by Sal Conte
Chapter Fourteen
“You’ve been through a lot, Ariel. Too much for a little girl. And I know it’s horrible of me to ask, but I need you to get it together, and I need you to get it together right now,” Pam said. Her voice was trembling. “You’ve got to come out of this, Ariel. I’m lost without you, baby. Come on now. Please!” Her voice was cracking with emotion by the time she’d finished talking, and Pam realized every word she’d said was true. She’d lose it herself if Ariel didn’t come around.
“Daddy’s not coming back, is he?”
The voice that drifted up to Pam was very grownup.
She kissed Ariel atop the head again, grateful to have her daughter back. In the past, she might have lied to the child to soften the blow, but Ariel and Jackson were all she had now. She needed to lean on her eight-year-old.
“I don’t think so,” she replied in a hushed tone.
“Why is Queenie trying to hurt us?”
“I don’t know. But if anything happens to me, you have to take care of Jackson.”
After a brief silence, Ariel said “I got your back, Mommy.”
The response was so out of character for Ariel that Pam laughed. Tears were dribbling down her cheeks, but she was laughing all the same. The moments of laughter were bonding for her. She sensed a new kinship with her daughter. The kinship was the kind of mother-daughter thing that might have happened when Ariel turned sweet sixteen and was crying over the loss of her first boyfriend, or eighteen when she was heading off to college, or perhaps when Ariel got married and was having her first child. Instead, the special bonding was happening now when Ariel was five months from her ninth birthday. It was then Pam realized Ariel’s lisp was totally gone. She was all grown up.
“Thank you,” Pam said. “I needed to hear that.”
After Jackson brought the blanket down, Pam got one of his favorite books from the plastic milk crate. She snuggled her children up close to her on the sofa, and read from Curious George Makes Maple Syrup.
Nearly an hour had passed without a sound from Queenie, but Pam knew she was out there, plotting, calculating on how to get to them.
The children were fabulous. Although they both knew there was something horribly wrong, they cuddled with her on the old sofa, occasionally quoting lines from the book.
When Pam was nearing the end, a loud noise outside jarred her back to the reality that they were under attack. It sounded to Pam like the loud groan of a small wooden boat pushing against the dock.
“What’s that?” Ariel asked in loud whisper, and Pam saw fresh fear in her daughter’s eyes.
“I don’t know.” Pam put the book down and moved to the window. “You kids stay right there,” she called in a loud whisper, although she had no idea why she was whispering. Queenie knew she had them trapped. Queenie didn’t need to hear her. She’d be seeing her up close and personal soon enough.
Pam peered out the window. The sound continued, like a bow string tightening. What is that? she asked herself. The sound would start, continue for several seconds and then stop, only to start up again moments later.
The noise was coming from around the side of the house where Pam couldn’t see. She moved to the door, and dragged the big chair away from in front.
“Where you going, Mommy?” Jackson asked, worried.
“Shh.”
When the noise started again, she unlocked, and then cautiously pulled open the door.
“Don’t go outside, Mommy,” Jackson called, his voice going high and whiny.
“Be quiet, Jackson. Mommy just wants to hear better,” Ariel said, sounding very grownup. The grownup tone of Ariel’s voice worked. Jackson stopped crying immediately.
With the door open, the sound came to Pam more clearly. Queenie was at the root cellar doors. She was prying them open, probably using the jack handle retrieved from the rear of Harry’s SUV.
Pam stepped outside where she could better see the car. The chilly night air raised goose bumps along her arms. She didn’t notice. She craned her neck forward and peered around the corner. When she saw the rear door of Harry’s SUV gaping open, her breath caught. “Hhh.”
Pam recalled the evening Queenie had gotten her book from off the nightstand. She recalled wondering at the time, what else can Queenie do? “A lot,” she mumbled, and stifled the laugh bubbling up her throat. She knew she had to stifle it because laughter at this point was madness, and Pam couldn’t afford to go crazy, not with her children waiting for her inside.
Just then she heard a loud snaap! Then, the sound of the broken lock falling to the ground. The next sound she heard made her skin crawl. The root cellar doors swung open, hitting the earth with a loud whoomph. Pam knew she wouldn’t be hearing any more sounds from the side of the house. The root cellar was connected to the tiny basement by a narrow passageway. Queenie was inside.
Chapter Fifteen
Pam came back into the cabin, closed the door, and began dragging the heavy chair from the front door over to the basement door. “Ariel, lock the basement door,” she called, struggling to keep her voice calm.
Her mind was in overdrive, trying to figure out their next move.
With Queenie in the basement, we could make a run for it? But to where?
The car was disabled—clever dog—so they’d have to travel on foot, and with two small children in tow, it would take them at least half an hour to get to Emile’s. Or they could go to the nearest cabin which was just a fifteen minute walk. But it was the off season, and there was no promise that anyone would be staying in the cabin. Emile’s was their best bet.
We’d never make it.
Going into the basement may have been a ploy of Queenie’s to flush them out, to get them out into the open where they’d be easy pickings on the road to Emile’s.
Pam sighed deeply as a cold realization washed over her. It was as if she’d awakened with the fog of sleep still in her eyes, and then slowly everything around her came clear as a bright summer’s day. If she wanted to save her children, Pam was going to have to deal with the thing in the basement herself.
She secured the chair in front of the basement door then, kneeled down, corralled her children in her arms, and hugged them. They were both frightened. Neither of them spoke, and she could feel Jackson trembling in her arms. She could also feel herself getting angry—at Harry, but mostly herself. She could have prevented this. After the eyeball incident she should have insisted that Queenie be left behind, but she didn’t. To avoid conflict, she pouted instead of putting her foot down, and here they were.
“Jackson, why does Queenie think Mommy and Daddy are bad?” Pam asked. Jackson’s face was pressed against her chest.
“I don’t know,” was his muffled reply.
“You don’t think Mommy and Daddy are bad, do you?”
He shook his head against her chest.
“Jackson, look at me.”
He lifted his head. His eyes were filled with fear and confusion.
“Mommy thinks Queenie needs to know she’s not a bad person.”
“I told her,” Jackson said.
“And what did she say?”
“Nothing. She said she’d protect me.”
Pam stood. She needed to tell her children the decision she’d made, and she needed to sell it to them as delicately as possible. “Queenie is in the basement now. Mommy is going to go down there and explain to her that Mommy is a good person.”
“No,” Ariel blurted. “Don’t go.”
“Yes. Queenie should know Mommy and Daddy aren’t bad,” Jackson said. He was looking at his sister, his face all bunched up, knowing she was going to yell at him or call him a doody-head.
Ariel said nothing; her gaze moved to her mom.
“Then, it’s settled,” Pam said. “Jackson, Mommy would like to take Queenie a peace offering to show what a nice person she is. Can Mommy offer her one of your toys, just to play with?”
Jackson nodded enthusiastically. “She likes my toys—
better than dolls,” he said, casting a quick glance at his sister.
“Great. Run upstairs and bring me the perfect toy for Mommy to make friends with Queenie.”
With purpose in his life, Jackson no longer seemed afraid. He climbed the short flight of stairs to the bedroom. There was a smile on Pam’s face as she watched him go. The moment he was upstairs and out of sight, the smile vanished.
“As soon as I go into the basement, I want you to put on your coats and take your brother down to Emile’s Grocery,” she said to Ariel.
“That’s too far to walk,” Ariel said, her lips puckering into a pout.
“No whining, Ariel. You know how serious this is. I need you to be a big girl right now. Just stay on the road, and it will lead you there. I’ll join you as soon as I deal with Queenie.”
Ariel’s face fell to pieces. She sniffled loudly, and for a moment Pam was certain she was going to break down and cry, or worse, drift off into the fog Pam had found her in earlier.
Then something in her changed. Looking at her daughter, it was as if time-lapse photography was speeding up the aging process. The pouty expression dissolved as Ariel accepted the weight of the responsibility that had been thrust upon her. Her eyes hardened, reflecting years of aging in just a few moments. There were new, deep lines around the corners of her mouth that weren’t there before.
Too grown-up. Too soon.
She looked up at her mother and nodded. “I got your back,” she said again, and this time it didn’t seem out of place.
Jackson was returning downstairs, proudly carrying his Buzz Lightyear action figure when the lights went out.
“Mommy!” he cried out.
“Don’t be afraid of the dark, honey. I’m right here,” Pam said.
“We’re both here, Jackson. Nothing to be afraid of,” Ariel added.
Queenie had gotten into the old fuse box and unscrewed the fuses. Queenie knew that darkness created fear, especially in small children. Smart dog. Queenie was setting them up to pick off under a cloud of darkness. Pam knew with certainty that Queenie would be coming for them soon. She had to hurry things along.
With her children by her side, she went to the utility cabinet and pulled out two flashlights. After fumbling through several sets of batteries, she found four with some juice in them. One of the flashlights shined bright, while the other was quite dim. She handed the good flashlight to Ariel.
“You know what to do,” she said in a hushed tone.
Ariel clicked on the light. The beam of Ariel’s flashlight was on Pam as she moved back into the living room and grabbed a poker from the fireplace—the one with the claw hand.
“What’s that for, Mommy?” Jackson asked.
“Just in case Queenie doesn’t want to listen to Mommy, honey. Mommy should be able to defend herself, right?”
Ariel and Jackson were captured in the dull pool of Pam’s flashlight. They both nodded. There were tears in Ariel’s eyes.
Pam moved the heavy chair from in front of the basement door and told Ariel to lock the door and replace the chair after the door was closed. She didn’t shine her light on Ariel. She couldn’t bear to see the look on her daughter’s face, but Ariel’s breath, coming in rapid bursts, told the tale.
With the flashlight in one hand, Buzz Lightyear and the poker in the other, Pam stepped through the basement door. As much as she wanted to, she did not hug her children. The door closed, and she was shrouded in darkness, the beam of her flashlight casting a dirty yellow stream down the basement stairs. She heard the door lock behind her, and a few moments later, she heard the heavy chair being dragged into place. Good girl.
Pam set Buzz Lightyear on the landing. She wasn’t planning on making peace with Queenie. She was planning on ending her—it—whatever. She needed her right hand free to swing the fireplace poker at the monster’s skull, and to hopefully put out the other eye before crushing the dog’s head like an eggshell. Pam turned off her flashlight—I can also use darkness as a weapon—and started downstairs.
Chapter Sixteen
Ariel had her hands on the heavy chair, staring at the closed basement door. She was supposed to be getting Jackson ready to take the walk down to Mr. Emile’s, but her mother had no way of getting out of the basement when she came back up, and she was coming back upstairs… she was. Someone had to unlock the door for her when she came back up or she’d be trapped. As much as Ariel wanted to obey her mother, she couldn’t abandon her.
“Want to color?” Ariel shined her flashlight in Jackson’s face and he shielded his eyes. “Sorry,” she said and averted the beam.
“I want Mommy and Daddy back,” Jackson replied.
“Wanna look out the window to see when Daddy’s coming?”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah,” he said.
Ariel knew this was a quick fix, a diversion that wouldn’t last. Daddy wasn’t coming home, and pretty soon Jackson would get bored and start asking for Mommy. Maybe she’ll be back by then, Ariel thought, hoped.
“Come on.” She shined her light to illuminate the way, and they moved to the window.
Chapter Seventeen
Water was running.
There was a small sink in the basement for the purpose of washing the vegetables stored in the root cellar. Pam and Harry never used the sink. They never used the root cellar. The man who sold them the cabin told them that in the old days, vegetables were stored in the root cellar in the autumn after harvesting to keep fresh for winter. Harry laughed and teased her on the ride back to the city saying they were buying Ma and Pa Kettle’s farm, and Ma Pam had better get used to making rhubarb pie, whatever that was.
The water was running and the small sink was starting to overflow. Is she trying to flood us out? Pam wondered as water began sloshing onto the floor.
She was nearly downstairs, and wondered if the Queenie machine came equipped with night vision. Right now the little monster didn’t need it. The creaking of each step as she went down gave her position away.
She halted when she reached the bottom step, resting there. She strained to listen beyond the sound of the overflowing sink for any sign of the demon machine.
The little monster’s doing this to create a diversion.
She squinted into the darkness, and as her eyes adjusted, muted shapes came into view. The open root cellar doors allowed a shaft of moonlight into the small room.
The light reflected off the root cellar floor and through the small passageway that led into the basement. It was enough to keep the room from being pitch black, and for Pam to make out shapes.
They stored the outdoor furniture down there. Harry had said if they left the furniture outside while they were home in the city that the furniture might decide to walk away. It was nothing special: a wooden picnic table and benches, a couple of beach lounges and a big bright blue beach umbrella.
The shape of the table came to her first, then the big umbrella leaning against the far wall. As she scanned the basement, willing her mind to recall where things were stored, she noticed a twinkle down low.
Her breath nearly caught when she realized it had to be Queenie’s good eye. The eye had caught a glint of moonlight and was visible for only a few seconds, but now, as Pam’s eyes continued to adjust, she could make out the shape of Queenie standing silent and still under a wooden picnic bench. She had to lure the dog out into the open where she could get a good whack at her.
Pam stepped off the last step and onto the basement floor. The fuse box was on the far wall. Keeping Queenie in the corner of her eye, she slowly began sloshing through the water toward the fuse box, stopping every so often hoping Queenie would think she was stopping to adjust to the darkness.
Queenie moved.
The monster’s movement was silent, but Pam caught another twinkle glinting off of her good eye as she made a few quick steps in Pam’s direction.
Not close enough, Pam thought. If she made for Queenie now, the mechanical dog would have too much time to react and co
uld escape into the darkness.
She took another step, kicking into the water that was slowly making its way across the basement floor.
“I need to get the mop,” she whispered, as if to herself, but the whispering was for Queenie. Pam changed course and sloshed to her left. There was no mop in the basement, but Queenie didn’t know that.
Queenie adjusted to Pam’s change of direction. Closer, closer.
Pam dropped the flashlight, and it clunk-splashed onto wet the floor.
“Dammit!” She stooped as if reaching for the flashlight, but now both of her hands were clutching the fireplace poker.
Closer, closer.
She swung into the darkness from the crouching positon. It was as if she were a baseball player, her crouching legs allowing great leverage on a fastball. The swing was ferocious and quick.
Craaack!
She connected, and let out a tiny yelp of delight. Queenie went momentarily airborne and slammed against the picnic table before sloshing back to the floor. Pam wasn’t sure if she’d connected with Queenie’s head, but she’d heard the loud crack, felt the sting of solid contact against her hands, and knew she’d done some damage.
A living thing would have cried out in pain, would have shown some form of emotion, but all Queenie did was scamper away.
“Come on, you robot bitch!” Pam cried.
She scooped up the flashlight and clicked it on. The weak beam now stuttered, like an ailing strobe. She heard Queenie scampering through the water and tried tracking her with the faltering beam.
“Come on. Come on!” She cried, whirling the fireplace poker over her head as if she were an Apache brave.
The beam of the flashlight faltered and went out, but Pam knew Queenie was against the wall beneath the fuse box. Her glinting eye gave her away. Pam sloshed toward her. A few more steps and she’d be close enough the clobber the little murderer again.