Butterfly Mincemeat
Merriam Collins & Co
Chicago
Lilly reached for the one that was furthest from the door and tilted the wooden top back. It was stacked full of heavy, leather-bound photo albums. They had straps and small golden clasps that held the album closed. She struggled with the top one as she sat down on the musty floor and opened it. From the amount of dust, they must have been the first curiosity seekers in decades. The first book was full of fading, hard-to-see, photos, all meticulously glued onto the yellowing cardboard pages. There was lovely handwriting below each transcribing what the photo represented. The earliest pictures were of the Willowsby land just after Joshua Willowsby purchased it. Even with the aging of the photos, you could see how young and vibrant they were. All the men seemed to show no emotion. They wore straw hats and suspenders, with pants that were three sizes too big and held up with twine. The women all had scowls and wore oversized, homemade dresses that covered their ankles. She turned the page; the town back then was a mere dirt road with only a bank, a general store and a hotel (which held a sitting parlor and a saloon). In one photo was a buckboard with one tired horse attached and two more horses tied to a post in front of the general store. William looked at Lilly to see her reaction to the photos, “Lo…lo…looks like the westerns th…that I wa…watch.” She turned the page; there were photos of men with burdensome leather straps over their shoulders attached to horses that were yoked together. This was how they tilled and seeded the land back then. You could feel the strain in their faces; this was backbreaking work that permeated from the photo.
She turned the page and found the next few filled with glorious photos of Joshua, his wife and their newborn. These were unlike any other in the album. The happiness in these photos made them glow. The baby was beautiful, and as it grew you could tell in the subsequent images that it was a beautiful girl. The love her parents had for her was quite apparent.
She turned the page and was startled. The next pages were bare, except for two lone photos. One was the tender young girl, no more than six, dressed in dainty lace, lying in her coffin. Her lips and cheeks were darkened, her hair was carefully arranged to cover part of her delicate face.
“My God, what happened to her?”
The solitary photo on the opposite page was of a horse-drawn hearse. Through its etched glass and white curtains, you could see that it held the child’s coffin.
That was enough for Lilly; she gingerly closed the book, brushed off the cover for good measure and returned it to the box. She’d probably be grown with kids before this is looked at next. William tapped her on the shoulder,
“Wh…what ar…are you do…doing?”
“We have to keep looking.”
Lilly gave him a pained look. She took back the book, held her hand to the cover, she was apprehensive. She took a deep breath and opened to the subsequent page…nothing. She turned page after page…still nothing. On the last page of the book, it was again filled with photos, but there were no lovely captions. These were images of grim looking townsfolk, milling about, for no apparent reason. They seemed weary and hopeless, as though they had given up and were now waiting for the grim reaper. They were worn and ragged, except for the last photo. Amongst another collection of gloomy settlers, one stood out from the rest. This person had a different look. A bright, vibrant, look of contentment as though she had just swallowed a frog. It was also a conquering look; a beautiful, privileged appearance unlike any other in the entire album. William shined his light on that photo as the two examined it carefully. Astonishment! They simultaneously looked at each other in absolute horror, it couldn’t be, but it was. The person in that photo; an ancient, yellowed photo, that was better than a century old, was none other than William’s stepmother; a youthful and radiant, Anne!
. . .
Tucked in the back cover of the book was a neatly folded note. The pair grabbed the note along with the photo and scurried up to William’s bedroom to get a better look at it. He pushed the models of his monsters that cluttered his desk aside and laid the photo in the center. He turned the desk lamp on and bent its wiry neck towards the image. They looked closely, there was no doubt, it was definitely Anne.
“William, do you know what that means?”
His eyes were as wide as they could open, he looked into Lilly’s eyes and nodded, “Sh…she has al…always be…been here!”
“Yes, but how.” They both then responded in unison,
“She’s the monster!”
They peered into each other’s eyes and saw that the fear had changed to absolute terror. Lilly seized the note and delicately attempted to open it. The folds were brittle and slightly stuck together. She was careful not to crack the paper; she laid it on the table and began to read it…
My Dearest Son,October 30, 1947
Herein you will find my faiths and my beliefs and my enfoldments. A sum total of my knowledge of the murderous succubus such as it is. If you, like me, burn with irresistible desire to penetrate the unknown…carry on.
The certitude of my aimless wandering has led me to the Mohawk woman. Her beauty has covered her evilness for centuries. Pick your time my son; your efforts must be on All Hollow’s Eve, an unholy day that allows the only opportunity to slay the beast.
I seek out only the truth, where I have failed, you may succeed. Revenge says onto you…revenge for your sister, our beloved Derica.
Your faithful father,
Joshua R. Willowsby
William grabbed his book of the Mohawks and hid the photo and letter inside. There was only one person who he felt he could trust and understand what was going on- Jessup Homel!
. . .
Phillip Barnet was part of a group of German-Palatine immigrants who first settled Brunswick. They embraced their new country and happily fought for Colonial America when called upon. The group had volunteered during the Queen Anne’s War and had been unceremoniously shipped off to Canada to fight the French and the Indians in a confusing war. This brutal conflict was racked with unspeakable acts. Most of what transpired had been memorialized by writings of Barnet;
“Abner Roberts, a member of Gilead and an officer of the Continental army, anxious to visit his home,... and, not apprehending any serious danger, crossed to Lansingburgh and alone rode leisurely away, he had barely reached the top of the hill... when he was ambushed by a band of Tories, killed and scalped. Several days afterwards his mutilated remains were found where he had fallen. ... Bald Mountain.” (1)
Karl Cronsberry had worked as a handyman for his entire adult life. There was little that he couldn’t fix. But now at eighty-one, there was little he could do anymore. He suffered from arthritis in most of his joints, his hands were gnarled, his fingers curled shut from the pain. His spine cracked as he leaned forward, pushing the broom across the meeting room floor, All the gray, metal chairs, many chipped and slightly bent, had been neatly stacked for Karl in the corners. After he cleaned everything, he would arrange the chairs. The dance that was held there the night before had left a mess. There were balloon streamers and fruit juice stains all over the floor; alcohol was never allowed to be served in the hall. The Abner Roberts Hall was part of the Sons of the Revolution Society and was the site of the Ladies Auxiliary Bake-off, Rensselaer Christian Association flower extravaganza, the Cow Pie Bingo Fundraiser, the Brunswick school prom (damn kids always smoked in the bathroom); not to mention being rented out for villagers’ birthdays and communions. The sheriff had called a town meeting that evening at 7:30, giving everyone time to have their supper first. This murder had caused grave concern amongst the inhabitants, they privately questioned each other; is it starting all over again?
. . .
“Now just take a deep breath
you two, what, did you both run here all the way?”
Lilly nodded, “Please Mr. Homel, you have to help us.”
William had the book safely hidden under his jacket; he pulled it out as Jessup led the two to his office in the basement. Not many people were invited down; the ceiling was low, nearly touching Jessup’s bald head. It was a wonderment of books, newspaper clippings and oddities of black magic and the occult. Jammed in the shelves was book after book, most stuffed with bookmarks of torn paper, subjects that Jessup was interested in and was meaning to get back to, but never did. An old rickety desk, stacked mile-high with papers along with three paper cups holding coffee (they were from a week or so ago, could tell from the curdled milk), a cup from the 1967 Montreal World’s Fair that was brimming with pens (most didn’t write anymore), and a Rubik’s cube. The desk was wedged into a corner along with two wooden boxes placed in front, pseudo-seats for the rare visitor. Lilly and William crowded next to the desk as Jessup made a futile attempt to clear it.
“Now what is all this hub-bub about?”
William was so nervous; his stuttering made talking nearly impossible. “M…M…Mr. H…Ho…”
Lilly saw the pained expression on Williams’ face; she patted him on the shoulder as William reached for the Rubik’s cube, it might calm him a bit. Lilly continued, “We were looking at this book William has…”
“I know, I ordered it for him last week.”
“Well, things he read about made us both think…so we went down to his basement and found this.” She opened the book and in its center were the photo and letter, she handed Homel the letter. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his reading glasses, they rested on the edge of his nose. He grabbed for a rather large magnifying glass and held it close to the photo. He peered closely, studying each element in the picture, as he got to the last person, his hand holding the photo dropped, he raised his head with a look of astonishment. Words wouldn’t come yet; he held his hand out for the letter. Lilly gingerly removed it from its envelope and opened it for Jessup. He leaned over, magnifying glass held close to the yellowing paper and read out loud. Now instead of astonishment, he held a look of fear. Without any concern for his audiences’ youth, he seemed to be looking off in the distance, “I’ve feared this all my life. It wasn’t if, it was when.” He removed his glasses, carefully folding them and placing them back in his draw, “You know William who that is, don’t you?” William’s mouth was agape as he nodded. Lilly interjected, “What do we do Mr. Homel, we have to kill her.”
“Kill her! You two? Two kids whose qualification are that they have postgraduate degrees in werewolf lore from films and modern-day penny dreadfuls…This beast has conquered every slayer who has fought her through the centuries.” He rubbed his two hands over his tired face, “There are ways to be sure. Centuries ago, scrying or mirror-gazing was a known way of positively identifying a shapeshifter.”
“Wh…what?”
The ancients would look into special mirrors; or even globes…”
“You mean the ones with those scenes and snow?”
“Well sweetheart, they didn’t have snow back then. But in a special mirror, the ancients could see the future and even combat the beast.”
“Lo…look, Mr. Homel, I li…live with her. I kn…know her we…weak…weaknesses.”
Lilly interjected, “Yes! We can shoot her with a silver bullet!” Homel chuckled; he was now reserved to reveal to his young audience all he knew about the beast. “That won’t work, the legend says quick-silver not silver.”
“Quick-silver?”
“Yes, you may know it as mercury.” He opened his drawer again and placed his glasses back on his nose. He reached for a dusty old book, he opened it to a part that he had marked previously, “Old Mohawk lore says that gold came from the sun; and silver came from the moon. But in the Indian tongue, it was mercury they spoke of.”
Lilly was enthusiastic, “Great! How do we make bullets out of it?”
“No sweetheart, you need to place droplets along the beasts’ spine, and getting that close won’t be so easy. You see unlike what you have seen in the movies, this monster can change at any time, day or night, full moon or not. But! It’s during Allhallowtide that the beast is most vulnerable.”
“Yo…you mean Ha…Hallo…Halloween?”
“Well, that’s part of it. Allhallowtide begins with Halloween and ends on November second.”
“William, that’s your birthday.”
Hmm, interesting. Well, it’s during that time that all the saints are to be revered, but it’s also during that time that the dark one…”
“Dark one?”
“Yes, well, you know, the devil.” Their eyes widened with apprehension as Jessup continued, “It’s during those three days that the devils most evil being, the shapeshifter, needs to have the heart of a young girl to ensure its youth and beauty, but at the same time it must also mate. These two things keep the beast pre-occupied, and thus it’s most vulnerable time.”
“What about wolfs…a…a”
“You mean wolfsbane. First, I won’t have the slightest idea where to find it, and second, I don’t think it would work, this isn’t the movies. To protect yourselves, you need to cover your body in corn pollen, that’s what the Indians used. Look, that’s enough for now. I have the town meeting tonight; I will speak with the sheriff. Keep the letter and photo safe. Now go home you two, and don’t tell anyone about this…anyone!”
The two stood and turned to leave, William hesitated for a second, he turned and placed the solved Rubik’s cube on Jessup’s desk, and it was Homel’s mouth that was now agape…
. . .
Hibler got home and said nothing to his wife about the fiasco at the cemetery. He shut the door in the bathroom, he peered into the mirror, and all he could see was his daughters face. His hands again covered his face as he silently wailed. He grabbed some toilet paper and dried his eyes; they were red and swollen. The banging on the side of his skull was deafening, his brow was beaded with tiny droplets of cold sweat. His wife called him, “I’m ok honey, I’m just in the bathroom, be out in a minute,”
He quietly went to his office; he didn’t want to speak further about funeral arrangements. His wife had dropped off Rebecca’s favorite pink dress so they could bury her in it. The thought caused waves of both icy grief and then heated rage. Someone had to pay, his grief was clouding his judgment. He suspected who was responsible. Hibler also held profound anger towards his spouse; he had been shielding her, and that was just as bad. He turned on his laptop and began to search the internet. What was the best weapon to annihilate the monster that destroyed his life? He spent the next hour studying, he then shut the computer and went down to his basement in preparation.
CHAPTER 18
THE SILVER BULLET
“It is mine to avenge; I will repay. In due time their foot will slip; their day of disaster is near and their doom rushes upon them.”
Deuteronomy 32:35
It was five after two as Tom left his office and was heading over to the five and dime to pick up magic markers for the meeting. As he turned the corner, he ran into Bobby and Joey, “Well there, how are you two and your girlfriends enjoying our little town?”
Joey interjected, “Oh well, the girls went back to Jersey…good riddance.”
As usual, Bobby halted Joey in midsentence before his mouth could do any further damage, “Sheriff, you know, we’ve been seeing a lot of strange things around this town.”
“You mean you two went back to Pinewoods?”
“No sir, but we did end up in that big old mansion not far from the cemetery.”
Tom frowned, “It seems that you guys have no
respect for the law if you went in there- it was breaking and entering.”
Joey couldn’t keep quiet, “No no no…it wasn’t like that at all. A kid invited us in.
“Joey, can’t you keep your mouth shut?” Bobby again turned his attention to Tom, “I know we shouldn’t have gone in, but I swear we didn’t touch anything.”
Tom didn’t have the time for all this drama, “Should I lock the two of you up?” He pondered for a second, “Better I keep an eye on you two, let’s call it a bit of community service. I have a town meeting, and you two are going to help me set everything up, and then let’s say, as long as you did no damage, I will forget about your indiscretion.”
Bobby smiled, “it’s a deal, and thank you.”
Joey was desperate, “But what about the kid?” Both angered, the two just stared at him. “Well, don’t say I didn’t try to warn you.”
. . .
Since her friend’s death, Jane was no longer comfortable calling the Willowsby household. There was something about the way James fondled over her that made Jane all prickly inside, but she had no choice. “Hello Anne, it’s Jane.”
“Jane who?” Now that just infuriated Jane, how many Janes were calling the Willowsby household? “It’s Jane Mueller, (short and sweet, then hang-up) William wants to sleep over tonight. With a storm that they’re calling for, I thought it would be a good idea.” Before Anne could finish her sentence, Jane slammed the phoned down. Anne had a privileged air about her that just got under Jane’s skin. The hell with her, she’d pour a glass of wine and curl up with the book she was reading. It was one of those love novels where a handsome young man moves into a small town and begins a torrid affair with the slightly older librarian. Jane didn’t work at the library, but all the same, it warmed her in places that needed attention.
A Wistful Tale of Gods, Men and Monsters Page 17