He wasn’t there, but at the same time, what resembled fate’s indiscernible force dragged him to deal with the bunch of people gathered around him. Moved by her desire of showing off in front of her acquaintances, his mother decided to celebrate a party on behalf of their first year living at Newdale. A joke to him, an opportunity to her. Nonetheless, he had no other choice than keeping up with everyone who showed up at their place: teachers, co-workers, pals from school, etc… It looked as if this time she had called every number on the contacts’ list on her phone. No one was missing, even those he had only spoke to once like Tim, the old neighbour from the house next to his, had been invited.

—Young man, it is a pleasure to share this town with you and your mother —Tim gave him a warm yet uncomfortable hug. —Why don’t you give our church a chance? Me and my wife would feel proud of welcoming you —the elder asked smiling with his nearly putrid teeth.

—Maybe another time, mister —he politely refused.

As he walked around the house, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of being out placed amid that revelry which reached its epitome when no longer the spotlight shone over the one year anniversary of their staying but the wish of having fun, much more than what those people seemed to crave for. He had no words to describe that general ease, that impudence other than: —Weird.

Even though sanity slowly begun to vanish among the air, there was still hope for someone like him to enjoy that feast for at least a minute. Helen, the girl he had being paired with for his Literature class’ James Joyce project, was there as well, tasting the strong flavour of the old Scottish Single Malt opened by his mother as soon as the guests started to arrive.

—Afternoon, Helen —he greeted her as she put away the glass she had in hand in order to reply.

—Your mom seems to be very popular, no one would’ve ever guessed it —she innocently said, unaware of the true reasons behind her charisma.

—I suppose you can say that, but this isn’t my kind of evening.

—Mine neither.

Both kept looking from afar the on going folly, whit his mother standing out from the rest of merry servants. While doing so, he fixed on her, acknowledging that same boredom suffered by him in her cold-livered face. Pretty outside, properly interesting inside.

—Would you mind leaving all this behind and go on a ride with me? —he decided to ask Helen, assure that she would most likely turn down the offer.

—Mhmm… —although never preoccupied by sharing his time with others, he now felt slightly nervous. —Actually, I would certainly like to.

They posed their drinks on the table by their side, got to the door and opened it. He then gave one last look back at those carefree souls and denied with his head at their behaviour.

—Are you coming? —Helen asked, who was already next to the car.

—Of course —he shut the entrance and quickly ran to her. The engine was turned on and its sound vaguely faded away to the twilight embellishing the horizon.

The next morning, he returned home and there was no sight of his colleague . He then took off the car and got inside the house, which now was completely empty but still uncleaned. Every glass, can or plate used the day before thrown on the floor. It was time to wipe every trace of evidence.

—Mother —he shouted. —Why do you always leave it like this? I’m tired of having to clean this mess every time we do this.

—Back at it again? —she showed up, wearing the blue velvet bathrobe she liked to use after finishing with the living banquet. —Didn’t we talk about it the last time?

He looked at her and replied: —Yes, and the time before, but it always seems as if you forget that I’m no butler. Every sixty years I find myself on my knees cleaning these nasty leftovers, all smelling the same.

—Luckily, blood isn’t a problem.

—Mom!

—Okay, you’re right and I’m sorry, Vincent —she sounded honest. —But now tell me, how was your date?

—Date?

—Well, you never told me the name of the girl you went out yesterday with.

—Oh, you mean Helen —he scratched his head and sigh. —She was okay, a bit salty but mostly sweet and soft to bite. Better than what I thought.

—I’m glad you could enjoy her.

Vincent nodded and said: —But for the next time, can’t we just go to a place with less people? Like Flannan Isles or even Roanoke, I’m starting to get tired of all these hip mortals. They can’t be more stupid to interact with. Did you see Tim? Pfff, what a gross man. Father couldn’t have chosen worst.

—Yes, we can do that, but if your demonic stomach starts to feel hungry, don’t blame me. Remember how much time we gotta wait until our next meal.

—Hu!, I’m sure thirteen people are more than enough for two ancient spirits like us.

—Whatever, you impish child. Now, finish with this while I pack our stuff before the alarms go off. I don’t wanna deal with any police men this time.

Vincent and his mother left the whole house unpolluted, just like if never a party had taken place in there. Got onto the vehicle and drove away. On the road, as the green from the forest began to blur both sides of the highway, Vincent wanted to ask a question: —What do you think journalists will come up with this time? The Bennington Triangle was a god one, just like Bermudas.

—Aaaah, I like that one too.

—Yeah, it was pretty good, but tell me, what’s your bet?

—I would say… —she took a few minutes to think on the name. —What about “The Lost Souls of Newdale “?

—Wow, I’m impressed —Vincent clapped. —I was gonna say The Newdale Lapse, because, you know, no one will never know what happened to these people between the 6pm from yesterday ’til today’s morning. But I gotta say that yours is awesome, I’ll take it.

While mother and son were having a fun discussion on what the best name for what they had done hours prior could be, their car, inchmeal, dissolved in the fog surrounding the trees and shrubbery, as well as the sound of their voices in the echoes of time. Another place awaited their arrival, and in sixty years, they would meet their new guests.

THE END