The Witch (16 page)

That evening Grannie Smith and Stephen were the only two at the dinner table, although the amount of food didn’t seem decreased. She tried to coax the boy into eating, but he noticed nothing but the clock. Each minute brought them closer to the night.

While Stephen pushed his food around on his plate the sun went down. He dropped the fork into the plate and ran to look out the study window which faced his own house. He wondered what the uglies would be doing. Would they be hungry again? Would Momma make him feed them with his own flesh? He looked down at his small hand and saw that even the bruising had almost disappeared. There were a couple of areas on his palm that still had a yellowish tinge, but other than that his right hand looked unmarred.

“Momma?”

He heard a noise behind him and caught himself before he could say anything else.

Grannie Smith knelt down next to him to give him a gentle hug.

“I could use help with the dishes,” she said. “Want to give me a hand?”

Stephen nodded and followed her into the kitchen, but through all Grannie Smith’s jokes Stephen remained somber, his mind on the uglies the entire time.

Later, Grannie Smith attempted to get the boy interested in television shows, but when a car passed Stephen jumped up from the couch to see if his father had come home.

Finally, he saw his father’s car pull into the driveway. Stephen excitedly ran to the front door and waited. He could hardly breathe, and he danced about so much Grannie Smith suggested he might need to use the bathroom. The idea inspired his little bladder, and he ran off to the powder room.

He expected to find his father waiting for him when he returned, but Grannie Smith sat alone on the couch watching the news on television.

“Where’s Dad?” he asked.

“Hasn’t come for you yet. I suppose he may have a few things to take care of before picking you up.”

“No, he can’t. I have to be there.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He wants to throw out Momma’s box. He said he wouldn’t, but what if he does? The uglies need to be able to go back on the box.”

Grannie Smith stood.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’ll take you back home so you can settle down. Okay?”

Stephen nodded but was disappointed that Grannie Smith had to put on her shoes and sweater before leaving the house. He scrambled about the living room, helping her to find the shoes. The sweater at least hung from a hook by the front door.

After pulling into the driveway, Jacob got out of the car and walked to the trunk where he had put Stephen’s gift. He slipped the box under his arm and searched his pocket for the house key.

As soon as he opened the door a wave of heat struck him.

“What the hell?”

The house felt like a pizza oven. Perspiration broke out on his body before he reached Stephen’s room.

He placed the box on the bed, thinking his son might enjoy playing a pirate on Halloween. He certainly had enjoyed the ride Pirates of the Carribean at Disneyland, forcing his parents to take the ride five times in a row. Not that Jacob didn’t secretly enjoy it. Cathy became a bit bored though. Must be a guy thing, Jacob said to himself. He remembered he had an old bottle of rum in his den. He’d empty the bottle and fill it with Coke for Stephen to imbibe while trick or treating. He couldn’t wait to see a smile on his son’s face, but before picking up Stephen he’d best go down into the basement and turn off the furnace. The house had enough heat to last them the rest of the fall.

He quickly ran down the stairs and checked the hall thermostat. Ninety-five degrees! The damn thing must be broken. He couldn’t complain, though; for five years the furnace had worked without any repair.

Jacob opened the basement door and flicked on the light. The bulb stuttered but finally came on full force.

“Guess this basement needs a good fixing up,” Jacob mumbled out loud.

The banister gave a bit when he touched it. The steps seemed to creak more than he remembered. Could be the heat causing the problems. The temperature in the basement made him think of all the forest fires he had heard of in the area.

Jacob did a double-take when the furnace came into view. He thought the damn thing had actually turned a bright red. Funny what an imagination can do.

The switch was too hot to touch with his bare hand, so he searched for some old rags. Conveniently a stack of old clothes had been piled under the staircase. He grabbed an old ripped pair of jeans, and while folding them over he walked back to the furnace. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed the box on the table. The demons had disappeared. He walked over and picked up the plain wooden box that no longer burned the tips of his fingers. Could Stephen have managed to pry the figures off during the night while Jacob was asleep? But there were no marks on the box to indicate anything had once been attached to it. He flipped the lid open. Empty. He’d ask Stephen about the box later. Now he had to take care of the furnace. He put the box on the table and turned to take a step when he tripped over something. The furnace door flew open, and riding it were the figures that had been on the box.

Something liquid was splashed on him. He shut his eyes, smelling the strong odor of rum. The rum he had kept in the den. He opened his eyes to the sight of a ball of flame reaching out to embrace him. His clothes instantly caught fire.

His hands tried to smother the flames that ignited his hair. He tried to rip the cloth from his flesh but felt the melted material tear at his skin. Someone wetted down his trouser with rum and the fire spread.

He tried to roll against the cement floor, but every time he turned he felt a new splash of rum hit his body.

“My handsome Jacob with those classic features and tight muscles. I lusted for you. And so did so many other women.”

In the midst of the chaos Jacob heard Cathy’s voice.

His screams filled the cellar but Cathy’s voice rang in his ears.

“No one will want you now. The classic features are melting off your face. The long lashes have disappeared into ash. The blond locks that Molly fondled will grow no more. Your athletic body will be shrink, wrapped inside your flesh. You will know why I sought death.”

Stephen hurried Grannie Smith out the door. She had the key to the front door of his house and he wanted her to use it.

“Now, Stephen, we can take a minute or two to be polite and knock.” She rapped lightly on the door, but Stephen pounded with his small fists.

“He’ll answer. He’ll answer. Give him a minute,” she said.

When Jacob didn’t answer Stephen ran around to the side of the house to peek in the basement window. Immediately he saw the bulb had been lit. He also caught the flash of something on the floor.

Screaming, Stephen ran back to Grannie Smith and begged her to open the door. When she did, Stephen ran to the basement, not noticing the heat or the smell of cooked flesh. He found his father shivering on the floor with most of his clothes burnt off. The flesh sizzled as small plumes of smoke rose from his body. He touched his father’s face in an attempt to put the skin back together but had to raise his hands when his father groaned in pain.

“Stephen,” Grannie Smith called. She stood at the top of the staircase. “Is your father down here? It stinks. What’s been going on?”

Stephen’s whimpers turned into genuine tears, bringing his babysitter down the stairs. Her scream pierced his small ears. A splash of vomit hit his right hand as she tried to turn away in disgust. He listened to her heaves until he began feeling ill himself.

Cold embraced him. Momma’s cold arms. Her frigid lips touched his cheek, and he wanted her to sing to him again.

This wasn’t his father. The man didn’t have the same features, the same unmarred flesh. No, this is a stranger. A man who broke into the house. Dad hadn’t come home yet.

Stephen decided to wait in his room until Dad came home. He stood with the support of death, the cold numbing his body and his heart. But then he saw the dwarf peek out from behind the furnace. The galling smile plastered on the ugly dwarf made Stephen’s insides turn. Leaning on his little ax the dwarf seemed cocky.

“Come upstairs,” Grannie Smith demanded. “We have to call for help.” She dragged the boy several feet but couldn’t get him to climb the stairs. Giving up, she let go of his arm and ran up the cellar stairs.

“Why aren’t you on the box?” Stephen asked the dwarf.

“What? You forget that it is night. I run free at night. Thank you,” The dwarf offered Stephen a gracious bow
.

Two warm arms circled the boy’s body.

“An ambulance is coming. We can’t do anything here. Come upstairs. You don’t want to be in their way when they come for your father.”

“He’s not my father. I’d never let this happen to my father.”

“It’s not your fault, Stephen. The house is too hot. There must have been something wrong with the furnace. It was an accident.”

The dwarf dramatically mouthed along with Grannie Smith’s words and finally did a little jig.

“Daddy won’t like this when he gets home from work,” Stephen said.

“Come upstairs, please. Your grandmother should be here soon.”

“It smells bad here. Grandma won’t like it. She’ll blame me and Daddy. It’s my fault, not Daddy’s.” Stephen looked up into his babysitter’s eyes. He saw tears. They rolled down her chubby cheeks, cutting into the lines and wrinkles. He reached up to her face to wipe away the tears and wrinkles, but they kept coming back. He looked back down at the stranger lying on the floor. The man’s blackened hands twitched, the fingers playing silent music on the air. A soot-covered ring had become enmeshed in the flesh. Daddy’s ring? The man stole Daddy’s ring?

Grannie Smith picked Stephen up and slowly climbed the stairs, the weight of the boy causing her to grab the banister to keep her balance.

“Momma? Why?” Stephen thought he had whispered the words, but Grannie Smith’s shoulders rose with the sound of his voice.

“Shhh! Grandma will be here soon.” She patted his back, her warm hand breaking the chill of his mother’s kiss.

After the ambulance left the house Stephen turned to his grandmother and asked when his father would be coming home. She had no answer to give and crushed him closely to her breasts. She carried him up to his bedroom and left a small light lit in case he should awaken during the night. The firemen had declared the house safe. They found no cause for the fire. Perhaps the man would survive and could be questioned as to what happened.

Stephen hadn’t wanted to leave the house, and Grandma decided she’d make do with what little she had with her and stay in the guest bedroom.

Stephen had his eyes tightly shut when Grandma looked in on him.

“Stephen,” she whispered but he didn’t answer. As soon as she left Stephen opened his eyes and searched the room for the shade of his mother. He knew she didn’t like the light, and he reached over to shut off the switch.

Blackness filled the room until his eyes gradually adjusted.

“Momma, something bad happened.” He listened for her voice.

“Momma, some man got hurt in our house.”

He felt the cold arms and the still, cold feel of his mother’s breasts as she pulled him close.

“Momma, who was that man?”

Her frozen lips softened enough to form a kiss on his brow.

“I’m here, Stephen. I won’t leave you. I’ll always be here with you.”

“The man … Do you know him?”

“He cheated.”

“Does that make him a bad man?”

“That makes him a liar. He’ll never be tempted to lie again.”

“Because you taught him a lesson?”

“There will be no opportunities for him to lie. Who will want to look at him? His words will be as distorted as his lips and face. He’ll inspire pity instead of lust.”

“Where’s Daddy?” The boy’s voice quivered with the cold and the fear that enveloped him.

“You know where Daddy is, Stephen. You saw Daddy yourself.”

“In the basement?”

“Yes.”

“That man wasn’t Daddy. He didn’t look like Daddy.”

“He’ll look different now. Be kind to him. Don’t let him know that you find him frightening to look at.”

“I’ll never be scared of Daddy.”

“Yes, be brave, Stephen. I want a strong little boy who can aid me.”

“But Daddy …”

His mother silenced him with a kiss that filled his mouth with a fetid poison as he breathed in the augur of death.

Mabel paid the cab driver in change. She had found a large jar of quarters, dimes, and nickels in the utility room of her son-in-law’s house. What a waste, she thought. The jar had been overflowing with coins. Some had probably fallen behind the washer and drier, never to be seen again. At least she’d put them to good use. However, the cab driver didn’t seem to agree with her plan. He grunted as she slowly counted out the exact amount of the fare. Since he had shone no patience, she kept the tip to the bare minimum.

“I hope you got someone to pick you up, lady,” were the cab driver’s parting words.

Shaking her head, she walked to the front entrance of the hospital. Over the telephone the doctors had informed her Jacob was stable. There were burns over seventy-five percent of his body. She shivered thinking about it. They’d pumped him full of drugs to alleviate the pain, and he might not make much sense when he talked, but the doctors thought he should have a family visitor.

Jacob had no local family. Both his parents were deceased, and his sister lived in Australia. Mabel didn’t know how to reach the sister and hadn’t wanted to go through his address book without his permission. He had never been close to any of his other relatives, and he acted disdainful of them.

The doors automatically opened for her, and she entered a busy lobby. Several visitors carried bunches or baskets of flowers. Should she have brought some? Would he notice whether she had or not?