The closet door was opening.
Jackie tensed, his stomach muscles clenching in fear. Something was in the closet, and it was coming out! It's the Bad Person, he thought immediately. A deeper, nastier thought told him it was the witch on a broomstick from his dream. His sense of survival screamed for him to run, but his feet wouldn't react.
The door swung open slowly, as if it was yawning. Jackie couldn't pull his eyes away. The thing inside began to shuffle out. Cold fear constricted Jackie's throat.
It's the Bad Person! It's the witch. It's the Bogeyman. It's ...
His mother. She crept out of the closet, dressed in a long cotton nightgown that clung tightly to her swollen stomach. She tiptoed to the bed and slipped under the covers, being very quiet.
A hot burst of tears flushed from Jackie's eyes. Why was she in the closet? Jackie wondered, knowing the answer but not wanting to admit it could be true. He got quietly to his feet, went to the bedroom door, and stepped in.
His mother was sitting propped up on a pile of pillows, a box of chocolates in her lap. She looked at Jackie with mild surprise when he walked through the door. The look quickly became one of annoyance.
"Why were you in the closet?" Jackie asked her. She picked up the chocolate box, chose a piece, and popped it into her mouth. "Why were you in the closet?" Jackie demanded this time, growing angry.
"Jackie, please," Diane said in a bored voice, "Mommy doesn't feel well. The baby and I need our rest"
"You were hiding from me," Jackie cried, his voice thick with betrayal. Tears gushed from his eyes and his bottom lip trembled.
"Please, Jackie, just go away and leave me alone!"
"I'll go away," Jackie shouted in a bawling voice. "I'll go away and never come back!" He turned and ran out the door and down the hall into his room, slamming the door behind him.
"Good riddance," Diane whispered sullenly and turned her attention back to the box of chocolates.
Steve dismissed football practice early, which was standard procedure the day before a game, but that wasn't why he did it. He couldn't care less about football these days; all he wanted to do was get back to Eleanor. He told his assistant coach he would be in charge for the game because Steve had something personal to attend to and couldn't make it. The assistant was more than happy to agree. He'd thought for a long time that he was a better coach than Steve and now was his chance to prove it.
Steve left the school quickly and drove to Grimm Memorials via Route 47 and the Dorsey Lane Extension. The smooth high he'd been on since the last time he'd seen Eleanor was wearing off. Like a junkie, he was in dire need of another fix. Nothing mattered except seeing her again. He didn't even care anymore that he had been thrown out of the Dickinson Poetry Competition. He no longer needed that, or anything else, as long as he had Eleanor.
He parked the Saab behind the hearse at the side of the house. Though the back door was closer, Steve went around to the front door so as to avoid Mephisto the dog. The rope that secured him was frayed and Steve didn't like the looks of it, or the overgrown, ugly, pit bull.
"Eleanor, it's me," he called out as he stepped through the door. He was so finely tuned to her that he could feel her presence immediately. She was very close by. He heard footsteps from the other side of the crematorium door just before it opened and Eleanor came out.
She looked radiant. Her long blonde hair cascaded over her bare shoulders, shimmering as it caught the light. She was wearing a low-cut peasant blouse showing her ample cleavage and just a hint of nipple over a flowing black skirt. Steve went to her and embraced her, urgently seeking her lips with his own, thrusting his tongue into her mouth like an erection. He found a long, white hair in his mouth when their lips parted. He noticed several more on her skirt. He picked the hair off his tongue and made to brush the others off her, but when he reached for them, they were gone, as was the one in his hand that he had just taken from his mouth.
Eleanor ran her hand up his thigh, cupping his testicles, squeezing them gently, and he forgot all about the hairs. Her other hand ran over his face, as if writing on it. "There's something I want you to do for me, lover," she whispered in his ear, giving it a little lick.
Steve stood limp with ecstasy as she massaged his balls and his brain. His head bobbed up and down in agreement.
"Bring me to meet your stepchildren. If we're going to break up their family, I ought to at least explain to them why. I'm very good with children." As she spoke she worked him over with her mind, stroking his libido, and her hands-one moving over his face, the other working his crotch until he peaked, moaning and thrusting his hips against her hand and shuddering with delight.
Jennifer walked slowly through the field and into her backyard, going to the rusted swing set and sitting on one of the swings. She couldn't understand why her grandmother had left her; everything had been so perfect with her living in the woods. Jennifer didn't know what she was going to do without her.
What happened to her gingerbread house? she wondered. Had it burned down? Had Grammy moved it? Or had Jennifer just dreamed it? The latter thought had persisted as she'd searched for the path and Grandma's house, but until now it had seemed stupid. She knew Gram had been living in the woods; she could not have dreamt it. But now, with her disappearing so suddenly and completely, Jen was not so sure.
She began swinging slowly when she noticed their car passing on the dirt road through the woods. Steve was driving and someone was in the passenger seat. Wondering what he was doing in the woods, Jennifer jumped from the swing and ran around the house to the front just as Steve pulled the Saab into the driveway.
Steve got out of the car and smiled at her. "`Hi, Jen. There's someone here that I want you to meet" The other person got out of the passenger's side and came around the car.
Jennifer couldn't believe her eyes. It was Grandma. She had come back. Jennifer ran to her arms and hugged her. "Where were you, Gram? I thought you left me!"
"Hush, now," Grammy cooed. "It's all right. I had to go away for a little while, but now I'm back. Everything's going to be fine."
"Where's your brother?" Steve asked Jennifer.
"Upstairs, I guess," Jen answered, clinging to her grandmother.
Jackie was stuffing a pillowcase full of clothes and toys, the latter outweighing the former, when Steve walked in on him.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm running away," Jackie grunted tearfully.
Steve suppressed a laugh. "Before you do, big guy, there's someone downstairs who wants to talk to you"
Jackie gave him a suspicious look.
"I'm not going to stop you," Steve said, his arms and hands held up in a gesture of innocence. "You can run away any time you want. Just come and say hello now, then you can go"
Jackie let the pillowcase fall on the bed. He didn't really want to run away, but after what his mother did to him, he felt that he had no other choice. He doubted that there was anyone downstairs; he figured Steve was just trying to talk him out of it. But that was okay; Jackie wanted to be talked out of running away. He just didn't want Steve to know that.
"Okay, I guess," he grumbled after a moment's hesitation on. "But I am going to run away."
"I believe you," Steve said. He took Jackie's hand as they left the room and went downstairs. When they walked out the front door, Jackie couldn't believe his eyes.
"Oh, Jackie! I'm so sorry!" His mother was standing on the lawn, one arm around Jen, smiling at him with love the way she used to.
Jackie shook his head and looked at her again. There was something different about her she was no longer pregnant! She was skinny again and pretty. There was no baby that was going to take his place. He realized something must have happened (in the back of his mind the memory of his dream rose for a moment, then sank again). His mother must have had a "messy carriage" like she'd had once before. Jackie didn't care what had happened, and needed no explanations. His mother was back.
"Please forgive me, honey.
I've been terrible lately, I know. But now everything's going to be like it used to "" She held her other arm out to him.
Tears of happiness sprouted from his eyes as he nodded joyfully. Jackie ran to her and hugged her. Jackie looked up at his mother and she caressed his face.
"You're still my baby, Jackie," she cooed lovingly. She bent down and picked him up, cuddling him close. Her blouse was unbuttoned and Jackie could see that she wore no bra. Her breasts were exposed. She cradled Jackie in her arms and brought his face to her breasts. "You're still my baby, honey."
Dreamily, Jackie opened his mouth as his mother inserted a nipple between his lips. A wave of pleasure passed through him as he sucked greedily at her beautiful breast that was all for him. Carrying him as he fed, his mother turned and went back to the car, getting in. Jen and Steve followed, with Steve starting the car and backing it out of the driveway.
Jackie was in Heaven. He curled up in his mother's arms and sucked the sweetest milk he had ever tasted from her breasts. The road they were travelling on was bumpy, but he didn't care as long as he could remain suckling, happy and secure, at her rounded breasts. He drank hungrily from one, then the other. It was such a wonderful feeling that he felt like he was floating.
In the back seat, Jennifer looked happily at her brother wrapped snugly in Grammy's arms and sighed. Everything was going to be great now, she just knew it.
The car came to a halt and Jackie felt cool air on his face as his mother opened the door. Suddenly, the milk from her breast grew hot, then scalding and took on a foul taste. He opened his eyes and spit up a runny blue gel. It was followed by a scream.
The tit he was sucking at was not the same one he had put in his mouth. It was bulbous, the skin green and covered with pimples and hairy moles. He glanced in panic at the other one. It was the same. The nipples were purple and spiny; sharp enough to cut his mouth.
He looked up and nearly dumped in his pants. He was sucking at the breast of the troll he'd seen at the bridge in the woods. Her long red hair hung like kinked wire from her huge, scabby head. Her pointed ears and horns stuck up through her hair like mountain peaks. Her wide red eyes leered at him and her mouth opened in a hideous smile revealing a wall of teeth parted by a gray, saliva-coated tongue.
Jackie screamed again and squirmed in the troll's arms, trying to get away, but the creature held on tight. Jackie managed to twist his head away, but found himself screaming louder at what he saw when he did. A short distance away was a small house that Jackie recognized immediately. Its roof was brown and thick and hung low. Its walls were white and creamy. Its fence was candy-striped. It was none other than the gingerbread house from "Hansel and Gretel" and Jackie knew who lived there.
Dry laughter brought his head around again. The troll was gone. In its place was a wrinkled old witch grinning at him.
"Aren't you a nice fat one," the witch said in a terrible voice.
Jackie fainted from sheer terror.
Jennifer followed her grandmother and Jackie into the gingerbread house and watched as Gram placed Jackie in a cage with a bunch of other boys. She never wondered why her grandmother would be doing such a strange thing; she just kept on smiling happily.
Steve Nailer didn't hear Jackie's screams. He remained in the car, as Eleanor had told him to, and listened to an old Chuck Berry tune turned up loud on the radio. He didn't turn it down until Eleanor came back and got in the car again.
"The children are fine," she said as he leaned over and nuzzled her ear, giving her tit a little squeeze as he did. "Now I want to meet your wife. We've got to make this a clean break" She put her hand on Steve's lap and rubbed. "It'll be easier if we do it together."
Diane Nailer got out of bed and lumbered down to the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door, hanging on it while she leaned over to check its contents, and had a sharp contraction. She straightened, breathing deeply, and patted her belly. That was the second contraction in less than two hours. By her doctor's count, she was a week overdue, but on her last visit to him on Monday, he'd said there was nothing to worry about and everything was fine.
The baby moved suddenly inside her, kicking painfully against her side. "Are you hungry, too?" she spoke to her stomach and the baby inside. "Why don't you come out and get something to eat, then?" She reached into the fridge and pulled out a package of sliced processed cheese and carried it to the counter. She tore at the package with her teeth, getting it open, and proceeded to fold and wolf down several slices.
She was taking the package of cheese upstairs with her when the front door opened and Steve came in. Diane retreated back to the kitchen, but Steve followed her. "Diane, there's something I have to tell you, and there's someone I want you to meet," he said.
"Maybe later, Steve," she mumbled around a mouthful of cheese.
"No, Diane, now!" Steve said adamantly. He went to the back door and opened it.
"Steve .... Diane protested until she looked out the door and saw her father standing on the back step. Diane dropped her handful of cheese, and ran to the door, pushing the screen open and waddling out to him.
"Daddy!" she squealed happily. "I'm so glad to see you," she cried embracing him. "I've been taking care of the baby just like you told me to"
"Good child," Daddy said soothingly, patting the back of her head. "I brought you something like I used to. Remember?"
Diane stepped back and looked at him with happy expectation. He reached in his pocket and produced a large red apple. "For you, bambina. An apple, just like old times."
Diane took the fruit with both hands and caressed it as if it were gold. She smiled a sweet and innocent little girl smile at her father and brought the apple to her lips. Just for a second, before she bit into the fruit, the image of a tall, whitehaired old woman looming over her father flashed in her mind. Instantly, it was gone and she was sinking her teeth into the fat apple, feeling the juice squirt into her mouth and run down her chin. She swallowed, and choked. A piece of the apple was lodged in her throat. She spit chewed pulp from her mouth and coughed, hard and dry. There was no intake of breath. Her mouth was gaping, her eyes wide.
Diane staggered, and nearly fell, but her father reached out and steadied her. She was growing dizzy, lightheaded, and her legs felt nonexistent beneath her. The trees and sky began to slide away from her. She reached out to empty air, and her father caught her with one hand under her waist and the other over her mouth. Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, Diane wondered why her father held a handkerchief in the hand over her mouth.
CHAPTER 31
My little old man and I fell out.
Steve didn't know what had happened. One minute Diane and Eleanor were standing on the back step, talking, and the next Diane was lying on the ground immobile. Steve rushed out to where Eleanor knelt, taking Diane's pulse with one hand and feeling her belly with the other.
"She fainted," Eleanor explained. "Pick her up. We'll take her back to my place. I can take care of her there"
Steve saw no reason to argue. He slipped an arm under his wife's neck and the other under her knees. He lifted her carefully and carried her to his car in the driveway. Being careful not to bang her head on the door frame, Steve placed her gently on the backseat. Eleanor slid in beside her and put an arm around Diane's shoulders to keep her from falling over. Steve got in, started the car, and drove them back to Grimm Memorials.
"Carry her inside," Eleanor instructed Steve as he lifted Diane's body out of the car. Eleanor held the front door open for him. "Down there," she said, guiding him through the en trance hall to the crematorium door, which she also opened for him. She followed as Steve carried Diane down the stairs.
"Put her over there," Eleanor said, pointing to the leather reclining chair set up in the middle of the ritual pentangle.
Steve carried Diane to it and lowered her softly.
"Perfect," Eleanor said, smiling. She pulled Steve away from the table and kissed him deeply. "Take off your clothes," she
whispered in his ear.
"But, Diane .. " Steve began to protest.
Eleanor unbuttoned his pants, reached in, and grabbed his penis. "She'll be fine," Eleanor breathed, licking her lips, turning Steve to putty in her hands.
He undressed quickly, tearing his clothes from his body in his haste to get at Eleanor. When he was naked, he went to the wooden podium where Eleanor was reading from a large book and grabbed her breasts.
"Wait," she said, turning to him. "There's just one more thing I have to do "" In her hand she held a Ball jar with a thick, tarry substance in it. She dipped her finger in the jar and began painting odd-looking symbols on Steve's chest and face.
Steve laughed. "What's this?"
"You'll see," Eleanor cooed, painting with one hand and masturbating Steve with the other. "I've got something for you"
Steve waited anxiously, his penis erect and throbbing from Eleanor's stroking, while she finished painting him and went to the strange-looking metal table a few feet away. "Hurry," Steve urged her.
Eleanor took a long knife from the table and turned. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a gasp came out. A grimace of pain clenched her face. She leaned against the embalming table, clutching at her chest with both hands. Her mouth opened in a low, guttural moan and she doubled over, curling to the floor almost gracefully.
Steve ran a hand over his brow. He felt suddenly dizzy and sick, like he was coming down with the flu. He lowered his hand. There was a red substance on it that looked like blood. He rocked on his heels and had to reach out for the leather recliner to steady himself, and saw his wife unconscious.
"Diane! Oh my God!" Steve cried looking at her. She didn't appear to be breathing. (Is that why he had blood on his hand?) He looked around for help from Eleanor and saw the room clearly for the first time since entering: the huge crematorium furnace low on the far wall, a roller-topped feed table in front of its door; the metal embalming table with its gutters and collection bottle, the wooden podium with the large book open on it, the pentangle painted on the floor around where he stood, the hundreds of black candles everywhere in the room, and the large cage, from which a stinking odor of shit and urine was coming. It was filled with small boys, his stepson Jackie one of them, lying unconscious around a filthridden toilet.
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