close. They travelled up Eva’s chair, and slowly her body was consumed by darkness. Soon, only her eyes were visible. Mrs Jones rose from her armchair and began to turn on the many lamps that were dotted around her living room.

As she turned the last lamp on, her eyes were drawn to Eva’s, staring almost cat-like from her seat. Mrs Jones could not be sure, but for a second she could have sworn that the eyes flashed red.

Chapter Four

Once the discussion had ended, several members rose, and began to clear the clutter from the coffee table. They carried the empty mugs and saucers into the kitchen, wiped away the crumbs, and Basil went into the kitchen to bring in a large box of knives “For the cake” he responded to Eva’s questioning glance.

“Now, Eva” said Mrs Jones, “it’s time for you to show us your book and explain why you have chosen to share it with us”.

Eva stood up ponderously and moved away from her chair, so that she was right in front of the coffee table. As she did this, Eric knelt down beside the fireplace and began to light the kindling.

“My book is very different to your book”

Eva’s voice was low, and so quiet that many of the book club members leaned forward to hear her more clearly. Clive even tapped his hearing aid.

Flames rose in the grate behind her, with the logs already crackling.

“I read it a long time ago, and it … changed me. I have lived in your country for many years, moving from village to village. And each time, I bring this book with me.”

Judith brought a cake through from the kitchen, and Basil picked up a knife.

“I cannot promise you that you will enjoy the book. In fact, many people tell me that the book is unpleasant. But it will change you. Just like it changed me.”

Eva placed both hands into her handbag, and slowly began to draw the book out. Mrs Jones strained her eyes and thought that she could make out a pair of golden yellow eyes, staring out at her from the cover of the book.

The heat in the living room was immense. With no windows open, no breeze, and flames rising up and down rhythmically.

As Eva triumphantly pulled the book from out of her bag, Basil walked right up to her, raised his arm aloft, there was a bright flash of steel, and then the knife plunged deep into the side of Eva's neck.

Chapter Five

Eva, turned towards Basil, her eyes widening. The book and handbag fell out of her hands and to the floor. Her hands rushed towards the knife that was jutting out of her neck. Blood pumped out of the wound, covering Basil (and Mrs Jones' mould-covered curtains).

Erny stood up from where he had been purched beside the fireplace, walked over to the coffee table, grabbing a second knife as he went, and stabbed Eva in the stomach. Then other members of the book club stood up out of their chairs, and one by one they took their turn to stab the old lady.

Mrs Jones came last, plunging her knife into Eva’s heart. She looked down at the little old lady, and felt nothing but pity for her.

This sacrifice had not been personal, just business. The Gods had withheld the rain, so the innocent had to be slain.

Eva’s body lay across the coffee table.

While her death had been anything but dignified, the book club did their best to give it some ceremony now. Here her body would lie for the 7 days the Gods required.

The members left, one by one, there was little conversation to be had. Nobody enjoyed the sacrifice, it just had to be done. And better it be a stranger than someone from the village.

Mrs Jones walked Basil to the door, commiserating with him that his new Crocs would most likely have to be replaced. As she closed the front door, she could already hear the faint rumble of thunder. The rains would soon begin.

Judith had, surprisingly, offered to help with the cleanup. But that would not start until tomorrow afternoon. The villagers believed that the morning after a sacrifice was a time for rest and self-reflection. The afternoon could be dedicated to white spirit, Vanish Oxi Action, and elbow grease.

As she walked around the living room, Mrs Jones’ foot nudged against a forgotten handbag. Of course, it was Eva’s! Mrs Jones was struck with a sudden curiosity as to what book Eva had chosen.

She put her hand into the bag and slowly drew the book out.

It had a front cover of a roaring tiger with golden yellow eyes.

Not “Life of Pi” again, thought Mrs Jones. That’s the fourth time somebody’s picked that bloody book. She tossed the book into the fireplace, where the flames danced across the tiger’s face.