As Mad as a Hatter: A Short Story Collection

by Catherine Stovall

  Kirk’s eyes blazed with drunken hate as he spoke. “What did you think, Jo? Did you think you would get by with this? You can’t take her from me. You are both mine. I don’t give a damn what you think the law says. You belong to me.”

  She pleaded, not knowing what else to do. “I’m sorry, Kirk. I’m so sorry.” She tried to make herself look remorseful instead of afraid. “Please forgive me. I have missed you.”

  Kirk rocked backward as if someone had slapped him. Caught off guard, he was rendered mute for a moment. Seeming to consider her words, he half smiled before the terrible leer returned. Using the back of his hand, he struck Joanna hard across the face.

  She clamped down on the pain and swallowed her scream. Thinking only of Abigail, she tried to force herself to remain calm. Her hand inched up to touch the hot flesh of her cheek. “Kirk, honey, please don’t do this. We can fix it. We can make it all better. Abigail and I love you. I’m sorry. Please, don’t hit me anymore.”

  His words were venom as he spat them into her face, “Liar. Bitch. You would say anything to save your ass.”

  The next strike connected with her temple and knocked Joanna from the chair. She bit into her tongue and tasted blood. He pounced on her, landing his knees on her chest as his knuckles repeatedly slammed into her flesh. Helplessly, she kicked and flailed her arms. Unable to breathe, the agony of the beating began to fade.

  Her limbs suddenly felt too heavy to lift. Kirk’s plummeting hands became nothing more than numbed reminders that she was helpless. By the time he stopped, her eyes were nearly swollen closed and consciousness was a distant light. Staring blankly through the slits left in her vision, Joanna thought she saw a child in the hall.

  Kirk stood over her screaming, “This is all your fault. Why do you make me hurt you? If you wouldn’t have run away, we could have made it better.”

  Joanna barely heard the words. Her ears were full of blood and the throbbing of her heart seemed to fill every inch of her face. She knew she had broken bones and a concussion, but she fought a silent battle. Hoping, if she lay still and quiet, he would get scared and leave, she gave in to the heavy feeling that seeped into her muscles. It was all she could do for the little girl standing in the hall. Joanna forced her hand to move slightly, trying to shoo her daughter away.

  Something snapped inside her chest and a fresh wave of pain ripped through her. She realized she must have passed out and Kirk had kicked her in his fury. He crouched down so he could look directly into her face.

  His tone was oddly resolved and calm, “I’m going to have to kill you now, Jo.”

  She saw the movement just behind him. She heard the whisper clearly. She smiled with swollen, split, and bleeding lips. Barely able to form words, Joanna sang.

  “Sweet Sally Slasher

  Hated her master

  She told me

  One, Two, Three

  Murder is easy

  Pretty and sick

  Four, Five, Six

  She cut the pieces quick,

  Scary and Fine

  Seven, Eight, Nine

  She never did time

  Evil and swell,

  Ten, Eleven, & Twelve

  She threw the pieces in the well”

  Joanna laughed a terrible sound full of pain and madness. Paralyzed by muddled shock, Kirk sat back on his heels and stared at her in mute fascination. When she didn’t stop, his anger returned.

  His bloody hands circled her throat as he screamed, “Shut up. Stop laughing at me, you bitch.”

  The cackle continued until her breath would not come. Just as Joanna realized she was going to die, she saw two little girls over Kirk’s shoulder. One was bigger, a little older, and had different colored eyes. The smaller of the two girls had tears streaming down her face and vengeance in the turned down corners of her mouth.

  Together, with the cleavers held high, they whispered a single word in their sing song voices, “Daddy.”

  Joanna was lost in darkness, but Kirk’s tortured screams filtered through her mind. Fearing for Abigail, she fought against the swirling black depths and clawed her way back toward the surface. Peering through swollen eyes, she saw the shadows of a child’s legs through the clotting blood. Blood splattered tennis shoes skipped across the floor.

  Kirk’s screams ended in a messy, wet gurgling. Joanna tried to call out to tell her daughter to run, but her voice had no strength. She must have made some sort of noise because she found herself faced with a new enemy. Her instinct was to jerk away, but her body did not follow her command, leaving her eye to eye with Sally.

  In death, the girl’s skin had blued and her eyes were wider than they should have been. The irises had turned black and they stared at Joanna in an unblinking, soulless gaze. Sally’s jerky movements brought her closer, and the stench of a watery grave filled all of Joanna’s senses. Tears slipped freely from her eyes as she feared even more for her daughter’s sake.

  The long strands of Sally’s hair slipped across Joanna’s face, the dank wetness making her gag. The breath that touched her ear was as cold as ice, and the voice sounded as if it were fluid.

  Water spilled over Sally’s purple lips and onto Joanna’s bruised face as the dead girl spoke. “I hid in the well. When the police came, I dove to the bottom. It is very deep. I tied a rope around my hand, but I couldn’t undo the knot. It’s dark and cold in the well. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

  ****

  Joanna tried to brush whatever was pinching her arm away but when she tried to lift her hand, the metal cuff clanged against the bed railing. She fully opened her right eye, but the left side refused to provide more than a slither of blurred vision. The first thing she noticed was the handcuffs that held her immobile and the uniformed police officer standing by her bed.

  “What happened? Where’s Abigail? Where’s my daughter?” Joanna broke down into tears as she begged to know her daughter’s whereabouts.

  “Ms. Daniels, I am Officer Nadia Johnson with the Avery Police Department. Two nights ago, your neighbors made a report about screaming coming from your apartment. When we entered the room, we found you lying in your kitchen floor, unconscious. The rooms were covered in blood, later identified as belonging to your ex-husband, Kirk Braxton, though his body was not on the premises. Your daughter, Abigail Braxton, is missing. I need you to tell me what you can remember.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember anything.” She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts. “Where’s my daughter. You have to find her.” Joanna was too disturbed to think clearly. Flashes of gore and memory flooded her brain. When the truth hit her, she knew she couldn’t tell anyone.

  “Ms. Daniels, your daughter is missing and may be hurt.” The officer’s voice was stern and her dark, brown eyes bore into Joanna’s face. “Did you hurt your daughter? Do you know where she is? Do you know where Mr. Braxton is?”

  Joanna started babbling, fear and outrage driving her to ignore the feeling of sandpaper on her larynx. “We came home, it was late. I put Abigail in her bed. Kirk was hiding in the living room. He grabbed me and hit me. He kept hurting me and saying I couldn’t take her away.” Unsure of how to go on, Joanna lapsed into tears.

  “Ms. Daniels, please continue,” the woman’s husky voice sounded impatient.

  Joanna uttered her words through gritted teeth. “I’m trying damn it. Don’t you think I want to remember? It’s my daughter. She’s my world, and I don’t know where she is.”

  The room went silent. The female cop shifted her weight, but said nothing, her hand poised to jot notes in her small notepad.

  At last, the story struck Joanna like a fist. “The well! Oh, my god. Abigail. Check the well on the back of the property. There was a woman there. She was crazy. She told Abigail about a dead body in the well!”

  “Ma’am, are you saying there was another attacker?”

  Joanna struggled against the restraints, fighting to make the police officer believe her. “Yes. Oh god, c
all someone. Tell them to look in the well. She’s there. I know that horrible bitch took her there.” Feeding as much truth into the lie as she could, she added, “I heard her say something about being alone and cold in the well. Please, please!”

  The noise brought in nurses, and as the medical staff tried to calm her, Joanna listened to Officer Johnson make the call. She begged them not to give her the medicine that would send her back into the darkness. She had to stay awake. She had to know if they found her child.

  Joanna frantically fought in her helplessness as the sour faced nurse raised the needle to inject the drugs into her arm. Just before the woman shoved the plunger down, Officer Johnson caught her arm. “I need this woman awake and fully functioning.” Looking to Joanna she continued, “You’re going to behave now, aren’t you?”

  Joanna nodded her head, trying to lie perfectly still as she cried. The nurse let out an exasperated sigh. “Whatever, but you are liable if she hurts herself with all that struggling.” With an air of superiority, she left the room.

  Joanna repeated her story to the officer in vague detail. Confident the medical reports would be consistent with her claims, she insisted she had been unconscious most of the time. When she reached the part about Sally, the officer insisted she give a physical description. Nearly gagging, she was forced to remember the putrid smell, unblinking eyes, grossly colored flesh, and the water that had flowed out of the child’s mouth as she had whispered the evil words.

  “The woman, I don’t know who she was. She was short, maybe five one, she had medium length blonde hair, and her eyes were dark. She was thin but,” Joanna audibly retched as she saw the bloated face in her mind, “her cheeks were fuller. I blacked out as she spoke, my ears were muffled as if they were full of liquid, but I heard her say something about the well and being cold and alone inside it.”

  The officer wrote furiously, noting everything Joanna said. She would never tell her suspect, but Officer Johnson was having difficulty concentrating. She hated this part of her job. The cases with abused and murdered kids always tore her up inside. She had seen many mothers hurt their children, and none of them could have faked the torment the woman in the hospital bed was experiencing. She didn’t believe what was left of Joanna would have been able to dispose of the man’s body or hurt the child.

  Stepping out of her tough, female cop persona for just a moment, the officer laid her dark hand on top of Joanna’s. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they are going to find your baby. She’s going to be alright, and if she can confirm what you tell us, we will have you out of here and back with her in no time.”

  Joanna’s heart stopped. She hadn’t thought about the police asking Abigail about what had happened. She nodded her head and closed her eyes, feigning exhaustion as she struggled to think. She knew the police would never believe a small child, with the help of a ghost, had killed Kirk, cut up his body, and hid him somewhere. She worried they would think Abigail was crazy, or worse, covering for her mom.

  The police woman stepped away from the bed and pulled out her cell phone. She glanced over her shoulder as she transmitted the description of the mystery woman to the dispatcher. Joanna was too lost inside her own fears to pay attention. She didn’t want to lose her daughter. The tears slipped beneath her eyelids and her lips quivered. She said a silent prayer, not her first in the last few days, and sure not to be her last.

  ****

  Abigail lay crying on a rocky outcrop in the dark, deep inside the cylinder shaped hole. Her tiny body shivered against the cold, and her voice was weak as she cried out, “Sally, I want my mommy. I want to go home.”

  A phantom hand stroked the child’s hair. “Go into the water, Abigail. That is where I am.”

  Abigail sat up and searched with her eyes. “I don’t see you.”

  “You have to go in. You have to look below the surface. That is where I am. Way down deep in the cold and lonely dark. I don’t want to be alone, Abigail. Please help me.”

  Abigail slipped her feet into the water and shivered as the icy liquid stung her naked skin. The whine in her voice was growing more pronounced, “I’m too cold, Sally. Can’t you come here? I want to go home now.”

  “I can’t, Abigail. I’m tired, tired from helping you.” The sound of a child crying echoed against the rocky walls. “He’s down here with me, Abigail. We threw him in, and now he is in the water. Please come help me.”

  Abigail could swim. Her mother had taken her to classes. She had gone to the big pool two summers in a row. She wasn’t afraid of drowning, she was afraid because of the bits and pieces of the body. She didn’t want to see it again. She had gotten sick at the sight of the blood in the apartment.

  Sally had been angry with her because she couldn’t help. Abigail couldn’t hurt her daddy, even though he had been hurting her mommy. She had dropped the big knife and hid her face. She had thrown up in the yard when she tried to help Sally carry out the pieces that had been left. That’s how come she was in the well.

  Sally had told her no one could hurt them if they hid in the well, but then she had taken the rope away, and Abigail couldn’t get back out. She wanted to go home more than anything, but she didn’t want to see the yucky mess anymore, and she didn’t want to see her mommy lying in the floor all beaten up.

  The idea struck her, simplistic as only a child’s mind could make it. Maybe if she helped Sally, she would bring back the rope. Sliding her body into the bone chilling water, Abigail sucked a deep breath between her trembling lips. Her head submerged, and her fair hair floated out around her head, swishing as she searched the murky waters.

  After a moment, she reappeared through the rippling water surface. The water smelled and tasted terribly, and she gasped for breath. The nastiness burned her eyes and the inside of her nose. Her mother would be very cross with her for playing in the mucky liquid, but she cocked her head and listened.

  Sally’s voice was barely audible, “Down, down, down. You have to look deeper.”

  Abigail dived, kicking her feet just the way she had learned. The water was freezing and the farther down she went, the more her skin felt the stinging sensation. She used her arms to search in front of her, shutting her eyes against the filth. She brushed against something, a piece of cloth. Tugging it closer, she opened her eyes.

  Abigail tried to scream, sucking the dirty water into her lungs. She shoved the corpse away from her, and bits of blond hair drifted from the scalp. Kicking and struggling, she fought to find the surface. She saw a light beyond the water. She could feel the temperature change from frigid to cold, and she swam harder. Her little chest ached from the lack of oxygen.

  Seconds before she would have burst through, something caught her foot and tugged her back. Abigail could hear Sally’s scream inside her head, “Don’t leave me!”

  She jerked and kicked at the hand gripping her ankle, pulling her down. The outline of the face that was no longer anything more than strips of slimy flesh, grinned up at her in the dim, watery light. Unable to hold her breath any longer, Abigail’s body forced her to attempt to draw air into her lungs, and more water rushed in. The more her instincts fought to gag and cough, the more liquid filled her.

  Sally’s voice called, “Come down, down, down. Come stay with me.”

  Just as her mind began to slip away, she felt herself give in to the persistent tug. At the last second, a strong arm wrapped around Abigail’s torso and yanked her up. Her head rose above the crest of the water, and she tried to suck air into her flooded lungs. She coughed and spurted, too weak to struggle against the arms that held her.

  The last thing Abigail heard was Sally’s voice shrieking up from the dark and watery grave, “Noooooo!”

  The police radio crackled, jolting Joanna’s eyes open. Officer Johnson’s eyes met hers as they listened to the dispatcher’s distorted voice. “Avery two-seven-seven, be advised the victim has been located. Condition is stable and in transit to Sumner County Hospital.”

  Joanna want
ed to yell out in joy. Her child was okay, stable condition meant a lot of things, but at least she was alive. No matter what else happened, her baby was alive. She was safe with police and EMT’s. No more ghosts, no more Kirk. They were free from the horrors of their small world.

  Officer Johnson murmured ten-four into the mic resting on her shoulder. She tried to buckle down on her own happiness for the woman and her child, but she couldn’t fully erase the smile that pulled at the corner of her busted lips.

  ****

  The questioning was relentless. Police officers, social workers, psychiatrist, and the woman from the victim advocacy group asked her the same things over and over. They kept Joanna cuffed to the hospital bed for two days as she pleaded for information on her child. They would tell her little; only that Abigail was being treated for hypothermia and a lung infection, but was doing well. She insisted she had told the police everything she could remember.

  She couldn’t watch television any longer. The news reports continued to blast far off shots of the police pulling Abigail’s nearly lifeless body from the well. The plastic looking reporter spoke of the Well of Horrors. Not only had the police located her child, and what was left of Kirk, they had found the skeletal remains of a young girl. The locals were all proud to speculate the body belonged to Sally Abernathy, the girl who had disappeared years before.

  The tragic story of Sally’s involvement in her father’s death, and her subsequent disappearance, had the neighborhood venturing that someone local copycat had murdered Kirk and had thrown Abigail into the depths. The people Joanne worked with, and even the elderly Mrs. Eva, contested it was ridiculous that the police were holding the poor mother after all she had been through.

  Abigail had forgotten everything. Her mind had shut out the traumatic shock of watching her mother beaten, her father murdered, and being thrown into the darkness with the dead. The police concluded they did not have enough evidence that either child or mother knew more than what they were saying.