HOME | DD

Description

Merriam closed the lid of her laptop with a sigh, the words of those she'd been talking with online - and the concerning news report - still circling in her head.

"They said there's a bug going round, some kind of flu.."

"Maybe there was something in the drinks?"

"The deaths were of the elderly affected."

She stood from her chair and tugged her shawl tighter over her shoulders, suppressing a shiver. The city had been abuzz with St. Patrick's Day excitement, and although Merriam herself could not attend the infamous parade, she appreciated the joy of going out and celebrating the holiday with merriment and drinks. But ever since then, citizens were becoming ill. First it was just a few, then it was many, and now poor people were succumbing to this 'green flu' and meeting their end far too soon. Meanwhile, the Council assured all was well.

Merriam grimaced at the thought. All was not well.

Mrs Boswell, her elderly landlady, had been one of the many attending the parade, but she had barely made a sound since returning. No checking in, no stories or gossip to share. Just total silence. That in itself was worrying enough for Merriam's nerves to flare.

Slipping on a pair of simple flats, she left her apartment and ascended the small flight of stairs leading up to her landlady's home. They lived above and below one another, with Merriam taking the space above the bookshop so she could attend to it day after day. She was thankful for that fact now more than ever; being able to check on her friend without travelling too far.

Mrs Boswell's kindness knew no bounds and Merriam was lucky to have found a place to stay, a stable job, and a trustworthy friend in the old woman. When she had first arrived in Bristol all those years ago, Merriam was terrified. Terrified that she would be discovered, terrified of this new place. The streets were odd and filled with strangers. Everything was unnerving; the glances, the buildings, the alleyways. This wasn't like the little village from West Virginia, or even the towns she had passed on her way.

She'd wanted to leave - just keep running and running and running... Until an unassuming building with books lining the window ledge caught her eye. It was a small establishment, aged but sturdy, with a large bay window at the front with elegant letters engraved in frosted film: Boswell's Books. Merriam had entered without knowing what to expect, but just standing amongst the shelves upon shelves of stories and knowledge gave her a sense of relief she had not felt in years. When the old woman first emerged, seemingly from nowhere as the cryptid was distracted, Merriam startled harshly and nearly reverted to her true form in surprise. But the kind eyes that met her own made her pause, still wary, but not in fear. The elderly lady smiled, made a gentle comment about loud noises in her library, and invited Merriam for some tea. From there, despite some hesitation on Merriam's part and weeks of quelling the 'what ifs' from her mind, the two grew closer. From short, tea-time conversations to Merriam lending a hand at the combined bookshop-library and moving in upstairs. They had kept each other company ever since.

Merriam stepped up to the front door of Mrs Boswell's apartment and tapped her knuckles against it lightly. "Mrs Boswell?" She called timidly.

No reply.

She tried again. "Mrs Boswell? It's Merriam. Are you alright?"

Faintly, very faintly, a muffled "Merriam..?" drifted through the woodwork in reply, exhausted and laboured as if it were a struggle to say. It was not the cheerful greeting she'd become familiar with.

With a hardened resolve Merriam turned the door handle, grateful for once that the old lady left said door unlocked, and made her way inside.

She got no further than the doorway before stopping short in shock, a hand flying to her mouth and eyes widening in panic. Mrs Boswell's home was normally a comforting place; the kind of welcoming home a grandparent may have, with photos of family lining flower-printed walls, knick-knacks and treasures stored in polished cabinets and on cloth-covered hardwood tables, and the scent of lavender, sweet shortbread and rich teas settling as naturally as air.

Only this time, that comforting, homely smell was tinted with the hauntingly familiar tinge of copper. Blood, the cryptid's brain helpfully reminded.

"Mrs Boswell?..." Merriam's voice rose no higher than a whisper. The scene was not as horrific as her anxious mind had made it out to be, but it was not pleasant, and did little to cease her distress. The landlady was huddled uncomfortably on the cushion-ladened couch, her eyes bloodshot and tired, skin pale, and drips of red weeping from her nose to upper lip. She looked horrible. Miserable.

Merriam darted forwards as quick as she dare and grabbed a handkerchief from the coffee table, offering it to the woman and lifting another cautious hand to her back. There was little protest.

"What on earth happened?" Merriam asked, half breathless in her worry. As she scanned the room she noticed small droplets of the same crimson red on the normally pristine cream carpet. She blinked away from them.

Mrs Boswell shook her head twice slowly, wincing as if even the minor movement caused her pain, but looked up with wrinkled, red-rimmed eyes and smiled regardless. A smile that spoke without words; I'm fine dear, don't worry about me. It's just a cold, she would say if she could.

"This is the 'green flu', isn't it? From the news? It seems the whole city is coming down with this cursed illness." Merriam said quickly, not quite sure if it was to herself or to the poor woman beside her. "And the Council insists everything is fine? Fine indeed. This is an epidemic!"

An aged hand found its way onto Merriam's and she paused in her outrage. She sighed, taking the older woman's free hand in her own. "Do you have some medicine?" A head shake no, another wince. "I'm sorry.." Merriam said softly. Mrs Boswell waved the hand clutching the handkerchief, as if to bat away the matter.

"I will go and get antibiotics. Or a doctor. Whichever I find first. But before that," Merriam wrapped an arm around the old woman's back and helped her carefully to her feet. "..Let us get you to bed to rest. As your temporary doctor, I order it." There was a small chuckle, and Merriam allowed a brief smile in return.

After helping Mrs Boswell to her bed and ensuring she had water, tissues and plenty of blankets, Merriam left the apartment, her head positively whirring. How could this have happened? So many people sick, dead even, in such a short time, and all starting on the same day. It made no sense - no natural sense anyway. The cryptid's curiosity nagged at the back of her mind that this wasn't normal, that she had to investigate.

But no, now wasn't the time. Maybe after, when her dear friend was well again, but not before. Perhaps the books would know something?

She returned to her own humble home, hastily gathering her coat, keys and purse before leaving in a hurry. Down the rickety staircase and out into the street, the chilly March air clinging to her cheeks. Merriam kept a brisk pace the entire way, hoping, praying that she would find a cure in time.

With that cure, maybe she would find some answers as well.

***

Description

Merriam closed the lid of her laptop with a sigh, the words of those she'd been talking with online - and the concerning news report - still circling in her head.

"They said there's a bug going round, some kind of flu.."

"Maybe there was something in the drinks?"

"The deaths were of the elderly affected."

She stood from her chair and tugged her shawl tighter over her shoulders, suppressing a shiver. The city had been abuzz with St. Patrick's Day excitement, and although Merriam herself could not attend the infamous parade, she appreciated the joy of going out and celebrating the holiday with merriment and drinks. But ever since then, citizens were becoming ill. First it was just a few, then it was many, and now poor people were succumbing to this 'green flu' and meeting their end far too soon. Meanwhile, the Council assured all was well.

Merriam grimaced at the thought. All was not well.

Mrs Boswell, her elderly landlady, had been one of the many attending the parade, but she had barely made a sound since returning. No checking in, no stories or gossip to share. Just total silence. That in itself was worrying enough for Merriam's nerves to flare.

Slipping on a pair of simple flats, she left her apartment and ascended the small flight of stairs leading up to her landlady's home. They lived above and below one another, with Merriam taking the space above the bookshop so she could attend to it day after day. She was thankful for that fact now more than ever; being able to check on her friend without travelling too far.

Mrs Boswell's kindness knew no bounds and Merriam was lucky to have found a place to stay, a stable job, and a trustworthy friend in the old woman. When she had first arrived in Bristol all those years ago, Merriam was terrified. Terrified that she would be discovered, terrified of this new place. The streets were odd and filled with strangers. Everything was unnerving; the glances, the buildings, the alleyways. This wasn't like the little village from West Virginia, or even the towns she had passed on her way.

She'd wanted to leave - just keep running and running and running... Until an unassuming building with books lining the window ledge caught her eye. It was a small establishment, aged but sturdy, with a large bay window at the front with elegant letters engraved in frosted film: Boswell's Books. Merriam had entered without knowing what to expect, but just standing amongst the shelves upon shelves of stories and knowledge gave her a sense of relief she had not felt in years. When the old woman first emerged, seemingly from nowhere as the cryptid was distracted, Merriam startled harshly and nearly reverted to her true form in surprise. But the kind eyes that met her own made her pause, still wary, but not in fear. The elderly lady smiled, made a gentle comment about loud noises in her library, and invited Merriam for some tea. From there, despite some hesitation on Merriam's part and weeks of quelling the 'what ifs' from her mind, the two grew closer. From short, tea-time conversations to Merriam lending a hand at the combined bookshop-library and moving in upstairs. They had kept each other company ever since.

Merriam stepped up to the front door of Mrs Boswell's apartment and tapped her knuckles against it lightly. "Mrs Boswell?" She called timidly.

No reply.

She tried again. "Mrs Boswell? It's Merriam. Are you alright?"

Faintly, very faintly, a muffled "Merriam..?" drifted through the woodwork in reply, exhausted and laboured as if it were a struggle to say. It was not the cheerful greeting she'd become familiar with.

With a hardened resolve Merriam turned the door handle, grateful for once that the old lady left said door unlocked, and made her way inside.

She got no further than the doorway before stopping short in shock, a hand flying to her mouth and eyes widening in panic. Mrs Boswell's home was normally a comforting place; the kind of welcoming home a grandparent may have, with photos of family lining flower-printed walls, knick-knacks and treasures stored in polished cabinets and on cloth-covered hardwood tables, and the scent of lavender, sweet shortbread and rich teas settling as naturally as air.

Only this time, that comforting, homely smell was tinted with the hauntingly familiar tinge of copper. Blood, the cryptid's brain helpfully reminded.

"Mrs Boswell?..." Merriam's voice rose no higher than a whisper. The scene was not as horrific as her anxious mind had made it out to be, but it was not pleasant, and did little to cease her distress. The landlady was huddled uncomfortably on the cushion-ladened couch, her eyes bloodshot and tired, skin pale, and drips of red weeping from her nose to upper lip. She looked horrible. Miserable.

Merriam darted forwards as quick as she dare and grabbed a handkerchief from the coffee table, offering it to the woman and lifting another cautious hand to her back. There was little protest.

"What on earth happened?" Merriam asked, half breathless in her worry. As she scanned the room she noticed small droplets of the same crimson red on the normally pristine cream carpet. She blinked away from them.

Mrs Boswell shook her head twice slowly, wincing as if even the minor movement caused her pain, but looked up with wrinkled, red-rimmed eyes and smiled regardless. A smile that spoke without words; I'm fine dear, don't worry about me. It's just a cold, she would say if she could.

"This is the 'green flu', isn't it? From the news? It seems the whole city is coming down with this cursed illness." Merriam said quickly, not quite sure if it was to herself or to the poor woman beside her. "And the Council insists everything is fine? Fine indeed. This is an epidemic!"

An aged hand found its way onto Merriam's and she paused in her outrage. She sighed, taking the older woman's free hand in her own. "Do you have some medicine?" A head shake no, another wince. "I'm sorry.." Merriam said softly. Mrs Boswell waved the hand clutching the handkerchief, as if to bat away the matter.

"I will go and get antibiotics. Or a doctor. Whichever I find first. But before that," Merriam wrapped an arm around the old woman's back and helped her carefully to her feet. "..Let us get you to bed to rest. As your temporary doctor, I order it." There was a small chuckle, and Merriam allowed a brief smile in return.

After helping Mrs Boswell to her bed and ensuring she had water, tissues and plenty of blankets, Merriam left the apartment, her head positively whirring. How could this have happened? So many people sick, dead even, in such a short time, and all starting on the same day. It made no sense - no natural sense anyway. The cryptid's curiosity nagged at the back of her mind that this wasn't normal, that she had to investigate.

But no, now wasn't the time. Maybe after, when her dear friend was well again, but not before. Perhaps the books would know something?

She returned to her own humble home, hastily gathering her coat, keys and purse before leaving in a hurry. Down the rickety staircase and out into the street, the chilly March air clinging to her cheeks. Merriam kept a brisk pace the entire way, hoping, praying that she would find a cure in time.

With that cure, maybe she would find some answers as well.

***