The Collected Horrors of Tim Wellman (23 page)

But she had been awake for hours, thinking. The
darkness gave way to dawn's long pale shadows and in turn the break
of harsh sunlight brought the room back from its nightly
encasement, but Victoria was no closer to an answer. A thousand
ideas clicked in her head like a card in a bicycle spoke, but none
stood out, none seemed viable. Murder was difficult. "I'm up!" She
slipped her legs over the edge of the bed and stretched her arms as
she yawned and then shook her fingers through her short blonde
hair. "It's summer vacation," she said. "Why do I need to get up
this early?"

"Hurry up!" Stella said. "You know how you hate
cold fried eggs."

By the time she got down to breakfast, her
mother was already busy tending to the old woman. Every fork full
of egg and sausage caused Victoria pain. Her throat was tight, her
hatred was palpable. "Mom, you forgot my toast," she said. "Tend to
the living, not the dead," she said under her breath. "Mom?!"

"I'm busy, Vic!"

"Fine," she said. "I'll just starve to death."
She chased a bit of egg around her plate with a fork. "Can we go to
the park today?!"

Her mom came back through the kitchen door and
washed her hands in the sink. "I can't afford to call anyone to sit
with gramma today," she said. "We'll have to stay home."

Victoria dropped her head and took a deep
breath. "Okay."

"Hey, don't take it like that," she said.

"How am I supposed to take it?!"

"Less like a spoiled, selfish little brat would
be good," her mom said.

"Yeah, whatever," Victoria said. "I'm finished
eating," she said. She hopped down from the dinette chair and
walked to the refrigerator and grabbed a plastic bottle of juice.
"Can I go to the park alone?"

"No!"

"But mom, Becky is going to be there..."

"No!" she said. "It's bad enough you have to
walk to school alone, but the park is in an even worse
neighborhood. If you go out, stay on our street."

"But everyone on our street is retarded," she
said.

"But I know their families," her mom said.
"Retarded and safe is a lot better than smart and dangerous."

But Victoria liked the idea of being smart and
dangerous. It would take a smart and dangerous mind to come up with
a good plan for removing the smelly lump in the middle of the
living room. "Fine," she said. "But how can you be afraid of
anything outside when we're
living
with a zombie?"

"That's enough, Vic!" her mom said. "There's a
great big yard out back, go play!"

"It's empty; there's nothing out there to play
with," she said.

"Then just go walk around in circles until
you're tired," her mom said.

"Fine!" she yelled, and stormed out of the room.
As she passed the old woman she pointed, then pulled her finger
across her throat. "Your days are numbered!" She walked past and
into the old cloakroom that had been converted at some point to the
old woman's craft room, but it had the nearest door leading to the
backyard. Lining the walls was her life's work: dolls. The old
woman had apparently spent most of her life, when she still had a
working body, making the things. Big and small, all cloth, hand
sewn, meticulously detailed. Victoria hated
them
, too. They
were the old woman's real children, her spawn, as lifeless and
annoying as she was. She opened the door and stepped outside into
the heat of the June morning.

Though there was a tall privacy fence, the
trees, rooftops, and surrounding hills were visible. A few gray
squirrels, practically pets, scampered along the lower limbs of the
big oak tree that had been the focus of the yard for a hundred
years or more. Victoria kicked a dandelion seedhead, and then took
a deep breath and sat down on the cement step. "There's nothing out
here," she said. "There's nothing out here, mom!" She laughed to
herself. "Mom? I don't even have a mom anymore." She looked at her
hands. "Do I have the guts? Could I kill someone?"

"Vic!"

Frightened, she jumped up and whirled around.
"Mom!" She let out a hard breath. "You scared me!"

"Sorry," she said. "Hey, an emergency has come
up at the restaurant; one of the waitresses didn't show up. I've
got to go to work for a couple of hours."

"Is anyone coming over to watch the old woman?"
Victoria said.

"No, sweetheart, I told you I can't afford to
pay anyone until I get my check," she said. "So, do you think you
can stay here? I'll be back before noon."

"Alone?" Victoria said.

"Yes, just please promise me to stay in the
house and keep the doors locked," she said. "Don't open the door
for anyone you don't know."

"I'm not going near the old woman," she said.
She followed her mom back into the house, past the dolls, and into
the kitchen.

"You don't have to go near her, just listen in
case she makes any kind of noise, okay?" she said. "You wouldn't
want her to choke or anything, right?" Her mother shuffled through
a few papers on top of the refrigerator. "Ah, here," she said and
handed Victoria a piece of paper. "That's the number at work and my
cell."

"I know your cell number, mom," she said. "I'm
not a little kid."

"You
are
a little kid," she said. "So, be
a
good
little kid!" She walked through the house as Victoria
followed, and grabbed her purse. "I'll be back by noon. I'll bring
you your favorite, the roast beef platter." She waved as she opened
the front door, checked the lock, and then closed it behind
her.

Victoria was alone. But no, not alone, the old
woman was there. Even if her senses were dead, her eyes blind, her
ears stopped, she was there. She listened for her mother's car to
pull away from the curb and whine across the old brick pavement
until she was sure she was gone. She suddenly spun around and
pointed at her. "Hah! Now you die!"

The old woman's expression didn't change. Her
breathing didn't change. She had not reacted to the words or the
girl pointing.

"You're already dead, aren't you," Victoria
said. "A zombie; the living dead, just like those stupid horrible
dolls of yours." She walked closer and bent down. "What is it like?
What goes on behind the wall, great gramma? How can you continue
living when you must know everyone hates you."

She got a little closer and then suddenly, with
no warning, no expression, the old woman reached out and grabbed
Victoria by the wrist. The little girl screamed, terrified, and
screamed again until all the air had escaped from her lungs. She
gasped, tears literally dripping from her eyes, and tried to shear
the old woman's grip from her arm. She pounded the woman's hand,
pushed and twisted, all the while still screaming between tortured
gasps for breath. And then, as suddenly as it had happened, she
loosened her grip, causing Victoria to stumble backward. And after
a failed attempt to stop, she fell firmly on her butt. She sat
crying, breathing as well as she could, shocked at what had
happened. "How?!" She screamed. "How can you move?!" She squirmed
to move a little further away. "You freak!"

There was no response from the old woman. Her
expression was still the same, her breathing the same. Her arm had
dropped back onto the rest and the room seemed unusually quiet now,
now that the screaming had stopped. Victoria used the padded arm of
the sofa to pull herself up on her feet and then quickly sat down
on the arm, the furthest point in the room away from the old woman,
before her wobbling legs gave out. She sat in the heavy silence and
stared at the oddity. If she could move her arm, why couldn't she
move the rest of her body? It didn't make sense and she was
beginning to believe she may have just imagined the last several
minutes. But the marks, the outlines of bony fingers on her wrist,
were proof enough.

The doorbell rang, sending her to the floor
again. "Dammit!"

"Hey, munchkin, it's me!" someone yelled through
the door. It was Becky. "Stella called and asked if I could come
and check up on ya!"

She literally ran to the door and opened it.
"Becky!"

"Hey, what's wrong, shortie?" she said as she
walked through the door. Her features, frail body, and dark bobbed
hair made her look younger, but she had just turned seventeen. She
was the coolest girl in the neighborhood and Victoria adored her.
She always dressed in black, was addicted to horror movies, and
seemed to talk about nothing but dark things. But, she would work
for less than the regular sitter so she got the job occasionally.
"The old lump attack ya?" It had been a running joke between them.
They had sometimes even set up elaborate scenes using the old
dolls, throwing them at the old woman as if they were demons
attacking her. But the teenager couldn't stand the old woman,
either, and wouldn't go near her on the days she spent at the house
even though part of her job was to keep an eye on her.

She nodded and showed Becky the marks on her
arm.

Becky grabbed her arm and looked closely. "Yep,
definitely made by a zombie," she said. "She didn't bite you, did
she?" She laughed and walked into the kitchen as Victoria followed.
"Any pop in the fridge?"

"I'm serious," Victoria said. "Something
happened. I got too close to her and she grabbed me." She started
crying and ran to Becky and hugged her. "She wouldn't let go!"

"Hey, hey," Becky said. She took a big drink of
root beer and burped. "Don't worry, let's check it out. Probably
some muscle contraction or something. I used to get them all the
time when I was pitching softball. For no reason at all my hand
would just reach out and grab another girl on the butt."

"I'm being serious," Victoria said. "Do you
think she can actually see and hear?"

"Naw, we tested that before, right?" Becky said.
"I keep telling you she's an old, stinky lump that stole your mom
and leaves you shit."

"Mom said she didn't have enough money to pay
anyone," she said. "Why did you come?"

"Well, she called me and we worked something
out," she said. "I don't need the cash this week, anyway. And I
couldn't have you here by yourself with the old witch, right?" She
picked up a knife from the counter and held it up. "Wanna do
it?"

"You mean kill her?" Victoria said. "Now?"

Becky headed toward the living room. "I'm just
kidding. But let's push her into the closet like last time, I want
to watch TV." She noticed the old woman's hand, bruised and swollen
where Victoria had attempted to break free. "Woah! What the heck
did you do to her?"

"She wouldn't let go, I had to fight back!"
Victoria said. "It wasn't my fault!" She pointed her finger at the
old woman. "Bitch! Mother stealer!"

"I think your mom is going to notice that,
though," she said. "You still want to kill her, don't you?"

"More and more every second," she said. "I just
don't know if I can. I'm a little girl."

"Do you really want her dead?" she said. She
squatted down in front of Victoria and draped an arm over her
shoulder. "Really? Would you take this knife and stab her while I
take pictures?"

Victoria nodded. "Even if I went to jail
forever," she said. "She stole my life, anyway. I have nothing
left."

"Well, tough, you can't 'cause I was just
kidding," Becky said and jumped up. "Hey, stinky lump, you want to
be killed?" She stepped into the other room and quickly returned
with one of the dolls. She put the knife to its throat and then
sliced, cutting into the stuffing. "You pissed off, shitbox?" She
pushed the knife into the opening, and sliced along the fabric.
"I'm killing your babies!"

The old woman showed no emotions. She simply
stared straight ahead.

"Can you hear me?" Becky said. She got closer
and bent down so that her face was only inches away from the old
woman's face. "Knock knock!" She banged her knuckles on the old
woman's forehead. "See, empty," she said as she looked back at
Victoria. "I wonder how much it would take for her to
aagggg
!"

As Becky turned back around, the old woman
lifted her hand, either purposefully or involuntarily, and had
grabbed Becky's neck with a firm grip. She was squeezing harder and
harder, hard enough to make Becky drop the knife and worry only
about her own survival. She struggled, gripped the old woman's arm,
and tried to pull it away, but the fingers kept hold, breaking into
her flesh, and Becky watched her own blood trailing down the old
woman's arm. She waved her arms around like a swimmer going down
for the last time, but then suddenly there was a loud crash and the
old woman's hand dropped as she slumped over and fell forward and
onto the floor. Becky gasped for breath and fell to her knees. As
she looked up, Victoria was standing behind the old wheel chair,
holding the broken rim of a large glass vase. The rest was in
shards around the chair and embedded in the old woman's skull.

"I..." She dropped the rim and ran around to
Becky. "Are you okay?"

Becky looked up. "Do I fucking look okay?" She
tried to stand but stumbled, and then tried again and with the help
of the sofa arm, steadied herself. She grabbed her neck and rubbed
around in the blood. "Nothing went through my neck," she said. She
then started coughing and threw up all over the floor. "Fuck!"

Victoria was noticeably shaking, as broken as
the vase. She tried to speak, but as she looked around, no words
came out. All she could do was stand, her arms at her sides, and
stare.

Becky spit several times and grabbed a cushion
from the sofa and held it to her neck. "You killed her."

"I, no, I..."

"Now listen to me, okay?" Becky said. "It was
self-defense. We need to call the police and tell them exactly what
happened. The old bitch just snapped and tried to kill me and you
had to hit her with the vase to stop her." She tried to smile.
"Right? I mean that's what really happened. Whatever the fuck we
were talking about before this happened doesn't matter."