|Pillar of the village (standard:horror, 1644 words)|
|Author: Lev821||Added: Oct 24 2018||Views/Reads: 267/111||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|A missing person. A suspect. A cold-steeled knife...|
Everybody loved Mrs Leversham, respected member of the community in a small south-western suburb where the area seemed to masquerade as a sea-side town, even though the nearest sea was eleven miles away. Mrs Leversham, widow of fourteen years, emerged from a marriage of convienience where her husband Craig, was a straight down the line sort of gentleman, where money was used on essentials and bills, and anything left was used to convert in to alcoholic beverage. He wasn't a drunkard, and she herself was no innocent, as she would sometimes partake in its consumption, but their lives were very repetitious, and even though being 'careful' with money was a priority, they both agreed they could afford a baby. So along came Anthony, their only child. Craig would work long hours in his full-time job as deputy assistant commissioner for Somerset police, and she working as a Librarian meant holidays had to be planned way in advance. A week in Blackpool was as adventurous as they got, spent mostly sunning themselves on the crowded beach deck chairs in the closing stages of the Victorian era. Anthony with ice-cream on his face splashing along the shoreline. When Craig died of heart-attack at work, Mrs Leversham did mourn, but not for long, and she gradually emerged a new person, unleashed from the shackles of a marriage where the love she had for him had faded, but not completely. Anthony had gone to college to learn computing, but had returned disillusioned as the work had become too much for him to handle. He had gone to London, convinced it was the place to go to earn success and make a name for yourself, and became something of an amateur boxer, always skirting around the edges of a breakthrough. Mrs Leversham had blossomed out to try new things. Crochet, painting, and volunteering at the local church, organising events and functions. She was one of those people whom everybody seemed to know, and like, except that was, for Raymond. He hated her. Hated her with a passion, yet, he hated her son even more. A spoilt child who had never known discipline. Always got his way. Grew up as the school bully. Raymond a particular target because as well as being the same age and attending the same class, he lived local as well. It was mostly psychological bullying. Anthony always thought he had a sense of superiority, and a lot of people were not even worthy of his acknowledgement, but most of the attention he gave to Raymond was critical, belittling. He always found something to sneer at. 'Did you cut your hair yourself?', 'Still wearing the same clothes from years ago'. So Raymond was glad when he left for London, but once a week he would come up to visit his mother, in his posh deep red Alfa Romeo spider car, wearing sunglasses and sporting a t-shirt in all weathers, flaunting the spoils of his wealth, and of his parent's generosity. He would always drop in on Raymond for a one-sided conversation about how well he is doing, even though he had never made the transition to professional, Raymond would always appear interested, ask questions and compliment him, so Anthony would leave satisfied, his ego massaged. Raymond sometimes had reason to cross paths with his mother, and she looked down her nose at him, as did a lot of people in the area, saw him as the village oddball, even though there was no real justification for it. He was a thin, reedy figure who mostly wore bright and odd clothing, not quite 'normal', with hoop earrings in the top of his ears, and charm bracelets. When people take a disliking to someone, it usually takes a strained effort to reverse it, similar to first impressions, judgements can be Click here to read the rest of this story (111 more lines)
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