As Mad as a Hatter: A Short Story Collection

by Catherine Stovall

  “You mean she killed him in my apartment?” Joanna had begun to sweat in the oppressive heat of the hallway, but as Eva spoke, her body suddenly chilled.

  “Unfortunately, yes. No one heard his screams, and that remains much of a mystery. She killed him with a meat cleaver. She was small. Only thirteen and slight of build. Somehow, she managed to chop him up into pieces so she could carry him, bit by bit, out to that old well.”

  Joanna’s voice was barely a whisper. “What happened to her?”

  “Oh, no one knows. She just disappeared afterwards. The police found her prints on the murder weapon and her little bloody footprints in the hall, but they never found her.” Eva nodded securely in her knowledge of the past.

  “That is all very disturbing, and I’m sorry for asking. I actually just wanted to talk to you and make sure the girls don’t sing that song around Abigail anymore. I don’t think it is very appropriate.” Joanna was trying to shrug off the feeling of foreboding that hovered around her.

  “Don’t you worry about it. I will make sure they are kept on much better subjects for little girls their age. I never liked that rhyme anyway.” With that, a burst of raucous giggles sounded and Eva was off to check on her wards as Joanna headed out to work.

  Throughout the day, Sally’s story kept coming back to her, and she tried valiantly to push it from her mind. Around two o’clock, Joanna flagged the other waitress to tell her she was going to grab a break. Making her way around the small server station, she thought about how glad she was that, no matter where a person went, there was always a server job to be had. The flexible hours and tips helped her take care of Abigail and pay the bills.

  She grabbed her phone from her purse and noticed a missed call from the advocate office. Poking her head into the kitchen, she bummed a cigarette off the cook. He gave her a strange look, because everyone knew Joanna was straight laced and didn’t smoke or drink, but he obliged her request without comment.

  Slipping out the backdoor, Joanna dialed the number like a woman facing down the firing squad. Concealed between the dumpster and the building, she hoped no one would hear the conversation. She knew no amount of prayer or hope would change the information she received from the helpful assistant.

  No. Mrs. Weller wasn’t in, but she had left a message for Joanna. Yes, Mr. Braxton had been granted his release around noon. He had returned to their former home and that was his official address. Yes, he would be required to register his place of residence while on probation and Joanna would be informed of any changes.

  She thanked the woman for her assistance and hung up as she lit the cigarette and drew in deeply. Shutting her eyes, she let her head roll to the side. She felt the scratchy surface of the ancient cinder block building on the back of her skull. Ignoring the way her hair stuck and pulled, she tried to empty her mind. With her eyes still closed tight against the world, she raised her shaking hand to take another drag.

  The minute she heard the familiar voice, she screamed, and he was on her. One hand clamped over her mouth, while the other found the back of her head. He pressed his body hard against her. Pinning her back to the concrete blocks, he glared into her eyes. All the careful preparation fell away, and all the fear compounded inside her in a darkened mass.

  “Don’t you know smoking can kill you?” his voice was ice. “Did you think I wouldn’t come looking for you the minute I was free? She’s my daughter, Jo. You can’t keep her from me. I don’t care what the damn judge said. I want her back.”

  Joanna whimpered, using her eyes to plead with the man she had once loved. He tightened his grip on her face in response. With a sudden sense of revulsion, she felt the proof of his excitement against her thigh. He was enjoying hurting her. He was aroused by her pain, and she knew she wouldn’t survive the attack.

  If waitresses at greasy diners have guardian angels, Josh the dishwasher was Joanna’s. Just as Kirk tried to pull her away from the building, presumably to force her into his vehicle, the back door opened. The surprise that registered on the teenager’s pimply face would have been comical, if her life had not been hanging in the balance.

  Kirk instantly let go of her and bolted on foot as Josh barreled out the door. Much smaller than Joanna’s ex-husband, the boy would not have won in a fight, but Kirk had been caught off guard. Joanna didn’t take time to answer the boy’s terrified questions. She burst back into the restaurant. Josh was right behind her, insisting she call 911.

  She called Eva first, “Lock the door. Don’t ask questions. Keep the girls inside and don’t let anyone in. The police will be on their way and so will I. Eva, don’t open that door for anyone who can’t show you a badge.”

  The old woman sounded frightened, but she agreed. Joanna didn’t explain any further before she hung up the phone. Grabbing her purse from behind the counter, she ran. Josh followed her outside as she shouted demands. “I got to get to my daughter. You don’t understand. Call the police! Tell them to go to 106 Lincoln St, Apartment C. Tell them what happened, and I am on my way there. Tell them to hurry. Do it now!”

  She ran harder and faster than she ever had before. As her legs pumped and her tennis shoes slapped against the pavement, she envisioned all types of nightmarish scenarios. She prayed Kirk hadn’t already gotten to Abigail. The thought struck her that he could come up behind her and run her down with his car. That idea spurred her to cut through the yards and alleyways. Fueled by adrenaline, she made it home before the police arrived.

  She ran up the stairs, nearly tripping. The sound of sirens echoed through the empty hall. She knocked on the door, trying to calm herself before she saw Abigail. “Mrs. Eva, it’s me. It’s Joanna. Please open the door.”

  The old woman cautiously unbolted the lock and Joanna slipped inside. Abigail sat at the table having lunch with the other girls. Their looks told Joanna that Eva had given them a hard time over the song, but she wasn’t very concerned with the other children in the room.

  Kneeling beside the chair, she gave her daughter’s cheek a quick kiss. Forcing herself not to nab the girl up and hug her until she couldn’t breathe, she smiled. The sirens screamed up the street, interrupting the quiet moment. At the sight of the police car outside the window, Abigail’s arms circled her mother’s neck and fear filled the child’s eyes. Her little heart and broken mind knew far more than Joanna preferred.

  Knowing the police were waiting outside, Joanna felt braver. She gently pried Abigail away and reassured her, “Honey, mommy has to go talk to the police man. I’m going to be right outside. I promise I won’t leave. You stay right here. Okay?”

  Tears streaming down her little cheeks, Abigail nodded. Joanna could see her fading away. The same dark shadows that had haunted her blue eyes for weeks after the attack stared out from the child’s face. “Mommy, Sally says she will protect me.”

  Joanna’s hands automatically tightened on her child’s arms. “Honey, I will protect you.”

  Kissing Abigail once more, she stepped out the door. The police searched the grounds and her apartment. The uniformed officers were polite and thorough. A female officer took Joanna’s statement, but in the end, there was nothing they could do. They assured her they would search for Kirk and do extra patrols in the neighborhood and her job. They advised her not to go anywhere on foot or alone. The awful fear and helplessness took over her mind once more.

  ****

  Joanna sat at the kitchen table, a baseball bat across her lap. She stared at the digital clock on the stove as it mocked her with the fact she would never sleep again. She had finally managed to get Abigail to drift off a little after midnight, but nearly four hours later, she could not find sleep despite her exhaustion. The silence in the apartment was unbearable, but she feared going into the living room and turning on the television. An obsessive need to stay within sight of the front door compelled her to remain in the uncomfortable chair.

  Propping her head onto the palm of her hand, her eyes became heavy. She meant to close them for
just a moment of rest, but as soon as the haze of anxious sleep began to cocoon her, she heard Abigail’s voice. The sound came from the child’s bedroom, and Joanna was instantly confused. She had only dozed off for a couple of minutes.

  Muttering to herself, she wondered how Abigail had managed to sneak out of bed and into the other room without waking her. As she entered the hall, Joanna heard her child singing the song she had been forbidden to utter. The high, sweet voice producing such an eerie cadence was unnerving. The door stood ajar by barely an inch, and Joanna could see the bedroom light was still off. She slowly pushed the door open, so that she wouldn’t startle her child.

  Abigail stood in front of the window, the light of the moon illuminating her fair hair, a large meat cleaver hanging in her hand. Very quietly and carefully, Joanna approached her child. Her words nearly stuck behind the lump of fear in her throat, “Abby, what are you doing?”

  The child’s free hand reached up to draw a daisy in the fog her breath had formed on the glass. In a quiet whisper, she answered her mother, “He’s out there. He’s by the well, and he’s waiting for us.”

  A new fear drove Joanna forward. “Abigail. Who is out there? Get away from the window!”

  Just as her hand touched the child’s shoulder, the creature spun to face her. The strange, pale face that snarled in her direction was not her daughter. The stranger screamed, “Daddy!”

  Joanna jerked her hand away from the horror. Falling as she scrambled backward, she saw the cleaver in the child’s hand was covered in fresh blood. Her throat clenched shut with the overpowering terror, and her body violently shook as she tried to rise from the ground. In an instant, the girl disappeared.

  Her head snapped from side to side, searching for the apparition. Alone in the room, she glanced out the window in the direction of the well. The shadow of a man raised his hand as if in salute before fading into the brush, and Joanna ran out of the room to her child. The seven steps it took to reach her bedroom seemed like miles. In astonished relief, she found her little girl lying peacefully asleep in the queen size bed.

  Joanna uttered silent prayers as she moved through the apartment. She turned on every light she could on her way to the kitchen. She checked the locks on the front door as she dialed the police station. Her voice was incredibly calm as she asked the dispatcher to have a car circle the area, explaining that she had noticed a man lurking at the rear of the property.

  Taking the bat with her, she returned to the bedroom. She uttered breathless prayers, hoping her fear and exhaustion had caused her to sleep walk into Abigail’s room. She fought to believe that none of it had been real and she would be able to make it safely through the night with her child.

  The thought of leaving crossed her mind, but she realized they would be in more danger on the street in the middle of the night. With no car and nowhere to go, she would have to expose her child to the elements and the whims of the people who lurked once the sun went down.

  Though sleep never came for her, the night proceeded with no other incident. By the time the sun crept up the horizon, Joanna had convinced herself that she had not seen a ghost at all. She called into work, her boss surprisingly understanding. She was glad she had never missed a day before and credited that to his compliance. Assured she still had a job, Joanna allowed herself to drift off into a fitful sleep.

  ****

  A few short hours later, Abigail woke. Sitting up in bed, she looked down at her sleeping mother and smiled. As she slipped silently from the covers, she paused and tipped her head to the side as if listening intently. Her little face filled with concern as she padded on bare feet out of the room and into the kitchen.

  Standing in the middle of the room, her voice echoed off the walls, “Sally, Mommy says I shouldn’t play with knives. I will get in trouble.”

  The silence went undisturbed, but Abigail nodded her head and shrugged her shoulders in defeat. “Yes. Yes. I understand. We do need to protect mommy. Are you sure he’s coming?”

  Not tall enough to reach the back of the counter, Abigail dragged a chair across the linoleum. The resulting sound was louder than she had expected, and the girl froze to listen to see if she had roused her mother. After a moment, she nodded again as if confirming an unheard statement. Stepping up into the seat of the chair, Abigail stretched her arm toward the object she desired. Still too short to reach, she eased herself onto the counter top and selected the cleaver from its place in the knife block.

  Bleary eyed and confused, Joanna watched as Abby turned to slide herself down to the chair. When her foot slipped, she teetered on the edge before losing her balance. She fell face first, the sharp edge of the cleaver pointing upward as she thrust her hands out to stop the fall. Joanna screamed, desperately leaping to reach her child before the simple fall could turn fatal. Abigail’s face slammed down as her body connected with the hard floor, and the child screamed in pain.

  Joanna’s hands frantically searched the girl’s body for wounds as Abigail cried. There was no blood, no cuts. Other than a rapidly swelling knot on her forehead, no damage had been done. Joanna searched for the cleaver as she tried to comfort her daughter. Not seeing it anywhere near, she let her eyes lift to the block on the counter, only to see none of the knives were missing.

  Placing the sobbing child into the chair, Joanna grabbed a towel and filled it with ice. She crooned as she held the ice pack to Abigail’s forehead. When the sobbing cries turned to little sniffles, Joanna asked the question she dreaded.

  She forced herself to remain calm. “Honey, what were you doing?”

  Abigail’s eyes were full of tears. “Sally s-s-said I needed to get the big knife. Sh-she said I would need it to protect you.”

  The confession made the little girl begin wailing again. Afraid she would be punished for disobeying and aching from the fall, she curled up tighter against her mother’s chest. Joanna sat in silence for a moment, absently stroking Abigail’s hair.

  Her voice shook with the effort to remain calm, “Baby, I don’t think it’s a good idea to listen to Sally anymore. You almost got hurt. I want you to ignore her if she talks to you again. Don’t listen and don’t answer her. Come tell me. Okay?”

  Abigail’s head turned a little and her eyes focused on something beyond her mother’s shoulder. “Sally says she doesn’t like that. She wants to protect us from the bad man.”

  A cold chill crept up Joanna’s spine. Steeling herself against the terror, Joanna spoke into the air. “Sally. Thank you for your help, but I will protect Abigail. I’m afraid she may get hurt if this keeps up, and you frighten me. Please, leave my Abigail alone.”

  She waited in silence, her breath held in anticipation, until Abigail spoke again. “She’s gone. Sally looked really sad. She’s all alone.”

  ****

  The next few days passed without incident. The police had not yet apprehended Kirk and Joanna was sure he was hidden out miles away. She went back to work out of sure desperation. Unable to make enough to save back any real amount of money, she needed a few paychecks to get her and Abigail out of the brownstone building. In fact, she wanted out of the small town altogether.

  Feeling optimistic, Joanna opened the door of Josh’s car and slid out. Leaning back through the open window she asked, “Are you sure you don’t want some gas money.”

  The young man smiled and shook his head. “No ma’am. I’m happy to help you out, Jo. I know how it is to be on your own. I just don’t want that son-of-a-bitch to hurt you again. No woman deserves that.”

  Joanna glanced away, trying to will the tears not to come. When she looked back at Josh, her smile was sad. “Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The boy beamed at her. “Sure thing. I will pick you up around ten.”

  With that, the boy drove away. His little Civic gave a cough as he headed up the hill on his way to whatever life he lived outside of the restaurant. Joanna waited for a moment on the steps of the building, breathing in the fading warmth o
f the summer evening. As the stars glittered over the sleepy little town, she couldn’t help but think she would miss living there.

  Joanna lingered inside Eva’s apartment as she collected a sleepy Abigail. The woman’s cluttered home made her nostalgic for her own childhood. Eva’s kitchen smelled of cookies and potpourri, the aroma of her youth. Finally, Abigail’s insistence forced her to head across the hall.

  She should have recognized the light hint of cologne in the air. She should have paid closer attention to the fact that the entrance rug was a little askew. Her mind had been distracted as it recalled the people and places of her past. Instead, she had let herself get lost in memories that did not bring her pain and regret.

  Joanna carried Abigail to bed and tucked the quilt up to the child’s chin. Kissing her lightly, she watched the big, blue eyes flutter open and closed several times before sleep overtook her small features. Sneaking from the room, she paused to turn on the nightlight by the door. For a moment of pure terror, she thought she heard a voice whisper.

  She turned back toward Abigail and saw the child had shifted in her sleep. Assuring herself it was only the rustle of the blankets, Joanna went to her own room to change clothes. She padded down the hall dressed in a long t-shirt, her ratty bath robe, and her slippers. As soon as she passed the living room door, he grabbed her.

  Kirk’s hand twisted in her hair as he yanked her backward into his chest. His breath stank of alcohol. “Don’t scream, baby. We wouldn’t want to wake Abigail.”

  Joanna sobbed as he pushed her further into the kitchen and forced her into a chair. Her eyes scanned the room as she sought out some weapon to defend herself with. Her cell phone was in her purse, and she had left that on the stand near the door. She knew she would never reach it before Kirk caught her. The panic threatened to swallow sanity as he towered over her.

  In a moment of shock, she saw the cleaver was missing from the wooden block. She was sure it had been there earlier that day. No longer angry, she hoped Abigail could use it to protect herself. She prayed to God that he would help wield the weapon if her daughter needed it.