Slaughter Series

by A. I. Nasser

The blonde spent her usual five minutes outside, forcing herself to look straight ahead, Karen knowing well that she was observing her from the corner of her eye. She continued to stare at the girl until she turned on her heels and walked back into her house, inexplicably frustrated.

  Karen made a mental note to ask June about the girl when she met her later today.

  Are you sure you want to do that, cupcake?

  Karen smiled to herself as she finished her cigarette.

  What was the worst that could happen?

  Chapter 12

  John slammed his laptop shut in frustration.

  It had stopped completely. During the past few weeks, he had been worried about how the thought process had slowed down a bit, daily word count going down, his characters becoming stale and boring. He needed a new edge, and that edge wasn’t manifesting. He had thought he had built momentum, a way to move forward, but he had been wrong.

  Running his hands across his face, he sighed as he tried to think of a new angle, a new approach, something that might jump-start the writing again. But, there was nothing.

  He shot up angrily, looking for his pack of cigarettes amongst the piles of notes that had accumulated over the past week. He looked at his workspace in disgust; it was starting to look more and more like his desk back home, and the image was depressing. Notes meant brainstorming, and that meant a loss for words he had not experienced before Karen had arrived.

  Maybe Derrick was right. Maybe you needed to get away from her, too.

  But Derrick had been the one who had called her. John kicked at his chair, looking about the room in fury, wondering why something as simple as lighting a cigarette was becoming so problematic.

  He had switched rooms, moving the small makeshift desk and his laptop as soon as he realized that he wouldn’t be able to write in the master bedroom anymore. Besides, it was hard enough sleeping next to his wife in the same bed he had cheated on her in; the whole room had become a distraction.

  Cursing, he made his way downstairs, his frustration getting the best of him. He searched the living room first, tossing cushions about and not bothering to put them back where they belonged.

  Let Karen deal with it. This is her fault, anyway.

  John stopped himself, freezing in place as the voice in the back of his head suddenly fell silent, cowering into the corner where it had been hiding for a week. This wasn’t Karen’s fault. Karen was helping. She had left her job, their son, everything, to be here with him. She was worried, and she was being the woman he had fallen in love with; considerate, patient, supportive. What was he thinking?

  She’s here because she couldn’t handle things without you. It’s a selfish reason, come to think of it, Johnny-boy.

  John quickly pushed the thought away. He had to be careful. The lack of writing was starting to get to him.

  Making his way down the hall, his nose picked up a scent he had never thought he’d smell again. Frowning as he neared the kitchen, he groaned out loud as the familiar stench of rot seeped out from the basement.

  “Damn it!” he cursed, opening the door quickly and switching on the lights.

  When the bulbs didn’t respond, he laughed in annoyance.

  Murphy’s Law, Johnny-boy.

  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong.

  Might as well not go down there. The way things are going for you, you might end up falling and breaking a leg. Or your neck.

  John closed the basement door and immediately went for the towels. The stench hadn’t reached the point where he couldn’t stand being in the kitchen, and he was convinced that this time around he could stop it from getting any worse. He reached for his phone, hoping to catch Karen and ask her to bring some lights with her from June’s, and he wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t find it in his pocket.

  Of course.

  “You’re telling me,” John said out loud.

  He grabbed the towels from the drawer, wet them and stuffed them in place. He scanned the kitchen, found his pack near the boiler, pocketed it and made his way out onto the porch. He sat heavily on the bench, lighting a cigarette with shaky hands, his mind racing as his body shook with frustration.

  He needed to write. He needed to write now. He couldn’t lose the momentum, not now, not when he was this close to finishing the story. One idea; he only needed one idea to get him going again, and try as he would, he couldn’t find it.

  You do know why, right, Johnny-boy?

  John hated to admit it, but there was a part of him that had to agree. Ever since Karen had arrived, ever since she had changed things in the house, made it homier, his ideas had stopped coming. He laughed at how ludicrous the notion was, but it was the closest thing to an explanation he could find. His story was dark, twisted, a new John Krik who wasn’t supposed to be indulging in bright sunlight and home-made breakfast. He needed the dark, the flickering bulbs, and the running feet. He needed the voices in his head.

  Hey, I never really left, buddy. You’ve just been ignoring me.

  “Help,” John whispered to the wind, his cigarette stuck between his lips as he stared out into space.

  You don’t need my help. You know what you have to do.

  John thought long and hard about it, and nodded to himself. He had to get rid of Karen. He had to convince her to leave, to return to their son and her job. But, how was he going to do that? He had promised to talk to her tonight, and she was dead set on staying. It wasn’t going to be easy.

  Well, you better think fast, buddy. I have a feeling she’s already got her eyes on your special friend.

  John frowned as he looked over at the Greens’ house. He hadn’t seen Eva since Karen’s arrival, and he had counted his lucky stars for that. He had never considered the possibility that Eva had come before and Karen had scared her off. His wife had been asking him about the Greens for a few days now, and he had never once thought of the possibility that she might have met the blonde. Had Eva said something?

  It doesn’t really matter, Johnny-boy. What matters now is writing.

  Right. What mattered was writing.

  John blew out smoke and flicked his cigarette out into the driveway. He thought long and hard, his mind trying to piece together a way to get back on track. He longed for the nights when his fingers danced on their own, the words popping up on the screen as if someone else had been doing the work, not him.

  Fine, just this once. But from now on, we play it my way, got it?

  John felt his eyes cloud over and his mind kick into overdrive. In an instant, he had the angle he needed to continue writing. He jumped up and raced back into the house, taking the stairs in twos as he fell heavily into his chair and began to type.

  John wrote, and the smile on his face said it all.

  ***

  “Tell me about the Greens.”

  Karen was leaning against one wall of the small storage space, smoking a cigarette as she and June took a break from the inventory. She had promised the woman a few days before that she would help her with it, and Karen was never one to go back on promises. She had come with another agenda, though, and had waited for this break with anticipation.

  Karen couldn’t really help it. She had to admit, she was as curious as her husband, if not more, which was why his vagueness and disinterest with the Greens annoyed and confused her. They had always been quick to play the guess-who-they-are game, each one taking turns picking out random people and making up stories about their lives. John did it for the inspiration; Karen did it for the thrill. She had offered him the chance to do the same with the Greens, and had been surprised that, contrary to his usual excitement, he brushed the notion off and told her to forget about them.

  “I’m not here to socialize,” he had said.

  Karen didn’t believe it for a second. The Greens seemed intriguing, and the way June hesitated when she asked her to talk about them made Karen want to know about them even more.

  “They are an interesting bunch, aren’t they?” June
asked with a smile, as if reading Karen’s mind.

  Karen nodded. “It’s rare for me not to know my neighbors.”

  “And you haven’t gone over yourself?”

  “I keep telling John that I want to,” Karen said. “He doesn’t seem very interested in getting to know them, which I think is quite odd. It’s not like him.”

  Karen caught the confusion on the other woman’s face and instantly felt something in her stomach turn. “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” June lied, and Karen knew it. “I’m thinking about what you said.”

  Karen decided not to probe any further, for now. “Well?”

  June sat down on one of the many boxes around her, dusted her hands together and leaned back against a wall. “The Greens,” she whispered. “Where do you start?”

  Karen chuckled. “How about the beginning, June.”

  June seemed to think about that for a moment, then nodded in agreement.

  “Cafeville is an old town, one of the oldest in New England I suppose. Earliest settlement this part of the State, although right now you’d probably not even find it on the map. Never grew much larger than it is right now. Come to think of it, there’s only ever been three or four streets added to the ones that had first been established. The school could be considered new, although that was built in the thirties.”

  June stared into space for a few seconds before shaking her head and blinking, as if she had suddenly traveled back to another time and place, and had returned just as quickly.

  “Anyway,” she continued, “the town was founded by four families; Dean, Toled, Pollard and Green. You know Hank, of course. He’s the last of the Pollards left in Cafeville. The others all sold everything they owned here and left, scattered all over the country.”

  “I thought Hank was married,” Karen said.

  June shook her head slowly. “His wife died years ago. The poor soul can’t bring himself to take off the ring. He’s never been one to let the past be.”

  “That’s sad,” Karen frowned, grateful she had found this out before going through with her plan to invite him to dinner; asking him to bring the wife would have been awkward.

  “Well, all things considered, the Pollards are the only family of the four that’s had it good here in Cafeville. That’s probably why the rest left. Didn’t want to push their luck, I guess.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I think it started with the Toleds, really,” June said, concentrating as she tried to remember the town’s history. “This was before I was born. They’re the family that lives to the left of the house you’re staying in.”

  “The older couple that doesn’t want to leave?” Karen asked.

  “Or can’t leave, depending on how you look at it,” June said, her voice barely audible. “All three families, Dean, Toled and Green, built their homes on that road, each with their own little riches, each trying to compete with the other, although my grandmother says it had all been good sport back then. You can’t really know, if you ask me. Happened way before her time, too.

  “What we do know for sure was that Maverick Toled was the first to go nuts. Killed his entire family, only missing his youngest son because the boy was with relatives out of town. Wife, two daughters and eldest son, who was to be wed to the Deans’ daughter actually; all dead. Then he hung himself in the basement.”

  Karen stared at her in shock. She had been expecting an interesting story, but nothing like this. June saw the look on her face and frowned apologetically.

  “I’m so sorry, Karen, if I had known it’d bother you –”

  “No, no,” Karen interrupted her. “Go on. It’s a little shocking, that’s all.”

  June nodded as she eyed her, considering whether to continue or not. When Karen nodded at her, the woman went on.

  “The Toled’s house stood empty for years, and over the generations, Green and Dean would fight over it, each trying to buy it for themselves. By then the two families were competing furiously, openly, no longer much of a sport. They were at each other’s throats the whole time.

  “I was a little girl, taking my first steps, when Benjamin Dean died. By then, both the Deans and Greens were playing dirty, and the rumor was Alexander Green had somehow tried to sabotage the Dean livestock. They say it had been a fire, over one hundred cows burnt alive. It was the source of the Dean fortune at the time, acres upon acres of land just outside Cafeville in their family’s name. Little Benji had been playing in the barns with his siblings when the fire had broken out.”

  “That’s horrible!”

  June nodded in agreement. “Took the fire brigade two days to put it out, some of it making its way into the woods behind the barns, a real mess. Everyone had a feeling Alexander Green was behind it, but no one could really prove it. That’s when Samuel Dean took matters into his own hands.”

  “Samuel Dean?” Karen asked, her eyes wide.

  June frowned. “You’ve heard of him?”

  Karen quickly shook her head, wondering if it was a coincidence that the main character in her husband’s story had the exact same name.

  “Well, on the night he buried his son, Samuel went into the arcade a few stores down from here and stabbed Alexander Green to death, and then went after his entire family. He would’ve killed them all if the sheriff hadn’t stopped him in time to save the children.”

  Karen suddenly felt very faint, her mind recounting the events in John’s story and correlating them to what she was hearing.

  “June, have you told John any of this?” she asked, hoping that her husband had just decided to base his book on a small town’s lore.

  “Not that I can remember,” June said. “Why? Is something wrong?”

  Karen didn’t even know where to start.

  Chapter 13

  “For a second there, I thought I had lost you completely.”

  John smiled as he listened to Derrick Fern praise the new chapters.

  The sun had already begun to set, and for the past five hours, John hadn’t stopped writing. In less time than usual, he was done with ten thousand words and had sent them to Derrick to review, his editor calling an hour later with applause and a laugh that ringed dollars.

  “I did kind of drift away for a few days,” John admitted.

  “You don’t say!” Derrick chuckled. “I was slapping myself for calling Karen.”

  “That was a stupid call,” John said, unable to let the man feel any satisfaction. “I only got work done because she’s been out all day.”

  There was silence on the other line. “Then get rid of her.”

  “Excuse me?” John said, static mixing in with Derrick’s words, unsure whether he had heard him correctly or not.

  “You can’t get rid of them,” Derrick said, his voice louder. “They’re family. Family’s important.”

  John frowned, unsure if those were the exact words Derrick had used just a moment before. “I’m going to try to get some more work done before Karen comes back,” he said.

  “You do that,” Derrick said. “I’m rooting for you!”

  “I’m almost done,” John said, and hung up.

  ***

  John sat in the dark, cigarette in one hand, his head laid back against the couch as he smiled at the ceiling.

  The story was coming along beautifully. In the two hours since his telephone call with Derrick, he had written another four thousand words, and was riding a literal high. He had wanted to celebrate with something stronger, but decided that if he were to finish up with the work at hand, his mind needed to be clear.

  He took a long drag from his cigarette and blew smoke into the darkness. Karen was going to go absolutely crazy when she got home. She hated it when he smoked indoors, and from experience he knew well what her reaction was going to be. Surprisingly, not a thread of him cared. Let her blow. It might give her a reason to leave.

  Doubtful, Johnny-boy, but I like where your mind is going.

  John smiled.
>
  Before retreating to the living room, he had gone into the kitchen, kicked the towels aside and opened the basement door all the way, letting the stench race out into the house like a dog that had been freed from its leash. The smell filled every corner of the Victorian, and for some strange reason, he didn’t seem to care. He was even breathing through his nose, letting the stench sting his lungs along with the smoke he was inhaling.

  Somewhere upstairs, he could hear the attic door opening and closing, the familiar sound of rats in the walls ringing in his ears. This was it. This was exactly what he needed. This was the fuel that would push the story forward. He smiled to himself when he thought of what Karen would do when she got home. He looked at his cell phone, pondering whether to call her or not, and decided to wait for her to return.

  She’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.

  Again, he didn’t seem to care.

  John stretched his arms wide, feeling exceptionally good about himself. Maybe there was a point to staying here. Maybe a year or two in Cafeville, and he could have a whole series of bestsellers lined up and ready to make him millions. Derrick would love that, and Karen could finally stay at home.

  She’s holding you back. She’s been after that job for years, and now that she’s got it, she doesn’t want it.

  John frowned. That was a bit like her, only interested in something until the moment it was attainable. That was probably why she wanted to move out here. An isolated town, a house that would eat up their savings; that was usually the direction Karen set off in whenever she made a decision. Always looking for the most complicated of goals, just to throw them away once she realized that she could achieve them.

  You have to send her home. We don’t need her here. Look at how much you’ve achieved because she left the house.

  John nodded to himself, agreeing with the voice in his head, the voice that had now confidently come out of hiding and was setting up shop in the forefront of his mind. The voice that now had a microphone and a direct line to every single part of his brain. A part of John dreaded it, but only a small part. The rest of him was grateful for its presence.