The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

Kenneth Abrams disembarked from the bus and walked the short distance home, gazing at the sky above and the clouds scudding across the blue sky.

He was thankful to be home, he felt hungry.

Opening the back door his mother had called out, “Go get washed, tea will be ready in ten minutes.”

Ken had got to the bathroom and washed his hands, as instructed, then returned to the kitchen, making a point of ignoring the television in the living-room, already on, with Blue Peter on it; with John Noakes grinning at the screen.

“It's crispy pancakes Kenny,” he was told in a sing-song voice, as he entered the kitchen.

He'd sat eager to eat.

'Findus crispy pancakes,' he mused, 'Is there anything better?'

It was the only way Victoria Abrams knew to get her son to eat meat of any kind, he had become such a fussy eater: but, he did like his crispy pancakes, she thought with a smile of motherly pride.

So two Minced-Beef filled crispy pancakes sat on his plated, with peas and mashed potato.

He'd sat and cut both pancakes in half, to allow them to cool a little, then reached for the tomato sauce, being careful to avoid his mothers gaze.

'You always cover your meal with that stuff,' he'd hear her whine, every time he sat down to eat.
'Maybe she's right', he mused, 'but I like it... with everything.'

As he ate his mother called out, “Don't wolf it down like that. Chew, at least once Kenny!”

He hated being called 'Kenny' and she knew it.

He would scowl as always, then she would cross her arms and stare at him, in admonishment.

Ken always gave in first and, she knew he would. It was given.

He did now and made a point of letting his mother see him chew his food slowly, as she wanted; thinking to himself, 'At least I've The New Avengers to watch later.'

He had an Athena poster of Joanna Lumley on his wall and although many tried to replicate her hairstyle, for him there was only one Purdey and, it didn't have two barrels.

The Purdey he liked had two long legs and kicked ass, goodstyle.

Thinking of her, Ken began to eat fast again. He couldn't help it.

He entered the small red brick building, cautiously looking around himself as he did so.

Boards of white cards lined the room, with two double-sided boards in the centre, also lined with layers of white cards, that he glanced at briefly as he walked toward a counter, with office staff at desks behind.

A young woman stood at the counter.

“You're late,” she snapped, with a scowl.

Fair hair, with hazel eyes and a pleasant face, the face she pulled didn't suit her, he considered, prior to stammering, “I'm sorry, the bus was late.”

He was hardly going to admit he had been walking down on the shore, watching the wading birds.
There had been several different types of birds amongst the reeds and one smoke had turned to many, as he had watched them.

The young woman pushed a slip of paper across the counter-top toward him, “Sign.”

He took the paper and the pen on a chain and signed K. Abrahms to the left of the date, printed to the right.

“Be sure to look at the boards before you leave,” the slip of a thing instructed, then added, “and next time, be on time alright?”

In answer he nodded, feeling as though he were a naughty school, having had his hand caught in the cookie-jar.

Then as he turned she asked in a quizzical voice, “You don't remember me do you?”

He didn't.

Eyebrow raised he ruefully admitted, “No.”

With a grin she told him, “I was a first year, when you were a fifth year and I...”

She blushed he noticed and, strangely he too felt embarrassed.

He had seen himself back then, as if through her eyes. He had felt the warmth of her desire, as she had stared at him, way back then. And here he was before her again and, they both blushed, at the very same memory...

“Well nice to see you,” Ken muttered, trying not to look at her again, before leaving the jobcentre, to head for the nearest busstop. He wanted to get home, BBC were repeating a Tom Baker series of Doctor Who stories, being shown in a one-off edit.

He hardly thought of seeing himself through the eyes of another, as he travelled homeward...