Gerascophobia

Mal and Gillian had been at the little B&B in the wilds of Dorset for five days when she fell ill. Harold and Myra had been kind enough to extend their stay by a couple of days, just until Gillian felt well enough to make the trip back home to Manchester. The holiday had been absolutely perfect, for all its imperfections, like Mal's car backfiring and leaking oil, and Gillian being spooked by a couple of local girls dressed in scarecrow outfits. Aside from those incidents, it had been a beautiful time, the first they had managed to enjoy since lockdown ended and restrictions eased off. Harold and Myra were every bit the kind, eccentric, old-country English hosts various reviewers had described online.

Gillian quickly grew fond of Harold, and they shared many giggles. When Mal asked if he should feel threatened, she just grinned and told him, "Maybe. Should I be worried about you with Myra? I've seen the winks and smiles she gives you!"

The cottage was immaculate and beautifully decorated to match its rural location. Patterned wallpapers featured lively scenes of daffodils, meadows, and various farm and wild animals frolicking. The food had been the home-cooked, filling, and tasty but humble delights they had been promised ahead of their trip.

It was, by all accounts, a splendid trip. Until Harold found Gillian bent over a trough looking even paler than normal.

Mal returned from a quick trip to the local town to get some painkillers to find Gillian had been moved from their double bedroom into the small single bedroom next door to their host's master bedroom. She was in good spirits, sitting up and giggling as Harold told another of his remarkable and wild stories of his past. She was feverish, but Mal was glad she was laughing. Myra was scuttling about as she had been the entire time they had been there. She was remarkably energetic for a woman of her age.

When Mal entered the room, Harold said that she should get some rest and, rather oddly for Mal at least, gave Gillian a kiss on the forehead. She didn't seem to mind and just giggled when he told her to get some beauty sleep. Harold’s hands stroked at Gill’s, which made Mal a little uncomfortable. Mal had a questioning look on his face and asked, "What’s all that about?" but Gill just brushed it off and told him not to worry. “He’s just a kindly old man,” she said.

After they sat and chatted about their plans for their house when they got back home, Gillian yawned and found it hard to keep her eyes open. Mal kissed her on the forehead then the lips and told her he'd check on her in the morning and went to his own room.

Mal couldn't help but feel something was terribly wrong. The old couple’s kindness felt staged, like it was a cover. Gill’s illness did nothing to settle his troubled mind. He figured he was tired and stressed and needed some shut-eye. As something of a modern city boy, he was not used to old-fashioned rural hospitality. As he lay in bed, he heard the creaks of the floorboards and figured the old couple had retired to bed too.

His deep sleep was interrupted by what he thought was a scream. He rushed out of bed and into the hallway where Harold was standing holding his finger to his lips. "Shh, it was just a damn fox! Go back to bed, man." Mal was ready to object and suggest he check on Gillian when Myra came out in her dressing gown from Gillian's room. "She's fine, Mal. Be a good boy and go back to bed, your Gillian will be there in the morning!" Harold put his arm around Mal and directed him back to bed, with more force than he expected from the old man.

Mal couldn't sleep, though, try as hard as he might. In the dark, his anxiety was playing tricks on him. He thought he heard voices but then saw a raven calling out beyond his window that overlooked some trees. Finally, he drifted off to sleep and was woken at dawn to a horrendous scream and lots of arguing. Dragging himself out of bed quickly, he ran into the hall and could hear the voices coming from Gillian's new bedroom. He tried to open the door, but it was locked, so he knocked and knocked, calling out to those in the room. They either didn't hear him or ignored him because the door remained locked and the voices continued arguing, more audibly recognizable as Myra and Harold. There was clearly some commotion, which worried Mal.

"Just a minute, deary," a rather reluctant and harassed Myra called out from behind the door.

"What's going on?" he called out.

"Gillian, the poor thing, has had a bit of a bad turn, and we had to take appropriate action. I'll come out and explain everything in a moment," Harold responded. If that was supposed to reassure him and put his mind at ease, it didn't work, Mal thought as he paced outside, occasionally threatening to break the door down.

After some time, Harold emerged from behind the door with blood soaking his dressing gown and tartan pyjama bottoms. The colour in Mal's face drained at the sight, until Gillian came running out behind Harold and gave him an enormous hug. Myra crept out of the room more timidly than usual behind the other two and had a sad look on her face but remained silent.

"I'm feeling much better now. Harold really helped me out. Don't worry about the blood, it was a little cut that got out of hand for a moment there."

"What happened?" Mal protested, demanding more than the explanation he was given so far.

"Everything's quite alright, son. Gillian is right as rain. We would love for you to stay longer, but Myra is not herself at the moment, I'm afraid, and needs some time to unwind after the drama of the last few days." Harold insisted, hoping to reassure Mal.

While it didn't completely put his mind at rest, he was happy that they could finally leave.

Mal and Gillian got their stuff together and were led out by Harold who said that Myra wishes she could see them off but has taken to bed. Mal did not see the wink that Gillian gave to Harold as he licked his lips. As the couple got in their car and drove up the long and winding drive away from the B&B, Mal turned to look back. He was still feeling uneasy about all that had happened but was glad to see the quaint little B&B disappearing into the distance. His thoughts were interrupted with shock as he reached out to hold Gillian’s hand and felt a wrinkled leathery hand in place of her own smooth one. As his heart pounded, he turned to face Gillian, only to see her youthful hand in his own. He really needed sleep in his own bed.

The sooner they got home and away from the chaos of their trip, the better, he thought as they turned out onto a country lane.

Harold entered the house and headed to the master bedroom.

"How long will I be here for?" Myra asked, with fear in her voice, as he entered the room and locked the door behind him. Harold just smiled.