“No lawyer is going to pay any attention to your talk about ghosts and demons. If I were you, I’d keep my mouth shut, or Stephen may be taken away from you.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Good advice.” Rosemary stood. “We’ll take good care of Stephen.”
“Ask him about how he talks to his mother.”
“It gives him comfort.”
Jacob slowly shook his head.
“Somehow she’s communicating with him. I didn’t believe Molly either. She’s dead, Rosemary.”
“Mother told me.”
“I beg you to believe me. Cathy got even for the affair Molly and I had.”
“That’s your guilt dredging up all kinds of fantasies. Why didn’t she kill Molly and injure you while she was alive?”
“Because the depression took over. Her pathetic poor-me act cost her her life.”
“Once dead she had a change of mind?”
“She blames us for her suicide.”
“If this is true, she’s gotten even and can finally rest.”
“She wants back.”
“To come back from the dead?”
“I’m sure of it. She can never rest where she’s destined to go.”
“You’re saying she’s going to hell. I thought you were agnostic, Jacob.”
“After what I’ve seen and been through, I don’t know what I am.”
“Critical patient who needs his sleep. If you’re good I might come back.”
Jacob smiled.
“What can I do from this bed other than call a lawyer?”
“Don’t. You’ll be making trouble for yourself. No one is going to believe little demons did this to you.”
“I can’t die, Rosemary.”
She sighed. The doctors had reminded her of Jacob’s critical condition. Death lingered close at hand to burn victims, especially to those with the extensive burns Jacob had.
“You’re not going to die.”
“No. I refuse to die. I’ll come home and take Stephen back.”
“My mother and I wouldn’t keep you from your son.”
“Cathy would.”
Chapter
50
After dinner Rosemary took cleaning duty. Mom had cooked one of her special meals that no one else found special. However, no one told Mom since she had spent so many hours preparing the bland meal. Rosemary’s mother didn’t believe in spices, but she did believe the longer food was cooked the healthier it would be. No trichinosis would survive Mom’s cooking.
As she squeezed every last dish into the dishwasher she heard the children scream with joy when Mom allowed them to watch television for an hour. After that, Mom would require the children to have some cool-down time before bed. Rosemary remembered how she had dreaded Mom’s rules when she herself was a child.
“Can we take some ice cream into the living room while we’re watching TV?”
“ ‘May we,’ “ Grandmother corrected.
“You may and can,” Rosemary yelled to her daughter. She immediately went to the freezer before Grandma could get there. She hated watching her mother scoop ice cream out of the container as if she were weighing the exact amount. Rosemary doubled up on the scoops. Somehow her mother managed to remain silent.
The children rushed off to the living room, carrying their ice cream.
“I’m going up to my room to grade some papers,” Mabel said.
“Okay, Mom, but remember you’ll have to cool down before bed.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Rosemary.”
Mabel left the room with head held high.
It only took another fifteen minutes to finish up in the kitchen. Proudly she placed the kitchen towel on its rack and checked on the children, who were mesmerized by a cartoon program.
Now for the basement, she thought.
Halfway down the basement stairs Rosemary shivered. Her mother had lowered the temperature on the thermostat, not because she feared the furnace but because she feared the bills that would come in. Rosemary reminded her Jacob still paid the bills and Robin had to be kept warm, but Rosemary had lost the battle.
At the bottom of the stairs she spied the table covered with wax.
“You must have been really busy, Cathy,” she murmured.
The furnace and the back wall had singe marks from when Jacob had caught fire. Otherwise no evidence remained of the tragedy.
She looked for the wooden box she had given her sister for storing some of her utensils, finally finding it beneath a tarp. The wood had lost its sheen but looked the same as when she had given it to Cathy. One of the hinges might be a bit loose, but that could be repaired. She found nothing inside.
“I guess no one would notice if I took this back, Cath. You don’t have a need for it anymore.”
She thought she heard voices. Scratchy, thin voices that spoke too fast. When she heard hissing sounds, she turned toward the furnace, but it hadn’t come on.
A glass jar spilled to the floor and fragmented into pieces.
She realized she should clean it up in case someone else came downstairs, but her gut feel was to run.
“Jacob’s just spooking me.” Her voice almost sounded like an echo.
She placed the box on the table and searched for something to clean up the glass. While doing so, another object fell to the floor. This time it was a paint can. She picked it up and noticed the can had to be at least two-thirds full.
How did it fall off the shelf? Must have been put down in a precarious position. Near the edge.
She decided to put the basement off-limits until she had the nerve to stay and clean up the mess.
Picking up the box, she thought she saw movement.
Hell, this house probably has mice like most old homes.
She ran her sleeve across the top of the box, trying to regain some of the original sheen of the wood. Occupied with her task, she almost tripped over the first step. She grabbed hold of the banister, and the voices she heard seemed to get louder, as if little people were shouting at each other. Cautiously she began the climb. Midway she heard a whole shelf of jars crash to the floor. She ran the rest of the way until she found herself in the living room.
“Hi, Mom. They’re having a part two; can we watch for another hour?”
Startled by her daughter’s voice Rosemary almost dropped the box.
“Are you okay, Mom?”
“Sure. And since I don’t see your grandma anywhere around, go right ahead and watch as much television as you want.”
“That doesn’t belong to you!” screeched Stephen.
Stephen ran toward his aunt and reached for the box but couldn’t quite touch it.
“I gave this box to your mother, and I’d like to have it back now that she doesn’t need it anymore.”
“The uglies need it,” he cried.
“The uglies? What are they?”
Stephen’s face looked like he would burst into tears.
“Stephen, who are the uglies?”
“Please, Aunt Rosemary, put the box back down in the cellar. Don’t make the uglies come look for it.”
“They won’t have far to go, since I planned on keeping it in my room.”
“The show’s starting, Stephen. Come on or you’ll miss it,” Robin called to him.
“Go ahead, Stephen, get back to your show and let me worry about what to do with the box.”
“No! You don’t belong in the basement, and the box doesn’t belong to you. Give it back!”
Stephen’s screaming surprised Rosemary. He did need counseling. She knew her mother had suggested the idea to Jacob.
“You have to calm down or Grandma will be coming down and poof, there will go your television show.”
“I don’t care. The box belongs in the cellar. Momma kept it there.”
Rosemary decided not to debate with the boy. He had been through enough.
“All right. I’ll put the box back under the tarp in the basement. But I would like to tak
e it with me when I go. I thought Robin could use it for some of her art supplies.”
“She can’t have it,” Stephen yelled.
“Mom, I don’t want the stupid box. I just want to watch the show right now.”
“Okay, I’m sorry, Stephen. It was your mother’s box, and if you want to keep it, I shouldn’t take it. I’ll put it downstairs later, or would you like me to leave it in your room?”
“Now. Put it back in the basement now.” Stephen’s stern voice sounded too adult, which grated on Rosemary.
She had to take several deep breaths before she agreed.
“By the way, where’s the broom and a dustpan?”
“The kitchen cupboard,” he answered calmly.
“Go back to your show. I’m on my way to the basement.”
Rosemary made a detour to the kitchen. On her way out she caught sight of Stephen still standing at the living room threshold, waiting for her to return the box. She waved the broom and dustpan at him and headed back down the stairs.
A stillness settled over the basement. She found it difficult catching her breath, and the ceiling light seemed dimmer.
She could have sworn the bulb grew brighter when she slipped the box back under the tarp. The tarp almost moved of its own accord, carefully assisting Rosemary in covering the box.
“Shit, Cathy, what were you doing down here?”
A peace settled over the entire basement as she swept up the glass and tension flowed out of her body. As the last scoop of glass fell into the garbage bag, Rosemary’s arms grew weak. Her head ached and her knees buckled, letting her body fall to the floor.
“Leave it.” Stephen’s soft voice awakened her failing senses.
“Robin needs to potty,” he said from the top of the stairs.
Rosemary stood and nodded.
“Bring up the broom and dustpan,” he reminded her as she stood empty handed.
Afraid to bend over because of her dizziness, she asked Stephen to carry them up for her. He obeyed without giving any contradiction.
Standing next to her he asked, “The box is under the tarp?”
She nodded, and they both climbed the stairs.
Chapter
51
“Not good,” said the old woman.
“What do you mean?” asked the dwarf. “She’ll become suspicious.” “So what! We can handle her.” “We’re not strong enough to make ourselves known. We still exist under the mother’s thumb.”
“Not for long,” whispered the dog with the man’s head. The tiny old woman’s eyes scanned the basement. Her nose scented the air and her ears listened patiently. Seeing, hearing, smelling no presence of death she turned to the dog with the man’s head.
“You are too cocky, Master Dog. You speak before you know it to be safe. What if she had heard you?”
“She is controlled by death now. She comes only when death wills her back into this world, and for that she must fight.”
“Yes, but if she regains a physical presence in this world we will be in great danger of being sent back into limbo.”
“I for one would never allow that to happen,” stated the dwarf.
“How would you prevent it?” the old woman asked, her chin protruding grandly into the darkness of the basement.
“I have my ax.”
“Violence. Ah, you think we are controlled by only physical forces. What of the powers that your ax can’t chop into pieces?”
“She is right, dwarf.” The snake inched its way closer to the small group. “We weren’t only brought to life by blood and flesh. An invisible desire reached out and plucked us from our sleeps. It is her hunger and spiritual strength that keeps us as we are.”
“She will rob her son’s life and be stronger than before,” predicted the old woman.
“Nonsense. The boy—”
“The boy is hers,” interrupted the old woman. “She has him firmly gripped inside her fists. He belongs to her more than we do. Look at his eyes. They are hers. Look at his features. They are hers. Soon his soul will be hers too.”
“You live in fear, old woman. Why?” The dwarf approached the old woman and grabbed hold of her staff. “You limp around not as a great spirit of the dark world but as a timid hag who has lost all her powers. Is that true? Have you lost your strength? Were you plucked too soon from your sleep?”
The old woman smelled the dwarf’s foul breath and waited for him to rip the staff from her hand.
“You’re a coward, Master Dwarf, to pick on an ancient lady. Is robbing canes from the elderly another talent that you displayed in your former life?” the snake taunted from a distance.
“I know you, serpent, from somewhere although I can not immediately place the time or land.”
“Perhaps he didn’t look like a snake in another life. I certainly wasn’t a pig. At least not a barn animal pig. As a seaman I rarely bathed although my girth equaled that of a well fed pig.” The pig snorted in delight reminiscing about his pirate days.
“He always was a snake, I’m sure of that.” The dwarf let go of the staff to rub his beard. “I never met you on the battle field. No.”
“Does it matter, Master Dwarf?” the old woman asked.
“Yes, it does. For I am sure I owe him something and it wouldn’t be a pat on the back. More like a dagger between his ribs.”
“Not between my ribs, Master Dwarf.”
“My ax can cut you into tiny pieces and I can force each slice into your mouth.” The dwarf moved closer to the snake.
“You have met me before, Master dwarf. At that time you caused me great pain, not to my body but to my heart and mind. I had a wife, children. Many children. Each a prize for a man growing old too quickly.”
“Our former lives mean nothing here,” interrupted the gargoyle. “Stop this conversation now.”
“An old man.” The dwarf reviewed all his ancient battles and the ravaging he had done of villages and castles. Too many to place an old man with a family. “Did I know you, Master Serpent?”
“Of me, yes.”
“Daylight is drawing near. Stop this talk. We have the box back. A place to hide while the sun is up.” The gargoyle interposed his body between the dwarf and the snake.
“An old man that I had heard of but didn’t meet in person. A counselor for a king, no doubt. A bag of bones slinking about a castle, whispering perversions into the ear of some king.” The dwarf walked around the gargoyle. “A woman stolen from me.”
“Hardly stolen. Whatever would she have wanted with a dwarf?” The snake’s voice dripped with derision. It inched its way closer to the dwarf. “Remember Rebecca? The pretty daughter of the-”
“The jester’s daughter! The trollop!” The dwarf laughed so hard he bent over holding his stomach.
“You wanted her. Watched her night after night.” “Yes, counting the number of men she seduced.” “Liar.”
The old woman came forward. “This is tiresome. The woman and her children are dead. You no longer have a wife, Master Serpent. A jester’s daughter. Certainly you wouldn’t hold a grudge this long for a jester’s daughter, Master Dwarf.”
“I remember the woman. Her soft flesh, her sweet breath, the long fingers plucking the harp, driving men mad with the music of her voice. Yes, Master Serpent, I recall Rebecca. There’s something else though that causes me more fury. At the end the king who you advised had me disemboweled before lowly villagers at your behest.”
“A fitting punishment for the death of my family.” The snake lifted its head high.
“We are here now, in the present. We have work to do,” the gargoyle said. “That work takes precedence over grudges. When we are freed from this woman’s control then the two of you can decide this whatever way you please.”
“Hatred is impossible to control.” The dwarf spoke slowly, articulating each syllable clearly. “We have been drawn back into the world at the same time for a reason. It is to meet and settle our dispute.”
“What will t
he two of you settle?” asked the pig. “You’ve both been destroyed before and will be again. Then you will be called back for another round of making these human lives miserable. You really gain nothing by sending each other back to hell. How can you enjoy the turmoil we cause in this world when you’re busily worrying about getting the spirit next to you? Master Dwarf, I think both you and the serpent managed in a previous life to bring hell down to earth in each others lives. I call it a draw.”
“The first sensible thing to come out of that pig’s mouth,” said the two-headed bird. One head addressed the other but the words were overheard by the entire collection of demons.
“The pig is right,” said the gargoyle. “You both will live on for eternity. Does that mean you will seek each other out in every life you snatch from the world?”
“Rebecca pleaded for her life. The servants heard her cries for our children.” The snake drifted closer to the dwarf.
“A human’s reaction.” The dwarf gloated, reminiscing over the pain he had inflicted over the generations.
“That pain will never end.” The serpent’s flesh became a paler shade of black. Its tongue flicked the air reaching for dark memories he knew should be forgotten. “Human she was, Master Dwarf, and knew not the evil we shared and brought upon her people. But I think we both will always love her. That is why you had to destroy her.”
The dwarf opened his mouth to deny such a feeling but could not pronounce the word that would reject the woman Rebecca.
Daylight struck the basement like thunder. A frosty wind lifted the demons and distributed them about the rectangular box. The snake and dwarf were separated. The dwarf settled upon the lid of the box, his arm letting the ax droop to his feet. The snake coiled into a ball on one side of the box and didn’t lift its head until night.
Chapter
52
“Why were you so mean to my mommy?” asked Robin.
“Mean? She doesn’t understand what could have happened to her. To you, even, if she had kept the box in the room where you sleep.”
“What could have happened?”
“Bad things.”
The Witch Page 16
