Whose car is that? The closer I got, the more I could hear voices spilling off the porch and a dark shadow emerged and walked down the steps. Oh. My. Gawd. I know that shadow. I know that voice. It was talking with Maw Sue. How? When? Where? The dark shadow was Ms. Blanche. What in tarnation is she doing here? I hadn’t been to the beauty shop in months. I also hadn’t mentioned a thing to her about Maw Sue being related. My vision recalled the horrible sightings of the Dresdens inside the shop. I flinched and kept walking. I lifted my purples hands in a wave. I wondered what was going on. The house inside me was stirred up something awful.
“Hey Ms. Blanche.”
“Heyy there Willodean.” She said in her chirpy beauty shop voice. She opened her car door and glanced up at Maw Sue. It was the adult version of eye talk that made me nervous. “Can you believe I got a day off from the haven of devils?”
“That’s good.” I said laughing. My fingers found air and pointed outward for answers. “How do ya’ll know each other again?” Maw Sue did an eye curl. Ms. Blanche did the same thing. Eye curls are suspicious.
“Oh—honey.” Ms. Blanche said flopping her hand in the air. “We go way back.”
“Sure do Willodean.” Maw Sue said. “Lordy, look at your hands. You been in them blackberries again? I told you to save some for the cobbler’s.”
“Yeah, I have but uhh…”
“Now tell Ms. Blanche bye so she can go and enjoy her day off.” Maw Sue said changing the subject.
“Lord yess, I’m gon’ work out in the yawd all day long.” She nodded her head and lowered herself into the front seat. “Might have me a swig of gin too.” She closed the door and leaned out the window. “Got some petunias to plant too.”
Maw Sue looked caught up somewhere else. She was rubbing that red stone necklace like the dickens, pulling its long strand outward as if she could rip it off her neck and throw it. Seeing her and Ms. Blanche together made me uneasy. The house inside, buckled and popped, and the rooms ran together, seamlessly in screams and horrors. Shadow Amodgian's and Dresden’s stirred amnesty against me. I felt as if the world I knew would just disengage and roll away.
“Keep your promise.” Maw Sue said. She upturned her chin as if that was part of the promise. She glanced at me, then back at Ms. Blanche, then me, then back. She lifted her hand slightly, still latched onto the stone and almost said something, but stopped short. Her expression was dire, locked in a place I hadn't seen before. What promise?
“You know it.” Ms. Blanche waved again and backed out of the drive. Before she sped away I caught her eye glance. It was dark and inky. I felt woozy and spellbound. Maw Sue had already went inside and left me standing there dumbfounded. She didn't want to talk to me that day, at all and kept telling me she was tired, and needed to sleep, and come back tomorrow. It was unlike Maw Sue to do that. I didn't understand what was happening. What is Ms. Blanche doing here and what was this promise? It drove me mad not to know their relationship, how they met, what it meant and why it stirred the house inside me, to go off its foundation.
For a solid week afterward, all she did was rub that stupid stone. I was flat out tired of the red dragon eyeing me and her, and reaching its liquid hands outward all the time. Maw Sue seemed preoccupied with it—more so than ever before. Rub the stone, sleep, rub the stone. This happened for a solid week, then finally, she snapped out of it. She was still different so I watched her closely. The red dragon’s eye stared me down as if it hated me asking questions and hanging around. As the days came and went, it changed in colors, from a deep dark red, to a redder than red. So red, it looked black.
“Maw Sue. What is going on? Are you sick? I'm worried about you.” I reached out to touch her wrinkled hands. She flinched a little. My heart grew heavy and burdened. “Willodean.” She paused. Her eyes spiraled as if she was dizzy. When she got focus, she locked eyes on me, laser, sharp, dragon eyed serious. “The house inside me is hard to get out of, here lately. When I used to pull myself out, or avoid it all together, now, I can’t seem to do that. But I don’t want you to worry.”
“What can I do? I can help you can’t I? I’ll make you some herbs, I’ll get your recipe book and make some potions to help you. I’ll learn…I will. I can do it.” I jumped up to go to the kitchen but she grabbed my hand and sat me back down.
“That is not necessary.” She said. “It’s more than that, and it’s hard to explain right now but I need you to know that I will take care of everything. It will be worked out as it should be
My heart was heavy and whatever she was talking about made it worse.
“Maybe you just need to sleep. I’ll let you sleep, I promise I won’t bother you again.” Suddenly, my vision turned dark, darker than the lesser light kind of dark. Maw Sue's face turned pasty white and the particles invaded her wrinkles like water in a riverbed. Her eyes went blood red like the dragon stone and then slipped down the sockets as if falling into her skull, leaving the dreadful holes of horror, putrid and blackened, caverns that seeped in and out with shadow Amogians. I let go of her hand and fled backwards. It was a Dresden, exactly what I had seen before, but it was Maw Sue. So it didn’t make sense to me.
I scooted on the floor until I was pressed against the wall by the front door. The shadows spiraled around her, whispering and spilling out words I didn't want to hear. I held my ears. “No. This can't be happening.” The house inside me revolted in black terror and shook me endlessly, head to toe. I ran out the front door and all the way home. I ran past Lena and straight to my bedroom. I grabbed the mirror bin from under my bed and fell on top of it, praying for everything to go away.
“Go away. Take it all away. God…I don't want the gifts, I don't want the curse. Take it AWAY.”
Lena walked in about that time, “Willodean, what is...”
“Get out! Get out! Get out!” I screamed in madness. She hyperventilated on impact and stormed out, shaken by my actions, my words, my crazy. I must have stayed in my room for hours, until it grew dark out. I woke up on top of the mirror bin. My first thought was the red stone.
“That's it.” I said out loud. It must be what is causing Maw Sue to go darkened, unable to snap out of it. It has to be. I looked at the clock. It was past seven thirty. Maw Sue would be asleep soon. She always took an assortment of tic-tacs before she went to bed to help her sleep. I made a plan. That evening when she drifted off to sleep in her bed, I slipped inside. It was creepy, way creepy inside her house, all dark and eerie. The sounds almost made me change my mind.
“Forward.” I heard the president scream. I gathered breathe and more nerve and tip-toed inside until I was standing next to her bed in the pitch of dark. I saw the candle on the nightstand, the one she always used in her face-the-dark ceremonies. I began to think I should have done one myself, before I came, but it was too late for that. I watched her take raspy breathes in and out and I thought of the shadows I saw streaming out of her eye sockets like ghosts from her past. I stood there for a long time, watching the red dragon eye of the stone leap out at me, mad and toxic like it wanted to take me away, out of Maw Sue’s reach, out of her loving arms, as if it wanted her all to itself. It was evil. It had to be the evil that drove her to darkness.
I have my own thoughts about that stupid stone, that's it’s likely the reason she’s crazy and I’m crazy. What if Aunt Raven had some kind of curse upon it and where did it come from anyway? Maw Sue didn't know any better when she took it off her neck years ago. So it just passed the evil down, generation after another. I never understood why Maw Sue said it soothed her soul, that part I don’t understand. My fear was that it was trickery and making us all insane. And then it dawned on me. Maybe that’s why I was born. To stop it. Maybe that is the purpose Maw Sue had been hem-hawing about for years now, telling me I was a fighter, a pugnator and all that. This is what I have to do. I will stop the madness. I will take it. I will stop the curse. That’s it. It has to be, Ms. Blanche, the visions, the necklace, all the old legends and storie
s, the connections. It all makes sense now. I stared back at the red stone defiantly so that it wouldn’t see my fear. I couldn’t see in the dark, but I was positive I might have been sweating blood droplets. My heart was in my throat. When I reached down to touch the stone—it leaped at me several times. I had to fin-niggle the necklace very carefully around her neck to the clasp, and turned the stone upside down so that I couldn’t see its hard glare. I unlatched the clasp and slipped it off. The whole time it is alive and its wet bloody hand leap and try to latch on. I was ready to get rid of it.
I was positive Maw Sue would never miss it. She will get well and life will be as it was before. I need her. I really need her. The necklace began to burn my hands so I put it inside my pocket. I slipped out of the house and walked home. It was dark and the moon was barely visible. I darted the flashlight on the ground to find the trail home. I heard something behind me and jumped. I stopped and flashed the light around. An owl who-who’d and I could hear its wings flap nearby as it flew by. Whew! I turned around but when I did I noticed the blood trail behind him. It led right up to my pocket where the stone was. I ran faster until I reached the house, made a sneaky tip-toe to my room and quietly closed the door and then let out an exhausting sigh. At first I didn't know if the stone was making my vision warped, and seeing things but when I turned the light on, my bloodied pockets told me otherwise. Now I was scared. Really frightened. It was on my hands and running down my legs, and pooling in my pocket. Stay calm Willodean. This is part of your purpose. You’re born for this. Rid the curse. Make it go away. Save the family. Save Maw Sue and yourself. You’re a pugnator. You can do it. I pulled the burning stone, red and wet from my pocket and it felt as if it was on fire. I dropped it instantly. The stone sat on my pink carpet burning like a coal without a fire. What have I done? I lunged underneath my bed and pulled out the mirror bin. It’s my destiny. This is part of it. Do it. I opened the lid and grabbed the dirty t-shirt on the floor. I laid it on top of the necklace so I could pick it up without it burning my flesh. It soaked immediately turning a blood red mess. God! I grabbed it in a wad and held it over the mirror bin and dropped it inside. The plunk was the loudest, clanging bell sound I had ever heard. The ringing went on forever. I slammed the lid down, latched it shut and shoved it under my bed. I was out of breath and worried sick of what it all meant. Did I make a mistake? I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I kept hearing that stone leap out in ripples and bounce the mirror bin under my bed against the bed railings. Every knock made my heart flinch and lock up. After a few hours wide eyed and awake, I regretted my decision. Come first light, if I survived, I planned on taking that dad-blasted red stone back to its rightful owner.
Porch Silence
Dark slumber. Shadows. Moons and stars. Lilies. Peppermint. Copper pennies. Branson. One after another, my mind alternates. I am lost in them and suddenly a bright stream of light floods my vision extracting me from my memories. I’m lying flat. I must be in my bed waking from one of those stupid dreams. My mind is foggy, my eyes crusty. I’m able to stare at the ceiling, but it’s odd and different as if someone painted it during the night. I can’t say if I’m five years old or forty years old. Time seems irrelevant. My vision is disorientated. Chatters grow loud, whispering, lots of whispering, people voices overriding my sleep, dreams, my awakening. I spring upwards from my pillow, unsettled and shaken to discover that I am not in my own home.
“Geeeshhh…” I say out loud and fall back on the pillow. I had forgotten where I was. Which is in my childhood bedroom. Lena insisted Mag and I stay over since it was late, but mainly because we had one too many shots of tequila. It’s weird for me to wake up here, now that I’m in a better frame of mind, or reality, and not in a psychotic meltdown. Things seem connected and clearer. My bedroom is the same as it was when I was a kid and I hadn’t noticed that before. It’s like stepping back in time, the furniture, the curtains, the mattress, the fears. Oh, yes, the fears. I shudder thinking about it. Secrets, lots of secrets here. Last time I slept here I was immersed within the house of shadows, inside myself, behind locked doors, stuck in the walls with no way out until everything changed when I eyed the crackle, heard Maw Sue’s voice, interpreted my visions. It’s easier in my bedroom to enter inside the house, inside me and slip away to portals unknown, rooms I created, but dare not speak of.
And then I remember last night, something niggling me in my sleep, or when I tried to sleep, that is. I tossed and turned while the room fell into a darkness that was familiar. I stared into the black ceiling of nothingness for a long, long time, listening to the whir of the metal fan, my mind restless, on full throttle, tumbling out rational and irrational matter until it exploded above me like fireworks, then fading in streaks and dust particles which as they fell turned into stemmed roses, which in turn became the petal people falling into me, as I absorbed them into the house inside me. I could no more stop their entrance or exorcist them out of me. I wanted to run like the dickens, but I was locked to the mattress like a captive of my imaginations. The mattress didn’t help none either. It was older than me, but not as old as the marshmallow bed Maw Sue used to have, but old enough and that night it wanted to reminisce like a lost friend excited to catch up, chat, cry, revisit, laugh, scream, hug and torment me relentlessly. While I lay on top of it, I rolled into the aged old indentions of my body molded over time. I went to the house inside me and revisited the horrors in each room. Inside wallpaper Branson room I traced the fine etched features of his face hoping to find some sense of it all. I saw the good and melted within it but just as it took me in, his words became belligerent and abusive, and I ran out with my hands on my ears trying to stop the horrible from entering in and taking root. I rolled on the mattress fighting its mold, and the dream state it took me to. I was reminded of my relationships, men who love me, hate me, miss me, love me again, reject me, push me away, hold me tight, treat me like shit, make up with sex, vow not to treat me bad, then break the vow and treat me worse than before, vow again, break the vow, treat me like shit again, love me, hate me, reject me. And the whole crazy charade repeats itself. It’s no wonder I’m bat shit crazy. It takes me a few minutes after I wake up to sort through the battlefield of the dream state. The mattress squeals from my body pressure as if it wants me to stay. I hear noises outside the door, people stirring. It must be Lena in the kitchen doing what she does best, making deserts into tombstone memorials that can’t be eaten. And then I remember why I’m here and my heart sinks.
Papa Hart’s visitation is this evening. The dreadful casket viewing death walkabout. Ugh. I hate. I hate. I remember his talks about the old days, when people died, and how they were buried on the prairie somewhere and marked with a stick or a rock. That was fine by him, much preferred over the newer version of funerals. He told me there were too many rules to be born and too many rules to die. It was about money. Period. Papa Hart and I used to talk about this on the porch. Old times—new times, changes. Thinking about it makes me want to crawl under the covers and never get out of bed. I hear a car door slam outside and wonder who it could be. I jump across the bed and sweep the pink curtains back. A rattling ‘ole pickup truck glides by slowly, a hand flung out the window in a wave. Who’s outside this early? The truck passes and reveals Mr. Montalongo’s porch with two empty chairs and my heart jumps in its throat, because he’s long gone, but my childhood eyes see him there, like he was always there, on his porch, in his chair, staring with bug eyes like a creeper. “Hello wondering tree.” I glance up at the branches, the leaves, the arms that held me so many times. The urge to climb it overtakes me. Reckless freedom. My heart flutters in response and I notice the web is no longer there, moved on—just like me. “Willodean, you up.” BAM, BAM! Lena pounds on the door.
“Jesus.” I said startled out of my mind. “I am now.” The banging ripples down the hallway to Mag's old bedroom.
“Yawl come eat breakfast before it gets cold.” Lena said making one last round of pounding. I hear Paul g
rumble from the other side of the wall. He's been working out of town and got in late last night. The only thing that will rise Maggie’s husband from the dead of sleep is food. How Mag has kept his hollowed out six foot two inch frame full of groceries is a miracle. Their food bill is probably enormous.
“Morning.” Lena said when she saw me come out of the bedroom. She rushed around the kitchen with more energy that I was ready to observe. Uh-oh. I scan the kitchen for fruit tombstones, desserts of death but only the cobbler and the fried pies remain immortalized. Uneaten. Maybe Lena is coming to grips. Maybe…
“Morning.” I said in my give-me-coffee or die voice. I spot the fresh cooked biscuits and think of Dell and how much my mama wanted that recipe of hers. I don’t even know where it is—last I saw it, it was in my mirror bin and Lord knows where that thing went. Who knows, it probably got buried deep inside the house inside me. Maybe it's better that way because it took the red stone necklace, the horrible dragon with it. My mind is enough, I certainly don’t need any help. I scarf up a biscuit. It’s warm and crunchy and delicious. Lena has a gift for cooking, that’s for sure, but I wonder what her curse is? Oh…I forgot...it's me. I laughed out loud spontaneously. Not my daughter. Not my child.
“Sleep well?” She said glancing over. Her hands dipped in and out of the sink, plucking plastic bowls and silverware.
“Uh-huh. Sorta…” I said remembering my dreams, the walls closing in on me, the ceiling exploding into petal people. “I’m going outside.” I opened the door in a rush to avoid conversation. The humid Texas air hit me like a wool blanket. The sun was coming up over the pine trees and I could smell the fresh dew on the ground, while the scent of pine waffled through the air reminding me of my childhood. The forest behind the house where Mag and I played as kids was shoulder to shoulder with large pines, thick as thieves and scattered with assorted scrub brush. That's why they called it the Pine thicket. Getting through it was difficult if not impossible. Before I knew it I was walking the old trail, the same path my bare feet walked a million times over. My childlike eyes scan the nooks and crannies, and hiding places along the way. I hear voices and look behind me. Dad is in the driveway talking to people in a white car. They notice me and wave. I wave back. I have no idea who they are. Just strangers bringing stacks of aluminum trays. It’s been like this for three days, Pine Log neighbors, friends and family, church folks delivering food, a sympathy of death doled out in donuts, condolences in candied carrots, sandwiches of sorrow.
WILLODEAN (THE CUPITOR CHRONICLES Book 1) Page 42
