Horrorbook

by A. R. Braun

  "Help me!" he cried while swatting at the unrelenting dog.

  "Help you? After you broke my daughter’s fingers? Fuck you! I hope that dog kills you!"

  "Our daughter. Ow! Ah, ah, ouch! Fuck!"

  "Not anymore. She’s my daughter now."

  That did it. He regained a little control as he reached around and snapped the dog's neck.

  My heart broke. "Oh God, Howler!"

  I rushed over to the mangled heap of fur but was too late to help him. I looked daggers at my husband, laughing as he ran out of the room. He shrieked about needing to bandage his fucking ass.

  I looked at the light bulb again.

  It winked.

  After watching him weep like a little girl in the living room after bandaging his precious keister, I went to bed early, wanting more time for chuckles. I wondered with excitement what plague would hit him next, if any. When I'd giggled silently for an hour, he limped into the bedroom and lay down next to me. All the fight had gone out of him. He lay on his side with his back to me.

  Eagerly, I waited.

  I was about to give up after an hour, when the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen walked through the door. I started. If there was a hint of Mexican in her, I couldn't see it. She didn't wear a cowl, but a red dress. Her tanned legs went on forever. Vivacious curves and melon-like breasts led to a sleek, thin neck, full lips, high cheekbones and a narrow nose. Midnight hair hung down to her shoulders. The curly waves in her tresses ended in points like razors.

  She looked to be about nineteen or twenty. I could even smell her perfume, a brand I didn't recognize.

  Ramonita.

  She gazed at me, put her finger over her mouth as to shush me and giggled silently with her hand over her mouth.

  Ramonita strutted over and stroked my husband's arm. The oaf wouldn't wake, so she gave him a tug. He woke, looked at her and flinched. She smiled seductively and raised her dress to show him some thigh. I didn't care if he fucked her after what he'd done to our daughter. Ray’s crotch bulged. He reached out and stroked her thigh. As he turned his head to glance my way, I shut my eyes, feigning sleep. For a few seconds, I thought they would fuck in our bed. The mattress bounced as he rose, going with her. I didn't even peek. When I heard them descend the stairs, I opened my eyes, dying to know what she'd do next.

  Then I remembered what Grandma had said.

  You will bring a curse.

  Moaning ensued, but I had to peek. Though Ramonita frightened me, I tiptoed to the top of the stairs and stared into the living room.

  They sat on the couch. She kissed him, rubbing her leg against his.

  Ramonita reached into his pants. "Ah, ha-ha," she said.

  My sick-ass husband smiled, but not for long.

  Ramonita let out a banshee scream and ripped his dick off with her bare hands. Blood spurted as a waterspout, staining his white underwear crimson as he shrieked.

  "Ah! Oh my God, you fucking bitch!"

  But that was only the beginning.

  With incredible strength I envied, she shoved his cock down his throat, choking him. He tried to reach in and get it, but she backhanded him, and he flew across the room, crashing into the wall and then sitting down hard. Ramonita walked over to him in faster time than the living and held his arms down. He struggled, powerless against her supernal strength.

  I gasped and ran back to bed. Though she'd done what I’d wanted her to do, I feared for my freedom, wondering what I would do with a corpse in the living room.

  And I feared what Ramonita would do to me.

  The ghost giggled wildly as she ascended the stairs.

  My God, she's coming for me.

  I trembled. The closer she came, the more I retreated under the covers. When Ramonita reached my room's threshold, I didn't think I could take it anymore. Insects of panic threatened to crawl through my brain.

  "Selena," she whispered.

  "Oh God," I whined. "Please, Ramonita, don't hurt me."

  "Selena!"

  I pulled the covers down a tad . . . and spotted the loveliest sight I'd ever seen.

  Ramonita held little Rana out in front of her. She'd restored her fingers. The Popsicle sticks were gone, and my child flexed her fingers as she grinned from ear to ear.

  Ramonita cocked her head and smiled. "You shouldn't always listen to my daughter. She's superstitious, paranoid! I have righted the wrong. You were right to call on me. I have removed all traces of your husband, and there shall be no more bloodshed in this household. I left a note in his handwriting saying he's left you for another woman."

  Rana rushed to me and held me. Her soft, wan frame chased away my fear.

  I hugged her so tight I thought she’d break. "Oh my baby! My healthy little baby!" I looked at Ramonita and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

  She smiled a loving, grandmotherly smile. "I leave you now. But if you ever get in trouble with a man again, call on me, and I will be there. Adios."

  Then she dissipated like a dying hologram.

  Holding my beloved daughter tight because I never wanted to let go, joy filled me like the effects of a drug.

  I love you, Ramonita, and I will.

  Curse, my ass.

  From Rags to Witches

  Delia winced. Yuck. That poor homeless guy; he reminds me of when I was young, poor and had lice.

  She watched as he pan-handled a businessman right next to her. Delia had never been this close to a destitute man. She wrinkled her nose. Delia couldn’t take her eyes off the homeless person. An aging man with rotten teeth, he shot her an eerie grin as she started to walk away.

  Am I crazy, or did his eyes glow green?

  Delia worked as a travel agent, loving to book people on trips to Greece, the land of gods and goddesses. She’d just left her lower-paying travel agent job in the suburbs.

  The cool breeze tried to blow her skirt up. She eased it down. People yelled and car horns blared. Engine noises reigned over the other sounds.

  I think I’ll eat lunch on the courthouse lawn. There’s usually an old-fashioned brass band there on Tuesdays.

  Delia walked up to the food court and stopped at a gyro stand. The scent of the exquisite food wafted over to her. She purchased her meal and Diet Pepsi, then walked to the courtyard and took a seat on a concrete support next to other businesspeople. Delia listened to the high-pitched music while her eyes wandered to the black statues of the departed movers and shakers of her city.

  She smiled. It would be even better if a Wiccan band was playing.

  Delia pulled her pentacle amulet from under her blouse and looked it over. She might hide her large necklace from the conservative world but would never take off her ring. It would be denying the goddess. Her roommate had turned her onto Wicca in college, and she’d never dropped the habit. The notion of love from a god that didn’t demand too much had always appealed to her, as opposed to the rigid requirements of Christianity.

  Delia looked at the gray-haired men and women hunched over their brass horns that reflected the sun in blinding prisms, and her mind wandered. She whipped out her compact. Her brown hair was a mess because of the wind, and wrinkles threatened her pretty face. I need to get that Love Potion No. 9 Miriam’s selling at the new age store. Delia wondered if the rest of the world sold the potion copied from the name of a movie. I’m glad the store in Illinois does.

  “Dear god Pan, who is the god and goddess together, thank you for this nourishment,” she whispered. “Blessed be.”

  The homeless man that had been pan-handling walked up to her. Though Delia was thirty, she’d never had an encounter with a homeless person face-to-face. She’d lived a sheltered life.

  The man smelled like rotten milk. Half of his teeth had gone missing. He ran his wart-covered slimy tongue over them. His yellow half-teeth and tongue matched his yellow and bloodshot eyes. Rips dominated his Salvation Army clothing, and his skin sported sores. Slimy snot ran out of his nose. Delia suspected the man had lice though she didn�
�t intend to get close enough to find out.

  “You got a dollar?” he asked in an electric-sounding voice, as if amplified through an old P.A. “I’m hungry as a motherfucker.”

  Delia was shocked. She hid her amulet back in her blouse. Maybe if I give him a dollar, he’ll go away. Goddess knows I can’t stand the smell and sight of him anymore. Delia pulled her wallet out of her purse and fished through it for a buck.

  The homeless man reached out and snatched the wallet away.

  “Hey!” Delia said. “Give me my wallet!”

  The man took a couple steps back, looking at her driver’s license. Then he flipped through the bills. He plucked out a wrinkled hundred.

  Delia advanced on him. “I said give me that!”

  She glanced at the other businesspeople eating lunch who stared wide-eyed at them. The crowd looked afraid to help.

  Delia snatched the wallet back from him and then tried to snatch the bill, but he wouldn’t let go. She grunted and pulled harder, but he got into a fighting stance. Leaning backward, he pulled the bill out of her hands.

  She got in his face. “I’ll call the police!”

  He grinned. “Yeah, but I know where you live. I saw your license.”

  Fear took her then. She trembled and power-walked away.

  “See you tonight.”

  Delia wheeled on him. “What the hell did you just say?” she yelled.

  But he was gone.

  Delia got out of the car and slammed the door. Her blond-haired, blue-eyed daughter Heather did the same. Delia shuddered from the warm spring sun. “Thank you, Pan,” Delia whispered, “for getting us home safely.”

  She walked toward the house, and then stopped. Heather stopped beside her, furrowing her brow as she looked her over. “What’s wrong, Mom?” she asked in that chirpy voice.

  Delia felt as if someone was watching her. “Nothing,” she lied. When she turned around, no one was there; her eyes surveyed the neighborhood, but all she saw were men mowing their lawns and children at play. “I thought I heard something.”

  Delia picked up her pace and unlocked the door. She walked in and started supper while Heather watched TV.

  After dinner, Delia finished doing the dishes while Heather dried. The one-story house still smelled like soy and garlic potatoes. When Heather finished, she skipped toward her room.

  Delia took a bubble bath, needing a break from all the work. The hot water and suds felt wonderful. After being in there for about an hour, she dried off and put on her white, silk robe. She looked at herself in the mirror. At least middle age hasn’t taken my pretty green eyes. Delia plucked a couple of gray strands out of her shoulder-length hair.

  She headed toward her daughter’s room, hearing a rock band blare from the stereo. Delia looked at her watch as she walked down the hall. It was 9:00 p.m. Time for the kiddo to go to bed.

  Delia knocked and entered. “It’s time for bed, Poppy.” Poppy was Heather’s witch name that Delia had thought up.

  Heather met her mother’s eyes, and Delia envied the bright-eyed beauty. Healthy and slim, a blemish didn’t dare show on her tanned skin. The eighth grader was too skinny, but at her age, that was par for the course. That’ll change later. She looks just like her dad, the two-timing bastard. Her ex-husband, Victor, no longer had visitation rights because he’d been physically abusive to Delia but, thank goddess, not the kid. Delia didn’t care if she ever saw him again, and had an order of protection against him.

  Delia proudly looked at Heather’s black broom and posters of young adult Wiccan novels. The Witch’s Night Out poster was Delia’s favorite.

  “Okay, Delilah.” Heather answered, giggling.

  Delia smiled, loving the witch name she’d given herself.

  “I’m finished with my homework anyway,” Heather continued. She closed the book.

  “Why’d you wait so long to do it?” Delia walked over and looked at her, putting her hands on her hips.

  Heather sighed. “I was talking to my friends on the phone.”

  Delia let her arms fall. “Well, I’m proud of you anyway. At least you got it done.”

  “Mom?” Heather’s eyebrows rose.

  Delia sat on the bed, fingering her own necklace, which hung on the outside of her shirt now. “Hmm?”

  “When do I get an amulet?”

  Delia smoothed Heather’s soft, long hair. “Pretty soon.”

  “When can I come and worship at the temple?”

  Delia locked eyes with her and turned up the corner of her mouth. “When we go Blue Star Wicca, the branch of the occult that includes children, then we’ll worship together. The temple I’m going to now probably wouldn’t approve, but we can have your friends over and worship here.”

  Delia didn’t attend the temple much anyway. She’d only taken one class. She was that busy. So there were no ties binding her to it. She barely knew any of them except for Miriam, a woman Delia could count on to be there for her, if need be.

  Heather’s face brightened. She smiled, and her braces showed. “Let’s go Blue Star, Mom!”

  Delia smiled at her. “I’m thinking about it.”

  “Thank you so much!” Heather hugged her.

  “You’re welcome, precious. Now get in your pajamas, brush your teeth, and go to sleep, okay?”

  “Kay.” Heather bounded off the bed and grabbed her pajamas.

  Delia rose from the bed and stepped to the threshold. “I’ll be back to kiss you goodnight.”

  She left the girl to get out of her clothes. Delia went down the hall, and the oak floorboards creaked. Delia made sure all the lights in the house were out. I’m going to have to get rid of this dull blue wallpaper, put one of those pipe cleaner pentacles outside the house, maybe a few in here.

  She went back to Heather’s room. She lay in bed, smiling. Delia bent over her. Heather’s braces gleamed in the pink nightlight as she smiled.

  Delia kissed her on the cheek. “I love you very much, Poppy. Goodnight.”

  Heather grinned from ear to ear. “Love you too, Delilah. Goodnight.”

  Delia smiled and walked out of the room, shutting the door. “Thank you, goddess.” She took off her heels and walked to her bedroom, stripping off her bathrobe and hanging it on a hook inside the door. Delia walked over and climbed into the soft and comfortable bed.

  She thought she saw a shadow pass by her bedroom window, and she wrinkled her nose at the malodorous scent of the decrepit homeless man she’d dealt with earlier today.

  Delia looked away in fear. Her heart skipped a beat. She glanced surreptitiously at the window. Then she remembered what the homeless man had said earlier today.

  See you tonight.

  Someone banged on her bedroom window.

  Delia’s heart skipped a beat as her eyes snapped open. At the window, the bum from earlier today stood like a monolith of death. He peered in, leering, and the full moon highlighted his broken teeth, the sores on his face, and his beady little eyes. He forked her a crooked grin.

  Delia jumped off the bed and ran to her daughter’s door and opened it, then closed and locked it. She flipped on the light. Amber illumination flushed out the darkness.

  Heather stirred in her bed. “Mom?” she asked with fear and grogginess in her voice.

  “Sorry to wake you, Poppy, but we need to cast a protection spell.” Delia frowned, realizing she’d forgotten the tools. “I’ll be right back.”

  Delia returned with three white candles and scented oil, plus a brown leather mojo bag, a parchment, a quill with ink, an incense burner full of coal and incense, and a golden snuffer. She’d bought the supplies from Miriam at Mother Nature’s Sacred Space. She also carried lighter fluid. She opened the oil and rubbed it on the candles.

  Heather sat up. “What’s going on?”

  Delia looked at her. “You want to cast spells with me? Well, now’s the time.” Delia put aside Heather’s schoolbooks and pulled the table by the bed over, the table legs screeching in protes
t.

  Heather grinned. “Okay!” She got out of bed and stood by her mother.

  Delia set the candles encased in her candelabrum in the center of the table. She whipped her septagram talisman out of the pocket of her bathrobe.

  Heather stood close to her, admiring the talisman as she grabbed it from her. “Oh, look at all the cool, sharp points.”

  Delia smiled. “Place it in front of the candles, baby.”

  Heather did so, looking at her with fascinated eyes.

  Delia lit the first candle and reached out to her. “Let’s join hands.”

  Heather’s warm, wan hand grasped hers.

  “Close your eyes.” Delia cleared her throat. “Spirits of protection, surround us and our home with light and love. Let none who wish us harm penetrate this sphere of light. Protect me and the one I love from harm, so mote it be.”

  “So . . . mote it be,” Heather echoed.

  Delia lit the second candle and repeated the invocation. She paused, imagining she and Heather were surrounded by a circle of light. Delia lit the third candle and repeated the last steps. She wrote on the parchment with the quill that they be protected from the dangerous homeless man she’d encountered earlier today. Heather’s hair brushed Delia’s arm, and she knew the child was sneaking a peek.

  “Who’s the homeless man?”

  Delia shook her head. “Doesn’t matter now; concentrate on the spell.”

  Delia opened her eyes, squirted a small amount of lighter fluid and lit the charcoal and protection incense, wafting the parchment through the smoke as she chanted the original incantation again. She folded the parchment into a square and placed it inside her mojo bag, containing herbs and a rose quartz gemstone.

  Delia let go of Heather’s hand while the latter opened her eyes. She handed Heather the mojo bag. “Keep this under your pillow.”

  Heather stared at it in fascination, and then did so, wheeling around with a huge grin. “I feel so safe now.” She held her mother.