Erma Dempsey had to take control of matters. Ross was blinded by the hope that false gimmicks would keep Murcat Manor packed.
But Bob, she was beginning to realize, now he was one smart cookie. As much as Erma made fun of Bob she had developed a respect for him, incrementally at first, but lately exponentially. She knew once he committed to a task, he would see it through. Tonight, Robert Jeremy Stevens would expose whatever dark secrets lurked behind the history of Murcat Manor.
Unfortunately, Bob took calculated risks. And Erma didn’t have the time that Bob’s risk management mindset would offer.
She pulled out Old Faithful and twisted off the cap. She closed her eyes and took a careful sniff of the Balvenie Single Malt fifteen year old scotch, saluted her old friend, and took three large gulps. A quick shudder and flapping of the lips as the whiskey passed her esophagus brought her senses back to full charge.
Erma placed the flask back in her shoulder purse and stepped to the front porch. The Goths backed their cars out of their parking spaces and drove past, staring at her, and making insolent faces and jabbing fingers her way while laughing.
Erma gave each carload of brats a grin and a stiff high wave of her middle finger, breaking their mocking expressions into surprised deadpanned faces.
The aging yet conniving matriarch closed the front door and walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Now she needed to get rid of Raymond. Erma came prepared with a plan.
“Raymond,” she called out.
The Murcat Manor handyman came from the basement, wiping his hands with a towel. “Hi Mrs. Dempsey. What can I do for you?”
Erma handed him a prescription from her purse and faked a cough. “Be a dear, and run over to the pharmacy for me. I forgot to fill this. And Ross is still out at Cornwell’s with Debbie. They won’t be back for a while.”
Raymond offered a wink. “Sure thing. I’m just finishing up some odd jobs. Anything else you need?”
Erma placed her hand on his cheek. “No. Just the prescription. Thank you for helping me out.” She donned a bewildered look. “Sometimes, I just don’t know where I leave my brain. Let me tell you, getting old, it’s not fun.”
As soon as Raymond left, closing the front door, Erma took a few more swigs. She patted Old Faithful as if they were kindred souls.
She stood at the head of the large custom oak table and looked around the Debbie’s domain. How proud she was of her only granddaughter. Debbie Elaine Stevens was not short on vision. She had accomplished so much at such a young age and was living her dream in a way far beyond most women could ever conceive.
Erma took a deep breath and looked across the table, Debbie’s centerpiece and pride and joy of Murcat Manor. The door to the basement stood on the far side of the kitchen. The pet door at the bottom allowed the cats free range in and out of the cellar.
Those damned cats. They were not in the living room. Nor were they in the kitchen. Bob and Debbie’s bedroom was sealed with yellow police tape, including the animal door. And they hated the outdoors. Spoiled little vermin, they were. They could only be one place.
The basement.
Erma took a moment and allowed the Irish whiskey to absorb into her bloodstream. Satisfied Old Faithful had not let her down, and why would she now, Erma walked around the oak table and stood at the door to what she believed was a portal to the underworld.
This was a place where the metaphysical world converged with the physical. It wasn’t necessary to understand or explain the malevolent evil that had the authority to kill as it pleased. That it existed, and endured for generations underneath Murcat Manor, would suffice.
Erma took another lung full of air and gripped the door knob. She despised the cats and the mayhem they inflicted on innocent people. That’s what overrode the fear that would turn most people away. In one swift move, she stood at the top of the stairs. Erma had a grand view of the basement and a good idea what to expect.
There were nine hellish cats left after last night’s American Ghost Stories fiasco. If she could kill at least five, that would be considered a victory. She would pick off the rest later, one at a time.
Chapter 50 Tables Turned
Emily Livingston could scarcely believe her luck. She’d eavesdropped when Erma got rid of Ross and Debbie. Her husband was such a glutton. He would finish lunch at Cornwell’s, then munch on the buffet, staying until it was time to eat dinner.
Bob Stevens would be out late, researching the history of Murcat Manor at a local college. Raymond Hettinger was playing errand boy. Those freakish Goths and Vamps were not a threat as they were off to McDonalds for dinner.
It was just Erma now.
Poor little Erma. She must be drunk. Why else would she be foolish enough to challenge Emily and her sisterhood? But Emily decided to never again underestimate an opponent. There was much strange magic they had never seen. Indian Joe had taught her that.
Erma Dempsey had no special powers like Indian Joe. She was elderly, although sprite for her age. And she was petite. If the young and vibrant cast from American Ghost Stories were powerless to do anything, what could tipsy little old Erma possible do to harm them?
There she stood, now at the bottom of the stairs, all five feet two inches and barely one hundred and twenty pounds. Emily could take her down in a second—a mere thought implant would take her out. But why draw more unneeded attention to her and the rest of the cats?
Darrowby would be back. Four dead cats may not be the main thrust of his systematic probing. But he had to be asking questions about the feline clan. And a dead family matriarch in the basement would pour gas onto the fire that was Darrowby’s investigation.
Emily sat on her favorite shelf amidst the industrial sized banged up cans of fruit cocktail and laughed inwardly as Erma studied her surroundings. Her following lounged around, not too worried.
“Well ladies, what do you think?”
Rebecca, sitting on a stack of boxes of bedroom linens with Madelyn at her side, was the first to respond. “I think AARP’s confused. She’s examining the basement. We’re all in plain sight. What’s she looking for?”
“Another bottle of Irish whiskey?” Helen said.
That elicited a round of soft laughter.
Erma stepped forward and zeroed in on the work table. She passed by Chloe and Midnight, who were lying in the center, without looking at them.
“Maybe she’s sleep walking,” Midnight said.
Emily watched as Erma found a small piece of drywall, then picked up a cordless drill from Raymond’s tools and a hand full of screws. Emily laughed again as the aged woman looked peculiar carrying a power tool. Erma walked back to the stairs and climbed to the top. She turned her head over her shoulder and looked down on the cats with a leer.
“I’ve got you now, you disease carrying miscreants.”
Erma knelt, her back to Emily, blocking her movements. But the sound of the drill confirmed what Emily suspected. Erma was sealing the animal door shut.
“Um, I think we should confirm Erma as a threat,” Chloe said. “No vote needed.”
Erma stood on the top step and looked down on Emily. Her smirk grew to a full smile as she gave an underhand toss of the drill.
The tool seemed to take its time as it followed its parabolic arch before slamming onto the work table. The violent and noisy impact scattered smaller tools onto the floor as it slid to the far end and disappeared over the side. Chloe and Midnight barely escaped its path. They jumped off the table with a screech and disappeared behind a row of folding chairs.
“Yep. She’s a threat,” Esther said.
Erma walked with confidence down the stairs, one step at a time. Her smile never wavered. Halfway down, she unzipped her shoulder purse.
“Careful,” Emily said, holding her breath and realizing her pulse had risen. “We don’t know what’s in her bag.”
“She could have a gun,” Helen added.
To Emily’s relief, and amusement, Erma pulled
out a foot long cross. She gripped it tight by the long base and held it in front of her. Once on the basement floor, she panned the room with it, as if creating a defense around her the cats would not be able to penetrate.
“Is this some kind of joke?” a chuckling Esther said. “We destroyed her family heirloom, that giant Celtic cross, when we killed DeShawn Hill. Does she think that puny little Crucifix is going to hurt us?”
Emily exhaled. She collected her thoughts and felt sorry for Erma. It pained her to see the family matriarch stoop to such a ridiculous act.
She imagined Erma in her youth. Strong. Smart. A leader. But fast forward to today, it was, well, kind of sad. The queen of the Dempsey clan was a hollow stump where a glorious tree once stood. Emily would try to put an end to this before Erma further humiliated herself and got hurt.
“Hello, Erma.”
Erma snickered as she began a slow and steady pace across the basement. “Yeah, I knew there was something evil about you cats when one of you hissed inside my head and made me look foolish in front of my family. Remember that? I do. No one else heard it. But I did.”
Erma scanned the room of cats. “Which one of you flea bags was it?”
Isabella jumped up on the work table and waved her paw. “It was me.”
Erma’s grin turned into a scowl. “I don’t know how you did it. And I really don’t care.”
“I’ll tell you anyway,” Isabella said, maintaining her stare at Erma and again waving her paw. “Please allow me to gloat. I have the power of telepathy. I can transmit information from and to a human or any other animal without using any known sensory channels or physical interaction.”
Emily couldn’t resist. “Or maybe you’re crazy and imagining cats are talking to you.”
Erma continued her measured pace as she pulled out her flask and took a few gulps, still holding her cross. She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and put the flask back in her purse.
“Oh, I’m not crazy. I can assure you that. In fact, I’m smarter than anyone in this family. In case you haven’t realized it, I’m the only one who’s figured you smelly rodents out.”
“Well then, maybe you’re drunk. And for the record, we’re felines. Not rodents.”
“I know what you are,” Erma spat out. “Don’t get smart with me. I don’t tolerate sass talk.”
“Listen to me,” Emily said. “Why don’t you turn around and go back upstairs. Just leave. Pretend none of this happened. We’ve already killed one elderly person in Indian Joe. We don’t want to hurt you.”
Erma regained her wicked smile. She approached Isabella and Esther, waving the cross in their faces. Then she moved on to Helen and did the same.
“I’ve got you lazy good for nothing regurgitated fur balls right where I want you.”
As the other cats did their best to act as if they didn’t care, Emily watched Erma as she trotted back to Isabella.
It happened fast. Erma spun the cross in her hand with speed and precision. She now held the short end of the cross and tore the covering off what was the long base.
An elongated shiny steel blade gleamed in the basement light overhead. The Celtic cross had become a dagger—similar to the knife Indian Joe used. Only this time, Erma intended to use it on gutting the cats. Once again, Emily and her sisterhood had let their guard down. And now, another elderly person had turned the tables on them.
Chapter 51 Erma Unleashed
Emily sprang to her feet and tried to shout out a warning. But a thrust of Erma’s arm, a few slicing motions of her hand, and within seconds, Isabella lay dead on her side, her entrails spilled out across the work bench.
Erma stepped back and raised her dagger in triumph. “That’s for planting the hissing inside my head and making me to look foolish in front of my family. And for smart mouthing me.”
There was nothing Emily could do to save Isabella. One of her leaders, and best friends, let out a ghastly shriek as she was ripped from inside her pelt and sucked into the Netherworld.
Emily had to act quickly and take the offensive before Erma could pull another surprise from her handbag. A massive energy burst would put an end to this.
Too late. For a senior citizen, Erma was quick and agile. With one nimble move, she turned and whipped out a can of pepper spray from her handbag, directing a stream at Emily. Before Emily could move, she was hit on the left side of her face.
The pain was immediate and unbearable. Her eyes slammed shut. Tears filled her inflamed face. With only the use of one blurry eye, she jumped off her shelf and hot footed to the other side of the basement.
“Everyone take cover.” Emily said, frantically wiping her face with her paws. “Erma’s been practicing. She got me with a direct hit to my face.”
“What’s our plan?” Esther shouted out.
Emily could hear paws scurrying for cover. She peered around a stack of boxes. Her left eye was closed, but with her right she could see cloudy images. Erma kicked over a stack of boxes and sprayed at Helen and Midnight. Both cats sprinted off in separate directions.
“There’s nowhere you mangy parasites can hide,” Erma shouted. With surprising speed she moved through the basement, knocking over anything that could be used as a hiding place.
Emily needed to physically see Erma to cast an energy burst. But the golden-ager disappeared from her view. Someone else would have to take her out.
“Scarlett, hit her with a bout of madness.”
“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s half nuts as it is. And I really don’t want to expose myself.”
“Just do it.”
“I can’t see,” Midnight said as she ran into the base of the work bench. “I need help. I don’t know where I’m going.”
“She’s right behind you,” Chloe said. “Just run.”
Midnight came back into Emily’s blurred view and ran into a cinderblock wall. She got up and stumbled forward, an easy target for an enraged Erma.
“Helen,” Emily said. “Turn off the lights now or Midnight’s as good as dead.”
A second later the basement was pitch black.
Emily, trying to cope with the burning sensation in her eyes and nostrils, needed to coordinate a counterattack while they had the advantage of darkness. “Scarlett, how’s that dose of nutso coming? Better make it a double”
“I need to see her to get a direct hit.”
The sound of a purse being unzipped was followed by a beacon of light moving back and forth across the basement. “I came prepared for you rotten creatures from hell.”
Emily squinted, trying to ignore the searing pain. “Look for the flashlight. Aim a couple feet above it.”
“Got her,” Scarlett said with much gusto. “She’s stunned, but still looking around.”
Erma took a few swigs of her flask. “I’m not sure what just hit me, but it’s not going to work. That only pissed me off more.”
“Hit her again.”
“Done. But she’s still moving. Why isn’t it working?”
“I think I can answer that,” Madelyn said. “In the human brain, information from one neuron flows to another neuron across a synapse. However, alcohol interferes with the brain's communication pathways. These disruptions can affect the way the brain works.”
“English,” Rebecca yelled out.
“Since she’s drunk, the alcohol is actually guarding her brain, at least to an extent, from Scarlett’s bout of madness.”
“So it’s having no effect on her?”
More boxes came crashing down. Cats screeched as they ran for new cover.
“Actually, I think it made her worse. Now she’s half mad and half drunk, but coherent enough to know she’s on a mission to kill us.”
“Erma got me with her pepper spray,” Helen said. “I tried to get a clear view to shut off her flashlight, but she saw me. Now I can’t see a thing.”
“Don’t try to rub it off,” Madelyn said. “That’ll only increase the inflammation.”
�
��What can I do?”
“Milk,” Madelyn said. “You have to get to our bowls of milk upstairs. That’ll help take the sting away.”
“I’ve got you cornered,” Erma said to a cat. “Take this.”
Pepper spray noise again. Damn, Emily thought, this is way out of hand. “Someone’s in trouble. I’m not sure which one of us it is.”
“And now for the grand finale,” Erma said.
Emily heard another screech. It was the brains of the group. She had been torn apart from her feline body and joined Isabella in the Netherworld.
“It’s Madelyn. Erma got Madelyn.”
“That’s it,” Rebecca said. “I’m torching this loon.”
With the one blurry eye Emily could make out Rebecca running in a circle. A flash of fire burst in the middle.
“Oh, you like to start fires, do you? Well, two can play at that game.” Erma ran to Raymond’s work table and grabbed a large monkey wrench. She took a few hard swings at an overhead gas pipe. A small hiss could be heard. She darted across the basement and whacked a second pipe. More hissing.
“Go ahead. Start a fire. That actually saves me the trouble of burning this cursed place to the ground for insurance money. No way am I losing my ass to this money pit. And sweet mother of mercy, I’ll be damned if I let you freaks from hell kill again.”
Emily needed to end this before they and half of Murcat Manor went up in a spectacular ball of flames. “That crazy woman’s going to kill us all. Chloe and Esther. It’s up to you. Do something.”
“I’m trying to blow something up,” Esther said. “But I need to look at an object for at least a few full seconds.”
“How about her flask?” Emily said.
“Great idea. She’s stopped to take a few sips and standing long enough for me to get a good look. C’mon Erma. Keep your flashlight still and take another swig, you lush. Hold that pose.”
A loud sound like the crack of a whip echoed in the basement. Erma dropped the flask and fell on her butt.
“That’s a good start. Hit her again. Use her flashlight.”
Salem's Daughters Page 30
