Salem's Daughters (34 page)

Chapter 55              Final Preparations

Emily crouched at the top of the stairs. She hid behind the top post and stared down into the living room. Rebecca, Midnight, Chloe, Helen, Esther, and Scarlett sat patiently a few feet behind her.

They could make their move now. She could simply give the order to any of her remaining followers to kill Debbie. It would happen in a matter of moments, much as it had when Helen killed Paul Knudsen in the kitchen by a simultaneous choking and heart attack.

Or the process could be drawn out—like when they all teamed up to kill Reginald and Sophia Johnson, the couple from Detroit in the Disco Room. After all, cats do like to play with their prey before killing it.

Then she’d allow Rebecca to perform what she did best; burn the house to a pile of smoldering ashes while they escaped.

Debbie wiped her eyes and ran her hands through her hair, then tugged down on the bottom of her blouse, as if that would help make her presentable for this final confrontation. Emily was impressed the way Debbie composed herself, even though she looked a nervous wreck. But, considering she’d witnessed her beloved grandparents dead, killed in a hideous, gory display thanks to their group effort, Emily wouldn’t hold it against her.

Debbie pulled out her cell phone for the twentieth time and tried to call Bob. Emily nodded to Helen, who ended the call, as she had all previous attempts. Emily laughed inwardly. Little tortures. Simple things, like cutting off cell phone communications, they provided some laughs.

It was a nice way to assuage the mounting tension, now that they were fast approaching the Grand Finale—the
coup de grâce!
She smirked, relishing the last few moments leading up to the bed and breakfasts’ annihilation.

Though Debbie looked bewildered, Emily knew she had a crazed and mounting focus for revenge—a factor that drove her to remain inside and not run for safety. She knew Debbie was consumed with one driving thought; she was hell bent on killing her and the rest of the damned cats.

“She’s alone,” Rebecca said. “And she’s outnumbered seven to one. Just look at her, with no special powers and scared as can be. But I have to hand it to her. Debbie’s one determined lady. I respect that in her.”

“Challenge accepted,” Emily said. “I think I’ll send her a couple little energy bursts. Nothing too big. Just to see the look on her face.”

Emily aimed one at the small of her back.

Debbie jumped, then swung the shotgun around. “Who’s there,” she said with a hint of terror.

This was cause for a round of laughter. Emily followed up with another to her backside. Debbie spun around again, looking for the source of the blasts, the cats laughing more.

“Who’s doing that,” Debbie said with more force. “Show yourselves now, you cowards.”

“My turn,” Midnight said. The black cat disappeared, then materialized in the kitchen archway. Emily snickered as Midnight would meow, then disappear when Debbie turned to look. Midnight performed her trick five more times in different parts of the cavernous living room, Debbie spinning and looking in vain for the characteristic feline sound.

Emily had one final chuckle before calling Midnight back. “That’s enough. Save your energy for the real battle that’s about to take place.”

At the rear of the upstairs hallway, the Goths and Vamps partied behind closed doors. They laughed stupidly. The Ramones played loud. Some of the girls sang along with the lyrics. Poorly.

Emily continued to study Debbie, while behind her, small talk among her clan rambled on as they awaited the inevitable final showdown.

“I’m glad Ross came back,” Chloe said. “He was such a greedy glutton. I had no respect for him.”

“But you have to admit, crazy Erma was different,” Scarlett said. “Like Indian Joe, she was wise enough to secretly plot, challenge, and kill two of us.”

“Sure. I’ll give Erma that,” Midnight said. “I’m amazed she didn’t take out more of us.”

Rebecca, skittish and restless, paced back and forth. Emily knew it took all of her strength to hold off on setting Murcat Manor ablaze.

Emily craned her neck. “Rebecca, please. You’re making me nervous. Relax for a few minutes. I need to focus on Debbie.”

Rebecca continued to pace. “You know I can’t. My sister Annie, she’s gone. I never had the chance to see her one last time.”

Emily returned her attention to Debbie, who remained in the living room, stuffing her cell phone into her pocket after another failed call to Bob and unsure what to do next.

“I’m sorry. Believe me, I understand all about losing a sister. But stay with me. It’s almost time. Just follow my lead.”

Rebecca relented. She took her place beside Emily and peered down on Debbie. “I’m with you. You know I am. I always look forward to this part. But I have to admit, I’m fidgety. You know how this is going to turn out.”

Emily kept her gaze on Debbie. “This time, wait for the rest of us to get out of the house before you burn it down. Got it? Anyway, we need to wait for Bob to come home. We have some time to kill. But it shouldn’t be long.”

Rebecca bounced and started pacing again. “I can’t wait.”

Emily sighed, tired of Rebecca’s hyperactivity.
“Then go. Burn down the neighbors’ house. The Bradys.”

Rebecca stood at attention and raised her paw in salute. “Now that I can do. I remember they told Bob and Debbie to find a priest, because this place is cursed. Well, time to go and show them what it’s like to have a property that’s bedeviled.”

Scarlett stepped between Emily and Rebecca. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I think we should stay together. Half of us are now dead. We lost six in less than one day and night. That’s a big hit to take so fast.”

Emily motioned for Chloe to open the front door. “The fire department and police will be sure to come here as the evening unfolds. Burning down the Brady’s house will make for a great distraction. Be discreet. Wait for the opportunity and don’t let Debbie see you leave.”

Chloe stood at the top riser and focused on the front door. It opened just enough for a cat to squeeze through. Debbie turned her attention again to the hall where Ross was. Within seconds, Rebecca was down the stairs and outside.

Less than a minute later, a car sped up the road, skidded wildly into the driveway, and screeched to a stop.

“That would be Bob,” Emily said. “Ladies, it’s time.”

Chapter 56              Bob’s Back

A car fast approaching from the west brought Debbie back from her disheveled thoughts. She didn’t have a plan. But Bob would. She ran to the front porch. The sight of her hubby’s SUV charging over the hill was her game changer. Bob veered across both lanes of country road as he sped toward Murcat Manor, then hit the brakes a hundred feet before reaching the property entrance.

The tires screeched as they gripped the pavement, leaving long black skid marks across the gray asphalt as Bob brought the car into a sideways skid. He swerved into the gravel driveway, clipping the rear bumper of Ross and Erma’s Cadillac Escalade and tearing it off as he pulled to a stop.

Bob jumped out of his car, bolted to the porch and cleared the eight steps in two leaps. Debbie, with shotgun swung low, grabbed him in a mighty one-armed bear hug and pulled him into the house.

Her spirits were lifted high as Bob gripped her tight to him, lifting her off her feet. Her man was here. All was well.

“Debbie. Thank God you’re alright.”

Debbie closed her eyes, feeling safe in the security Bob had always provided. She could almost disengage from the madness and fall asleep in his arms, knowing he would fix everything.

“Who else is here? I hear rock music from upstairs. And where are Ross and Erma?”

Thoughts of her grandparents’ destroyed heads and lifeless eyes stabbed her safe feelings to death. Her feet were back on porch floor. She rose on her toes, balled Bob’s shirt with both hands and pulled herself up eye to eye with him.

“Things are bad here,” she blurted out. “Grandma and grandpa, they’re dead.”

Bob looked over her shoulder into the front door. “Dead? How?”

“Follow me.” Debbie stormed into the living room and kicked over an end table, aiming the shotgun in case Emily or one of her cohorts had taken refuge underneath it.

“Those cursed cats. They’re not normal. Anything but—they have
abilities
.”

She scanned the living room, looking for a furry tail sticking out from behind a piece of furniture or a cat making a break for the kitchen. “There’s some kind of magical powers attached to this property that can only come from the bowels of hell. I can’t believe
we didn’t see this sooner.”

“I know that now,” Bob said. “This place is cursed. We didn’t recognize it or heed the warnings, which in retrospect, were many. Now we’re trying to catch up and somehow defeat something we can’t see or hear.”

Debbie embraced the Mossberg 500 twelve gauge shotgun to her chest. “It’s as if they have a certain level of power to operate. Like they can come and go and do whatever they want, regardless that we’re the legal property owners of Murcat Manor. They’re thieves, usurping an authority that rightfully belongs to us.”

Bob took the shotgun from Debbie. “That’s what I was thinking on the way home. If they were able to come back from the dead, and kill our guests in the gruesome ways they did, we’re dealing with serious dark forces far beyond the physical realm we live in.”

He tilted the gun on its side. “Five shotgun shells in the magazine tube and one in the chamber.”

Without saying a word, Debbie swung the satchel slung around her neck and opened it for Bob to see, revealing a steady supply of ammo.

“Good. This helps. But we need to find out what powers they have if we’re going to find and kill them.” He held the shotgun up. “I don’t think firepower alone will be enough.”

Debbie flipped over one of the sofas with a deep grunt, then grabbed matching long back chairs and threw them across the room. They tumbled end over end and crashed against the wall.

“For starters, they can plant thoughts and voices in peoples’ minds. When we came home,” Debbie fought back a sob, then gritted her teeth. “They placed Grandma’s voice in Granddad’s head.”

Debbie hooked Bob by the hand and led him toward the hallway to the utility rooms. “The cats made it sound like Grandma was drunk and had locked herself in one of the closets. But I couldn’t hear anything. I knew something was terribly wrong and tried to stop Grandpa. But he opened the closet door anyway.”

Debbie stopped, buried her head in Bob’s chest, and motioned for him to look around the corner. “Be careful there are no cats there.”

Bob peeked down the hall and swung the shotgun into position at his waist. “Oh. My. God. Ross.”

“I know. I saw it happen. Midnight, Chloe, and Helen were in the closet when he opened the door. The bowling ball you keep on the floor zipped up in its leather case? They somehow had it on the top shelf. When Grandpa opened the door, they rolled it off onto his head. It all happened so fast.”

Bob held Debbie’s face in his hands. “Shhh. Stop. There’s nothing we can do for him now. I’m very sorry. He’s gone. But we need to be strong. We have to kill those cats before they can harm us or anyone else. You have to follow my lead.”

Debbie kept her head close to Bob’s chest and eyes closed as he led her into the kitchen. She knew what question was coming.

“Where’s your grandmother?”

Debbie let go and pointed toward the basement door. Bob walked around the oak centerpiece of the kitchen. Once on the other side, he pulled up and vomited.

“I’m trying to explain what happened,” Debbie said. “But I have no idea how Grandma got trapped in the animal door. Or why her face and hand are so badly burned.”

Bob shook his head as he picked up the frying pan and set it on one of the stoves. “They couldn’t just kill them. They really had to work hard to do this in such a horrendous way.”

Debbie remained on the other side of the table. “I can’t look at Grandma. Not like that. I pulled the table cloth off her. Can you put it back on and find something to cover Grandpa?”

Bob bent over and respectfully pulled the napery back over Erma. Without a word he took a second red and white checkered covering off the kitchen table and walked through the living room to the storage closet and laid it over Ross.

Bob came back to the kitchen and sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?” He turned to Debbie, his eyebrows bunched together, and sniffed again. “Honey, do you smell gas?”

Debbie inhaled slowly, closing her eyes and blocking out her other senses screaming at her, competing for her attention. The sight of her dead grandparents. The sickening sound of the bowling ball crushing her grandfather’s skull. The Ramones, still blaring from upstairs. It was hard to focus on any one thing.

She felt Bob’s hands on her shoulders, helping her get centered as he repeated the question: “Hon, I’m sure I smell gas. Don’t you?”

She shook her head. “No. I don’t smell anything.”

Bob looked around the kitchen. “Well, I smell it. It’s faint. But I can’t tell where it’s coming from.”

“Yeah, okay, sure. Whatever. Now, back to the cats?”

“You said they planted Erma’s voice in Ross’s head?”

“No
,” came a voice in Debbie’s mind, as she went stiff, her eyes turning into glazed saucers.

“
They didn’t plant her voice. I
did
.”