First

Mrs. Upton was enjoying herself enormously, comfortably settled on her cousin’s patio, ice tea in hand, gossiping  with her cousin and her cousin’s next door neighbor. “So your old friend is paying you a long visit—that’s so nice. Will we get to meet her?”

“I’ve been longing to do so, “ said her cousin. “But the occasion doesn’t seem to have arisen.” Both cousins had noticed that the neighbor seemed oddly strained and trying very hard not to show it.  Both were dying of curiosity.

“Oh, I fear she is much too tied up with her projects. All sorts of crafts, you know. She makes all kinds of things. For sale. She seems to have so very many customers.”

“But what kinds of things.”

“I’m . . . not sure. She’s always been a little unusual. “

“Really? Is it something you could tell us about?”

“Well, I never really knew her very well, so . . .” She seemed remarkably uneasy, and both the other women were fascinated.

Just then, Mrs. Upton noticed an absence. Her eight year old daughter had been skipping around the back yard. “Oh, heavens, I wonder where Eleanora is.” She stood up and looked around ineffectively. “She was just here”

The cousin glanced around. “I haven’t seen her in a while. Could she be inside?”

The neighbor simply sat and stared at her glass of ice tea.

Which was ok, because at that moment Eleanora reappeared, skipping across from the neighbor’s house. She was chanting something, but Mrs. Upton couldn’t make it out. She stopped when she arrived at their table. “I met your friend,” she announced to the neighbor. “I asked what she was doing and she said ‘fur below.”

 “Ah,” said Mrs. Upton. “Furbelows. She must be sewing. Furbelows would be some sort of decorations, a flounce or some such. Interesting. I haven’t heard that word in a long time.’

“Oh. I thought she meant something in the basement so I looked down there but it was too dark to see anything.”

“Oh, dear,” said Mrs. Upton. Time for another attempt to explain privacy to Eleanora. But meanwhile, “I hope you at least closed the basement door again.”

Eleanora’s forehead creased, “Uh . . “

“Excuse me,” said the neighbor. “It’s been lovely meeting you all, but I fear I must be going.” She hurried off, leaving her untouched glass of ice tea on the table.”

The cousins stared after her. “Is she always so . . . nervous?” asked Mrs. Uptron.

Her cousin shook her head. “No, not at all. Poor thing. I wonder. . . “

There was a loud scream. The door of the neighbor’s house slammed open. A tide of small, furry  . . . things poured out. As she grabbed her daughter’s arm and lunged for their kitchen door, Mrs. Upton thought she saw the gleam of many fangs.

Second

He gloated over the picture that lay on his tray. Weak as he was now, feeble, in this dying body, it wouldn’t be for much longer. The picture showed a fierce and very large metal figure, an iron man was how he loved to think of it. Soon that would be him. The remaining hundred and eighty hears of his legal two hundred and fifty  years would be much easier. He wouldn’t have to exert himself any longer to dominate others with  sarcasm and rapier wit.  His massive iron self would do it automatically.

His family members knew of his plans. They didn’t seem happy, but they seldom, any more, tried to argue with him. Little, feeble protests were all they managed. He ignored them. On her last visit, his wife paused as she was about to leave. “I hope . . ,” she said uncertainly. She almost looked guilty. He briefly wondered why, but then she often did while he was speaking to her. No matter.

“I’m tired,” he said. “Time for you to get out.” She left.

One more night and then tomorrow, his magnificent new life would begin.

   * * *

They came for him early. The next awareness he had was of a white, well lit room. He couldn’t feel himself at all, at first. A young woman in a technician’s blue robes stood over him  She seemed huge. He supposed he had to adjust to his new encasing.  He was beginning to feel it, but it wasn’t at all as he’d expected. Definitely, he was aware of an arm. He raised it, and stared, stunned. It was not the great metallic weapon he expected. It was small, slender, lithe, and covered with soft black fur. He tried to roar in protest and a feeble yowl came out . He tried to sit up and discovered he was still fastened to the table. But one part of him wasn’t . A fine, fluffy tail rose and waved gracefully around.