Salem's Daughters

by Stephen Tremp

  Star Child.

  Star Child.

  Star Child.

  The skinny high school senior from Detroit with an Afro so large it seemed to engulf his head would acknowledge the crowd with a fist pump.

  But this was more than a dream. He felt just as much awake as he did asleep. He had free will and could make decisions.

  Five seconds left. He could fake left, but decided to dribble one step to the right. Leap, fade back, release, and swish. Another buzzer-beater. More cheers of Star Child filled the auditorium.

  Damn if he wasn’t making decisions in his dream. Time to test his theory and do something his coach told him never to do. Five seconds left. He pump faked his defender then drove the lane, dribbling past three defenders before dunking on the opposing center a foot taller than him. Yes. He was in a dream. Yet he could dictate the outcome on his own accord.

  But why stop with the continuous game winners?

  The crowd went wild after the center fell on his back and Reginald landed on the floor. The final buzzer sounded to more chants of Star Child.

  Thirteen drop-dead gorgeous and built-like-a-brick-house cheerleaders mobbed him. He could read their names on their uniforms as they rushed him.

  Emily.

  Rebecca.

  Annie.

  Jacquelyn.

  Chloe.

  Midnight.

  Helen.

  Scarlett.

  Angel.

  Esther.

  Isabella.

  Rachel.

  Madelyn.

  His face was happily stuffed between the lead cheerleader Emily’s bountiful breasts. She grabbed him by his head and whispered with a soft sultry voice, “Reginald, dear.”

  “Yes, my love?”

  “Tonight—” She lolled her tongue in his ear.

  “Yes—” Reginald thought he was going to explode.

  “You’re going to die.”

  The final word ended with a booming hiss that echoed through his head. He thought his eardrums were about to explode. Reginald woke in an instant, sitting up in bed and cupping his ears. His head was hammering. Sweat broke out on his brow.

  He took a moment to catch his breath. The dream. It was so real.

  He looked over at his wife. Sophia was fast asleep, a sleep mask over her eyes and a hair net covering her braid extensions. She drooled on her pillow as she snored.

  Reginald sensed he wasn’t alone in The Disco Room. He scanned the four walls, the near full moon casting light through the window.

  Up above the door were three shelves, one at the apex of the vaulted ceiling and two a little lower on either side. On the top shelf a single cat sat still and stared at Reginald. The red eyes pierced the night and appeared to look right through him. Invading his space. Piercing his mind.

  Reginald reached to the nightstand to turn on the light. The disco ball on the ceiling came to life. Balls of color danced across the room.

  He toggled the light switch to turn on the regular light. The disco ball continued to spin. He looked to Sophia, still fast asleep. He grabbed his cell phone and shined the flashlight on the feline. It didn’t budge. It didn’t blink.

  There was no way for the cat to jump that high. It would take a tall ladder for someone to put the shelves there and place items on them. How the hell could that cat get up there? It must be ten feet off the floor.

  “Hey Babe, wake up.”

  “No,” she snorted through a half snore.

  “You gotta check this out.”

  “You’s not having that ol’ dream ’bout hittin’ them game winnin’ shots an being mobbed by those pretty young thang cheerleaders again, is you?”

  “Oooooh yeah, baby.”

  “I tol’ you t’ stop havin’ them. I don’t likes you being mobbed by all them young thangs. Even if it is in yo dreams.” She dropped her head back to her pillow.

  “C’mon, baby. Wake up.”

  “No. You take yo black ass back t’ sleep. And stop havin’ them dreams with them perky boobs fine ass hoes. Or I’ll whoop yo ass good. You hear me, now?”

  “Forget about the dream, babe. Check out that cat.”

  Sophia took off her sleeping mask and rubbed her eyes. “I tol’ Mrs. Stevens I don't wants no funky cats in my room. Throw it out. And ice them wet dreams, hear me?”

  “Babes, this ain’t right. How’n the hell did that cat jump all the way up there?”

  “It’s a cat, Reginald. Now takes yo’ ass back to sleep.”

  Reginald got out of bed. He took off his socks, folded them into a ball, and threw them at the cat. To his amazement, the socks seem to deflect back to him as if one of his game winning shots were blocked and swatted away.

  The cat didn’t blink. It continued to stare down Reginald. He stepped to his left. The head turned and the red eyes followed his movement. He stepped right. The eyes tracked him through the colored lights of the disco ball.

  He looked back to his wife. She was starting to snore again. He shook the bed violently. “Wake up, woman.”

  She threw the covers off, along with her mask. “Das it. I done tol’ you to take yo fool coal black ass back to sleep.”

  Reginald held up his hand to ward her off. “Shhhhh. Just look,” he said in a whisper and pointed to the cat. “You tell me, how the hell that cat can git all the way up there by itself.”

  Sophia leaned forward and squinted. “Yeah. That sho ’nough is weird. Even for a cat. I don’t know of no cat that can jump that high.”

  “And look at those bright red eyes. Thought that only happens in pictures.”

  She got out of bed and stood up straight. “It’s not moving. Maybe it’s a decoration.”

  Sophia reached down and picked up one of her shoes. “Let’s see if it’s alive. I hope it is. I'll knock dat crazy ass cat off the shelf.”

  “I tried that with my socks. But it’s like it has some—I dunno—some kinda force field around it.”

  “Are you stupid? Socks? For real? Leave it to me.” She reared back to throw.

  Reginald and Sophia jumped back when the cat hissed. The sound intensified as it reverberated through the room, growing in volume until it sounded like a jet engine before it stopped.

  “Holy shit,” Sophia said. “The damn thing is alive.”

  “And that’s the loudest hiss I’s ever done heard. That shit there could wake the dead.”

  “Right now, I wants it dead.” Sophia bent back to throw the shoe and gave it a heave with a loud grunt. The shoe was deflected back and landed on the floor with a thunk.

  “See what I mean?”

  “Yeah. That’s real freaky. Just look at that thang. Starin’ down on us with those red eyes. It’s evil. Turn off that disco ball an turn on the normal light. Has to be somethin’ in here I can knock it off that shelf with.”

  Reginald shut off the disco ball, found the light switch by the door, and flipped it up. He blinked in disbelief. Sophia gasped with her hands to her mouth. There were cats sitting, spread out all over their room staring at them.

  Reginald counted out loud. “Thirteen. All thirteen cats is in here.”

  “But the door’s closed. So how’n the hell’d they get in here?”

  “I don’t know. But they’s going out right now.” Reginald turned the knob on the door. “Oh, now this here’s downright freaky. Door is locked.” He gripped and wrenched at it. “I can’t open it.”

  “No worries,” Sophia said, picking out a brass poker by the fireplace. “I’m gonna get rid o’ these evil thangs right now.”

  She took a swing at the closest cat sitting on the foot of the bed. It jumped with ease and landed on the floor on the other side of the room where it sat still, staring at Sophia.

  “Oh, hell no. I don’t think so.” Sophia gripped the poker and held it up over her head.

  She took more whacks at three cats. The results were the same. Each one deftly moved out of the way and found a new sitting spot where they continued to stare at the Jo
hnsons.

  Sophia bent over and grabbed her knees, wheezing and catching her breath. “Well, don’t jus’ stand there. Get yo ass over to the fireplace and grab somethin’ and start swingin’.”

  Reginald grabbed the cast iron fireplace shovel, took a few practice swings, then whipped it back and forth at the cats.

  “Sheeeeet, you’s getting old. You be missin’ by a mile.”

  “Baby, you talk too much. Get over here and help me.”

  Together they swung and thrust their weapons, but never came close. The cats jumped out of the way with ease, each time landing safely away, then sitting and staring at them.

  Sophia was gasping for air. “It’s … like … these here cats,” she wheezed. “They know our every move.” Another wheeze. “Befo’ we even make it.”

  A minute later, Reginald was spent. He lowered the shovel when Sophia glared at him with a crazed look. “I’ve got you now, you wicked critter from hell. You nev’r should’ve come here.”

  Reginald backpedaled. “Hey wait, baby. It’s me. Put that poker down.”

  “I got you. Now die, you hellion.”

  Before he could react, Sophia thrust the poker deep into his chest.

  Reginald's vision started to go dark. He looked at his wife as lights began to fade. “Now why you gone and done that t’ me, baby?”

  And Reginald Vincent Johnson’s world went black.

  Chapter 31 Sophia Johnson

  Sophia laughed as she yanked back on the poker, the hooked tip tearing through flesh and bones. Her thoughts were hazy. She felt lightheaded and nauseous. But her vision was clear. She looked down on a kneeling cat, paws covering a mortal chest wound, and crying out for mercy.

  “Yeah, I got you good, didn't I you little feline freak. Beg alls you want to. But I'm watchin’ yo sorry ass die.”

  As the fog in her head lifted, she saw her husband on his knees, covering the hole in his chest with both hands, blood oozing out between his fingers. He looked up and tried to say something. His mouth moved, but she couldn't hear his words. His eyes rolled back in his head and he fell forward to the orange shag carpet floor.

  “Holy Mothah of God! Reginald. O’ dear sweet Jesus. Wha—what happened?”

  “You just murdered your husband. What do you think,” a pleasant voice vibrated in her head.

  Sophia gripped the poker with two hands and held it up in front of her. She looked left, then slowly completed a full turn, searching for someone else in the room.

  “Who said dat?”

  “I did.”

  She studied the cats. One jumped up on the foot of the bed. “Please allow me to introduce myself. My name is Isabella. Nice to meet you.”

  Sophia looked at the name tag on the collar. Isabella.

  “You can talks?”

  “Not exactly. I have the power of telepathy and illusion casting.”

  “Tele—telepa what?”

  “I can transmit information to a human or animal without using any known sensory channels or physical interaction. Just like I’m doing to you now.”

  Sophia looked at her dead husband, still twitching on the floor. “But why would I kill my Reggie?”

  “That’s easy. Scarlett can give people temporary bouts of madness. She caused you to go cuckoo just long enough for me to plant an image in your mind that your husband was one of us.”

  Sophia, glassy eyed and discombobulated, watched a second cat jump on the bed and waved her paw.

  “Scarlett says hi.”

  Sophia looked at the name on the collar. Scarlett. She held the poker up. It had a piece of flesh that was probably part of a lung draped over the end.

  “But, my Reg. I killed him?”

  “Believe me. After listening to your mouth all week, he’s better off dead. I’m not sure where he goes in the afterlife, but trust me, it has to be a better place.”

  “Talkin’ cats. You gots to be kiddin’ me.”

  Isabella sighed. “We don’t talk. We communicate telepathically with each other. And I can communicate telepathically with people like I’m doing with you right now. Anyway, check this out. Angel here, she started this whole episode by invading your husband’s dreams. And by the way, we were the cheerleaders.”

  Another cat joined the two cats on the bed. Sophie looked down at her name tag. Angel.

  “Wait. Don’t try to make sense of this. I doubt you have the cranial capacity to do so. Next up is Chloe. She can levitate things. She’ll help Annie come down from the shelf.”

  A fourth cat jumped up on the bed. Sophia looked at the name tag. Chloe. She turned to see the cat up on the shelf float across the room then onto the bed. Sure enough, the nametag read Annie.

  “Wait. You cats has special powers?”

  “My, my, aren’t you the perceptive one. Now you’re getting it. But we prefer to call them abilities. And we can combine our abilities and work together. You know. To kill people. Just like we’re going to kill you.”

  “I gotsta be losin’ my damn mind.”

  Sophia was shaking badly and almost dropped the black wrought iron rod. She scanned the Disco themed room as she backed up toward the door. The cats sat eerily still, their only movements were their tails swaying back and forth in unison and their eyes following her every move. Sophia aimed the poker to her left, then quickly shifted to the right of the room.

  “You crazy ass cats stay the hell away from me. You hear? I’m getting’ outta here. Don’t you dare try an’ stop me.”

  Sophia, not taking her eyes off the cats, reached behind herself and tried to open the door, but it was locked. She pointed the poker at Isabella. “Unlock this here door, or I swears to God I’ll kill you all.”

  “I’m sure Helen and Chloe will oblige.”

  A fifth cat jumped up on the bed. Sure enough, the name tag read Helen.

  “Helen can reverse things. A lock in this case. And Chloe, who just levitated Annie across the room, can pull the door open. They were able to unlock and open the door to let us in while you were sleeping. Cool, don’t you think?”

  “You truly is hell cats. Screw you all.”

  Sophia’s normal heart rhythms shifted to fast uneven heart palpitations pounding inside her chest. So strong were the abnormal pulsations she felt it spreading to the arteries in her neck. An enormous shudder almost caused her to lose control of her bowels.

  She found herself hyperventilating. The inside of her head gyrated as her knees lost strength. She must be having an anxiety attack. Yeah, she convinced herself that must be it.

  “I’m sure you feel your heartbeat increase and blood racing through your body. That’s Annie, doing what she does best. You know, causing your heart to beat faster. Stuff like that.”

  Behind her, the click of the lock on the door sounded.

  “Uh uh. No how, no way. Cain’t be happenin’.”

  Still facing the cats and holding the poker in a death grip, she turned her head to see the door knob turn by itself. The door swung open and smacked her hard in the butt.

  That was it. Sophia dropped the poker and ran out the door, screaming as she pulled the hem of her nightgown above her knees and scampered down the hall. At the top of the stairs the cats swarmed her feet, causing her to lose balance.

  She felt a burst of heat, as if an enormous bubble of hot air exploded against her back, pushing her forward with incredible force and lifting her feet off the carpet. Sophia flipped in a one-eighty arc and nose-dived down the stairs; her neck snapped on the first step her head landed on.

  Sophia was conscious, but had no control of her tumbling body. She could hear the sickening breaks and cracks of her bones as she slammed against the stairs on her downward plummet. She hit the living room hardwood floor nose first, and her life switched off.

  Chapter 32 Investigation

  Bob sat at the kitchen table. The boarders, still in their pajamas and robes, gawked at the twisted and broken body at the bottom of the stairs. Raymond Hettinger walked over and plac
ed a blanket over the corpse. Maria Gonzalez tried to calm the guests, some who were threatening to leave and demanding a full refund.

  Bob was thankful for Raymond and Maria. They had made excruciating circumstances easier to navigate. He reached out for the two cups of coffee Maria handed him and passed one on to Debbie.

  “Thanks Maria.”

  “You’re welcomed,” she said through tired eyes and a yawn. “I’ll offer some to Raymond and the guests, too.”

  For the third time in less than three months, Bob had yellow police tape on Murcat Manor’s property. And, like the previous two occurrences, it wasn’t the yellow tape that was the worst of his problems.

  “It only took a week for more people to die,” a terse Darrowby said, Kowalski at his side. “That’s four deaths in nine weeks. You wanna tell me what the hell’s going on here?”

  Bob was exhausted. But it was the frustration that he was already perceived guilty that gnawed at him. His words blew out of his mouth.

  “Clearly, this is a murder suicide,” he said, feeling defensive and sounding like it. “This much is clear. Especially, I would think,” he took the offense and eyed the two officers up and down. “To two trained detectives.”

  Darrowby gripped the table and rose. “Excuse me. You now have two more dead bodies inside your house. Put yourself in my shoes.”

  He stood and pointed out into the living room where there was a clear view of the dead body underneath the blanket. “Tell me, what am I thinking right about now?”

  Bob tried to say something in his defense, but Darrowby cut him off.

  “Are you a detective?”

  “No. I jus—”

  Darrowby stuck out his palm. “Wait. Hold that thought. Let me tell you who and what you are. Then I’ll tell you who and what I am.”

  He pointed his forefingers at him and Debbie. “You two are average Joe and Jane Citizen. Got that? You spend your evenings watching CSI reruns and honestly believe that you know more than real detectives like Kowalski and me. That’s you, in a nutshell.”

  “We don’t watch a lot of TV,” Bob said.