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Aunt Cecilia had lived alone until the day her sister
died in 1955 she was forced to take in her sixteen year
old nephew. She enjoyed living alone and was not
offended by the term old maid or spinster, she enjoyed
her job as a librarian and thought a good book and a hot
coffee an enjoyable evening. At 43 she was still quite
attractive but considered plain due to her glasses and
the way she wore her hair tightly bunched up in a bun
and also for her penchant for tweed skirts and sensible
shoes.
No freedom was giving to her nephew, he was not allowed
out at night and spent his days as her apprentice at the
library, where she kept him in the basement archiving an
array of papers and books. She held a weekly book club
with three of her friends, all of the same sort of
personality and age as her, which her nephew, Tom, was
forced to attend to their needs by bringing in
refreshments etc, if he was not suitably employed doing
such things, then he had to quietly stand in the corner
and speak only when spoken to.
It was on one such evening, when she came back from the
shop, where she had just purchased some cream buns for
the ladies of her book club that she noticed Tom was
locked away in his bedroom. The ladies would be here in
around ten minutes and the teapot and cups were not yet
out, venturing upstairs with the intention of chastising
him she heard a tapping noise and groans coming from his
room.
