"...and so then I knew," Jimmy was saying dramatically as I walked in the Servant's Hall. "...he must be a vampire. Oh hi, Alfred."
Oh hi Mark. My friend (friend?) said this so casually that my eyes bulged out of their sockets.
"What the bloody hell are you talking about?"
"The fact that Mr. Barrow's a vampire," Daisy said simply, from the doorway of the kitchen.
"What?" I said in disbelief. My eyebrows shot up.
"C'mon, Alfred," Ivy said with an eyeroll. "It makes sense if you think about it."
"Making vampire jokes about Mr. Barrow..." Jimmy mused from his perch on the piano bench. "Admit it: you do it too."
"Wait." I frowned. "Why do you even think he's...whatever you think he is? You've given me literally no reason why."
"Well, he's really pale," Ivy began.
"He's got those red lips." Jimmy put in.
"Always wears black..."
"Jimmy, that's our uniform," I interrupted with a scoff. He gave me a look.
"You know what I mean!" He huffed--I smirked--before he turned solemn for once. "And there's something...off about him. You know what I mean?"
Was he serious? "Oh I know, Jimmy."
"Shut up! I'm serious. Something...malicious."
We stayed silent for a moment, Jimmy, Ivy, and I. Daisy came to the doorway again, a dishtowel in her hands and a pained look on her face. She had known Mr. Barrow longer than any of us, come to think of it.
Suddenly the door opened and we all jumped.
"Hello," Mr. Barrow himself smiled at us a bit blandly. "Don't you lot have work to do?"