Tuesday, March 09, 2010

Blackballed

The Secret Society of the Following Tuesday has an exclusive, and very private membership. A knock and the ever-changing code word whispered through the door of the disused Unicorn Inn (the premises had been gutted in the eighties and has never officially been leased since) lets the participant into a dimly-lit lobby, where he dons his mask and costume lest his identity be discovered by other members.

Harold scowled at the letter, delivered by hand on Thursday afternoon though he didn't see by whom. "I've been rejected again," he said.

"By whom?" Julie was cooking a pasta dish for dinner. At the table, Lucy was trying to eat her toy rabbit.

"The Secret Society of the Following Tuesday." Harold waved the letter at her. "Someone there doesn't like me."

"Who?"

"I don't know. It's a secret society."

***

In his potting shed Cameron White, Detective-Inspector of the Serious Crime squad, sipped his tea and leafed through a seed catalogue, smiling softly.

4 comments:

stephanie said...

Oh oh oh!

I recall the Secret Society, but this is a good twist. :)

Leatherdykeuk said...

Thank you. I thought they deserved more than to be an object of ridicule.

aims said...

Having just come from Mardi Gras where some of the krewes believe in never revealing their identity - I find this perfect!

A good twist indeed.

Leatherdykeuk said...

Thanks Aims :)