Fierce as the Grave: A Quartet of Horror Stories

by John Hornor Jacobs

"I'm a man, goddamit! I ain't an animal! A man!” He turned to the herd. “A man!"

  He gasped for air. Tears streamed his face.

  "It's a goddamned monster of a world," Jake said, softly.

  Silence then, except for the caws of the carrion crows wheeling above the herd.

  He turned and ran. The herd lowed, following.

  BONE CHINA

  It took a month to hand-letter each invitation. In the evenings, Victoria Stith Pemberton descended the Great Stairs to the foyer, taking small precise steps, one white hand grasping the balustrade. The Pemberton Plantation loomed massive and dark around her, tall ceilings rife with echoes. Past the banquet hall, past the sitting parlor, she moved into the library, her body dwarfed by the large room. Taking her place at the ancient mahogany desk, she sat, head bowed and began scratching delicate letters on old vellum parchment.

  "Why don't you just call them, ma'am?" asked Renie, her servant and caretaker, bringing Victoria a shawl. "It would take a lot less time, and you could be done with it."

  Victoria raised her eyes, stilling the movement of her antique pen. She blinked like an owl and shook her head. With the lamp behind her, Victoria's white hair wreathed her face, ghostly and luminous.

  "And have to listen to the excuses? Or the laughter? I'd hate to hear Andrei's crass remarks. No. My age makes me funny to them, a novelty. Those that want to come will come, and those that don't can go hang."

  Renie nodded and turned back to her chores, inventorying glasses and settling the days accounts, sorting receipts and making notations in the household ledger that Victoria would review at the end of every night.

  Victoria scratched invitations into paper, stopping occasionally to stare out the dark window, bring the pen tip to her lips, and lose herself in thought.

  The invitations went something like this:

  Dearest Andrei,

  I hope this letter finds you well in Arezzo. The Tuscan light at this time of year is reputedly beautiful. It’s been years since I walked those hills with you and now, I am beginning to doubt I will ever see them again.

  My hundredth birthday is fast approaching, you might remember. On the fifth of January, I will have seen a century pass and I feel it is an occasion worthy of some celebration. Please join me and the rest of our family for dinner that night. A little reunion. We will toast the century and look forward to the next. I do hope you will attend.

  Sincerely,

  Victoria

  ***

  Winter passed and the world grew green and fragrant. Bare skeletons of trees suddenly sprouted buds and grew new foliage, filling the sky with leaves.

  In the evenings, Victoria and Renie sat on the wrap-around porch that encircled the mansion. With all of the lights extinguished behind them, they watched as fireflies burned themselves out mating, yellow streamers in the dark.

  "Such short lives. But so beautiful," said Renie, the knitting needles in her hands moving and weaving, making small clicking sounds.

  Victoria sniffed. "All lives are short. And all life is beautiful. No one wants to die."

  "I'm sorry ma'am, I didn't mean..."

  "No. It's quite all right." Victoria turned towards the other woman and placed her hand on Renie's arm. "I know you don't judge. Everyone goes in their own time. But I won't forget you, and do my best to protect you from my family. You've been…a good servant. You will be taken care of."

  "Thank you, ma'am. I'm in your debt."

  "Now, I think I would like my dinner." She patted the younger woman's hands.

  That summer, packages started arriving, heavy crates full of strange and wonderful items. Leaded crystal trays from Prague, Sterling Silver from England. Irish linens with gold embroidery. Venetian crystal goblets. Cobalt and silver candlesticks. Filigreed iron knives from Austria. Blown glass vases from Bolivia and Peru.

  Very late one afternoon, after the FedEx man wheeled the large wooden crate into the banquet hall and made her sign his electric pad, Renie breathlessly ran to the stairs and called to Victoria, "Wake up, ma'am! Wake up! The china has arrived!" She ran to get a hammer.

  Wearing a silk robe, Victoria walked into the banquet hall, moving slowly.

  Renie pried open the crate lid. Hands shaking, she reached into the hay of the crate and pulled a circular wad of newsprint.

  "The Staffordshire Chronicle..." she said with reverence.

  "It's just a town, girl. Don't be foolish."

  She pulled the newsprint away revealing a white plate, almost translucent near the edges, colored with a patina of fine cracks.

  Pointing a long, clawlike finger, Victoria said, "Bone china. Porcelain with the ground up bones of oxen added for color, clarity. Hold it up to the light."

  Renie lifted it up and Victoria said, "See? White as snow and almost transparent around the edges. Just like me." She laughed, making a dry unpleasant sound.

  "But what about the cracks?"

  "Ah. I've got those too, I think."

  Victoria sat down at the banquet table.

  "How many can we seat?" She asked, cocking an eye at Renie.

  "Twenty in here. More if we set up a table in the library."

  "No, I don't think more than twenty will attend. Which is good."

  Setting the plate in front of Victoria, Renie turned to the crate and pulled out another paper wrapped piece.

  "There should be salad and bread plates in this shipment as well, Renie. They cost quite a pretty penny. As well they should. These are very special plates."

  "They are pretty, and obviously old. But what makes them any better than regular plates?"

  Victoria looked at her hands, white and lined with blue veins.

  "This china is special because it once belonged to Dr. William Palmer, noted physician, gadabout and serial killer. One of Britain's first. A notorious poisoner. He killed quite a few people with these plates." Victoria laughed again. "Make sure they're washed well before you eat off of them."

  "Oh, ma'am.You might be near a hundred, but you're naughty."

  "You don't know the half of it."

  Summer grew interminably hot. Renie walked the mansion with an ivory fan, fluttering and sweating, long hair sticking to her neck. The Pemberton estate had air-conditioning, but the old drafty building was almost impossible to keep cool in the summer.

  A car pulled in at the front of the Pemberton Mansion. Hearing the engine and the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive, Renie peeked out the foyer window, opened the door and went out into the sun to greet whoever had come calling. The heat was unimaginable, like a furnace. The sun beat down on Renie like a hammer, a palpable thing, vicious and cruel. She lifted her fan to shield her eyes.

  The driver scuttled out the front of the long black car and raced to open the rear door. A woman emerged, back straight, face blank. She dressed all in black. Black dress. Black glasses.

  "I am Ilsa Moteff." She gave Renie a disdainful look over her glasses. Her accent was strange. "I am here to see mademoiselle Pemberton. My plane arrived early. Please show me to my room." She snapped her fingers and the driver scrambled to get her bags.

  Renie led the woman inside, into the sitting room, asking the icy woman to wait for a moment. Then she ran upstairs.

  Victoria lay in bed, shrouded in gauzy hangings. The room was dark except for a hairline strip of light running vertically on the far wall, the seam of the heavy curtains. Victoria winced as Renie let a wedge of light from the hall penetrate the darkness.

  "What is it, Renie?"

  "There's a woman here, ma'am. She says her name is Ilsa Moteff."

  "Ah. This is good. Tell her I'll be down after my rest."

  "Ma'am, if I might ask. Who is she, and where am I to put her?"

  "I'm sorry, Renie. I forgot to tell you. Ilsa is a modiste, very well-known and quite full of herself. But her dresses are absolutely fabulous. The height of Paris fashion. Put her in the large, downstairs guest-room. The blue one. Make her welcome. I'll be down in a little wh
ile." Victoria waved her hand at the other woman, motioning Renie to close the door.

  "Oh. Sorry, ma'am." She pulled the door shut.

  That evening in the library, Ilsa positioned Victoria on top of a small kitchen stool and draped her in fabrics, her mouth full of pins, a grease pencil behind her ear.

  "I am not believing the heat," she muttered around the pins. "I have never felt anything like it. Paris certainly has never been this hot. Arkansas seems such a foreign place to me. Very inclement."

  Victoria harumphed. "There's a common phrase here; 'It's not the heat, it's the humidity.'"

  "Muggy," Renie added.

  "What?" Ilsa asked, frowning at being addressed by the help.

  "When it's humid, we say muggy. I always thought that was funny."

  "Yes. Very." Ilsa looked around. "This would be much easier for you if we had a mirror."

  Victoria smiled at the kneeling woman. "I trust you, dear. I know you will do a marvelous job."

  She returned her smile. "You know, you really have an amazing figure. You are very slim. I could use you on the runways of Paris."

  They all laughed, together.

  She stayed for three more days, working through the heat, her portable sewing machine clattering in the general silence of the library. Renie brought her tea and scones.

  "Eh?" Ilsa looked up at Renie's appearance. "Oh, it is you."

  She leaned away from the sewing machine and stretched her back. Maroon, black and silver bolts of silk lay strewn about the room.

  "Renie? Is that your name?"

  Renie nodded. The other woman picked up the cup of tea and sipped.

  "Let me ask you a question. Yes?"

  "Okay."

  "How can this woman afford all of this? Eh? My service alone is costing her quite a bit. I am not inexpensive. Quite the opposite."

  Renie touched her neck, wiping sweat away. "Honestly, I don't know. I’ve heard her father was fabulously wealthy. A Coke distributor, I think. I don't ask her questions like that."

  "And rightly so. No matter. Her check has cleared and the money is in my account. I am not worried. Just curious."

  Before Ilsa left, she presented Victoria with a dress, simply cut, with elegant lines and dramatic accents.

  After Victoria had put it on and stood before them, Renie gasped. "You look amazing!"

  "Your posture is horrible." Ilsa sniffed.

  "I'm an old lady.”

  Ilsa snorted and pushed her glasses further back on her nose. "The dress needs to be worn correctly."

  She left the next day. Renie sighed as she watched the car passing down the drive, away from the mansion. Distasteful as the woman was, Renie enjoyed the company. While she would never let herself disparage (or even think poorly of) her master, she did feel the pull of human contact.

  Summer passed, the long days growing shorter. Cooler. The pecan trees that lined the Pemberton estate soon dropped their heavy load onto the ground, the brown and black shells lying everywhere. The squirrels and other forest creatures went wild, dashing about the estate, storing food for the winter. Leaves began to change.

  Renie ordered a cord of firewood and ended up chatting with the burly delivery men until after dark, standing near the side of the house, watching them stack the wood. Strong country men, they drawled their words and spoke in incomplete sentences. Renie was delighted.

  "This here wood. White Oak. Aged this stuff all year so it should be just 'bout right, right about now."

  "Aged?"

  "Yep. Fresh cut wood smokes something horrible. This stuff'll burn clean. You stay out here alone?"

  She blushed, smiling. "No. I'm just the caretaker. I look after Miss Pemberton."

  The man pushed his baseball cap back on his forehead with one thick, dirty finger. "That right? The White Witch?"

  "What?" Renie put her fingers to her lips, stifling a laugh.

  "Aw. Nothing. Just when we was kids, that's what they called her. Said she was white as chalk and wicked as sin. Can't believe she's still kickin' around."

  She laughed at the thought. "She's still here. About to be a hundred."

  The man whistled. He touched his cap. "Whoo. Imagine that. Well, tell her thanks for the business. And hopefully we'll be seeing you next fall." He turned away. “You ladies be careful. A couple of folks have gone missing round Gethsemane. Folks’r nervous. You need to make sure you lock up at night.”

  “Yes. Of course. We will.”

  After she gave the man a check, they clambered inside their pick-up truck and rumbled away. Renie turned back towards the manse, light hearted.

  And stopped. Victoria stood on the porch, a black figure, watching her.

  "Ma'am. Are you all right?"

  Victoria remained silent, unmoving. Renie ran to her.

  "Is everything okay, ma'am?"

  Victoria looked at Renie with horrible, angry eyes. "Have you taken leave of your senses, girl?"

  "No. I..."

  "Speaking to these... these day laborers? You are supposed to be inside, taking care of the household. When I woke, I called for you and got no response."

  "Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry." Renie bowed her head and knelt on the ground in front of Victoria. Her hands knotted together.

  Victoria's face filled with anger, drawing down her features into a grimace. She glared at the younger woman, claw-like hands flexing and unflexing, mouth open.

  "Ma'am! I am truly sorry! It will never happen again." Her voice sounded weak, even to her own ears. Mewling. "Please forgive me."

  Victoria glared at her for a long while, black eyes in her white face boring into the top of Victoria's head.

  Desperate, Renie said, "We received some mail today. Letters. From overseas."

  "What? And you didn't wake me?"

  "Ma'am, the firewood was delivered. I needed to deal with the delivery men. I just got carried away talking to them. They reminded me of...”

  “Forget about your old life. This is where your life is now. If you don’t pay attention to your responsibilities, you might lose your...position. I will tolerate no laxity in the completion of your duties. Your job here is to serve protect my...my goddamned life. And how can you protect me if you’re out making doe eyes at these country louts? Have you prepared for dinner yet?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Ah, so I must go hungry? Is that it?”

  “No, ma’am. Please let me correct my mistake. Please, ma’am.” She held up her hands in supplication as if taking communion, wrists forward. Even in the half-light of evening, the fine tracery of silver scars on her wrists were visible.

  “I got rid of your predecessor. Don’t ever think I won’t get rid of you, do you hear?”

  “Yes ma’am. It won’t happen again.”

  Victoria took a deep breath, drew her hands back, and smoothed her silk robe.

  “All right, then. As long as you understand your situation.” Her face changed, going through a labored transformation. She smiled, showing yellow teeth.

  In a sweeter tone, Victoria said, “Renie. Your help is very much appreciated here. I think of you as a child. My child. And if you stray, I will treat you like my child. With punishment. But if you are a good girl, if you perform your duties to me satisfactorily, I will raise you up, and give you a better life. Eh? Better than the one you left. Better than what you have now.”

  Renie nodded, tears in her eyes.

  The older woman brushed a hand in front of her eyes. “I am already tired, and no dinner in sight. Renie, stand up.”

  Renie stood, head down.

  “Come girl.” She extended her hand, motioning the younger woman to follow. “Get the letters and prepare my dinner. I forgive you. But do not let it happen again.”

  She turned and taking small delicate steps, walked into the dark shadows of the mansion.

  Renie followed.

  ***

  Victoria,

  I would be honored to attend your birthday party. A hundred yea
rs! How quickly time slips by us.

  Since it has been many years since we have all gotten together, I think it might be time for a family council.

  I must admit, I had to do some research to discover more about Arkansas, but it seems the perfect little backwater for a get-together. Hopefully we won’t draw too much attention from the locals.

  I have recently returned from France, and learned some delightful culinary techniques there. Amazing really. I’ve gotten even fatter, if you can imagine.

  Sincerely,

  Andrei

  ***

  In October, it began raining and never seemed to stop. The trees dropped their leaves and the Pemberton estate became a boggy, water drenched expanse of mud.

  Victoria sat, blanket draped over her knees, in the library near the fire perusing RSVPs.

  Renie walked in, eyes down, looking at a stack of papers.

  “Ma’am. I’m sorry to interrupt, but I will need you to make a decision on flowers. This grower can provide three hundred phalaenopsis, or two hundred coelogyne pandurata. By January the fifth, he assures me. He says that the phalaenopsis are hardier and can survive the shipping from Costa Rica with far less loss. However, the pandurata is very rare, and he is the only grower within a thousand miles.”

  “I adore the phalaenopsis,” Victoria said, resting the correspondence in her lap. “However, my family is…insatiable. Always hungry for the most exclusive fashions, the finest food, the rarest art. Epicures and snobs, the lot of them. And even at my age, I cannot stand them to look down their noses at me.” She sniffed, casting a glance towards the dark window, pattering with rain. “They think me a bumpkin living here in this backwater.”

  “No,” she continued. “Let us go with the coelogyne pandurata. Like the bone china, it will be a wonderful addition to the conversation. And the flower’s dark lip might remind Andrei of his black heart. Black orchids for blackguards.”

  “Very good, ma’am. I will place the order.”

  “Wait a moment, Renie. I have been reviewing the responses. It seems Andrei has been canvassing the family and we must expect more than we have prepared for. This means we must…sleep and eat...thirty five people.”