Fresh out of journalist’s college, Jennifer always knew she’d have to start at the bottom. Nevertheless, as she sat squirming under the gimlet eye of the tweed jacketed and very scary chief editor of the Ridmorthampton Local Journal, she knew that there was an opportunity at hand that had to be grasped at any cost.
Ms Teresa Tresty, editor in chief, drew her stiff backed executive leather chair tightly into her leather topped desk, patted her tight bun with a white whizened hand and spoke in a frosty voice.
“Jennifer, you must understand that you are in a no win situation. Since our lead reporter is indisposed, I have no choice but to elevate you to this important post temporarily. If you make a mess of this job, which you probably will, I will make sure your reporter career is finished. If you manage to survive the enormous challenge of stepping into the boots of an ace reporter with 30 years’ experience, it will only be for a short time. Margaret will be back as soon as she’s recovered and you’ll be back to filing paper clips for the rest of your contract.”
Ms Teresa Tresty did not like cub reporters. She’d edited the Ridmorthampton Local Journal for more years than anybody could remember and most of the population in this elderly, small West Country town had very long memories. Not that there was very much to remember. Most things stayed the same from week to week and year to year and that was the way the elderly population liked it.
Jennifer had been a mistake. The sole ancient shareholder of the Ridmorthampton Local Journal had been visiting when Jennifer had dropped in unannounced with her CV and a determined willingness to undertake any job, however menial. The old man had taken a liking to her long corn colored hair, sprinkling of freckles around her nose and wide willing blue eyes, not to mention her young slim figure.
When she’d stood in front of the editor in chief’s desk making her pitch, he’d positioned his small round and rather fat body closely beside her. She’d not flinched and, from his point of view, she was immediately hired.
Ms Teresa Tresty, editor in chief, was given no choice. Naturally, she’d made sure that the terms of employment were demanding to the point of unreasonableness and the salary was so low that Jennifer was practically paying the Ridmorthampton Local Journal to be there.
On Jennifer’s first day, Ms Teresa Tresty had fully intended to relegate Jennifer to the basement with the job of sorting the library of back issues into date order and out of the subject order in which they had been placed by a previous work experience junior reporter ten years ago.
The car accident of her chief (and only) reporter (and close friend) immediately put paid to these plans. Worst still, the sole elderly shareholder had somehow heard about the accident and immediately and enthusiastically endorsed Jennifer’s written request to step into the vacant position.
All was not yet lost, though. Ms Teresa Tresty had not commanded her position of editor in chief for all these years without having a trick or two up her elegantly starched sleeve.
“There is a tradition that there are vampires in the hill mines in the easterly woods close to Ridmorthampton!”
Jennifer’s eyes widened, incredulously. ”
It’s time that we did an article on this folklore. We will run it in two weeks’ besides the births, deaths and marriages on page two so it had better be good. Any questions?”
“But vampires don’t exist,” said Jennifer.
“The local vampire stories exist and they have existed for many centuries so that is enough young Miss. Find somebody to interview and I want your copy within seven days, properly spelt and ready for publishing. Let me down and you’re out. There are people locally who could be helping us out in these difficult times.”
