Salem's Daughters (32 page)

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, i
nformation 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.”

Once more, the whip-like crack sounded loud. “Bullseye. But the flashlight’s shattered. I can’t see her.”

The smell of gas was getting worse. Things were moving too fast. Erma was unpredictable and could take out everyone with her next attack. Someone had to kill the dame of the Dempsey clan now.

“We don’t have a choice. There’s nowhere for the gas to escape. We’ve got to get out of here. Helen, turn the lights back on.”

“Let there be light,” Helen said.

The well-lit basement revealed Erma. Emily watched a half mad, half-drunk elderly woman as she staggered to her feet. Her hair stood up and was blown back, as if she had stuck her finger in a light socket. There were ghastly burn marks on her hands and face, proof Esther found her mark with at two direct hits. But Erma advanced, undeterred, looking for another cat to kill.

“Damn. Do we need a tank to stop this crazy woman?”

Erma looked left and right, showering pepper spray in a wide arc, moving her arm up and down, trying to hit any cat unfortunate not to get out of the way. The can emptied, and Erma hurled it toward Esther. She picked up anything she could grab and threw them at the cats.

“Die, you ugly little beasts.”

A ball peen hammer flew at Emily, spinning end over end. She jumped left, only to have a crow bar hit the cement floor inches from her. She dove for cover behind a pile of toppled boxes.

“Somebody has to stop her now. Sparks from the tools she’s throwing could cause the gas leaks to explode.”

“I can’t get a good shot,” Esther said. “She’s pulled out another can of pepper spray and is spraying it everywhere.”

“Let me try,” Midnight said.

Midnight teleported herself behind Erma, then clamped down on her left ankle with her teeth and claws. Erma froze, her eyes looking like they would explode from her head.

“That was great,” Emily said. “Esther, your turn.”

Esther stepped out and zeroed in on Erma’s pepper spray. It exploded in her hand. Emily shuddered as Erma held up her arm, staring at her right hand, now missing two fingers. Two more dangled by thin strands of skin, like little blood sausages stitched to a clump of raw hamburger.

Pepper spray covered her face. Erma dropped to her knees in the center of the basement, incapacitated. She sucked in air and let out a scream of agony that could wake the dead.

Emily could see a little better. Erma thrashed about on the ground, yelling curses at the cats. Anything she could grab with her left hand became an airborne missile.

“Everyone, just stay away from her. Follow me and start making your way to the stairs. Helen, can you do anything about the gas?

“The pipes are cracked. Nothing I can do about that.”

“Chloe, lift towels up onto the pipes and cover the leaks. That’ll at least slow down the flow of escaping gas.”

Emily led the cats to the top of the stairs, then took one last look at the raving madwoman on her knees and one hand, still trying to feel her way across the basement.

“Erma, I really wish you would have just left. But now we have to kill you. And by the way, you never trapped us in here. Helen, do your thing.”

One by one, the drywall screws Erma used to cover their animal door began to unscrew.

“Um, Helen, forget about the drywall. Just open the door. We need to move fast.”

“Oh, right.”

Helen easily turned the knob and the door opened. Emily led her flock into the kitchen. She kicked the door shut and Helen locked it. The clan took a minute to catch their breath. Next to the door were two bowls of milk. Emily buried her face in one, Helen in the other.

“This is beyond comprehension,” Rebecca said, starting to run around in circles and worrying Emily she’d start a fire. “We lost two more sisters: Isabella and Madelyn. That’s six of us gone in less than twenty-four hours.”

Emily raised her head from the milk. “Shhh. Quiet, everyone.”

“What is it,” Rebecca said.

“I thought I heard something.”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Neither do I,” Helen said.

An instant later, with a loud grunt, Erma’s head crashed through the drywall covering the pet door. Her right arm emerged from the small square. She took a swipe with her good hand and just missed grabbing Midnight by her back paws.

“I swear I’ll kill you all,” she screeched through blistered lips. “You hear me? Just wait until I get my hands on flea-infested hellions.”

Erma was a mess. Her hair was soaked with sweat. Her eyes were shut tight. Her face was raw and swollen and peeled with puss-oozing blisters.

“That’s enough. I’m ending this,” Chloe said.

A cast iron frying pan took flight off the main stove and hit Erma between the eyes. A clang echoed through the kitchen, then a soft thud as Erma’s head plopped on the floor.

“Wow. Quick and decisive,” Rebecca said. “Nicely done.”

A hushed silence prevailed as the cats gathered around Erma’s zombie looking head.

“Do you think she’s dead?” Scarlett said.

Midnight swatted Erma’s nose with her paw, then jerked back. “I don’t know. Someone, poke her in the eye with something and see if she moves.”

“Wait,” Emily said. “Someone’s here. They just came in the front door.”

“Mrs. Dempsey, I have your prescription.”

Midnight peered into the living room. “It’s Raymond. What do we do?”

“Cover Erma with something.”

“I got this one,” Chloe said. She levitated one of the four red and white checkered tablecloths off the twenty-four foot long oak table and it lowered over Erma’s head. “Perfect.”

Emily heard footsteps approaching. “That’s the best we can do. Let’s take care of Raymond. Bob and the rest will be home any time.”

Chapter 52              Dark Secrets Revealed

Bob looked up from his laptop as three buxom young female students approached with their fabulous breasts at attention. One had a tablet and a pen ready. The second snapped an image of him. The third scrolled through her cell phone. This was his fifth interruption. He would need to move to a new table.

The lead female, a blonde with a smile and figure that would remain in his memory a long time, was bolder than Bob cared a woman to be.

“Hey, you’re that guy who owns the haunted bed and breakfast,” she said with a look of absolute fascination. “My name’s Susan. Wow. I’ve never met a celebrity. And what happened to your nose? Did a poltergeist do that to you?”

“I’ve seen you on the news,” the second said, still taking pictures of him. “What’s it like to live in a haunted mansion? Oh, I’m Francine.”

“Can I have your autograph?” the third said. “You can call me, ummm, how about Tina?”

The lead girl looked ready to slap the other two. “You’re no more Tina than I’m Susan or she’s Francine.”

Bob closed his laptop and tucked a stack of old newspapers under his arm. “You’re mistaken,” he said, trying with all his might to not stare at any of the three’s ample bosoms.

“No we’re not,” Francine said. “I have YouTube clips right here.” She shoved her cell phone in Bob’s face. “That’s you.”

Bob started to rise. “Not me. But I get that a lot.”

“Then who are you?” Susan said. “You’re too old to be a student.”

I’m not that old, Bob thought. “I’m a professor.”

“You look too young to be a professor. And why haven’t I seen you?”

“Look, just leave me alone, okay?”

Bob lowered his head and shoulders and plowed his way through the group of gawking would-be groupies. He found an empty table in the corner and plopped down in a chair with his back to the wall.

Bob rubbed his temples in frustration. His head was starting to pound. Acid from five cups of coffee began to rise up his esophagus.

An entire afternoon researching the Internet, old newspapers, and Microphish from decades gone revealed little more than what Denise Forsythe uncovered about the Turner place. It was a commune where hippies escaped the world and partied twenty-four seven.

The old fashioned wooden chairs added a stiff back to Bob’s fatigue. The wear on the seat told him this chair was generations old. Sturdy. Durable. But incredibly uncomfortable. The campus was well over a hundred years old. Bob figured the chair was an original.

He closed his eyes and slowly rolled his head, easing the tensions building up in his neck. He felt he could hold this pose all night when a gentle hand fell on his shoulder.

“Hello,” a calm and soothing female voice serenaded him.

Bob turned to see a lady in her mid-fifties standing over him, offering a pleasant kind smile. She wore a laminated nametag. Bob glanced at the name: Ellen Martin - Head Librarian.

“You’re the owner of Murcat Manor. I’ve watched that episode of
American Ghost Stories
twice. They’re showing it nonstop. I have to say, you’re a local celebrity now.”

Great. That’s the last thing Bob wanted to hear. “Yes. I’m Bob Stevens. Nice to meet you.”

“I see you’re researching the history of the property.”

Bob didn’t think Ellen wanted his autograph. She looked supportive. No need to get up again and find a new seat. “Yeah. There’s definitely something far beyond normal going on at the grounds.”

“I’m sorry for the deaths. I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Thanks. It’s been rough for my wife and me. She’s at the point where she doesn’t want to stay there. I have to admit, so am I.”

Ellen flipped through the newspapers stacked on the table and stopped to point out one particular headline, tapping it with her finger. “I recall that night. I was in elementary school. It was big news that summer. I remember my father driving by the burned down house and barn. It was quite the attraction.”

“Well, so far I’ve come up with nothing. Just the same old story over and over: house burns down, everyone dies, cause of fire unknown.”

She formed a knowing smile and said with a wink, “You’re right about the newspapers and Microphish. That’s all common knowledge. Maybe I can help.”

“Are you saying you have other material?”

Ellen now donned a subtle smile that told Bob she had information everyone else was not privy to. But, she was willing to share with the right person.

“I have access to copies of student research papers from nineteen sixty-seven.”

“And you think some of them did their research on the Turner place?”

“Perhaps. But more specifically, many of the papers in the late sixties focused on the counter culture of the time.”

“But what information would students have that wasn’t already here in the library?”

Ellen laughed. “Trust me. Many of them frequented the Turner place. That was the era leading up to the Summer of Love. Woodstock happened just two years later in nineteen sixty-nine. Murcat Manor was a haven for hippies and, of course, lots of drugs. There was steady traffic back and forth from this campus to the Turner place.”

Bob was already standing. “Can I see them?”

“Sure. I have access to a database of scanned research papers.” She turned and flung her hand over her shoulder, index finger wagging ‘come hither’, with the look of someone letting you know you were about to be granted initiation into a secret, elite society. “Come with me.”

Bob followed Ellen as they crossed the cavernous library. He took one last look over his shoulder. Summer students scattered across the library were pointing and staring at him.

Bob followed Ellen into a back office room. She took a seat behind a computer, pulled up a database, and entered her user ID and password.

“I’ll do a few simple searches. We’ll focus on the year proceeding as well as the year of and the year after the fire.”

After a few minutes, Ellen stood and presented the chair to Bob. “There are scores of papers you can scroll through. Take your time. Can I get you anything?”

“Water. And Advil. Thanks.”

“Sure thing. Be right back.”

Bob was beside himself. This was luck like he’d never anticipated. Before him was a goldmine of information no one had seen in decades. He scrolled through paper after paper. After a few minutes, Ellen returned and handed him bottled water and a plastic container of Advil.

Bob poured four gel caps in his mouth and guzzled the water. “Thanks so much.”

“Any luck?”

Bob sighed, feeling discouraged. “Nothing. I’ve sped read through dozens of research papers. I’m feeling stymied. They don’t tell me anything new.”

Ellen reached for the mouse and made a few clicks. “Let me see something. Ah. Here are some pictures students took of the Turner place. Of course, they didn’t appear in the actual papers. But they were part of their research. We saved them because they captured so much of that era. If anything, I think you’ll enjoy the nostalgia.”

Bob regained a little hope. “They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Let’s see.”

Ellen turned to go back to her work. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

Bob clicked on various black and white and color images. He had to chuckle, looking at the hair and clothing from the era. People from all walks of life were sporting long braids and huge afros. They wore tie-dyed tee shirts, miniskirts, striped pants, bell bottom jeans, beads, copious handcrafted jewelry items, and footwear ranging from six inch tall platform shoes all the way down to sandals and bare feet. More than a few of the girls were unashamedly topless, with just a drape of beads and necklaces adorning the upper part of their breasts.

There was even a psychedelic painted bus in the front yard—a classic ‘Hippie Bus’. He studied the faces for a while. There must be close to a hundred hippies leaning out the windows and sitting on the top, smiling for the picture.

Bob was full-on laughing when we opened another color image. The scene depicted was in the living room. About twenty people crowded the sofa and chairs. Others sat or laid on large pillows and bean bags on the floor.

He almost clicked away to another page, but,
what in the hell
?

Bob’s heart almost stopped, then banged against his rib cage. There were cats in the picture. On the laps of the people were what appeared to be lots of very spoiled felines.

“Thirteen,” he said in a slow whisper to himself. “To be exact.”

He increased the size of the image. Bob went around the room and zoomed in further on each cat. He recognized each one by the color of their fur and the patterns of their spots and stripes.

Emily.

Rebecca.

Annie.

Chloe.

Midnight.

Helen.

Jacqueline.

Scarlett.

Esther.

Angel.

Isabella.

Rachel.

Even Madelyn, with the dark circles around her eyes that looked like nerdy glasses.

Bob nearly levitated out of his chair. He opened more images. More pictures of hippies with cats on their laps. Emily was with a young lady in a yellow summer dress. Rebecca, Annie, and Jacqueline slept by the fireplace.

Chloe, Midnight, and Helen eating scrambled eggs and hash browns on the kitchen table. Isabella, Rachel, and Madelyn devouring watermelon. They even gathered in the same clusters as at Murcat Manor.

“No way. It’s not possible.”

“What’s not possible,” Ellen asked as she stuck her head in the door.

“What? Oh, nothing. Just their clothes and hair. It’s such a crazy scene.”

“That was the late Sixties. They would have called it groovy and far out. Is everything going okay?”

“Fine, I guess. Hey, can you email me some of these pictures?”

Ellen gave a frowny face. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. They’re property of the school. We actually have the copyrights on them. But I’m sure you can request copies. There’s probably a form somewhere. I’ll take a look and be back.”

Bob couldn’t wait to fill out paperwork. He fumbled for his cell phone, then took pictures of the images. Eight in all. There were more, but it wasn’t necessary to go any further. He tapped each picture and texted them to Debbie, then grabbed his laptop and walked out.

“Mr. Stevens, are you leaving now,” Ellen asked.

“Yes. I need to get home for dinner. Thanks for your help. Really. I mean it.”

As soon as Bob stepped out of the library, he called Debbie.

Her voice was like honey. “Hi sweetie. Still at the library?”

“Are you with your grandfather?”

“Yes. We’re at Cornwell’s eating dinner. You know Granddad. He’ll do anything to eat here. Twice in one day if he can.”

“Listen to me, but be very discreet. Do not show any visible reactions to what I’m about to tell you.”

“Why? What’s up?

“Are you being discreet?”

“Um, yeah, sure. I guess.”

“Get up and go to the bathroom. I texted you pictures of the Turner place.”

“Bob, what did you find?”

Bob heard the change in her tone. She was concerned. “Debbie. Your voice just rose. Discreet, remember? Get up now and act normal.”

Bob could hear Debbie excuse herself from the table. Thirty seconds later, she was back on the phone.

“Okay. I’m scrolling through the pictures. Talk to me. What’s this about?”

“You tell me. What do you see?”

“I see a bunch of hippies. And,” there was a short pause. “Cats.”

Bob allowed Debbie to arrive at making the connections. He could hear her gasp. She muttered his same words from the library.

“Uh-uh. No. No, this can’t be.”

“It is. It’s the same damned cats. Emily. Rebecca. Chloe. All of them. Even Madelyn with the glasses.”

“Oh. My. God. Bob, what do we do?”

“The answer’s obvious. Meet me at Murcat Manor. We’re going to kill those cats.”

“Bob, my grandmother’s there.”

“Call her. Make sure she’s okay. I’m pulling out of the parking lot now. It’s forty miles to Murcat Manor. I’ll get on the I-94 and be home in less than thirty minutes.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen. And Bob, drive safe. I love you.”