The Gingerbread Boy

by Lori Lapekes

  “Yes she can! She just can’t speak right now. The gates in her mind have closed again but she knows we’re here…”

  That was when Daniel’s arm crossed in front of Catherine’s face, reaching in to gently close Hazel’s eyelids.

  “What are you doing? What are you…”

  “Catherine, she’s gone.”

  Catherine shook her head, “She’s back in her coma. But she senses I’m still here, she knows.”

  “She’s gone.”

  “No!”

  Catherine released the woman’s hand, watched it flop limply beneath the sheets, then slide off and dangle at the side of the bed. She leaped to her feet.

  It was true.

  She pressed her face in her hands, backing against Daniel.

  “It can’t be. Not now! It’d be like… like she was waiting for me to visit, first.”

  Daniel’s arms circled around her waist. “Maybe she was. Maybe she had to.”

  ****

  “It’s a beautiful old house. I hope it doesn’t get sold and turned into apartments,” Daniel said as he stared at the pillared white mansion before them.

  Catherine clutched his hand tighter, nodding silent agreement. At least it looked like somebody had been taking care of the home while Hazel was gone. The lawn was freshly mowed, the shrubbery and hedges neatly clipped. Somehow, that helped make it not such a lonesome place. The sorrow inside Catherine was thick enough without adding the sight of a forlorn house to it.

  “I’ve never been inside.” Catherine said.

  Daniel looked at her in obvious surprise. He shifted the weight of the pet carrier in his right hand.

  “She always came to my place, or else we met somewhere.” Catherine explained. “I could never understand why. Now I know. It was her husband. She was afraid of him, and afraid for me.”

  “Thank goodness he’s no longer there,” Daniel said. “But it looks like somebody is taking care of the place.”

  Catherine agreed. She dreaded entering the old mansion, but she’d promised Hazel she would take care of Felicity. If there was more than one cat still here, she hoped whoever was watching the house knew which one Felicity was. She and Daniel would put the cat in the carrier and leave. They’d try to find a hotel that would accept pets, then stay two nights until the funeral before flying back to East Lansing.

  Catherine doubted if she’d ever have a reason to return here.

  A moment later, she was knocking on the front door with Daniel standing solemnly beside her. When no one answered, she knocked harder. Suddenly she was practically beating on the wood.

  Daniel dropped the pet carrier and grasped her hand. “Don’t hurt yourself. You’ve beaten yourself up enough about this already.”

  Catherine pressed her eyes shut. Why did she feel so angry? Was this part of grief? What was wrong with her?

  Daniel stroked her hair. “Maybe we should come back later. Better yet, I can come back by myself and you can stay at the hotel to rest.”

  Catherine nodded. Maybe that would be a good idea.

  But before she could consider it further, there came the sound of a latch being unhinged. Then the door opened.

  A balding, middle-aged man peered at them. His dark eyes looked more bored than angry. He crossed his arms in front of a worn, plaid shirt.

  “If you two are from some real estate company, don’t even bother wasting my time. Mrs. VanHoofstryver is not selling.”

  “No, we’re, well, I’m a friend of Hazel’s.” Catherine said. “Who are you?”

  “You’re a friend? Hazel had no friends. Just gawkers who liked to stare at her, wondering when she was going to die.”

  The words silenced Catherine. She lowered her head.

  The man squinted at her, peering closer at her face.

  “Who did you say you were?”

  “Catherine Sealey. This is my friend, Daniel LaMont.”

  The man’s eyes didn’t leave Catherine’s face. They merely widened. “You’re really Catherine? Hazel’s Catherine? The one who cured Cinder?”

  Suddenly Catherine felt like she was Dorothy standing at the gate to Oz, with the gateman asking, “Dorothy? The witch’s Dorothy?”

  She nodded.

  The man unfolded his arms and straightened. His look softened.

  “We spoke to Hazel at Pebble Creek a few hours ago,” Daniel explained. “She wasn’t very coherent, but we did understand she wanted Catherine to take care of her cat. We only spoke a few minutes,” he added, his voice lowering, “before Hazel passed away.”

  The man’s face paled. He turned his head and buried it into his arm. Catherine stared at him, flabbergasted. Was there actually another living soul who could sincerely grieve over Hazel’s death?

  At last the man looked up, then opened the door wider.

  “Come in,” he said softly. “We need to talk.”

  He gestured them into a huge foyer with a marble floor. A few antique tables were scattered about the room, one holding a colorful Chinese vase and the other a potted fern. Other than a rich mahogany stairway sweeping upward, the room was empty. Catherine gazed up to the second floor, then brought her hand to her mouth when she saw the gaping hole ripped out of the banister rails.

  The man’s eyes followed her gaze upward. “I should fix that,” he mumbled. “Still have to work on the floor, too.”

  Catherine glanced down, and then hopped sideways. Scrapes covered the floor where she had been standing.

  “This area has many bad memories,” the old man sighed, beckoning them into a room to their right. “We can relax in here.” He gestured Catherine and Daniel onto a richly tapestried sofa, then drew pocket doors together behind him.

  Catherine gazed around the dark, high-ceilinged room. It was decorated in burgundy and beige, and cluttered with antique furniture. The room held a faint odor of animals, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Catherine could picture Hazel sitting stiffly in the winged armchair before her, her hair pulled tightly into that severe bun, several cats crawling about her legs or sitting on her lap. It was odd that Catherine hadn’t seen any signs of the animals, even Cinder. Maybe they were afraid.

  The man took a seat in a wing chair opposite them. He was a large man, but as he sat down he seemed to shrink into himself, looking frail.

  “Who are you?” Catherine finally asked.

  “Stewart,” he said quietly, “Stewart Thompson. I’m the groundskeeper here. Have been for nearly thirty years, ever since Hazel bought this place. Nearly quit when she married that ogre, Eugene, but she begged me to stay on. She made me promise to watch over this place if anything ever happened to her… and I’m keeping that promise. Now that she’s gone, I’m not sure what to do. I believe all of her affairs are in order, but it will take time to figure them all out. At least old Eugene won’t be getting any of it,” he said, “it’s all he spoke of since the accident.”

  Catherine’s eyes widened. What? Did Stewart talk to ghosts? Daniel and Catherine glanced warily at each other.

  “I was under the impression Eugene died in the accident.” Daniel said.

  “He did.” Stewart replied, watching his visitor’s faces skewer in confusion. “I’m talking about the first accident… when he tripped over one of Hazel’s cats and broke his back falling down the stairs. That’s what put him in the wheelchair. He became a paraplegic, turned even nastier than he was before. Grew huge, bloated. He was a devil, that man.”

  Catherine’s voice was tight with rage. “Why did Hazel put up with such abuse? I don’t understand!”

  Stewart’s eyes rose to meet Catherine’s. “Guilt. He made her feel she owed him for being a cripple. He hated her cats, and it was a cat he tripped over when he fell down the stairs. He made her think it was all her fault because she hadn‘t gotten rid of them.”

  Catherine put her face in her hands. “That’s disgusting.”

  Stewart nodded. “It was. But it’s over, now. I’m just sorry Eugene had to take Hazel with him, in a
manner of speaking.”

  Catherine buried her face in Daniel’s shoulder.

  “He’s right, Catherine.” Daniel said. It’s over. Hazel is finally at peace, and I doubt very much she’s anywhere near Eugene right now. She’s fine, and I think she knows you’re hurting for her.”

  “How?” Catherine sobbed. “How could she know, Daniel? If she’s in Heaven, and Heaven is so wonderful, why would God let her look down to see all the world’s ugliness? It wouldn’t be fair! Wouldn’t be… wouldn’t be right.”

  Daniel kissed her hair. “She’s no longer mortal. Maybe she understands it all now. We’re blind to the total picture, and should be. Things rarely seem fair here. Not things like this.”

  As Catherine’s sobs lightened, he added, “We need to get out of here and talk about this someplace else.” Daniel raised his head to look over at Stewart. The old man’s eyes were moist with tears.

  “Will you find the cat she wanted us to take care of, Mr. Thompson? Then we’ll go. We’ll probably see you at the funeral before we fly back to Michigan, but Catherine could use the cat’s company, now. I think it’d make her feel better.”

  Stewart looked at the pet carrier by Daniel’s feet. “I found homes for all of her cats right after she was sent to Pebble Creek. Even Cinder is with my own granddaughter Lilly. There aren’t any cats left, not that I can find, anyway. Hazel must have been incoherent.”

  Daniel looked doubtful. “She sounded like she knew what she was talking about regarding the cat, though. She made Catherine promise to take care of Felicity.”

  Stewart’s eyes rounded. “Felicity?”

  Daniel nodded. “Could it be an outdoors cat?”

  Stewart’s mouth dropped open.

  “Are you sure she said… Felicity?”

  “I was standing right behind Catherine when she said it.”

  A strange look passed over Stewart’s face, and for a long time, he didn’t speak. At last he raised his eyebrows and smiled.

  “Felicity was kind of a secret nickname Hazel used. It means, simply, ‘Cat City.’ We’ll have to check into this matter, but it appears Hazel has given Catherine this house.”

  ****

  Catherine crossed her arms for warmth and rubbed at the chill. She moved slowly, glancing about with a cautious eye.

  How did she wind up being alone here?

  The old house was frightening. She felt like an intruder. Her footsteps across the marble foyer echoed until she stopped to gaze upward at the sweeping staircase leading to the second floor. Fiercely ignoring the broken rails there, her eyes traveled to the eastern side of the hallway to a huge, oblong window smothered in burgundy draperies. Maybe, just maybe, if she opened those drapes the sunlight would stream in and banish the darkness from this mausoleum of a home. If fact, she ought to open the drapes in every room. Maybe she could even yank open the windows and rid the house of the overwhelming stillness that seemed to make every muscle in her body ache from her own movement, as though the house were trying to absorb her body into one of its own many pillars and statues.

  Catherine rested her hand on the rounded banister, shuddering from its chill. A hazy film of dust clung to her fingers and rolled against her skin as she ascended, sliding her hand along the rail as she stepped up, up, and yet farther up, leaving a darkened trail of cleaned mahogany across the film of gray. By the time Catherine reached the top she had to catch her breath.

  The physical reactions, she realized, were not from over-exertion, but from fear.

  “Oh Daniel,” she whispered, turning to her right to avoid the sight of the smashed railings, “I wish you were here. This place is horrible.”

  Hazel had left her this house out of love. Stewart said the mortgage had been paid off for years. As far as Stewart knew there were no relatives alive to contest her will. Catherine should have felt honored.

  But the sad fact was Hazel was gone. And it wasn’t Hazel’s presence Catherine felt watching her every movement. The house practically reeked of a wheelchair-bound ghost with a gravelly voice. Catherine knew it was silly to believe someone or something was watching now, yet fear gripped her. She couldn’t rid herself of the ominous feeling as she stepped slowly toward the window, looking neither right nor left but straight ahead, trying to remember how to walk.

  One foot in front of the other… don’t look to the right… it was a long way to the bottom floor. One foot in front of the other… don’t look to the left… one of those closed doors had been Eugene’s room.

  Keep walking. Breathe slowly. Remain in control. How many times had she been proud of herself for being in control, for being so logical?

  Still, it would be nice to have company right now. Her mind was so wracked in fear that not even Tony’s taunting, sarcastic voice invaded her consciousness. A strange feeling stirred inside Catherine at this insight. She hadn’t been plagued by Tony’s phantom voice in months.

  Had it actually bothered her? Had it been such a nuisance?

  “Come on, Tone,” Catherine mumbled out loud, “I could use a sarcastic remark right now so I can stop thinking of Eugene.” She thought a minute. That name, Eugene. Everyone said he was an obese slob. Maybe he should have been called Huge-ene.

  She chuckled at the thought, and the vibrations from her own laugh loosened the knot of fear inside of her somewhat.

  Huge-ene, not a very kind thing to say, not even a nice thing to think. But apparently it was fitting. She kept the thought in her head, and before she knew it, Catherine had reached the end of the hallway. The draperies stood before her now. She stopped and looked up at them. So heavy, so tall. So musty.

  Wait until she told Daniel about Eugene’s nickname, she thought, trying to keep the fear at bay. Even the neighboring kids hadn’t thought of that one.

  She smiled limply to herself, and reached behind the drapes for the cord.

  Her smile left her.

  …If only poor Hazel hadn’t been so intimidated by her lecherous husband. It wasn’t right.

  She felt the string, followed it down.

  …The lecherous, bloated swine. How could he have treated Hazel so badly? Anger sizzled inside of her.

  She followed the cord farther down, feeling a faint, cool network of cobwebs being stripped away from the wall.

  Eugene. Huge-ene. This was all his fault!

  She yanked on the cord, expecting a shower of dust, a burst of light…

  …then her breath left her and her knees buckled.

  Spilling out of a wheelchair, bloated gray-green, its clothes black and greasy, sat a neckless head layered into rolls of fat: the head of a toad. It opened its foul mouth to speak, spewing the stench decay straight into her face.

  “This… is… my… house… Sleazy… Sealey.”

  Catherine’s legs buckled, she fell. She tried to call for help, but not even a squeak came from her throat. It was as if an enormous weight was pressing her into the floor. She lay, the rhythm of her heartbeat seeming to beat into the carpet, giving the sensation the very house itself was pulsing. Veiled images of the room passed into gray, then milky white, until, at last, she closed her eyes.

  Eventually she became aware of the muffled ticking of a wall clock. The carpet began to scratch her nose and her neck ached. Finally, she realized the pressure on her back had lifted. She forced her eyes to open…

  … and everything was different.

  A soft tan carpet spread before her, not an old oriental rug. Still terrorized, yet puzzled, Catherine tried to move, to turn over enough to twist toward the window, but there was no window. No grotesque toad in a wheelchair, only the dark shape of a walnut headboard with spiraling bedposts. She blinked once, twice and the gloom transformed into a cozy, well-tended modern room. At last the realization of what had happened settled in.

  She’d fallen out of bed.

  Fear was still embedded enough within her as she tried to rise that she had to grope the side of the bed for support. Her legs were like rags. At any time
she half expected hot ghastly breath to course down her neck and that horrid voice to croak. “This… is… my hotel… Sleazy… Sealey.” Then the ugly round toad eyes would grow foot long eyelashes and bat wildly at her… like Beth’s.

  At that thought, a shudder raced through her.

  She staggered toward the door, clutching for the doorknob. A strange coldness followed her, snaking down her back, reaching, like goblin fingers for her heart. She twisted the doorknob and stumbled into the kitchenette, listening as an evil presence banged against the door behind her, rattling it on its hinges, as Calvin had done not so long ago. Gulping for air, she opened the door on the other side of the room and clicked it shut behind as quickly as her trembling arm would allow.

  She sagged with relief against the wall as the evil evaporated. She was in Daniel’s room now.

  She calmed herself until the strength returned to her legs enough to pad silently toward his bed. When she could see Daniel fully, her mouth tipped in a smile despite fragments of the nightmare still lingering inside her.

  Daniel must have been exhausted. She hadn’t ever seen an adult sleep that deeply. He lay flat on top of the covers, his legs spread out like scissors, his arms raised over his head, which was tipped back slightly, hair streaming to the sides. There was a purity about his sleeping face that almost made her feel unworthy in his presence, as though she was a trespasser violating his sanctuary. Wearing only shorts, he would be embarrassed if he knew she was here right now. She watched the rhythmic rising and falling of his bare chest, studying the smooth skin for goose bumps. He had to be freezing like that. Catherine padded around the end of the bed toward the closet and silently clicked it open. She pulled out an extra blanket, unfurled it, and slipped quietly back to his bedside.

  Ever so carefully she laid the blanket over him, reaching over to straighten it as much as possible until Daniel’s body was nothing but a lump with feet sticking out.

  That wouldn’t do. She’d always heard that if a person’s feet got cold, their whole body would get cold. She rounded the edge of the bed, her former fears completely evaporated, and snuggled the blanket over those poor exposed feet, those poor toes sticking straight up to the ceiling. She was rather proud of herself as she maneuvered smoothly in the darkness, carefully pulling the blanket over his feet, and tucking it beneath his heels.