Added£1.29Add to basket(A short story of 4836 words)
Ms Wright
Crime and Thrillers
by Angela Huskisson
A tale of a strange and yet compelling woman, an enigma who draws in her 'carriers' to do her bidding. But all is not how it seems as she spreads her poison. But her trail is already of interest.
Ms Wright, Dee Wright. That was her name; thin, pale and some might even say ‘interesting’. I suppose the first word to describe her would be ‘striking’, but that could have just been a trick of the light. Eyes which appeared like quicksilver, glaucous, but in reality were of the palest violet. She worked at night and slept all day and perhaps that explained her strange pallor. No-one knew about her links to the spiritual world at the time, but one did note the men. She was always with men, not apparently of a passionate nature but surrounding her, like moths inhaling her light. And such a strange light too, but attractive in that compelling manner which was hers alone.
She rarely spoke, she rarely smiled and she was seldom sighted with the same man twice. Of course I often wondered what the attraction was and that’s when I did a silly thing- I decided to follow her. It was a cool evening, getting dark early now, when out of sheer cat like curiosity and because I really had nothing better to do I slipped into the shadows and trailed her. Her heels click- clacked all the way down Main Street and then she took a left into South 31st. She drew her soft coat to the stem of her body, the collar fluting prettily around that long neck, hair swept up as if dressed for a special occasion. She didn’t wear jewellery, she wasn’t the type.
She worked in an all-night dispensary, an ordinary looking place caught between buildings. I spied her through the tiny window while she worked busily concocting, making notes, steadily engrossed in study with spectacles perched on the end of her long nose. And then she turned a full ninety degrees on her stool and was suddenly heading for the rear door towards the street. Following a short interval she returned, head down, and continued studiously with her work. And at that precise point I entered the dispensary and began to peruse the shelves. I spied a bored looking ugly young man seated at a desk so I marched straight over and asked to see the pharmacist: her.
‘Just a moment,’ he said. And then there she was materialising right in front of me. Ms D. Wright spelled her badge. I made up some cock and bull story about a headache, temperature, painful joints, that sort of thing.
‘Sounds like a touch of the ‘flu,’ she drawled, all flat vowels. ‘There’s a lot of it about.’ She waved a hand idly at a bank of cold remedies.
‘Not a lot to worry about at your age I shouldn’t think’ she said, ‘but check out emergency if things start to feel worse or you get a rash, that sort of thing. Always best to err on the side of caution. But if I were you I’d go home, keep warm and take plenty of fluids.’
She looked weary, her translucent skin sharpened by the harsh shop lighting, bluish smudges reflecting from high cheekbones. She didn’t look at me directly, I was of little interest to her, but I caught her scent and gagged a little on its sickly notes...
Ms Wright, Dee Wright. That was her name; thin, pale and some might even say ‘interesting’. I suppose the first word to describe her would be ‘striking’, but that could have just been a trick of the light. Eyes which appeared like quicksilver, glaucous, but in reality were of the palest violet. She worked at night and slept all day and perhaps that explained her strange pallor. No-one knew about her links to the spiritual world at the time, but one did note the men. She was always with men, not apparently of a passionate nature but surrounding her, like moths inhaling her light. And such a strange light too, but attractive in that compelling manner which was hers alone.
She rarely spoke, she rarely smiled and she was seldom sighted with the same man twice. Of course I often wondered what the attraction was and that’s when I did a silly thing- I decided to follow her. It was a cool evening, getting dark early now, when out of sheer cat like curiosity and because I really had nothing better to do I slipped into the shadows and trailed her. Her heels click- clacked all the way down Main Street and then she took a left into South 31st. She drew her soft coat to the stem of her body, the collar fluting prettily around that long neck, hair swept up as if dressed for a special occasion. She didn’t wear jewellery, she wasn’t the type.
She worked in an all-night dispensary, an ordinary looking place caught between buildings. I spied her through the tiny window while she worked busily concocting, making notes, steadily engrossed in study with spectacles perched on the end of her long nose. And then she turned a full ninety degrees on her stool and was suddenly heading for the rear door towards the street. Following a short interval she returned, head down, and continued studiously with her work. And at that precise point I entered the dispensary and began to peruse the shelves. I spied a bored looking ugly young man seated at a desk so I marched straight over and asked to see the pharmacist: her.
‘Just a moment,’ he said. And then there she was materialising right in front of me. Ms D. Wright spelled her badge. I made up some cock and bull story about a headache, temperature, painful joints, that sort of thing.
‘Sounds like a touch of the ‘flu,’ she drawled, all flat vowels. ‘There’s a lot of it about.’ She waved a hand idly at a bank of cold remedies.
‘Not a lot to worry about at your age I shouldn’t think’ she said, ‘but check out emergency if things start to feel worse or you get a rash, that sort of thing. Always best to err on the side of caution. But if I were you I’d go home, keep warm and take plenty of fluids.’
She looked weary, her translucent skin sharpened by the harsh shop lighting, bluish smudges reflecting from high cheekbones. She didn’t look at me directly, I was of little interest to her, but I caught her scent and gagged a little on its sickly notes...