HOLMLAND SECURITY (standard:Satire, 1052 words)
Author: Gavin J. Carr	Added: Feb 23 2005	Views/Reads: 3884/2418	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
It all started with Agnes Richmond. She was a nice old gal. One of the more sprightly residents, always ready to lend a hand. But one September morning, just before craft time, she was found in her apartment, beaten half to death, her room turned upsid

Sometimes things go bad gradually, like ripe fruit left too long in the
sun.  When it happens, folks know that something's wrong.  They might 
wander around, using their noses to sniff out the trouble, but they 
don't always find what's bad, and so it lingers. 

But other times you know the moment it happens.  The exact instant it
turns to shit.  That's what happened to us, the happy residents of the 
Holmland Retirement Complex. 

It all started with Agnes Richmond.  She was a nice old gal.  One of the
more sprightly residents, always ready to lend a hand.  But one 
September morning, just before craft time, she was found in her 
apartment, beaten half to death, her room turned upside down. 

We were all scared, of course.  We were called into the day room and a
policeman interviewed us, asked us what we'd seen.  But nobody had 
witnessed anything.  That was one of the things that frightened us so; 
it was quick, and without warning. 

“I doubt they'll be back,” said the policeman.  “But you'll have to take
precautions, tighten things up around here.”  And we all agreed.  Blue 
rinses and wispy comb-overs nodding in unison at his words. 

“Times have changed.  You can't just open your doors and let anyone in,”
he said.  “You have to be aware that the next person that steps through 
that door could be a criminal.  You have to protect yourselves.” 

The folks here took that to heart.  They knew about protecting
themsleves.  Many of us had been in the war, hell, some of us had even 
took part in a couple.  But this was a new conflict.  This was the war 
against worry.  The insidious, creeping dread of the outsider, and the 
overwhelming need for security. 

Just before I first noticed it'd gone bad I was in the conservatory.  It
was a bright winter's day; one of the last before the snows would come 
and make us housebound. 

Jenny and Iris were knitting, their arthritic fingers making slow work
of the wool.  And Richard was asleep, a newspaper crumpled on his lap.  
At the games table, a couple of the new residents – old women with the 
names of flowers – were playing monopoly. 

I got up and stretched, joints shrieking in protest.  Then, pulled on my
jacket and gloves and knotted my scarf. 

As I shuffled up the corridor towards the nurses' station I saw there
was some sort of commotion.  In front of the desk I could see three 
other residents arguing with MacClusky, the staff nurse. 

“I know,” she was saying, her shrill voice drowning their protests. 
“But we just can't take the risk.  The Administrators have decided that 
new rules have to be made, and we've got to stick to them...” 

One of the residents, Hazel, saw me approach and interrupted MacClusky's
rant. 

“Mike.  Mike, you'll never guess what they've gone and done,” she said. 
“They're stopping us going out!” 

“What?” I said, turning to nurse MacClusky.  “You can't do that.  We've
got a right to go for a walk haven't we?  We're senior citizens not 
children!” 

The nurse pouted.  “As I was explaining, Mr Clark, the Administrators
have weighed up the risks and decided that Holmland can't let its 
residents outside without supervision.  It just isn't safe anymore.” 

“Don't be a sap,” I said.  “You make it sound like Sodom and Gomorrah
out there.  It was safe two weeks ago.  It's been safe enough since I 
got here.  What's changed now?” 

MacClusky sighed, as if crushed under the weight of her responsibility. 
“You know very well what's changed.  All of you should be ashamed.  
Poor Mrs Richmond, still in her hospital bed, and you ask what's 
changed!” 


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