Shades: Eight Tales of Terror (14 page)

Sparks flew from the undercarriage as it scraped over the concrete. Then the whole body rocked as Will slid the vehicle into the street beyond. The rear end skewed around and he ramped hard on the accelerator, wrestling the wheel to bring the car into line with the street. Smoke rose from the spinning tires. Their squeal echoed through the sleeping community, then the car shot forward as they gained purchase on the asphalt.

The old compact tore down the quiet neighborhood street, the apartments retreating behind him. Street li
ghts came on, and neighborhood windows blazed as the power came back on line. A glance in his rear view mirror showed the spot where the maimed spirit had stood to be vacant.

She was gone.

He was safe.

F
or now.

“Oh shit,” he gasped
, still trying to slow his breathing. “Oh shit!”

Hysteria bubbled right beneath the surface, and Will fought to regain composure as he took stock of his situation. But at the moment, thinking was hard. The mental image of that thing reaching for him seemed to crowd other thoughts away. Yet it didn’t take a lot of thought to realize a few simple facts as he fled into the night.

He couldn’t go home. She had found Jack, and she had found Rowley.

She would find him, too.

Will knew there could be no hiding from something like this. She was a mindless need, drawn to the causes of her condition like a moth to the flame. Only she destroyed that flame when she reached it. Whatever Jack had done had somehow maimed her and bound her to them all at the same time. 

“You stupid son of a bitch!” Will hammered the steering whee
l, knowing full well the man had already paid for his idiocy in spades. But that didn’t change the fact Jack had also trapped Rowley and Will into the same death waltz with the disfigured phantom. Now Rowley was dead too—and he was next.

She would seek him like a compass seeking the magnetic pole, and she would never stop.

Ever.

Will swung the car onto the main street out of town and groaned as the reality of his situation settled in. Try as he might, he couldn’t run far enough or long enough to get away.

Sooner or later he would have to stop. Then she would come. And when that happened, he knew he only had one chance, and that was to give back what Jack somehow took from her. He had to give her back who she was.

She
would
find him again.

A
nd when she did, his only hope would be to greet her by name.

Legacy of Flies

The name above the gate read “Magnolia Rise”.

Janie Galtz fought the urge to swallow as she peered up through her windshield at the name written in gilded metal scrollwork. It reeked of wealth, power, and old money—all things she had little experience with. Even though the entire neighborhood in this north Houston exurb consisted of wealthy estates and upper class mini-mansions, this was the real deal. The massive, plantation style palace slumbering back amongst the trees could comfortably lodge presidents or kings.

Her battered
Honda couldn’t have looked more out of place parked in front of the Taj Mahal.

Janie reached over to the seat beside her and retrieved the invitation. Its parchment colored envelope and elegant lettering reassured her. She wasn’t intruding, she had been invited. Even if it made no sense, especially considering her one, remote tie to this place, this had been an action on the part of the Danfords. And even more surprising, the invitation seemed cordial as well.

It simply stated that Ms Jacqueline Danford and Ms Rosaline Danford requested the pleasure of her company on May 17
th
at one in the afternoon, and they looked forward to discussing a matter of mutual advantage.  It went further to state that the house was in the process of being refurbished, so to dress informally. Everything about the invitation seemed calculated to avoid the intimidation natural to receiving an unexpected greeting from someone so far up in the social stratosphere.

But it still made no sense.

Even though she had never met or spoken with a Danford in her life, she should be one of the last people on the planet they would ever invite over for a chat.

“Miss Galtz?”

Janie flinched in surprise, then realized the voice came from a small speaker concealed in the left column of the gate.

“Oh! Oh yes,” she recovered. “I’m Janie Galtz. I have an invitation to meet Jacqueline and Rosaline Danford. I’m sorry, was there a button or something I should have pressed?”

“Not at all,” the rich feminine voice chuckled as the gates started to swing open. “Not at all. I’m the one who should be apologizing, dear. Our regular staff is a little busy and I forgot to have somebody on duty watching the gate. Just pull in and park in front of the house. I’ll be there to meet you.”

Janie nodded. T
hen she felt foolish, realizing there wasn’t anybody to see her.

Okay Janie, calm down,
she scolded herself.
They already know you’re poor. Let’s try not to convince them you’re an idiot as well.

The young woman eased the
Honda through the entrance, watching the gates as she slid past. She never trusted automatic gates not to start closing before she got through. But these remained obediently ajar. Janie suspected that car eating gates were for cheap apartment complexes like hers, while these operated with the same conspicuous quality of service as any high priced butler. Nosiree, no scratching and gashing from these fine fellows.

Having cleared the gates, Janie fought to relax and idled down the drive as she took in the view.

The magnolia trees lining the driveway were in full bloom. Their large ivory flowers glowed like pale stars against the dark green of their waxy leaves. The trees were artfully spaced to give the impression of a forested lawn without being gloomy or claustrophobic. Thick St. Augustine grass covered the grounds in a lush emerald carpet, dotted here and there by lacy white benches, colorful flowerbeds, or small fountains.

The great house rose from the center of this garden-like paradise like an alabaster palace. Massive white columns dominated the front exterior, where a sweeping stair ascended to the elevated front porch. Two large exterior chandeliers hung from each end of the colonnade, and Janie could only imagine how they must blaze at night.

This was the home of people who measured their wealth in the billions.

And if Grandma had been telling the truth,
they were her blood relatives. Although that relation came from a long ago encounter on the wrong side of sheets.

Janie had never given it much thought, just considering it another one of Grandma’s little tales. Grandma had told a lot of them. It had nothing to do with her life, and after Grandma died she never thought of it again. So when the elegant invitation arrived in the mail, she had stared at it in blank stupefaction. It took her a moment to place the name. Then she remembered the claim from her childhood and that bewilderment turned into a frightened astonishment.

Was it true?

Was she really Ronald Danford’s granddaughter?

And if so—so what? She had no claim to anything from the Danfords. Why in the world would they be inviting her to visit? Hell, why would they even want to acknowledge she existed at all? She was nothing to them. Everything on the property around her drove home that fact. She would be dealing with people so far over her head they almost counted as another species.

The Danfords and their type ain’t people like you and me, Janie.
Her grandmother’s voice rose in her memory.
They live in a different world with different rules, and that makes them different people. Don’t ever forget that. Just stay away from those types because they will eat you up. That’s what they do. That’s who they are.

Janie fought down a surge of panic and tried to banish the voice from her mind.

She spied a lone figure descending the front steps to meet her and knew it was too late to turn back now. Her choice had been made when she came through the gate. Now she needed to follow through on that decision. She resolved to be polite but unpretentious, knowing full well she could never hope to truly impress these people.

She could only pray her old car didn’t pick this occasion to die in a burp of blue smoke when coming to a stop in front of the elegant looking woman now waiting at the bottom of the steps. Please God, not this time. She might not be able to impress the Danfords, but the option of abject self humiliation remained firmly within her range of possibilities.

Fortune smiled upon her and the old car behaved.

Janie pulled to a stop in front of the mansion and stepped out.

“Janie Galtz?” the woman extended her hand toward her. “My name is Jacqueline Danford. Welcome to Magnolia Rise.”

Tall and grey haired, Ms. Danford managed to combine an air of formal propriety with just the right amount of down to earth sincerity. If Margaret Thatcher had been born in the American South and raised by southern gentry, this would have been the result. She managed to be both disarming and intimidating all at once. Yet at the same time the regal woman seemed to be honestly pleased to see her.

“Thank you,” Janie responded and took her hand.

She didn’t know if she were supposed to shake it or something else, and spent a mortified second wondering what to do. Ms. Danford solved her dilemma by the simple expediency of using the gesture to lead her up the stairs
toward the front door.

“Come inside, dear.” S
he smiled. “Don’t mind all the scurrying about. The place has been closed the past eight months and the staff is now opening it up and making it ready to live in again. I want to introduce you to Rosaline. She is eager to meet you as well.”

Eager to meet me?
Janie mused as she followed the woman up the steps.
Why would she be eager to meet me?

The girl
craned her neck to get a better view of the stained glass that sat above the doorway, recognizing the magnolia flowers depicted in clever workmanship. Passing through the front door, she looked back to see how the window looked in the afternoon sun. She couldn’t help but marvel at how the artist had captured the same glowing effect with the pale flowers set against the darker green panels.

“Yes, the s
tained glass here is remarkable.” Ms Danford noted her attention. “Perhaps later I can show you some of the more impressive works. The window in the library is my favorite.”

“Thank you.
” Janie nodded, and peered around the large foyer.

She spotted servants dusting and moving furniture in the large rooms to each side before Ms Danford led her deeper into the house. They encountered more activity as they went. Twice they paused to let workmen carrying cables and electrical gear ease past before continuing on their way
toward the back of the mansion.

“I’m afraid moving in can be q
uite an adventure in this house.” Ms. Danford gave her an apologetic smile. “But we’re here.”

She opened a door to her right and ushered Janie inside.

At first Janie thought it must be some kind of private art gallery. It contained two simple couches and a fireplace. Other than that, the walls were covered with pictures. It seemed an odd arrangement for an art exhibition but then it dawned on her they were all portraits. This was some kind of reading room, with paintings of different family members adorning the wall. She had no time to examine them further for her eyes were drawn to the figure rising from the far couch.

“Rosaline,” Jacqueline said as she entered behind Janie, “this is Janie Galtz. Janie, this is my daughter-in-law Rosaline Danford.”

“Rose,” the stunning woman corrected as she approached.

If Jacqueline Danford was the model of southern gentry, then Rosaline seemed to come straight from old Hollywood. Shoulder length, platinum blonde hair framed a heart shaped face that evoked comparisons with golden screen idols like Jean Harlow or Bette Davis. Athough she appeared in her late thirties or early forties, the woman dripped of glamour. She surveyed Janie from head to foot as she approached in a
languorous prowl.

Apparently, she liked what she saw.

“My, my,” Rose Danford purred. “It
is
a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Janie offered, wincing internally at how lame that must have sounded. She never felt so over her head in her entire life. She hoped the look of indolent amusement in the other woman’s eyes was a normal expression and not a reaction to her.

“I would offer you a seat,” Rose continued, “but the reason we met here was merely to show you something…set the stage, so to speak…before having our discussion over lunch on the east balcony. The weather is beautiful, and the view will be most relevant to the topic at hand.”

“The topic at hand…”

“I know,” the blonde chuckled, “we have been rather mysterious, haven’t we. It’s okay, my dear. We were simply concerned over the delicacy of the subject and didn’t want to cause offence. Just looking at you answers my question. If you’ll come over here, I’ll try to answer a couple of yours so we can put that awkward subject behind us and get down to business.”

Rose gestured
toward an oval portrait on the wall near the fireplace.

So, Grandma,
Janie swallowed and walked over toward the indicated spot,
I guess you were telling the truth, weren’t you. I’ve seen this movie before, and I bet I know what I’m about to see.

Her hunch proved correct.

It wasn’t exactly like looking into a mirror, but the woman in the picture could have been her sister, if she had one. The resemblance was close enough that had Janie wore the same dress and hair style the two of them would have been easily confused.

“Who was she?” Janie murmered, still trying to come to grips with this.

“Who ‘is’ she,” Jacqueline corrected, “That is my daughter, Diane Jovanovich. She married a Russion oligarch and now lives in Moscow. This portrait was painted about twenty years ago.”

“Oh.
” Janie sensed a certain disapproval coming from the elder woman.

It sounds like Diane is on Momma Danford’s shit list,
she mused to herself,
but that still doesn’t tell me what is going on here. Sure, I look like her but… Damn, I really look like her, don’t I.

“While it isn’t as scientific as a blood test,” Rose laid a hand on Janie’s shoulder, “I think we can safely conclude a couple of things here.”

“What’s that?” Janie breathed, still lost in the portrait.

“One,” the glamorous blonde ticked off a finger, “whatever your g
randmother or mother told you—if they ever told you anything--was most likely true. At least in the broad sense. Ronald Danford was your grandfather, which would make Diane your aunt.”

Janie fought not to cringe as she glanced over at the elder Danford woman, realizing that also meant that Ronald Danford had been her husband.

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Jacqueline reassured her. “This all happened almost a quarter century before you were born, and if anybody were at fault it was Ronald. Since we now know your grandmother’s claim was true, that means he handled the matter in a beastly fashion which reflects solely on him. I’m afraid I’m not terribly surprised. That’s a common trait of Danford men.”

“Or at least it was…” Rosaline muttered.

“Nevertheless.” The elder woman gave Rose an irritated glance. “For what little it is worth, I apologize on the part of the Danfords for whatever harm befell your grandmother’s good name.