by Edward Lee
She didn’t want to have to suffer though complaints tomorrow and—her worst concern:
This ain’t the night to lose the lights in THIS house…
She left the kitchen and went back to the family wing. Lottie’d already gone to bed. Poor girl was all out’a sorts today. Mrs. Butler knew it was just the house going through one of its cycles. When she peeked into Lottie’s room, she saw her daughter tossing fitfully, bedsheets twisted into a snake that coursed her naked body. More bad dreams, Mrs. Butler realized. Lottie, though asleep, was pawing desperately at her sex.
When she peeked into Jiff’s room, she wasn’t surprised to find the bed empty. Honestly, what IS that boy into? She’d heard some things, but like many mothers, she ignored the rumors. He’s a grown man! she kept telling herself. Drinking way too much, though, but…he always did when the house was like this.
Mrs. Butler felt a hundred when she trudged into her own room. She stripped and slipped into a sheer nightgown. Jesus Lord, I am SO tired…She sat on the bed, was about to switch off the lamp, but faltered. She didn’t want to be in the dark…
Last night she’d had the most awful dream, and it was one she’d had before. She’d dreamed that she was a lissome black woman being raped one by one by a line of strong white men with big grins but eyes that looked dead. When they each had a turn, they took another turn.
Then another.
By the time they were finished, she lay ravaged, bleeding inside and out, organs ruptured. The hot room reeked so horribly of urine it could’ve been a sauna where piss had been poured over the hot stones instead of water.
Mrs. Butler knew what room it was…
In the dream, she’d died, yet her last breath had escaped with her consciousness only to rise above the horror and watch the men drag her corpse out of the house to the fields where it was minced with hewers and hoed into the soil…
When Mrs. Butler finally turned off the light, a volley of thunder ripped the air so violently she shrieked.
She shivered beneath the covers, terrified, yet impossibly moist between the legs, nipples aching to be sucked. When more lightning flashed, she shrieked again because she thought sure she could see the shapes of figures on the wall, as though someone was outside the window, looking in.
It’s just the house…It cain’t hurt me…
And she was right. The house wouldn’t hurt her. It was only going to use her for a while.
V
Jiff walked home from the Spike when Buster closed. “Shit, Jiff, you shouldn’t have stayed so long—you’re drunk as a skunk!”
“Yeah, shee-it, I know.”
“Something bumming you out?”
“Naw—”
“You’re bullshitting me, Jiff, but—hell—it’s none of my business,” the big bartender said. The rain pattering the roof sounded like marbles.
“Let me call you a cab. It’s pouring.”
“Naw, I’ll walk—” Jiff pushed open the door and let himself be swamped by the rain. He walked in hitches, staggering.
Yes, he was drunk, all right.
Truth was, he hadn’t left the bar because…he was too uneasy about going back to the inn.
The rain fell in sheets but he didn’t care. He had plenty of cash for a cab but he elected not to call one because he really was in no hurry to get back.
The house was having one of its fits, and Jiff could guess what kind of dreams awaited him once he went to bed. If I’m drunk enough, I’ll pass out’n might not remember ’em…
Desperate logic.
With every whiplash of lightning, Jiff froze and grabbed a streetlamp to keep his balance. Had anyone ever been hit by lightning in this town?
With my luck, I’ll be the first.
Eventually the awnings along Number 1 Street gave him some cover, which only allowed him to focus more on his dim and seedy life. Jiff was tired of two-bit tricks in a gay bar, and buffing his mother’s floors…but he also knew he didn’t deserve much more. Why cain’t I just make some decent money like other folks? Drunk as he was, though, he had the presence of mind to step in closer to the shops. J.G. Sute’s town house was right across the street. He walked as quickly as his stumble would allow, head down. A side-glance upward showed him Sute’s bedroom window—all dark—but after another flash—
Jesus! Is that him sittin’ there?
Jiff walked faster.
When he was far enough down the street, he thought, Yeah, some hustler I am. Sute was his most regular client, with the most dependable money, yet Jiff had pulled the plug on the poor bastard. He just couldn’t hack the gross-out kinks anymore.
The poor fat slob’s probably up there cryin’.
Too bad.
Outside of a bathtub, he’d never been more drenched than when he finally stumbled up the hill and rushed into the vestibule.
He looked through the glass panels of the inner door and saw the portrait of Harwood Gast looking right at him.
Why ain’t I got the balls to just up’n move out’a this crazy place?
Behind him, the thunder sounded like it was crushing the sky. Had he ever heard anything so loud?
Jiff remained in the vestibule for another half hour, before he actually found the courage to enter.
VI
“What a nice room,” Dominique commented when Collier took her in.
You’d be surprised, he wanted to say. But he found that her being here with him dulled some of the edges of his fear.
Something snapped; his head jerked around.
Dominique lit one of several candles that sat atop the armoire. “Just in case the—”
All the lights went out with a thunk, in time with the worst shot of lightning so far.
“It’s a good thing you’re smart,” Collier said.
An orb of light floated around the wick. Dominique lit two more. “You got your wish,” she joked.
The switch from lamplight to candlelight frayed a few of Collier’s nerves. “My wish?”
“Haunted house, dark and stormy night, and now…no power.”
“That’s not exactly my wish.” The atmosphere couldn’t have been more potent now. The storm was rattling the French doors to the balcony.
Dominique walked around to the bed and quite by surprise, kissed him. “I’m so tired I can’t believe it.” Then she sat, and kicked off her shoes.
Is that her way of telling me she’s too tired to make out? Collier, in all honesty, wasn’t in the mood. “Well, of course you’re tired.” He tried to get his mind off the house. “You were in church at seven thirty, fed a hundred of Chattanooga’s homeless, and worked the dinner rush.”
“I’ll fall asleep so fast…”
She unbuttoned her blouse with no hesitation.
“Want me to turn around?” he offered.
“No. I told you I trust you. But I won’t sleep nude like I usually do. Then you really would think I’m a tease.”
“Oh, no, no, no, I wouldn’t—”
She smiled in the candlelight, and shouldered out of the blouse to expose the perfect breasts cupped in a sheer white-lace bra. Then she stood up and skimmed off her work slacks.
This is killing me…
When she turned in the candlelight he could see her nipples beneath the lace, and a tuft of pubic hair. The light chiseled her body’s contours into a wonderwork of flawless feminine lines, razor-sharp shadows and flesh.
She flopped on the bed and bounced on it. “What a great bed!”
It’s not the bed that’s the problem with this room, he reminded himself.
“And these pillows!” The back of her head sunk into the middle of one. Another she embraced, a little girl with a teddy bear. She grinned up at him. “I can’t wait to sleep with you.”
Unfortunately, Collier knew what that meant: sleep. He lost his thoughts. “You’re…beautiful…”
The grin turned serious. “I’m sorry this can’t be what you really want.”
“You might be surprised w
hat I really want…” He almost groaned when her legs extended, her toes flexing atop the sheets.
“Come to bed. Let’s spoon.”
Collier strode to the bathroom with a candle, stripped down to shorts, then brushed his teeth, hoping to get rid of what must be awful beer breath. When he came back out, she was under the sheets up to her navel. Her cross sparked like a tiny camera flash in the candlelight.
“You want me to put out the candles?” he asked.
Thunder rumbled, then more loud lightning.
“Probably not,” she admitted.
“I agree.”
Collier crawled in, and they at once wrapped themselves up in each other. Her body’s heat and the feel of her skin buzzed him more than all those lagers. Her hand opened on his bare chest, right over his heart. Collier knew it was racing.
They kissed, sharing each other’s breath. Even after a day’s hard work, her hair was so fragrant, it hit him like a drug.
“Oh, damn it,” she muttered.
Collier’s head was spinning, just from the feel of her. “What?”
“You must really hate this. It’s not what most people are used to. It’s not considered normal.”
“I’m fine…”
“I know I’ll never break my celibacy, but if I were going to, you’d be the guy I did it with.”
It was the worst thing she could’ve said, but even more so, the best thing.
Then her voice turned joking, “Or you could always marry me, but I definitely wouldn’t recommend that. It’d be hazardous.”
“Hazardous?”
“I’d probably screw you to death on our wedding night.”
Her thigh was between his legs, and when she’d said that, she moved it off because his penis had gone hard at once.
I love you, I love you, the words in his mind seemed to flicker up the walls with the candlelight.
He should say it. He knew he should say it.
“I…”
But she’d already fallen asleep, her head on his chest.
The thunder and lightning had at least subsided enough that he didn’t quake with each flash. Sleep was inviting him within minutes, but images and words kept snapping him back to a tense wakefulness: his dream of the whore named Harriet, “Dirty dog!” the scritch-scritch-scritch-scritch-scritch as a young blonde girl shaved her legs and, presumably, her pubic hair in the brook, “Gast buried his two daughters alive, then went about the business of murdering Jessa and seeing to the gang-rape and sequent ax-murder of his wife,” horses hauling caged wagons toward a plume of smoke, “I heared they killed all the slaves when they was done. Near a hunnert of ’em,” an irate man with a gold nose scribbling checks, “He built an entire railroad to Maxon and refired the furnace solely to incinerate the innocent,” a daguerreotype of a beautiful nude woman with a shaved pubis and a single freckle an inch above the clitoris, “Rumor has it that the dog escaped, never to be seen again. But you can be sure…it escaped with a full stomach…”
Collier audibly groaned at the imagery, eyes pressed shut. But more details focused. In the room to my left, some guy was drowned in a hip bath and got his dick spat into the toilet, and in the room to my right, Penelope Gast got an ax between the legs.
And in THIS room…
Collier could feel bubbling in his belly. All of Sute’s stories and all that beer was suddenly boring a hole. The muskrat sausage probably hadn’t helped either.
Even with the thunder, he could hear his own heartbeat along with Dominique’s, and he could even hear his watch ticking. When he closed his eyes he couldn’t shake the idea that a mutt was in the room, and when he opened them, the patterns on the wallpaper seemed to shift into something like train tracks. Go downstairs and get something to eat, the idea came to him. Something bland might settle his stomach.
But did he really want to cross that big portrait of Harwood Gast? Or what if he saw Windom Fecory scribbling on checks at the writing table?
Jesus…
He knew it was his imagination when he thought he smelled stale urine.
Collier carefully slid out from under Dominique, hauled on his robe, and slipped out of the room, candle in hand.
It was late now, but certain sounds in the hall comforted him: voices of guests, television chatter, even some bedsprings creaking from the Wisconsin woman’s room. Some rumbling followed him downstairs—he didn’t look at the portrait or the desk—then he crossed the dining room to the kitchen.
There were no lights, of course, and the candle made the long kitchen seem cubby-size. Collier helped himself to a piece of shortcake from the fridge, took one bite, then—
Shit!
—dropped it.
He’d heard a dog bark from somewhere deep in the house.
Bullshit. I didn’t hear anything…
He was staring into the black entryway, which led to the back wings. The voice of a little girl said in a cattish, snippy tone: “…ritual atrocity and the sacrifice of the innocent are nothing new…”
Then the patter of bare feet running away.
It was no mistake. I heard that…
Sute’s words from earlier, but definitely not Sute’s voice.
Collier’s eyes bloomed as he held the candle out and walked through the entryway.
The hallway felt like a catacomb. The dim candlelight wobbling on the walls lent the impression that the hall was moving past him rather than he through it. A window at the far end lit briefly from a throb of lightning. He could barely detect the dark paintings along the walls, and a row of closed doors.
Collier came to a dead stop.
Another voice, just a whisper: “…an oblation to the devil…” and then a trailing laugh.
Not a child’s voice this time but a mature woman’s, with a rich, wanton Southern accent.
What followed was the most complete silence he’d ever experienced.
Hands snapped out of the dark, grabbed Collier’s robe collar, and yanked him into a suddenly open doorway—
Collier bellowed. The candle flew out of his hand and extinguished.
“Come in here!”
The terror jolted his heart in time with the next flash of lightning. He fell over on a bed with whomever had grabbed him. His fear sealed his throat.
It was Mrs. Butler who shuddered next to him. She put her arms around him, in sheer terror.
“Jesus, Mrs. Butler! You almost gave me a heart attack!”
“Mercy, I’m so scared! The lightning…”
Collier, infuriated, tried to calm her. “Just take it easy. It’s only a storm…” He looked around at what was obviously her bedroom, done up nicely with antiques. Candles wavered from each corner.
“Mrs. Butler. Did you say something when I was in the hall? Something about the devil?”
“The—Mercy, no!” Her arms tremored around him. “But someone else did…”
“You heard a voice?”
Sweat adhered the cotton nightgown to her bosom. “It was her…”
Her. She heard it, too, Collier thought. “Her? Who?”
The woman rose, her gray hair astray to her shoulders. Something forced Collier’s eyes to fix on the old woman’s breasts and belly printing against the damp nightgown.
She walked dreamily to the window.
“Mrs. Butler?”
The next lightning flash framed her crisp silhouette in the window. “I just love these storms…”
Collier frowned. “Mrs. Butler, are you all right?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Collier.” As the words ran out of her mouth, she flipped off her straps, peeled down the nightgown, and stepped out of it. A moment later, she stood right before Collier.
Collier stared at the candlelit flesh glittered by sweat.
No…
“It’s just…the house is all,” she drawled.
“What?”
Her fingers laced behind his head and urged forward as she leaned over slightly, till a nipple was in his face.
With
out thinking, he took the nipple into his mouth and sucked.
“Aw, yeah, just like that…”
He let his face and mouth revel in the midst of her breasts for several minutes before he twinged from an inner jolt and thought, What am I doing!
You’re priming this old sleaze for a GREAT roll in the hay—that’s what you’re doing, you moron, his bad side answered.
But Collier knew he couldn’t continue, even with his own arousal more than apparent. Dominique, he thought.
To hell with that highbrow frigid ho, damn it! Now be a MAN and GIVE IT to this old bitch!
Mrs. Butler sighed, then straddled Collier’s lap and pushed him back. “Suck ’em harder now, hon. I know ya been dyin’ to, since that night you was watchin’ me through the peephole’n jerkin’ yerself.” She slid upward and pressed her breasts more deliberately in his face.
Instead of resisting…Collier did as she’d instructed.
“Yeah, you like that, don’t’cha?”
Regardless of her age, these were the best breasts he’d ever seen. He entered a dream world now, where nipples equated to deliverance.
Then he snapped again: This is crazy!
She began to pull him down onto the bed.
“Mrs. Butler, this is crazy!” he yelled. “We can’t do this!”
“We’se already doin’ it, hon…”
“There’s some serious shit going on here. This house—”
“Shhh…” She was already on her back, her hands pulling at him.
No! “Mrs. Butler! You said you heard a voice before. What did you hear?”
Her legs were parting. “Voice? Aw, don’t mind that…”
Collier was about to bolt until her hands touched him more urgently…
“Come on, come on…”
Collier shivered, then let himself be pulled down atop her. At one point he looked up and saw Lottie standing naked in the doorway. She was watching, eyes fixed. She was touching herself…
Yeah, man! his id celebrated. Looks like it’s gonna be a two-fer night!
The idea frenzied Collier. He tried to get up, but…
The house wasn’t letting him.
Collier’s face fell back down into the old woman’s bosom. Then the bed creaked, as Lottie climbed on.