Part 15 (1/2)
”Yes?”
”Would you give Mom a message from me?”
”Of course. What message?”
I slammed the phone down again.
At the mirror, Ca.s.sie frowned and switched off the blow dryer for a second. ”What now?”
”If you've got any asbestos underwear,” I growled, ”wear it. This is going to be a h.e.l.l of a night.”
(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 13 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.
Chapter Notes:.
Thanks to Ginger for a snake story that gave me a perverse idea. In real life, snakes don't grow or behave like the one described here...but of course, you left real life when you entered this story.
CHAPTER 13.
The cul-de-sac was pitch dark when we got there -- no lights in any of the houses and no streetlights either. That was odd. We hadn't had that much snow, and it wasn't even the heavy kind that knocked down power lines.
”Wonder when that happened,” Ca.s.sie remarked. ”I didn't notice any power outages on the way over, did you?”
”No.” Warily, I studied the house. ”Park away from it, Ca.s.s.”
”What are you talking about?”
”The house. Something's not right. Just to be safe, let's park on the street.”
She hit the brakes, making the BMW skid slightly. ”Would you mind not talking like that? I'm already nervous.”
”Sorry, sweetheart.”
Not entirely rea.s.sured, she pulled up to the curb a few houses away -- very close to the plowed-off snow, which was piled up to nearly the door handles. I had some trouble getting out but didn't mention it. Better to save my fire for a battle that mattered.
We walked toward the house in silence except for the crunch of our footsteps on the snowy street. The closer we got, the more apprehensive I got. There was just enough moonlight to show the Christmas decorations on the neighbors' houses -- decorations that on this dead, dark cul-de-sac had the effect of wreaths on a tomb.
Ca.s.sie touched my coat sleeve. ”Look. Full moon.”
We stopped to admire it, our breath misting up around us in the frozen night. The moon was half-shrouded in haze, which meant more snow later. But it was a thing of ghostly beauty now.
”You know what they say about full moons,” I said. ”The inmates take over the asylums, and all the dogs go mad.”
She reached into my coat pocket to squeeze my hand. ”You're such a comfort, pookie.”
”Just telling you what I hear.”
Still holding onto my hand, she gave me a little tug to start us walking again. We pa.s.sed the Hills' house, where the kids had built a crude snowman in the front yard; as we drew even with it, the head fell off, hitting the ground with a thump and rolling toward us. Startled, I kicked the thing away.
Ca.s.sie didn't say anything, but she moved a little closer.
As we reached the end of my parents' driveway, the black bulk in it resolved itself into a Cadillac parked at a weird angle. In fact, it had been driven in at a weird angle, judging by the tire tracks across the neighbors' yard. Uncle Edgar couldn't drive worth a d.a.m.n. It was one of the many things Mom had against him.
Truth be told, I didn't like him either -- much less Aunt Kitty. And they were both inside right now, waiting for us like spiders.
Not cheered by this train of thought, I led Ca.s.sie up the drive. We were close enough now to notice a dim, s.h.i.+fting glow in the windows, which had to be candlelight. I wished we'd thought to bring the flashlight from the car, but we could always go back for it. Besides, there had to be a flashlight in that barge of Uncle Edgar's. You couldn't have a car that big and not have something in it.
I'd just touched the doork.n.o.b when the doorbell caught my attention. The electricity was out, but the b.u.t.ton was glowing. That didn't make sense. As I watched, the light began to change shape, forming into something like a human face -- an old man in an old-fas.h.i.+oned nightcap, looking very much like...
”Stop that!” I shouted.
The face vanished and the doorbell reappeared, dark this time.
”Did I just see what I thought I just saw?” Ca.s.sie asked.
”That depends,” I said cautiously. ”What do you think you just saw?”
She thought about it briefly, then exhaled in frustration, sending up a huge plume of steam. ”Forget it. It's too stupid.”
”Then you saw it. Monica's making a little d.i.c.kens joke.”
”Not a very good one.” She touched the doorbell tentatively. ”If this were a movie, you know, this would be the part where the audience would tell us to run.”
”But if we did, there wouldn't be a movie, would there?”
Ca.s.sie laughed. ”Let's get this over with, then. I've got plans for after the show.”
They were in the kitchen, drinking wine -- the screw-top stuff Aunt Kitty liked, so sweet you could pour it on waffles -- and they were all very civil when we walked in. But it was a chilly kind of civility, a kind I knew only too well. They'd been talking about us, and they were hacked that we'd showed up and ruined their fun.
Well, we wouldn't stay long. I didn't want to ruin our fun, either.
Politely, I walked Ca.s.sie over to my aunt and uncle. They blinked at her, froglike, while I introduced her. Not for the first time, I wished I had presentable relatives. By candlelight especially, their features were grotesque; they might have crawled out of drains in the middle of the night. On top of that, Uncle Edgar still wore that G.o.dawful vulgar gold chain. It was like being related to hillbilly Mafiosi.
”So,” Aunt Kitty said. ”You're Candy.”
Mom shook her head. ”Carrie.”
”Ca.s.sie,” I growled.
Ca.s.sie smiled sweetly. ”Whatever's easiest for you.”