characters belong to SM. I'm not sure who the plot belongs to. you'll recognize parts of it, I'm sure
What Happens After Dark
The mayor called a meeting one Saturday in the Town Hall and it was attended by the Clerk, and the Councillors, and the berghers, and various other notables.
Wearing his chain of office and his ermine-collared red velvet robe and looking ridiculous because the unfortunate man couldn't help it, he cleared his throat and addressed the attendees.
"All townsfolk," (which was somewhat erroneous, as many of the townsfolk were not there), "It is clear to us that we in the once happy hamlet of Forks have a problem."
"Hear hear," the people nearest the front said.
"What did he say?" "He's got a problem? To do with ham?" "Why is his nose so purple?" some other people said.
"Fellow citizens, you are all aware as I am that our beautiful streets and dwellings and fields and shops and buildings are faced by a grave threat."
"What?" "Something about graves?" "Is there something wrong with the cemetary?" Chinese whispers were confusing those to the rear of the room.
"I am speaking of the rats. The pestilence and scourge of the rodents. We all know how serious this problem has become. We are in danger of being over run. This very morning I found a rat in my oats! Mothers have found rats in their babies' cribs!"
"Rats in coats?" "Babies' ribs?"
"They have come from the sewers and the drains, they have come from the pastures and the woods. They have come in their hundreds and they saw that it was good, and they multiplied and now they are in their thousands. Everywhere we look we see rats. Low and dirty they scurry, carrying disease and stealing food. It is time for something to be done."
"Hear hear," the people nearest the front said. Or was it here here?
"It has come to my attention, fellow Forksians, that there are a group of people residing faraway on our great continent who eat rats for their sustenance, as you and I eat bread. It is my proposal to invite a small number of these people here to reside with us. I believe it will be an arrangement that will suit everybody. They will curb our rat population. Our rats are particularly plump and to the right sort of palate, I imagine they would be delicious. Perhaps the fashion might even catch on! Roast rat with all the trimmings! What say you, townsfolk?"
"He's barmy" "Soft in the head" "Coast rats are all lemmings?" "If they were we wouldn't have a problem..."
"Here, here!" they said, and thus it was decided. The invitation was issued, and a messenger on a fleet horse dispatched to Faraway On Our Great Continent.
And not long afterwards, They came. Seven they were in number, four men and three women. Not knowing what to expect, the townsfolk stood around nervously, all dressed in their very best, to await their guests. It was after dark, as apparently they were nocturnal.
Now you would think people who eat rats might be - well, perhaps scruffy? Grubby? Sewer-dwellers? Scabrous?
"I am very pleased to meet you. I am Carlisle Cullen and this is my family," said the first of them, and he was tall in the lamp light and golden, midnight's Apollo. All the women of the town swayed, sighing.
"Good evening. I am Esme," said Aphrodite at his side, moon-pale, mysterious and softly glowing, and all the men of the town cleared their throats and shifted awkwardly from one foot to another.
"We have prepared a banquet," the mayor said officiously, puffing up his little peacock chest to disguise, or maybe emphasize his nervousness. "We didn't know what your preferences might be, so we are serving a series of courses, please come this way, we have rat consomme, followed by rat pie, followed by rat-on-a-spit with sugarplum chutney, and then rat's liver pate on melba toast with a fine rat's milk stilton. And we have even brewed rat's bile ale."
Carlisle raised an elegant eyebrow. "Thank you indeed for all the trouble you have gone to, but my family and I will be quite unable to partake of your feast. We eat the buggers raw."
Beneath the collective gasp from the entire crowd one of the newcomers, the biggest one, muttered, "Couldn't we just try the ale?"
The whole town could be seen and heard heaving and it wasn't a sigh of relief, it was the contents of their stomachs. A fair amount of heaving had already taken place that day, during the preparation of the meal.
"Ah, rats, wonderful rats," Carlisle continued, with a gleam in his eye. "We pick them up by the tail, and pop them in our mouths, fur and all. Delectable."
The mayor's face went purple to match his nose, and he huffed a little, rocking backwards and forwards on his heels until he was able to speak.
"Allow me to show you to your accommodation. It is humble, as we are humble folk, but we have given you the best we have to offer and we do hope you will be comfortable," he said, leading the way down the main street to what was indeed a humble but comfortable little house in the centre of the town. As the impossibly magnificent family followed him, a quiet revolution took place amongst the residents of Forks. Everyone who wasn't dead from the neck down stared in awe and dread, and more than just a little desire. The mayor's niece, Isabella, certainly wasn't dead by any measure - at seventeen she was beginning to come to life. She watched the last of the visitors, a tall red-haired boy, and caught his eyes as he passed. He stared at her, his head turning nearly a full one hundred and eighty degrees to watch her, like an owl. Owls eat rats.
The next evening, Isabella nervously knocked on the door of the little house the visiting dignitaries had been allocated. She thought she saw the red-haired boy at the window, and he was the one who answered the door.
"I've brought you a welcome gift," she said shyly, handing over a basket.
"Thank you," he smiled, and he had the most perfect teeth imaginable.
"They're only mice," she said, and indeed they were, once he had lifted the lid of the basket and carried out an inventory. Seven little mice. Isabella's cat, and the neighbors' cats would go hungry that night. He put them to one side, and she saw he was far too polite to eat in front of her.
"My name is Isabella. I hope you will enjoy your stay here," she said, demurely.
"My name is Edward, and I'm sure I shall," he answered. "Your mice look very nice and tasty."
"I hope they will be." This was one of the oddest conversations ever to have taken place in Forks, even though it's true the mayor said plenty of odd things.
"Will you be attending school?" Isabella asked.
"I'm afraid not. We have to rest during the day. We are simply too lethargic to do anything else. At night we are active, and that's when we hunt," he answered. "However, I won't need to hunt tonight, thanks to your generous gift. Would you perhaps be able to show me something of your town?"
Isabella hesitated, but his eyes were so beautiful, and his hair shone as he ruffled it with a hand, his expression suggesting that awaiting her answer was making him anxious.
"Very well, but I'll have be to home at a reasonable hour," she nodded. He gave her the smile again, and held his hand out to her.
They walked the streets of the town, skipping from pool to pool of light dropped by the gas lamps, and slipping through shadows.
"What is a reasonable hour?" he asked and she had to shrug, because no hour at all could be called reasonable if that hour required that she be parted from him.
He ensured that she was home by ten-thirty, though, and asked to see her again.
Every night Isabella met Edward at eight o'clock and they walked. Every night he took her home at ten-thirty. She couldn't sleep after she'd seen him, and thought she might as well become nocturnal herself. All day she was exhausted, and it seemed she'd caught his lethargy.
But Bella was not the only one. Forks had always been a very quiet town once twilight fell. Everyone would be indoors and engaged in some quiet occupation such as string portraits, or macrame. Now that the strangers were around, the town's youth had discovered night time. Teenagers were leaving their houses and congregating in the square, sometimes even with guitars and harmonicas, so they could sing and dance. It was starting to be a little scandalous. The engaging and alluring Carlisle Cullen had produced some sort of flute one night, and would play engaging and alluring music on it as the older townsfolk lay in their beds, gritting their teeth with their fingers in their ears.
The mayor called a meeting one Saturday in the Town Hall and it was attended by the Clerk, and the Councillors, and the berghers, and various other notables.
Wearing his chain of office and his ermine-collared red velvet robe and looking ridiculous because the unfortunate man couldn't help it, he cleared his throat and addressed the attendees.
"All townsfolk," (which was somewhat erroneous, as many of the townsfolk were not there), "It is clear to us that we in the once happy hamlet of Forks have a problem."
"What now?" the people nearest the front said.
"What did he say?" "He's got a problem?" "Well, it can't be the rats. They've all gone."
"Our youth are starting to keep unsociable hours and to listen to wild music after dark, and who knows where this sort of behavior will lead? I fear they have been negatively influenced by our newcomers, who are, let's face it, night-walkers. It is most regrettable," he announced.
"Pipe stalkers?" "Toast forgettable?"
"I propose that we introduce a curfew of eight o'clock, and any of our young people found outside after that time will be arrested. I also propose a ban on any music other than hymns in the church on Sunday morning," the pompous little killjoy carried on. Some muttering began, but a cool voice suddenly cut clearly across everyone.
"Excuse me," it said, and at the back of the hall stood Carlisle Cullen and his entire family.
"I th-thought you'd be asleep," said the mayor, which was precisely why he'd called the meeting for ten in the morning.
It's true the Cullens appeared bleary-eyed and tired, but they strode forward.
"Are you seriously proposing to disallow your young people from going out in the evenings, and to ban music?" Carlisle asked, and people shuffled with their heads down, unwilling to catch anyone's eye.
"Yes, I am. If we do not curb this sort of undesirable carry-on there will be trouble. I have heard the young people are not only listening to music, they have started to dance, and dancing is the devil's business. It leads to fornication," the mayor said authoritatively.
"It does no such thing, it is not the devil's business, music elevates our souls and takes us to the realms of the angels. Through music we are closer to God. The vibrations of sound waves harmonize with the vibrations of all of earth and of life itself. Dancing is the physical expression of our bodies' joy in the divinity of music. To deny music is like denying breath. And it is illegal in this country to forbid association. According to the law of the land the young people of this town may gather to get acquainted and to speak and to enjoy themselves. Man is a social animal. To maintain psychological health we need the company of others. The youngsters are busy at school or college during the day, and their time is not their own. They need unstructured time with one another to cultivate friendships. It is character forming, and will strengthen the community."
Well, Carlisle Cullen was certainly eloquent and persuasive. The mayor was going to have apoplexy.
"You can't tell me how to run my town," he gasped.
"I can state my opinion. Freedom of expression is one of the basic tenets of democracy."
"Here in Forks we do not live in a democracy. We live in a well-ordered society."
The people in the hall were greatly enjoying this exchange. They were wondering what the outcome would be. A little portly personage trying to argue a point with a tall, cool, confident, er, rat-eater was well outside the norm for half past ten on Saturday morning in smalltown, Washington.
"I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave, sir. Your ideas are inflammatory, and I will not have our quiet little town upset by a bunch of radicals and extremists. We're very thankful for your help with subduing the rodent population, but the rats are now all but gone. Perhaps it is time you sought a new location to accommodate your dietary necessities. I imagine there will smorgasbords aplenty to the south. Or the north," the mayor stated firmly, and Carlisle shrugged.
"Very well, my family and I shall leave this very night. And sir, I promise you we will take the music with us," he said very calmly, and it seemed the temperature dropped in a flash by tens of degrees. How can a voice be chilling? Such a musical, dulcet, charming voice? It was chillingly chilling.
Meanwhile, Isabella had woken late because these days her sleep pattern had shifted. She stumbled downstairs to find a note on the table.
'Secret meeting!
Don't let the young people find out!
Above all, don't tell the Cullens!
Town Hall, Saturday, ten o'clock! AM!'
the note said. She thought it sounded important and didn't like the idea that there was any sneaking around, or conspiring going on. She ran to the Town Hall and arrived just as the Cullens were leaving. Edward was on the top step looking furious, though his expression changed when he saw her, and he held his arms out.
Isabella went to run up the steps to him when she tripped over her own feet and crashed heavily. There was an audible snap and the blood left her face painting her as wan as all the Cullens, and a second later a fair bit of it began to pour freely from a gaping wound in her shin, where white of bone could be clearly seen.
Edward gasped and knelt at her side as Carlisle scanned the people who had gathered around. "I am a doctor, I can treat her, but tell me straight away, where can I take her? Do you have an apothecary?"
Edward lifted her easily, and someone showed them the way to the dispensary where Carlisle knew exactly what he wanted, he cleaned the great gash in her leg and administered pain relief and set the break with a splint and a bandage. Isabella's brown eyes remained fixed on Edward and he held her hand throughout. Noticing, Carlisle's mouth set in a grim frown, and he said, "I am sorry to have to tell you this Isabella dear, as I understand you and Edward have grown close, but our family are leaving town this evening."
"No!" she gasped, and Edward actually growled.
When Carlisle had done all he could for her Edward lifted her again and carried her home. The medicaments had taken effect by then, and Bella's head was lolling against his shoulder. She asked him with her eyes not to leave her, because she would never have dared say the words aloud. He pressed the lightest of kisses on her forehead and whispered, "I will see you tonight. Sleep now."
There wasn't any choice about the sleeping, because of the medicines. Bella was asleep before he laid her on the bed.
She awoke that night to the sound of a flute outside, and laughter and chattering. Her leg was very painful, but she managed to stagger up and hobble to the window, wondering what was going on. Even as she got there a shape appeared in the pane, and she saw that it was Edward and he must have climbed the tree outside. The window was open and he sat half in and half out, regarding her.
"Isabella, look what is happening," he whispered, drawing her close. He slipped an arm around her waist to steady her as she looked out of the window.
The street below was a riot of activity. Carlisle and the other splendid Cullens appeared to be leading a procession. Bella recognized all the faces - everyone from Forks under the age of twenty must have been there. Carlisle was playing his flute and dancing along the street and like a parade, all the younger people of the Forks community were dancing along behind him. They were singing, eyes shining, following the after dark family. As Isabella watched they passed from sight, though she could still hear them as they wended their way towards the edge of town. Presumably the older folk of Forks lay abed gritting their teeth with their fingers in their ears, thinking this would be the last night they had to endure the noise. Little did they know the gravity of their situation. Carlisle had promised to take the music with him and the mayor had thought he could rest on his laurels. However the music had found a secure place in the hearts and minds of Forks' young people, and unbeknownst to the mayor, all of the town's vitality and passion and hope was leaving along with the flute.
"Isabella, I have to go, too. Has anyone told you what happened this morning? My family and I are no longer welcome here," Edward told her and she turned to him sorrowfully.
"Would you like to join us?" he asked.
"I cannot dance," Isabella said, gesturing to her broken leg. "I can't even walk."
"I have strength enough to dance for two," he said. "You're not heavy, I have carried you already today, and I would bear your weight happily, wherever you wish to go. I would very much like it if you wanted to accompany me and my family. You will be one of us."
"Are all the young folk leaving?" she asked, changing the subject.
"Yes, apparently. This place is oppressive. I realize it has been your home, but people should not be forbidden the joy of music and movement, and of gathering with their friends when and where they choose, and there is nothing wrong with enjoying what the night has to offer."
"Will they follow wherever you go?"
"Probably they just need to find themselves some place more progressive than here. A town with music of its own - and then Carlisle's merry tune will not lure them."
"If I come with you will I have to eat rats?"
Those beautiful eyes, the beautiful eyelashes, the brows and cheeks and lips all lit with a gentle smile were focussed deeply on her face. "I am sure we can find an arrangement that will suit you. Rats? No. Fruit, vegetables, bread, whatever you like. I will find it for you."
"And will I stay with you?"
"Yes, for as long as you want to."
Isabella pictured the mayor. She wouldn't miss him. She looked at Edward. If she was to let him leave without her, she would miss him unbearably.
"Take me," she said simply, and he slung his other leg in the window and picked her up, carrying her down the stairs and out the front door where the notes promising freedom called her just as they called all the others.
The next morning, there was no-one under twenty left in Forks.
The mayor called a meeting in the Town Hall and it was attended by the Clerk, and the Councillors, and the berghers, and various other notables.
Wearing his chain of office and his ermine-collared red velvet robe and looking ridiculous because the unfortunate man couldn't help it, he cleared his throat and addressed the attendees.
"All townsfolk," (which was somewhat erroneous, as many of the townsfolk were not there) "It is clear to us that we in the once happy hamlet of Forks have a problem."
They looked at one another glumly, those who were left. The dull, the boring and the unimaginative. They certainly did have a problem. They were the problem.
.
.
.
