The Collected Horrors of Tim Wellman (25 page)

"But she renews herself," Steven said. "It would
have to control her, right? She's normal after the disease works
its course. The formula father used was always administered just as
she starts to turn, when she still has a functioning mind."

"She's never normal, you know that," Jonathan
said. "But she's our dear sister." He chuckled and picked up a
long, slender letter knife from the desk. "I'd jab this through her
temple if I thought it would have any effect, but we all know it
wouldn't. There's no effect, nor with a wooden spike through her
heart. Just another old wives tale and those don't seem to apply to
young sisters... or old wives for that matter." He threw the knife
across the room and it stuck in the old dark oak wall panel. "No,
I'm afraid father chose the only way out of this nightmare when he
put that gun to his head and... messed up the wallpaper in his
study."

Steven grabbed a book from a shelf and thumbed
through it quickly, then tossed it to the floor and grabbed
another. "It's got to be here!"

"If he had wanted us to find it, he would have
simply given it to us," Jonathan said. "Unless mother enjoyed
torturing her little girl so much she destroyed it on purpose." He
raised his eyebrows and smiled. "We
are
one screwed up
family."

"You got that right!" Mildred said. "The females
in the bloodline, anyway." She glanced up at the old wall clock and
nodded. "The cook will have dinner ready at six. My advice, keep
your shotglasses full till then."

Steven had a large pile of books on the floor
and was still searching. He fanned through every one, not sure if
he was looking for a note or simply a notation on a page. It could
simply be a few words on a bookmark. His father never talked about
it; all they knew for sure was he would come to the library before
confronting Sylvia. "Come on, old man, help me," he said. "Come
back from the grave, you coward, and help me!"

"I'm afraid he went to the grave willingly, and
can't be coaxed back now simply to lend a hand to his two
disappointing sons," Jonathan said. He walked to the bar and poured
a glass nearly full of gin and then splashed a little tonic water
on top. "No, we're the black sheep, you remember," he said. "The
ones who were
not
monsters." He took a long drink. "Funny, I
always thought that was supposed to be a
good
thing."

Steven tossed another book on the floor. "It's a
horrible thing!" he said and pulled another book from the shelf.
"Caretakers! That's what we are! Caretakers in this damnable
asylum!"

"Well, caretakers only to the one remaining...
patient
," his brother said with a chuckle. "Come on, lighten
up, Steven, this too will pass!" He emptied his glass in a single
gulp and refilled it. "I personally plan to stay drunk until Sylvia
regains what little humanity she has left in her poor, twisted
soul."

"This is useless," Steven said as he dropped a
book. "It would take a lifetime to go through all of these."

"Ah, that reminds me," Jonathan said. "We
received a package yesterday from the funeral director. Mother's
things, clothes she was wearing, jewelry, the visitor's book, I
imagine. I'd forgotten with all the excitement."

"Just burn it!" Steven said. "Toss it in the
fireplace! What little heat it generates will be more warmth than
she ever gave us when she was alive."

"You miss her, don't you Steven," Jonathan said.
He tugged on the knife stuck in the wall, and wiggled it back and
forth until it came free in his hand.

"How could anyone miss that vile, disgusting
serpent?" he murmured.

"Sarcasm," he said with a laugh. "I knew I could
get a rise out of you." He sat down on the corner of the desk and
pulled the package across and sliced through the packing tape. "The
visitor's book... unsigned, I'm sure." He flipped through the pages
quickly. "No, one visitor. A Mister Henry Ashberry. Do we know any
Ashberry's?"

Steven pulled the book from his hand and took a
closer look. "Wasn't there an Ashberry who taught school when we
were kids?"

"That's right, history teacher. No one liked
him," Jonathan said. "Hold on," he said. There was the corner of a
piece of paper sticking out from the book and he nipped it with the
tips of his fingers and slid it out. "Well now, the plot
thickens."

"What does it say?" Steven said. "A note from
Ashberry?"

Jonathan nodded. "He knows everything."

"What?!" Steven yanked the note from his
brother's hand and read through it. "But how?" He dropped his hand
to his side and started to pace around the room. "He knows about
Sylvia, about our blooodline, everything."

"Well, I think it's obvious," Jonathan said.
"The old bitch betrayed us. She knew she was dying and would no
longer carry the curse, so she figured out a way to make our lives
an even hotter hell than we've suffered for the last thirty-odd
years." He looked back through the box... a dress, a few pieces of
jewelry, a pair of shoes.

Mildred pushed the doors open and stuck her head
inside. "Dinner is ready."

"You need to see this," Jonathan said as he
motioned the old woman into the room.

"Your mother's stuff?" she said. "Burn it! The
sooner that bitch's memory is gone from this house, the
better."

"You and Steven have been rehearsing together,"
he said. "No, I'm afraid it goes a bit deeper than simply blotting
out a murderous, cold-hearted fiend. Do you know a Henry
Ashberry?"

Mildred thought for a moment. "School
teacher?"

They both nodded. "That's him."

"He was fired several years ago," she said.
"Rumored he molested some young girls or something. They fired him
instead of filing charges."

"Oh, we must hook him up with Sylvia, then,"
Jonathan said and smiled. He handed the note to Mildred.

"But how?" she said. "I know none of the
servants would have talked. It would be suicide; they know that.
I'd kill them myself."

"We figure dear old mom ratted us out," he
said.

"The filthy bitch!" Steven said. "The damned
filthy bitch!"

"Well, this can't mean anything good," she said.
"No good at all!"

Jonathan picked up the phone again and quickly
dialed the number on the note. "Mister Ashberry? Jonathan Smithers
here. Yes. We
do
need to talk. How soon can you get here?
Fine. Be expecting you. Goodbye."

"Was that wise?" Mildred said. "He may
believe
he knows about us, but inviting him here will give
him proof."

Jonathan nodded. "There was no choice." He stood
up and walked toward the door. "Come on, dinner is getting cold."
He ushered the others through the library door and closed it behind
him. "No, our
only
option is to show Mister Ashberry our
little demon locked in the basement. I'm sure she can reason with
him."

"But she'll rip him to shreds!" Steven said.
"Even if she's well, she'll smell the sin on him."

Jonathan nodded. "That's the hope."

***

"Ah, Mister Ashberry, welcome to our little
chunk of hell on earth," Jonathan said as he stood up and walked
toward the old man. "Good of you to come."

"Well, as I mentioned in my note..."

"What are you drinking," Jonathan said and
stepped behind the library bar.

"Oh, I'm not picky," he said. "As long as it's
twelve year old scotch."

"Straight or rocks?" he said and grabbed the
bottle from the back shelf.

"Straight," Ashberry said.

"So, you've done some research on our family,
have you?" He walked the glass over to the teacher and then sat
down on the corner of the big desk. "That must have kept you up
nights, huh?"

"Quite an unusual family," he said. "I must
confess, I really didn't understand most of what I found out. Still
don't." He sipped the scotch and nodded his approval. "I mean, I
know enough, but there is so much more I'd like to understand.
Every female in your family has something different about them...
werewolf, vampire..."

"Those are movie monsters," Jonathan said. He
chuckled. "Real life is never that simple, is it? What is Sylvia?
Vampire? Demon? Vicious beast? All of those, I suppose, and
more."

"She will suit my purposes."

"You're an adventurer at heart, eh?" Jonathan
said.

"Let's cut to the chase, Mister Smithers," he
said and helped himself to a seat in one of the big green leather
library chairs. "I have enough information to send everyone in this
house to prison for the rest of your lives. But, you have something
I want."

"And that is?"

"Your sister," the old man said calmly. "Even
trade, my silence, I get the monster."

"Now, I won't have you calling my dear young
sister a monster," Jonathan said and smiled. "But, let's just say,
for the sake of civilized conversation, we could agree. What on
earth do you want with her? I'm sure there's a whole middle school
full of little girls more suited to your tastes." He stood up and
motioned the teacher over to the bar. "Sylvia is nearly twenty
years old, much too old for you, or so I'm led to believe."

The old man swallowed hard, and then tapped the
glass down on the bar. Jonathan refilled it and poured a gin and
tonic for himself.

"I see you've done your research, too," Ashberry
said.

"Not really," Jonathan said. "The whole town
knows you're a wretched pedophile." He held out his glass.
"Cheers."

"My interest in your sister is purely
professional," the old man said, his face showing no emotion. "I
can control her."

"I couldn't care less what your intentions are,"
Jonathan said.

"You still misunderstand me, but we'll let it go
for now," he said. "Can I see her?"

"You read my mind," Jonathan said. "Follow me."
He guided the teacher through the library door where Steven was
waiting. "I'm sure she will be happy to see you."

Steven nodded. "Maybe you
can
control
her," he said. "Can't hurt to give it a shot, right?" He got to the
basement door at the end of the hall, opened it, and then waved the
teacher through. "Careful of the stairs, a few are wobbly."

"I think we understand each other," Ashberry
said. "I'm a reasonable man."

"Well, we'll see," Jonathan said. "She's in
here." He pointed to the cell door. "Better prepare yourself; she's
had most of the day to chew on herself. It's not going to be
pretty. Last time, she had eaten all the flesh from her forearms by
this time." He put the key in the lock and turned it and pulled the
big lock off the latch as Steven pretended to be distracted by
something on the wall behind them.

"Sylvia, dear, step back from the door or we
will throw boiling hot oil all over you!" he yelled. "Torturous
threats seem to work best on sis." He then quickly pulled the door
open wide as Steven shoved the old man into the cell. The door was
quickly locked again. "Deed done," he said as he slipped the key
back into his pocket. "Let's have Mildred whip us up a snack."

Steven put his ear to the door. "Did he die of
fright?" he whispered. "I don't hear any screaming. She should have
ripped his throat out by now."

"Hmm, odd," Jonathan said. He pounded on the
door. "Sylvia?"

"I'm all right now, Jonathan," a soft, feminine
voice said through the door. Mister Ashberry has stopped my...
symptoms
."

He looked at Steven and cocked his head. "She's
fine, now," he said. "The old bastard really
does
know the
formula."

"Mother gave it to him," Steven said. "There's
no other conclusion. That stupid old bitch had father's formula and
gave it to
him
instead of us."

"Dear old mom," Jonathan said. "I must remember
to visit her grave some day... so I can piss on it." He shrugged.
"Sylvia? Are you sure? Mister Ashberry, say something."

"I'm fine," he said. "So is Sylvia. Let us
out."

Jonathan undid the locks and pulled the door
open slightly. Sylvia was fine, apart from wearing only the filthy,
blood-soaked white shift, her soft, young features were normal
again. She was a beautiful woman again with her bright blue eyes
and long blonde hair. She stepped out into the basement and kissed
Jonathan on the cheek, then Steven. "I'm sorry. I've imposed on you
again."

Ashberry was brushing dirt off his jacket as he
walked out. "Tried to kill me, didn't you?"

"I thought it was worth a shot."

"Regardless, I'll be taking Sylvia with me," he
said. "I have plans for her. She will be my personal killing
machine!"

"And why does an old, fat, disgraced
schoolteacher need a killing machine?" Jonathan thought for a
moment. "I guess I answered my own question." He waved his hands
toward the stairs. "You're more than welcome to leave," he said.
"But, a cultured man would at least tell us the secret to
controlling our sister."

"I don't think that would be prudent on my part,
do you?" he said. "If you knew, I would be dead." He smiled. "And
just remember, boys, the little monster works for me, now. Who
knows, I might not even go to the police with what I know about you
and this house. But don't count on it."

Steven started to take a swing at the old man,
but Jonathan caught his arm and stopped him. "Steven, violence is
never the answer," he said with a smile. He turned and looked at
Sylvia. "Sister, dear, what did the evil man do to turn you back to
human?"

"Wait!" Ashberry yelled.

"He read the words on the piece of paper in his
pocket," she said calmly. "Father's words."

The old man grabbed her arm and yanked her up
the stairs. "Get the hell up there!" He looked down at the brothers
and waved. "Enjoy prison! Grow some balls before you try to kill me
again. Once I get your sister programmed properly, the world will
need an
army
to stop me!" He nudged the basement door open
with his knee and pushed Sylvia through, then stepped through the
door himself.