Hideous Faces, Beautiful Skulls: Tales of Horror and the Bizarre

by Mark McLaughlin

  Aliens.

  The invading things wrapped their warm, slick selves around him. Though they looked soft and harmless, they were in fact incredibly tough and infinitely cruel. He screamed again and again as they opened up and began to gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.…

  On his things.

  AGATHA SAYS

  Dear Irene,

  Today was the worst. Poor Bernice was so embarrassed. Pete’s wife Vonda came by to visit wearing a leather skirt and a tube-top. And she brought the brood! The woman must be half-crazy to bring four children to a nursing home.

  Bernice was trying to take a nap, but how could she with all those children running around and coughing? You should have heard them coughing—they’ll give us all pneumonia with their germs. I asked Vonda if she gave them vitamin C and she just looked at me. Well, Bernice offered to keep an eye on the kids while Vonda visited. She was playing some game with them when the youngest boy, Kevin, started going on about the smell. Bernice just burst into tears and left the room.

  I went looking for her and found her in the rec room. There were only a few others in there but they were all watching her. Bernice has been having trouble with that bag she has to wear and she thought that was what the boy could smell.

  Of course it wasn’t the bag—it was Vonda’s baby girl. Sometimes I think Vonda just let’s that diaper go for a couple rounds. Poor Bernice, she can’t smell a thing with that dry nose of hers and she’s so paranoid about that bag. And the fact that everyone was looking at her only made matters worse.

  It took me half an hour to calm her down. The poor thing—she’ll die with that damn bag on and they’ll probably bury her with it. She once told me that when she passes on she wants me to make sure they take the bag off. I bet they wouldn’t, though. I’d just do it myself.

  So! Thank God every time you use the toilet, Irene. Some people aren’t so lucky.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  Bernice is much better today. She even got out some polish and did our nails. I’ve still got pretty hands. Bernice says I could be one of those hand models on the commercials. Most of the other gals here are jealous of my hands.

  A new lady moved in today. I say lady because the nurses were treating her like royalty. I think she’s got bucks. Wonder what she’s doing here!

  You should have seen her. You’d have thought she was some movie star, what with all the make-up and jewelry she was wearing. She has a long thin nose and the largest brown eyes. I think she’s Italian.

  This lady had the nurses laughing with some story she was telling. Those big eyes of hers were just dancing. She’s quite pretty—not as pretty as you, though. If there was a beauty contest for women our age you’d win for sure. This new lady would probably get Miss Congeniality. They’d have to add a new category for me: Miss Prettiest Hands.

  Maybe I should be a vixen and have Bernice polish up my toes. Then again, my feet look so awful I’d probably be better off not drawing attention to them.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  I’m sorry to hear about Mr. Naps. At least he passed away in his sleep and not at the vet’s office, like Boots did. Mr. Naps was such a good kitty. I’ve always wished they’d let me have a cat here. You ought to get a kitten. Maybe a longhair, because they’re more of a lap cat. A Siamese will tear the house up.

  I guess the new woman isn’t Italian—her name is Agatha Stone. Still, she has a weird accent. I’ll bet she was raised in Europe somewhere. When she talks her little voice goes up and down. It’s so funny to listen to her.

  You should have heard her talking to Bernice. One of the nurses must have told Agatha about the bag, because she went right up to Bernice and said if she ever saw Bernice’s doctor, she’d cut him a new hole! I was so shocked. But I guess Bernice liked the idea, because she laughed a little and started talking about the operation, which isn’t the easiest thing in the world for her to do.

  Agatha was carrying a plate of these little cookies. Agatha says her nutritionist sends them to her. She must be rich to get that kind of treatment.

  Again, I’m so sorry about Mr. Naps. Write if you get a kitten.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  No kitten yet?

  Well, I was half right about Agatha—her mother was Italian. And she was raised in France, England and Belgium. Her father taught piano to rich people.

  She’s not so bad off herself. I still don’t know what she’s doing here. She has a private room and they’re letting her redecorate. She even had bookcases brought in. Remember the fuss they made when I wanted to hang a picture?

  Time for dinner. Oh, the wonders of cornstarch.

  * * * *

  That Mr. Cushman! One of the servers gave him some lip and he poked her with a fork. Right in the elbow. He didn’t draw blood, but I bet it’ll hurt her for a few days. Still, serves her right for being so sassy. It was that red-haired girl I was griping about a while back—the one who’s always making fun of Bernice’s lisp.

  I got a chance to talk to Agatha. She was handing out her little cookies all during dinner. I could tell the supervisor on duty wasn’t too happy about it but he didn’t say anything—and I know why. Agatha’s going to be the new boss!

  Agatha is trying to buy the place. She told me that her lawyer is negotiating the deal, and once the papers are signed, she’s going to change everything. She says that she wants to get to know everyone at Fern Hill so she can spend the rest of her life among friends. When I told Bernice all this, she just laughed. She doesn’t think Agatha has that kind of money. We’ll just have to wait and see.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  I just adore that picture of your new puppy. Those wrinkly doggies are so cute. I told Agatha what you spent on it and she said $350 was a steal (still seems like an awful lot for a dog).

  One of the supervisors confirmed it—Agatha really is going to buy Fern Hill. Imagine, owning a nursing home so you’ll always have company. Of course, it’s an investment, too.

  Vonda stopped by today. Bernice had another run-in with Kevin—she gave him a little slap for rummaging in her nightstand drawer. He said he was looking for gum. As if any of us have chewed gum in years!

  I told Bernice she was getting as bad as Mr. Cushman. He poked another server with a butter knife. He said this one was moving too slow.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  Thank you for the lovely present. I’d almost forgotten my own birthday! I just love brooches—I’m wearing it right now. The cat in the design reminds me of Mr. Naps.

  We got a little snow last night. You do remember snow, don’t you? I could live without it, but I think I’d miss it at Christmas. Do you string lights on the palm trees?

  A couple of the nurses quit last week. So did that red-haired server.

  Agatha is such a joy. Now and then I catch her splashing a drop of rum in her tea out of a little flask. I wonder if her nutritionist sent her that, too.

  The other day Agatha was telling me about a party she threw in Belgium thirty years ago. She was living with a group of artists and poets at the time. I can’t remember everything she said because it was so interesting just watching her talk. Her hands were flying all over the place. They’re not as pretty as mine. Her fingers have little patches of black hair on them.

  Anyway, I was so busy watching her hands that I stopped listening for a moment. When I tuned back in, I realized she was talking about a murder—a fellow was killed at her party. The police came by to quiet things down and somebody stabbed an officer in the back.

  Agatha has a beautiful car. It’s big, black and foreign and she parks it out back. She has one of the servers cover it with a canvas if she’s not going to be out for a while.

  —Lucy

 
Dear Irene,

  Bart had to be taken to the hospital today. He’s the fellow who was leaving little notes for Bernice last year. Agatha says she’s going to see how he’s doing tomorrow.

  One of the new nurses was giving Bart a hard time because he didn’t want to take his medicine. He said he didn’t need it any more. After a while she tried to force the pills into his mouth. So Bart bit her finger right down to the bone and wouldn’t let go. Can you believe it! So she took his cane and hit him in the shoulder. That’s when Bart’s roommate Carl came in. He grabbed the cane and broke it over her head.

  It’s hard to forgive violence but you know, Irene, it serves that awful woman right. Some nurses think they can just bully us around. She dislocated Bart’s shoulder, too.

  Time to go eat. How’s your wrinkly doggy doing? You never told me what you were going to call it.

  * * * *

  After dinner Bernice and I had tea with Agatha in her room. She offered, but neither of us had any rum. Agatha has so many old books. I bet they’re worth some money. She says that once the place is hers, we can all have pets. She’ll even hire a boy to help take care of them. I told her I wanted a cat and Bernice said she would like a bird. I hope pets in nursing homes aren’t against the law. Still, that wouldn’t stop Agatha. Rich people can find loopholes.

  Agatha served us some of her delicious cookies. They’re black and very sweet and minty. They even have little pieces of mint leaves in them.

  I think Agatha has been to Africa. She has the most bizarre wooden mask hanging by her bed. The face is catlike but the mouth looks like a shark’s, with rows and rows of teeth. She called it a zoo—does that make any sense?

  Here I am going on and on about Agatha. Don’t worry, Irene—you’re still my best friend, ever since third grade. Followed by Bernice and then maybe Agatha. If I go on about Agatha it’s only because she’s so unusual.

  I was telling her a little about you the day. I told her how well you played the piano and she found that so interesting. Did I mention her father taught piano? I showed her that poem you wrote for my birthday a few years back, too. I hope you don’t mind.

  What are you getting Joseph for Christmas? Agatha’s taking me and Bernice to the mall for an hour or two tomorrow to do some shopping. Bernice in the mall! I think she’s finally starting to get over her little worry. Myself, I’m thinking about that long drive. It’s a good twenty minutes to the city and you know me and my peanut bladder.

  By the way, at dinner I thought up a name for your dog—Pruneface!

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  Merry (belated) Christmas, and thank you, thank you, thank you for the new gloves! Sorry I haven’t written for so long, but so much has been going on.

  Bart got out of the hospital just in time to make the Christmas party. Did I mention that the nurse who hit him had to go to the hospital, too? For stitches in her hand and her scalp. Carl opened her head up with that cane. No charges were pressed against him. What are they going to do—send a 78-year-old man to prison? Needless to say, the nurse is not returning to Fern Hill.

  For the party, the music teacher from Sloane High School brought down some kids to sing carols in the rec room. While they were singing I looked around and realized that Agatha wasn’t there, so I snuck back to her room to fetch her.

  When I got to her door I forgot to knock. I simply walked right in and there she was, stark naked and wearing that cat mask. She was standing in the middle of the room, mumbling some made-up song and moving her hands around, like she was conducting an orchestra or something. She’d drawn all kinds of funny little pictures on the floor in chalk, too. Of course she had to be drunk—her and that rum. What else could it be? I was about to say something—what, I don’t know!—when I saw there were no eyeholes in the mask. She didn’t even know I was there, so I backed out and shut the door. I’m sure she’d die of embarrassment if she knew I saw her carrying on like that.

  I’ll tell you this: for a woman in her late sixties, Agatha has some body on her. None of the chicken skin you see around here. She must have had it lifted. You know that fat they suck out of liposuction patients? I wonder why they can’t pump it into skinny people. Bernice’s bony old butt sure could use some extra padding. Yours, too—those snapshots you sent have me worried. You’re still the prettiest gal I know, but you could stand to pack on a few pounds. Joseph looks like he’s picking up weight again (he must be eating off your plate too!). I wish they could take some of Joseph’s spare tire and give it to you.

  Agatha never did come to the party. I told everyone she was sick. After the students left there was a problem—Celeste slapped the supervisor on duty for telling her not to eat so many cookies. Agatha had given Celeste a whole box of cookies that morning, which was a little irresponsible, since Celeste is on a restricted diet (cancer everywhere, the poor dear). After that slap, the supervisor simply stood there, utterly shocked. Then his nose started bleeding. Celeste just shuffled off with her cookies.

  Then—I don’t know what got into us!—we were all laughing and laughing while the supervisor stuffed tissues up his nose. He must have quit since that was the last we saw of him.

  A few days later, Agatha announced that negotiations were final. Fern Hill was now Stone Manor. After that, everything started to change, just like Agatha said.

  New carpeting, a big-screen TV in the rec room—this week Bernice and I are having our room completely redone. And it’s not costing us extra! I hope there isn’t a catch. Still, Agatha hasn’t made us sign anything, and she is rich. Didn’t Elvis used to give away Cadillacs to complete strangers?

  Agatha also brought down that nutritionist of hers. He’s going to be working here full-time, fixing our meals. Some health expert—he’s as white as a fish-belly. There’s something wrong with his eyes, too. They look like blue glass marbles. Agatha swears by him, but I have my doubts.

  For one thing, he’s always asking us for urine samples and little clips of our hair. He says he’s checking us for vitamin deficiencies. I just hope he washes his hands before he starts dinner.

  I showed Agatha those pictures of you and Joseph. She thought you were his daughter! She couldn’t believe you were my age.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  Agatha says that Mr. Sartok, the nutritionist, is an albino. His eyes are pink under those tinted contacts.

  I’ve talked to him a few times since my last letter and he’s truly a very nice man. His meals are wonderful, too, although half the time I have no idea what I’m eating. Lots of that mint. I’ve picked up about eight pounds.

  Bernice is doing better. Mr. Sartok seems to be taking a special interest in her.

  With all this special care, I think everyone’s in fine shape. Sometimes a change in management is the best thing.

  Off to dinner. I’ll be back!

  * * * *

  Remember that article you sent me about how older people see certain colors better because their corneas have turned yellow? You clipped it out of one of those tabloids.

  Well, that article must be right, because at one point during the meal Celeste dropped her knife (we’ve got real silverware now) and everyone looked up at the same time. And you know, everyone’s eyes looked yellowish. Except Agatha’s. She was at the head of the table and her eyes were just big and brown and full of love for all of us. I tell you, Irene, that woman is a godsend.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  It’s funny, but Stone Manor doesn’t get many visitors these days. Carl’s daughter stopped coming by after he hit that awful nurse. Celeste says she flat-out told her son never to visit her again.

  Vonda stopped coming by after I called Pete about three weeks ago. I don’t think I’ve told you about that. I called Pete and said if he was too busy to come see his own mot
her then he shouldn’t send over his good-for-nothing trashy streetwalker of a wife.

  I shouldn’t have gone on like that but I couldn’t help myself. I started talking and I kept on thinking, he doesn’t have time for me, he probably doesn’t even love me any more, he loves that sleazy wife of his more than me, his own mother—my mind was just spinning.

  But you know, Irene, maybe it was just as well. I don’t need him any more. Just last night, Agatha was telling us how much we mean to her. She said that we could all stay with her forever, no matter what. That made me feel so good. Agatha gave each of us a special gift, too. A funny cat mask! Then the new nurses poured the wine and Mr. Sartok brought out dinner. Later, we all sang a little song that Agatha taught us.

  Agatha is getting us a litter of kittens! Some of us have been hinting for cats, so she answered a newspaper ad. Agatha says pets keep you young—it’s a fact. Mr. Sartok is going to pick them up some time next week.

  —Lucy

  Dear Irene,

  I’m so sorry to hear about Joseph. I was just thinking about Mr. Naps the other day and now this happens. You poor thing. Joseph was the dearest man. If only he’d watched his health. When I lost my Roger, I thought the world was going to end. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was still wearing black when Pete and Vonda put me in this home.

  Now, I love it here. Agatha has given us lots of cats. I adore my little Tiger Kitty. Sometimes I’ll put a ribbon on his tail and he’ll go round and round chasing it. Bernice got a bright-green parakeet, too. She named her new birdy Arabella. Fancy name for a fancy bird! We don’t dare let her out of the cage—not with all these cats!

  I don’t know where we’d be without Agatha. She sees to our every need and all she wants from us is love. And we do love her dearly.

  Don’t think that you’re alone in the world, Irene. I told everyone about your situation and we’re having a meeting tonight. I’ll write back very soon and I know I’ll have good news.