Waking The Dead
By Lisa McCourt
Hollar
Althea pounded on the ceiling with the end of the broom. “Scarlet,
turn that music down.”
The whole house vibrated as the volume went up.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with that girl. Stephen,
will you go up there and tell her to turn it off?”
“Why do I have to?” her son asked.
“Because I’m your mother and I said to. I swear, that girl
is going to wake the dead with that racket.”
Althea moved towards the stove to continue cooking the
breakfast, Scarlet’s music had interrupted, but a scratching at the basement
door froze her in her tracks. She stared at the door, confused. The scratching
stopped and the knob jiggled. Someone was trying to open the door. That didn’t
make any sense. No one was down there … well, except for Grandma and she was
dead. Althea had killed her herself.
“Mom?” Stephen asked, coming back through the kitchen door,
backwards. Also coming through the door was Casey, Scarlet’s boyfriend. No one
had seen him for three months, mainly because Althea had killed him and buried
him with the magnolias. She hadn’t wanted Scarlet to know though, and now here
he stood, the morning dew dripping from his rotting nose.
“Damn it,” Althea snapped, “how many times do I have to
plant your ass?” She picked up the skillet and smacked Casey in the face with
it. The eggs went flying across the room, hitting Grandma in the face as she
stumbled through the basement door. Casey kind of bent backwards, his back
making a sickening cracking sound … rigor mortis is a bitch when you’re dead … and
then straightened back up. He smiled at Althea, revealing a row of decayed
teeth covered with dirt and maggots. Althea pulled the skillet back, ready to
swing again, but the thumping upstairs caught Casey’s attention. He turned,
heading back into the living room and towards the stairs.
“Grandma Bertha!” Stephen said, and ran to give her a hug. “We’ve
missed you.”
“Speak for yourself,” Althea groused. She’d never cared for
her mother-in-law. Ignoring the dead woman, she followed Casey into the living
room. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs, trying to lift his leg up to
the first step. Althea picked her knitting needles up from the end table. “I
warned you to stay away from my daughter.” She shoved both needles into the
base of Casey’s skull. He shuddered and then collapsed on the floor. His head
hit the railing and splattered brain matter on the carpet.
“Great, now I have to shampoo that.”
The music stopped and Scarlet’s voice came down the steps. “Did
you say something, mom?”
“No I didn’t, dear. I’m just making breakfast. It will be
ready in a few minutes.”
“No it won’t,” Stephen said. “You splattered it all over
Grandma.”
“Saint’s preserve me,” Althea muttered. “Stephen, take your
grandmother back down to the basement, while I get Casey back outside.
“I don’t think she wants to go back down there.”
Althea handed Stephen the knitting needles. “I don’t care.”
She then grabbed hold of Casey’s feet and began dragging him across the living
room and towards the back door, leaving a trail of goo behind. She was thankful
for the high fence, Franklin had built. The last thing she needed was the biddy
next door to get a look at Casey. She already considered herself the eyes of
the world, gossiping and spreading rumors about them around the neighborhood.
One of these days … Althea was no friend of the devil, but she often thought
about sending him the bitch in tiny pieces. She gave one last heave and tossed
ol’ Casey behind some bushes.
“Mom?” It was Scarlet. She was looking out the window. Thank
goodness she’d gotten Casey hid. “What are you doing? I thought you were making
breakfast.”
“I thought I heard that china cat out here. The damn thing
keeps tearing up my garden.”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “Sunflower is a Siamese cat, mom.”
“Whatever. Just finish getting ready for school … and keep
the music down. You’re gonna wake the dead …”
Scarlet slammed the window.
“And I don’t need any more joining the ones you already
woke,” she muttered. Althea pointed a finger at Casey, who now was playing dead,
perfectly. “Stay put. I’ll come back for you after she’s gone.” He didn’t even twitch. Althea smiled. Soon,
everything would be right as a box of rain.
“Is grandma back in the basement?” she asked, walking into
the kitchen. She stopped and Stephen looked at her, a guilty look on his face. Next to him stood Grandma, and Uncle John.
Well, not all of John. Just his body. Stephen was holding his Uncle’s head in
his hands. “What did you do?”
“He was stumbling around in the attic, fumbling for his
head. When I went to look, he kicked it down the stairs.”
“Why didn’t you just put him back?”
“I was afraid he’d get hurt.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know, but he’s still family. We look after family. You
said so.”
Althea started to speak, but then she heard Scarlet’s feet
pounding down the stairs. “Get him down to the basement with Grandma. Now!”
“I don’t know why you don’t just tell her.”
“Sugar, she’s not like us. She’s still on that golden road. You
and I … we see the evil in others and we take care of it. And when it’s our
family, well we take care of them, too. But Scarlet, she only sees the good,
and I don’t want to ruin that. Now get moving.”
“Mom, guess what!”
Scarlet came rushing through the kitchen door, excitement flushing her face.
Althea tried to match her joy, but then she saw the dog that trotted in behind
her daughter. “Buddy came home!”
Buddy’s lip, what was left of it, curled up in a snarl.
Clearly he was still angry with Althea for burying him in that black, muddy
river.
Turning away from the dog, Althea picked up the frying pan
and put it back on the stove. Quickly she cracked open some eggs, trying to
salvage breakfast, and what was left of the morning. Overhead, the ceiling
creaked as someone moved across the floor. Uncle John hadn’t been alone in the
attic. Stephen stepped out of the basement and leaned against the door, his
face pale. The knob rattled. Grandma hadn’t been alone in the basement.
“Mom,” Scarlet said, sticking her head in the refrigerator, “I’m
hungry. When’s breakfast going to be done?”
Althea glanced at the eggs, but the eggs weren’t quite …
well there were beaks sticking out of the yolk and were beginning to chirp. “I think maybe we should go out for breakfast,”
she mumbled.
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