Salem's Daughters (36 page)

Debbie tried to say something. Anything. But Emily cut her off.

“Please, don’t interrupt. It’s rude. Next, we have Esther.
Let’s just say she can blow things up. And it was Esther, along with Scarlett and Angel, who killed DeShawn Hill. Darrowby thinks it was Bob on the roof and pushed the ladder backward. But it was Esther who caused the energy explosion to thrust the ladder backward and send him to his death.”

Debbie again attempted to interrupt, but Emily looked her off and continued.

“Rebecca isn’t here at the moment. She starts fires. But you saw that in our little trip back in time. She’s the loose cannon of the group. And it was Rebecca who torched the Turner place and the Amish farm. She also melted Indian Joe’s brain.”

Emily had the momentum. Her speech sped up, her ego and bitterness from the past dictating the pace of the conversation.

Debbie again wanted to interrupt and ask where Isabella and Madelyn
were. But she thought better of trying to take the momentum away from Emily. Let her talk. The only option Debbie had was to extract information that would help find their strengths and weaknesses. Then she would have to find a way to exploit them and send the witches to hell where they belonged.

Talk away, Emily. Your pride will be your downfall.

Bob started to raise the shotgun. Debbie placed her hand on his forearm and eased it down. She gave him a sideways glance telling him to let Emily talk.

“What else, Emily? Now that I think about it, our guests died in diverse ways. But I think you’d consider them cunning and clever.”

“You’re so pathetically naïve. I mean, come on. You’re only now making the connections? And even then, only after I have to explain them to you, as if you’re a child.”

Debbie fired back. “Don’t underestimate me. I’m a lot smarter than you take me for.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Moving on. Next, we have Chloe.”

The ginger cat to her right raised and waved her paw as if to say hello.

“Chloe is my cousin in our human lives four hundred years ago. She can levitate things, drop them, or fire them across the room. Like Bob’s fifteen pound bowling ball, which,” she gave Bob a sly wink and a pernicious grin, “we all know is covered with your fingerprints. Yes Debbie, the ball that smashed your grandfather’s head. The shameless pig. Chloe, show Debbie and Boring Bob what you can do.”

Debbie could only watch as again, there were no words to describe what she was seeing. Midnight and Helen were lifted four feet off the sofa, then reversed positions and lowered back on the cushions.

With each new revelation, Debbie’s world unraveled just a little more. But she had to accept that her perceived existence, the universe she was indoctrinated in through public schools, college, and a conservative church was failing her. There was more to the reality she lived in, and Emily and the rest had tapped into it, albeit in a dark way.

“Do you want to see more?” Emily continued. “Oh, I’m not finished. This gets so much better.”

Debbie heard Emily’s tone and pitch again increase. It oozed with pride and arrogance.

“Scarlett, she’s truly amazing. Say hello Scarlett.”

The brown and white striped cat raised her right paw and waved it back and forth.

“Scarlet says hi. She can toss a bout of madness on a person. This makes it easy to not only plant thoughts like I’m doing now, but to nudge someone to carry out, under our influence, acts they would never commit on their own.”

Debbie thought back to Sophia Johnson, who impaled her husband with an iron fireplace poker. “Sophia. You got into her mind and made her kill her husband.”

“That crazy lady from Detroit in the Disco room? You bet. And Scarlett totally messed with Johnny Rocket from
American Ghost Stories
last night. Poor ol’ Johnny. He’ll never be the same.”

Debbie remembered Erma’s follow up report earlier in the day on the cast from
American Ghost Stories
. Johnny Rocket had been committed to a mental hospital. The Leeds Brothers were sure to follow.

Emily’s voice crackled. “Care for a personal demonstration?”

“No,” Debbie shouted. “Don’t you dare, you aberration from the Bottomless Pit.”

Bob gulped in air and gripped the shotgun tight. Debbie averted her attention from Emily to her husband. His knees buckled. He trembled as his knuckles turned white. He fought to keep the shotgun pointed to the floor.

Debbie didn’t like what was coming next.

“Honey, the gun. Help me. Make it stop.”

Debbie snapped her head back. “Emily, stop it now,” she commanded. “Bob, just shoot her.”

“I can’t. I’m trying to. But, I—I just want to shoot those stupid punk kids upstairs.”

Two blasts boomed in the living room. Debbie ducked, then looked up at large matching holes in the ceiling. She could see into the Roadhouse Blues. Fortunately, the Goths were on the other end of the upstairs hall.

“Oh, here’s the real kicker in all of this,” Emily said. “Since I possess each individual power I can team up with Scarlett and better break down Bob’s will, then control his thoughts and actions.”

The Ramones abruptly stopped. The sound of a door opening upstairs and boots running in a disorderly haste rumbled overhead. The Goths and Vamps ran through the hall and poured down the stairs.

They screamed and shouted and fought each other as they descended to the first floor. The group ended in a heap of twisted arms and legs at the bottom of the stairs as Bob waved the shotgun at them.

Some untangled themselves and ran out the front door. Others headed toward the kitchen for the back door. A few remained frozen in fear, unsure of what to do next.

“I can’t control myself. Debbie, you have to help me.”

Debbie reached for the gun, but Bob brought it level with her head. Debbie ducked a second before he fired; the heat from the blast singed her scalp.

Bob swept the gun left toward the front door. Debbie saw his finger squeezing the trigger against his will. Tears streamed down his cheeks as he fought the urge to kill. He jerked the gun upward and destroyed the chandelier in the living room. Glass rained down on the escapees heading for the back door.

More laughter reverberated in Debbie’s mind. Emily. The hilarity was hysterical. She was intensely entertained by this.

“You’re both losers,” Emily mocked. “Look at us. We have such amazing abilities you know nothing of. We’ve had four hundred years to perfect our craft. All you have is a stupid shotgun that we can control through Bob. You’re both as good as dead.

“In this life and the past life, during the nineteen-sixties, Madelyn, who is one of the world’s greatest geniuses, has researched the discoveries and breakthroughs of energy and matter. She studied Albert Einstein and other great scientists of your time using books, magazines, and your laptops.

“Energy and matter. They’re the same thing. Once we understood that, we discovered we could increase our powers
.
And here’s one trick I’ve learned during this lifetime. We used this on your grandmother in the basement. And on you in the kitchen. It totally confused both of you.”

Debbie thought of the times she’d found Madelyn staring at their laptops. She’d thought it was cute. Now she understood the cats were learning how to increase their powers to a degree they never knew possible until now.

Another invisible burst of heat knocked her on her back. Debbie staggered to her feet and shuffled toward Bob, trying to step into him and take the gun. But Bob again turned and aimed for her head. She hit the floor as Bob fired off a round, then returned his attention to the last Goth. It was one of the girls.

“Emily, you don’t have to do this. Just leave.”

Debbie expected Emily to laugh at her. At least say something that would put her down. Instead, there was silence.

Debbie looked up from the floor. Bob was tiring. The physical and emotional energy he’d spent to fight off the spell was exhausting him.

“Emily, this is our property. Not yours. I command you to stop this roguishness now.”

Again, there was silence from Emily.

Why was she quiet during this crucial moment? Ever since Emily had introduced herself, she couldn’t stop talking.

Debbie had an epiphany. What if the battle for Bob’s mind was also expending Emily and Scarlett’s energy? It took energy to use energy. If Bob was tiring to the point of exhaustion, then so must be Emily and the rest of the cats.

That’s why Emily had become strangely silent rather than boasting of their superiority. Emily must be tiring, too.

This insight jump-started Debbie. Emily wasn’t invincible. She had weaknesses. And it was time to exploit them.

“You can do this, Bob. Fight the urge. Emily and Scarlett have to be getting weak too. This will come down to whoever quits first. You can do this.”

Tears streamed down Bob’s face. “I’m trying. But I just can’t help myself.”

“I’m here for you. Don’t give in. You can do this. We can do this. Together.”

Bob closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

The final Goth had run for the front door. The young woman who was the only civil one of the bunch—the lead Goth’s girlfriend named Brooke—was the last to leave.

For all Bob’s might, he couldn’t resist Emily and Scarlett’s control. All he could do was shout, “Look out.”

Sounds of crashing and breaking glass came from the coffee table. Feline screeches, the eeriest she had ever heard, filled the room, then went silent. Bob jerked the gun toward the floor and fired. A hole appeared. Debbie could see into the basement.

Bob once again had full control of himself. He turned to Debbie, looked down at the coffee table, and grinned.

“Nice job,” he said between breaths. “Thanks honey,”

Debbie stood by the table with a large serrated hunting knife in her hand. On the floor, a cat lay in a pool of her own blood, her entrails spilled out through several wide open cuts.

“I killed Scarlett,” Debbie said, her body shaking and voice cracked. “Emily and Scarlett were so focused on you, as were the others cats, I was able to grab the hunting knife I had strapped to my ankle and gutted the hellion.”

Debbie pulled up her pant leg and showed Bob the Velcro knife holder around her ankle, then re-strapped the knife. “I wish DeShawn Hill were still alive, if only to thank him for the guns and knife he placed behind the drywall in our bedroom.”

Bob, still out of breath, found a way to huff out, “Thanks again. I’m back. We’re back.” Bob gave Debbie a quick but deep kiss. “Now let’s kill some time traveling sorceresses.”

Chapter 58              The Hunt is On

Debbie took the lead. Not because she didn’t trust Bob or his leadership. She respected him more than any man in the world. But Bob was exhausted after his battle with Emily and Scarlett. His skin was drained of color. His shoulders were hunched and he had trouble standing up straight. His words were spoken in broken phrases. She’d give him a few minutes to recover.

Debbie scanned the living room. Emily and her disciples had disappeared. Except Midnight. She sat on the fireplace mantle, staring at them.

“There.” Debbie nudged Bob with her elbow. “Midnight. She’s on the mantle fireplace. She looks tired and disoriented. I think she’s trying catch her breath.”

Debbie tried to make sense why Midnight was in plain sight. The jet black feline stayed in place and breathed heavily. Debbie fished in her satchel and handed Bob more shells. He turned the safety on, pointed the barrel away from them, chambered a shell, then loaded the rest into the magazine.

“She looks scared and stressed,” Debbie said. “Did the others desert her because she can’t keep up?”

“Maybe she’s a decoy,” Bob replied. “A diversion to trick us.”

Debbie leaned into Bob. “I’m thinking the same thing. The other cats can attack in a way we’re not prepared for.”

Bob took a deep breath, still feeling the effects of his battle with Emily and Scarlett. “But we don’t have time to debate this.” Another deep breath. “I’m taking Midnight out.”

Debbie bobbed her head. “Shoot her.”

Bob aimed the shotgun and fired. But Midnight vanished just before he pulled trigger.

A small smoky hole appeared in the wall six inches above the wooden fireplace mantle. Chunks of drywall and dust littered the mantle and the tile floor. Debbie stepped forward and squatted down twelve inches, looking into their bedroom. She could see their headboard, sprayed with hundreds of small pellets spread out over a much larger two foot radius.

“Holy shit. Did you see that? Midnight disappeared.” Bob placed his hand through the hole, then pulled back and ran his fingers across the wall. “There should be splattered remains of cat on the wall.”

“Shhhh,” Debbie said. “Less talking, more hunting.”

Bob turned and walked backward, shotgun at the ready, Debbie close in tow looking for cats to blast. Now that there was a lull in the action and the momentum had swung their way, she was able to get a good look at the expansive living room.

What was once a place of socializing among the guests and their kids now looked like a war zone. Two large sofas, a love seat, four chairs, six ottomans, a coffee table, and four end tables were overturned. Shotgun blasts tore holes in the floor, ceiling, and walls. The chandelier was destroyed. Broken glass littered the travertine tile. And Scarlett lay dead in the center of the room.

“No more rogues in here,” Bob said. “Next up, the kitchen. Let’s go.”

Debbie hesitated. “Wait. I need to do something.”

She locked the front door, then secured the living room windows. “We can’t allow them to escape. If I have to, I’ll torch this place myself to kill them.”

Debbie grasped Bob’s hand and pulled him into the kitchen. She made a quick pass around the kitchen table, opening pantry doors and looking in cupboards and under the sinks.

“They’re not in the living room,” Bob said. “We don’t see any in the kitchen.” He took a deep breath and pointed the shotgun at the basement door. “Down there. That’s the next obvious place to look.”

Bob stepped in front of Debbie and took the lead. “Turn around and don’t look. I need to pull your Grandmother out from the pet door.”

Debbie turned her back and closed her eyes. Bob grunted and wheezed as he tried to pull her out. “She’s really stuck. I can’t get her out.”

“I’m so sorry, Grandma,” Debbie said, bending down and gripping Erma by her arm. “Bob, I’ll pull while you open the door.”

Bob opened the door as Erma’s body was scrunched into the adjoining wall head first. The sight and sound was disturbing, but they could now get through.

“I definitely smell gas,” Bob said as the descended the stairs.

“I smell it now,” Debbie said. “Let’s make this quick.”

Once in the basement, Bob surveyed the mess. “Looks like a small war took place here. Everything’s knocked over. There’re boxes thrown about everywhere. And look over there. Two more dead cats.”

“It’s Isabella and Madelyn,” Debbie said, adding the names to the list of Annie, Jacqueline, Rachel, Angel, and Scarlet. “That makes seven dead cats, five live ones, and Rebecca still missing.”

She leaned over and picked up a dagger. “I recognize this. It belongs to Grandma. At least she got a couple of the she-devils.”

Bob pointed. “On the other side of those boxes is a mangled can of pepper spray. Looks like it exploded.”

“Chloe. Emily said she could make things explode. That would explain Grandma’s burnt skin on her face and hand. These cats are some sick psychopaths.”

“They’re people,” Bob said. “Just like us. Only now they’re living in a cat’s body. And it looks like Erma was onto them and came here with a plan. She sure did put up one hell of a fight. She tore this place apart.” Bob gave a brief salute. “God bless your grandmother.”

Debbie performed the four way sign of the cross over her chest. “I’m not Catholic, at least in the traditional sense. But Grandma deserves this. I’m glad she took out two of those witches. Way to go, Grandma. You’re amazing, as always, in life and in death.”

Debbie placed Erma’s dagger in her belt. “Be ready. I’m going to start throwing aside anything a cat can hide behind. If we see one, I’ll step back and you blast it.”

Bob set the shotgun against the wall and picked up a sawed off two-by-four piece of wood. “I don’t want to shoot down here. The pellets could ricochet off the walls and hit us. That, and the gas leak.”

Debbie nodded in agreement, then grabbed the work bench and gave it a heave. It tumbled to the floor as the tools spilled over in a loud crash of metal on concrete. She covered her ears at the sound.

“No cats under there,” Bob said.

Debbie moved swiftly and efficiently through the basement, walking up one aisle of cleaning supplies, then down another with stacks of cloth linens, table clothes, and napkins for the kitchen. She knocked over four foot stacks of boxes of laundry detergent and stepped out of the way.

No cats.

She moved on to clear plastic bins filled with blankets and sheets piled four feet high. She used her shoulder and pushed with her legs to knock them over.

Still no cats.

“I don’t think we’ll find any down here,” Bob said. “Let’s go back upstairs. We need to check the bedrooms one at a time.”

Debbie snared Bob by his pants waistline and pulled him back. “Wait. I’m not convinced. This was one of their favorite places to hang out.”

Debbie let go of Bob and looked up at the ceiling. She had a hunch.

“Where’s the fireplace in the living room? Right about there, wouldn’t you say?” Debbie pointed up ten feet away from them.

Bob’s eyes followed Debbie’s finger. “Yeah. Okay. Why?”

“In the process of Emily and Scarlett trying to control your mind, you became exhausted fighting them.”

“Sure. It took all my strength. I’m only now catching my breath.”

“And that’s what I’m thinking happened to them. They’re exhausted too. I bet they have to expend much of their stamina to do what they do.”

Bob smiled wide. “And you think Midnight teleporting off the mantle used up much of the strength she had.”

“My guess is it takes a lot of energy to teleport. Or perform anything they do. While I was waiting for you to come home, Midnight was playing tricks, appearing and disappearing in my peripheral vision. Then she was showing off in the living room, and Emily told her to save energy for later.

“I think Midnight tried to teleport off the couch and out of the living room as Emily and the rest of the cats ran for cover. But the fireplace mantle is as far as she got. Each of her successive attempts will probably be a shorter distance.”

Bob pointed to the ceiling where the fireplace would be, then dropped his arm to three large storage bins. As Debbie reached out she heard a rustling. She grabbed the bottom container and jerked it out.

Midnight was there.

Debbie stepped back. Bob jumped in and took a swing. The cat disappeared.

“Damned thing teleported again.”

Debbie continued knocking over what remained of the any boxes and crates stacked more than two high. “There. Right there. She’s behind those folded chairs.”

Debbie swept them aside with a mighty sweep of her left arm. The metal chairs skidded and scattered across the cement floor.

The silky black cat disappeared again, only to reappear ten feet away. She jumped over the toppled chairs and tried to run up the stairs.

But she moved lethargically and stumbled. Midnight looked wearied. Bob ran to her and took an exaggerated swing, catching the pitch black feline and smashing it flat to the stair tread. He snatched the cat by the neck, tossed it in the air like a softball and swung again, sending the cat flying across the basement. She hit the cinder wall hard and flopped to the floor.

“I think she’s dead.” Bob was smiling wide. “That, my dear, was a home run swing.”

“Just to be sure,” Debbie said, stepping over strewn boxes and picking up the limp cat. She twisted its head. A snap resonated through the basement.

“That’s for Grandma and Grandpa, you bitch from hell.”

Debbie felt the tug on her sleeve. “Get back to the kitchen,” Bob said. “I’ll get the shotgun and try to stop that gas leak before this place goes up in flames.”

Debbie stumbled over more boxes as she ran up the stairs. She had to step over Erma’s bottom half then step through the doorway.

“Sorry again, Grandma.” Debbie kissed her fingers then touched Erma’s forehead. “Nice job taking out Isabella and Madelyn. We got Scarlett and Midnight. We’d make a great team if you were still here.”

Debbie reached down and pulled out
Old Faithful
from Erma’s handbag. She unscrewed the cap and took three long drinks. “Thanks again, Grandma. Here’s to you. You did great.” She gulped what was left, then slid the flask in her back pocket.

Debbie closed her eyes and shuddered, letting the burning from the aged Scotch subside as it made its way down the hatch. She kept her eyes closed, allowing the alcohol to penetrate her stomach and make its way to her coursing veins. She already missed her time with Grandma. For a brief moment, she forgot about Bob and was with her grandparents once again.

A scraping sound on the kitchen floor and Debbie was right back in the present. She looked down as Erma’s burned and boiled arm slid over her feet. She turned to see the basement door shutting by itself.

No. Freaking. Way. She planted one foot on Erma’s chest and the other on the floor, reached for the knob, and pulled back with all her might.

“Bob, get up here now. They’re trying to lock you down there.”

Debbie couldn’t look through what opening was left without losing her grip. She leaned her weight back and heaved. She could hear Bob’s feet jumping many stairs at a time.

“Hurry. I can’t hold the door back.”

Bob’s right arm, holding the shotgun, was all that made it through as the door continued to close. A loud crack echoed through the kitchen as Bob screamed a hideous cry. The shotgun fell to the floor and Bob’s arm retreated.

Debbie gripped the edge of the door and tried to wedge her arm between it and the casing, sacrifice her own body. Anything for her soul mate.

The door latch was closing. Her efforts were puny compared to the force she was trying to counter. Her fingers slipped out. The door shut and the lock turned.

“My arm. It’s broken.” Bob’s voice penetrated through the solid oak barrier, but it was a vapid echo of itself by the time it reached Debbie.

Debbie turned, pulled, and rattled the knob. “The door. It’s locked. I can’t open it.”

Three more hard tugs and Debbie knew it was useless from her side. She was wasting precious energy. “I can’t open it. Ram the door with your shoulder.”

After a few loud thuds and the door not budging, Bob said, “No luck. The door’s solid hard oak. So is the jamb. It’s not giving an inch.”

Debbie stepped off Erma, grabbed the shotgun, and looked around the kitchen. “Damn it. Emily, open this door now.”

Again, Emily’s laughter rang inside Debbie’s head. She blocked it out and slammed her boot to the ground.

“That’s it,” Debbie shouted. “No more. This is my house. I’m in control. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re on the losing side. Let’s take an inventory and see how many of you died in the last twenty-four hours. In the basement are the carcasses of Isabella and Madelyn my grandma killed. God rest her soul. And Bob and I just killed Midnight.”

Silence.

“Last night Annie, Jacqueline, Rachel, and Angel died during the taping of
American Ghost Stories
.”

“For the record, it was Indian Joe who killed them,” Emily said. “I also died. So did Chloe. I won’t bore you with details your feeble mind cannot comprehend. But long story short, Chloe and I were able to come back.”