As Mad as a Hatter: A Short Story Collection

by Catherine Stovall

  The doctors confirmed Joanna had not been physically able to wield the murder weapon or remove the body at the time of the crime. With nothing left to question, mother and child were finally reunited. Weeping and holding each other as if they couldn’t bear for an inch of space to separate them, they were driven to a small hotel in town.

  When Joanna insisted she didn’t have the money to pay for the room, the officer informed her that the ladies’ auxiliary had covered the bill for the next two weeks. The people in Avery turned out in full force, offering their assistance to her and her child. Mrs. Eva even brought them covered dishes to heat in the small microwave, and helped Joanna clear the apartment of their things when the police finally let her in.

  ****

  A month later, Joanna and Abigail stood in the backyard of the apartment building. They held hands as they crossed the wide span of grass, each carried a bouquet of flowers on their macabre procession. The well still stood, but only temporarily. By the order of the police, the building owner had scheduled a local construction company to fill it in with concrete, so that it could never again be used for foul play.

  As they stood at the base of the structure, watching the yellow police tape flap in the wind, Abigail whispered. “Sally’s not alone anymore, Momma.”

  Joanna felt sick. The child had never spoken about that night. Giving her daughter’s small hand a squeeze, she remained silent, not knowing what to say. Until that moment, she had truly believed Abigail had blocked the horrors from her innocent mind. Under the direction of the therapist, she had not pushed the girl to remember or speak of the terror they had shared.

  They laid the sprays of summer flowers on the edge of the well. Each lost in their own private thoughts. They would be leaving later that day. A moving truck waited for them in front of the small, furnished apartment where they had been staying. With Kirk’s insurance money, and her name cleared, Joanna was determined to put the nightmare behind them.

  As they walked away, Abigail cocked her head to the side as if she were listening to an unseen companion. Her small hand curved around the empty air at her side, and she began to hum a little song quietly to herself.

  Voices in the Dark

  A wrong turn and a slip.

  She fell down, down into the abyss.

  Surrounded by the dark.

  The shadows hissed.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s a girl!”

  “What’s it do?”

  “What’s it for?”

  “Kiss it!”

  “Make it bleed!”

  “Make it feel!”

  “Make it need!”

  “Break it!”

  “Make it cry!”

  “Make it hurt!”

  “Make it die!”

  Terror foaming on their lips.

  The voices never spent.

  She begged and cried.

  But on and on they went.

  “Does it smile?”

  “Does it dream?”

  “Does it want?”

  “Does it scream?”

  “Does it talk?”

  “Will it tell?”

  “Will it smile?”

  “Will it fail?”

  “Crush it!”

  “Smash it!”

  “Burn it”

  “Trash it”

  “Squeeze it!”

  “Bruise it!”

  “Dice it!”

  “Use it!”

  Her spirit drifted.

  Her soul was set free.

  The voices of her broken mind.

  Recite a sad eulogy.

  “No more hurt.”

  “No more regret.”

  “No more to remember.”

  “No more to forget.”

  “No more madness.”

  “No more breath.”

  “It’s beautiful.”

  “It’s death.”

  The Queen’s Art

  The screaming echoed down the dark hallway, bouncing off the stones and vibrating the windows. The words were a desperate pleading for relief, but none would come. Jessica had pushed the mistress of the house too far. No one and nothing could save her from Jacqueline’s ire.

  The voice of the fair haired tormentress was pure, crystalline hatred. "You see, darling, when you play with fire, you do get burned. I told you not to try to play both sides of the fence, but you couldn’t listen. Now, you must pay”

  A shiny sewing needled glinted in the low light of the candles, causing the girl to beg in earnest, "Please, please stop. I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. Oh God! Don’t! You crazy, bitch! You can’t do this!"

  Using a pair of rustic looking tongs, Jacqueline just laughed as she held the hook above the blue flame of a small burner. "Now, little fishies aren't supposed to make so much noise. We might just have to do those lips of yours first." Sliding on a pair of thick welding gloves and plucking the white-hot hook from the pincer, she quickly threaded it with a thin wire.

  Jessica tried to struggle, but a leather strap held her head in place, cutting deep into her furrowed brow. Her misdeeds raced through her mind as she fought to find a reason her mistress might forgive her. She saw him, dark and handsome, his chest gleaming in the moonlight. His kisses had been like poison, addicting and deadly, and when he drank from her, it had been paradise.

  The memory of him brought his name to her lips, and she screamed, “Xavier!”

  As the cry faded into a whimper of fear, Jacqueline’s finger and thumb pinched Jessica’s lips together in a vice like grip and the needle shot into her tender flesh. The poison flooded her, not numbing, no nothing that merciful, but making the muscles of her pretty face fall useless against the older woman’s grasp. Jacqueline’s smile turned sweet as she began to hum and sew. Each stitch, in and out, burned and stung, singed and stunk. No matter how hard she tried, Jessica couldn’t make it stop.

  The smell of sizzling flesh accompanied the soured words, "Do you know why we use a heated needle? Well, of course you don't, dear. You, oh poor pitiful, precious you. You know nothing. The hot metal is needed to pierce the skin quickly and to keep the wire from snagging." The beautiful seamstress held the needle above the flame once more, and cooed, "It cauterizes the wounds to prevent blood from getting in the way and messing up the pretty pattern, and pretty it shall be. You will be a work of art."

  In and out the needle went, over and over, as Jacqueline hummed a lilting melody. The tune brought heart wrenching agony to Jessica’s soul. He had hummed the same song as he had rocked her in his arms, held her beneath the moonlight, and kissed her till she was dizzy. The cadence of “Ave Maria” melded into her screams and moans, branded itself inside her brain, and became part of the horrendous orchestra of pain.

  The girl’s lips were red and oozing, swollen and blistered. Leaning over, the mistress smoothed Jessica’s hair from her face and whispered, “What beautiful eyes you have. What a pity they will never be seen again.” Catching the upper row of her victim’s eyelashes between her fingers, she began to hum again, the needle full of paralyzing drugs jabbing at the corner.

  Her eye forced open, the betrayer couldn’t help but watch as the heated glow of the stitching hook came ever closer, searing and ready. The attempted scream pushed against the wire holding her lips closed tight, sending a fury of pain through her entire being that was accompanied by a hard slap to the side of her head.

  Jacqueline hissed, “Stop that, stupid girl. If you tear it open, we will have to start again, and it won’t look as lovely.” Returning to the task at hand, the woman hummed and stitched, stitched and hummed. All the while, Jessica’s desperate groans rattled behind the melody as if they were bass drums.

  The first eye completed, the mistress sat back and admired her work. The swelling would decrease soon, and the intricate stitch would be visible for all to see. She murmured, “Such a beautiful canvas for my work. I can see why Xavier chose you to betray me.” She lifted the needle to the flame once m
ore.

  A blood tinged tear slipped from Jessica’s right eye and fell uncared for down her cheek. The one eye left unbidden darted around in wide terror. The tools of a macabre seamstress dotted the low tables, blood stains covered the surfaces, and the shadowy room all but declared full madness lived within.

  She thought to herself, How could Xavier ever love this monster, how could he let her do this to me? Memories of his beautiful smile lifted her heart for a moment, her pain and fear temporarily forgotten, until Jacqueline’s fingers grasped her eyelashes, once more.

  The syringe found its mark and the heated needle was applied to flesh with great care. Ave Maria, closed mouth screams, blood trickling, puss oozing, and never ending agony took over Jessica’s sightless world.

  “Now, we are all done!” Jacqueline exclaimed, clapping her gloved hands together. “Jessica, you wouldn’t believe the improvements I have made. Why that is the finest backstitch I have ever seen, if I do say so myself. Pity you can’t see it for yourself, my dear.”

  Jessica struggled against the tight leather braces, knowing what would come next. As a favorite of the mistress of the house, she had been privy to others’ desecration. Unable to see, unable to scream, panic filled her. She watched the reel in her mind play back all her drastic mistakes. She wanted to plead that she would never again lay eyes on Xavier and would never again betray the lady, but she had no way. Her lips were quite literally sealed for eternity. Giving in, she let her body go lax, just as the cold metal tip touched her skin.

  Wild laughter filled the air as Jacqueline raised the wooden mallet in her hand, the sharp silver stake poised and ready. With the swiftness and grace only a vampire queen could possess, she swung. Jessica’s body jerked as the splatter of crimson glory sprayed upward.

  Under the ruby red liquid shower, Jacqueline twirled and sang, “Ding dong, the bitch is dead. The little bitch is dead.”

  The men came then, their bronzed muscles shimmering in the firelight, to drag the queen’s art away to where it would be hung on the gates of Brimstone Hall. A warning to all lay in the bodies draping so craftily from the iron rails. The queen and mistress of the house would not humor betrayal.

  Down on the Banks

  “You can go on out and play, but you remember what I said about going down on the banks. Not today, not tonight. If you do, Anastasia Gooding will get you. She went up there on the river Halloween night in forty-six, and she never came home. That boyfriend of hers was found three days later, naked as a jaybird and jabbering on about spirits. Folks said the devil got her, and if that ain’t enough to worry about, even I’ve seen her walking up there on a clear night. She’s lonely, and she wants a playmate, and I won’t be having that be you. You don’t go near that river, and if you hear someone singing “Lady Alice” tonight, you turn and run the other way.” Her eyes bore into mine, and her softly wrinkled face held the look that always meant she wasn’t playing.

  “Yes, mama,” I sighed, thinking she was absolutely crazy. She’d given me the same speech every year since I had turned eleven and decided I was too old to go trick-or-treating.

  “I’m telling you, Coey Lyn, you stay away from that river,” Mama called after me as I ran from the house.

  The day was unusually warm for Halloween, and I didn’t much listen to anything my mama said at the ripe old age of fourteen and a half. I thought I knew it all, so to the river was exactly where I was headed. Matt Duncan was going to be there, too, and I was going to kiss him for the very first time. I ran to make up for the lost time, and because I was excited enough to have the energy of ten jack rabbits.

  My eyes searched for Matt as I made my way down the rocky path to where the already icy water of the Mississippi gently lapped at the gray sand. After scanning the large rocks, the shore, and even the little alcove the older kids called the kissing cove, I lost heart. He hadn’t come, and I felt about as low as a grasshopper in a tall field.

  A few tears trickled down my cheeks, as I walked to the water’s edge. “Stupid, Matt Duncan. Who needs your scrawny butt anyway?” I cursed as I threw a stone into the water and watched it skip three times.

  A shadow seemed to pass under the unusually calm surface, and I started to back away, my breath puffing out in front of my face in a cold mist. Fear rose in the back of my throat, leaving a metallic taste on my tongue, and I suddenly knew my mama had been right. I shouldn’t have been on the banks of the river, on Halloween night, tempting fate.

  I turned to run, but behind me I saw a figure on the path. Her long dress was torn and wet, dripping muddy water and clinging to her small frame. Her long blonde hair hung in scraggly streams around her pale face, and from her blue lips, she sang.

  “Oh, can’t you see that snow white dove;

  She flies from pine to pine.

  Just mourning for her own true love

  The way I mourn for mine.”

  I had meant to flee the river and escape the banshee apparition, running home to my mama for sure, but I froze in place. Anastasia Gooding’s face held a tremendous sorrow and tears dripped from her dark lashes down her sallow cheeks. I could feel her loneliness encasing me, filling my own heart with a longing that shadowed the small twinge of hurt I’d felt about Matt standing me up. Suddenly, I didn’t want to leave her alone, I wanted to take her hand and tell her everything would be okay.

  For a moment, I felt as if I was floating in the winter air, but then reality crashed in. The impact knocked the breath out of my lungs, the sting of the freezing water burned my flesh, and panic set in. As the weight of my clothing pulled me under, I fought against the current, but it was too strong. With a final gasp of breath, I sank into a watery grave, Anastasia’s green eyes blazing before me like a starlit night and her song playing in my head.

  ****

  Someone was screaming my name over and over, their voice sounding as if it was very far away though I could feel them pressing down on my chest. My lungs burned and my head throbbed as I tried to open my eyes and tell them to stop. When my lips opened, the taste of fishy, dirty water hit my senses and I choked and gagged. River water poured out of me, and I gasped for air around the fire under my ribs.

  “Coey! Coey, are you okay?” Matt peered down at me, as he rolled me to my side and pounded the flat of his hand against my back.

  I managed to whisper, “Anastasia,” but no more. My body felt chilled to its very bones, a dull aching filling every inch of me, and my lungs still flared as if I had swallowed liquid fire instead of the filth ridden river swill. After another hacking fit and more spewing liquid, I fell into unconsciousness.

  Later that night, I awakened to find myself safe and warm beneath layers of thick quilts on a pallet near the fire. My mother sat rocking in her chair, knitting as she always did in the evenings. When she saw I was conscious, she came to kneel by my side and placed her hand on my still damp hair.

  I wanted to tell her right then that I would never disobey her again, I would never go near the river again for the rest of my life, and I was so very sorry. When I tried, my throat burned and I coughed until my body shuddered, leaving me crying and miserable.

  She looked down at me as I wept, a knowing smile curved her lips up strangely at the corners, and her eyes flashed from a deep brown to a mossy green.

  “Mamma,” I croaked.

  She placed a cold, damp finger upon my lips, and began to sing.

  “Oh, can’t you see that snow white dove;

  She flies from pine to pine.

  Just mourning for her own true love

  The way I mourn for mine.”

  The Saga of Bonnie and Clyde

  Bonnie she was a beauty, with a mind all her own.

  Clyde he was a musician, struggling along.

  She married young, and her heart broke in two.

  Poor Clyde turned to crime, what were they to do?

  These two souls burned as bright as stars get.

  Soul mates destined to be, there were no regrets.
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  Beginning their love on a crash course for each other,

  They swore to live, fight, and die together.

  In a hail of bullets they found their fame,

  The lovers and leaders of the Barrow gang.

  They called them outlaws, but the people loved them so,

  For the world, they were a new Juliet and Romeo.

  Thieves and murderers, they were called.

  Yet, Bonnie and Clyde lived through it all.

  Nothing could stop them; their trail always ran cold,

  It seems they had the Universe within their control.

  Just when they thought, they’d be free at last,

  The duo was forced to pay for their past.

  Sad and tragic, their ending would come,

  Bonnie and Clyde dead by the lawman’s gun.

  They passed from this life as they had lived,

  They took as many bullets as they ever did give.

  Still, in those last moments, in that last twinkling light.

  Bonnie and Clyde were together, as was right.

  I wonder if they’d known, if they would have done it again.

  As Bonnie once said, death was the wages of their sin,

  The lovers paid the ultimate price for their fame,

  But now the whole world knows their name.

  Pretty Little Poppet

  “She’s a little simpleminded, more like twelve than in her twenties, but I think she’ll be okay when the time comes,” Marie Cablet whispered to the woman next to her.

  “Do you think there’s ever any hope the child will marry?” the other woman tilted her head until the brim of her large hat overlapped with Marie’s.

  Charice O-Dea knew her maman and Claudette Blanco were talking about her, and she tried really hard not to lean forward and listen in, but couldn’t help it.