The Bighead (32 page)

“
I wonder what’s wrong with
them?” Annie queried. “My gracious. I hope they liked the Squirrel
Pasties!”

««—»»

“
So.” Annie lounged back at
the big table in the parlor. She lit her acrid meerschaum pipe, and
Charity immediately thought,
If you’re
worried about people thinking you’re a hayseed, Annie…lose the
pipe.

“
Just you an’ me now,
ever-one else is in bed, an’ it’s late an’ it’s actually even kinda
cool.”

Charity waited, listened.

“
Perfect time, hon, fer me
ta tell you ’bout yer ma.”

“
I want to hear about her,”
Charity said, nearly without breath.

“
I called her Sissy, she
were my younger sister, an’ a
fine
woman she was. An’ she married a fine fella named
Jere, from Filbert he was, fine a man as you’d ever meet. Started
at a rock-pickin’ job at the mine ands worked his way up ta shift
supervisor, he did. A fine, fine man.”

Yeah, I heard you. A fine
man,
Charity’s thoughts complained. But she
knew she must give the old woman her due. The elderly had a way of
relating a story—the roundabout way—and that was usually the best
way.

“
Yer daddy, hon, he was not
only a fine, lovin’ husband, he was almost problee the handsomest
man in the ridge. Lotta hearts was broke when he married yer ma,
but that were fine by God ’cos Sissy were a blessed woman. Things
was goin’ just fine, they was. Yer mamma was pregnant with you, yer
daddy climbin’ the ladder at the mine—just fine they was. Until one
day…”

My father died,
Charity knew.

“
Yer daddy, hon, he died.
Weren’t slow was what the inspectors said, so don’ts ya worry ’bout
that. Kilt instantly, they claimed. See, a prop stull busted in the
main shaft, all that coal in the ridge came a’tumblin’ down on yer
daddy and a bunch’a other fine men.” Annie poured two glasses of
the dark raspberry wine, then repeated, “Kilt instantly, they
was.”

“
But my mother,” Charity
began.

“
Yer mama, hon, she was a
fine woman, like I’se said, but also a awful unstable one. Only
thing kept her alive, I ’spect, was her bein’ pregnant with you.
So’s she waited, she did, gettin’ bigger ever day, till she had out
with ya. An’ I kin say, Charity, you was the most beautiful li’l
baby girl I ever did see. See, I was the midwife these parts, an’ I
saw ’em all. But you?” Annie sipped her dark wine, trembled, closed
her eyes. “You was just the cutest li’l thing. ’N’fact, that’s why
we’se called ya Charity, ’cos you were a charity from
God…”

Charity wasn’t very impressed. She
wanted to know the rest, down to every last detail. She had a right
to know, didn’t she?

“
But it weren’t long
after,” Aunt Annie went on, “that yer ma just couldn’t tolerate it
n more.” Annie gulped, poured more wine. “It pains me ta say it,
hon, but one night yer mama took up one’a Jere’s shotguns
and—”

“
Tell me,” Charity
insisted. She’d never feel complete if she didn’t hear it all.
“What…happened? Exactly?”

“
Yer mama, dear—she blowed
her head off with that shotgun.”

The vision of the trauma
assailed her. Charity couldn’t imagine the strength of the
depression to drive someone to do such a thing.
Shotgun,
she thought.
In the head.
Did she feel
pain? What were her final thoughts?

Did she think about
me?

“
So that’s the story, hon.
I never tolt ya ’cos they took ya from me when ya were so young.
Didn’t think it fittin’ ta tell ya ever-thing, when ya were just
eight. I’se don’t feel good about it at all.”

“
Annie, stop. You did the
right thing. An eight-year-old is too young to hear such
details.”

Aunt Annie slugged more wine,
obviously not at ease. “But I feel a tad better now, just knowin’
that I finally told ya. Please, hon, fergive me…”

(III)

Joyclyn,
he thought.
The abbess.
And Grace, the sister superior…

He looked at their old photos, from
the file that Halford had given up. Attractive women, for sure. The
abbess, lean and smiling, with short sable-hued hair. And the
sister superior: raving, clear green eyes; smiling angelically,
with a headful of bright red hair…

Both dead. Twenty years
ago. Raped and butchered by a madman.

Or, as Halford had
inferred, a mad
child.

Shared delusions. Shared
hallucinosis.
Alexander considered this.
Folie a` deux? But Downing, the resident psychologist, would’ve
tagged that in a heartbeat.
Crazy nuns? It
would be obvious to even a novice or a newbie.

So what bothered him?

The record was filled with
death-quotes.
A monster-child,
Joyclyn had said.
The
devil’s brood.
And Sister Grace, more
delineated:
Ten years old or thereabouts.
Hideous. A huge head, big as a watermelon, Father Downing, and
eyes…God save me. One eye big as an apple, and one…smaller than the
end of my thumb, Father! It was the devil’s child that came in
there that night!

Then she went into a coma and, shortly
thereafter, died.

Alexander closed the files.
He sputtered and smoked. Last night, Annie had told the tall tale
of The Bighead, the “monster-child.” A local
myth.

And, according to this secret archival
record, that’s exactly what Abbess Joyclyn and Sister Superior
Grace had described as the attacker of Wroxeter Abbey.

A
monster-child.

The priest squinted at the window.
Heat lightning flashed, followed by eerie silence. He took off his
black shirt and slacks and prepared to shower.

A monster-child?

No.

Just,
he thought and struggled with the idea.
Just…a coincidence.

(IV)

Goop, laved in sweat, went
to his bedroom after he’d put the tools away. Vinyl trim, new
caulking? The house didn’t need any of that, and Annie sure didn’t
need to send Goop to Roanoke to get it. It almost seemed as though
his employer had concocted the excursion solely to keep him out of
the house. He hadn’t even
seen
Jerrica for a full day!

Dag it,
he grumbled to himself. He knew what was going on;
it was a cah-spear-ah-see!

Annie’s tryin’ ta keep me
away from Jerrica…

Vinyl trim. New caulk. The boarding
house looked just fine, and a lot of it was because Goop had worked
so hard; Annie was just spendin’ money on account’a she had it now
from that ass-klaction suit or whatever it was. He tried ta calm
hisself down, an’ ’ventually did.

But he couldn’t help what he done
next.

He slipped inta his closet,
took out the panel an’ went in. Shee-it, if Annie ever fount out
’bout this, she’d have his hide! Down the narrow corridor he went,
feelin’ his way mostly ’cos there were no light. But he’d done it
so many times…he knowed his way fairly well. First he passed
Charity’s room. The hole glowed, and Goop Gooder put his eye to it.
Miss Charity were sitting on the bed wearin’ this really
fine-lookin’ teddy—er at least that’s what Goop thought it was
called. Had some fine, purdy white legs onner, and that musty dark
hair hangin’ ta her shoulders. Purdy face. But what Goop’s eyes
took to mostly were that set’a boobs onner, fillin’ up that teddy
top the way a couple’a big summertime melons’ll fill a
pick-sack.
Lordy!
Goop thought. But Miss Charity’s face, purdy as it were, hadda
look to it…

Confused, kinda. An’ maybe even sad.
Like she were thinkin’ ’bout things that not only got her down but
things also that she couldn’t figgure.

No nudie action here, fer shore. She’d
ob-ver-us-lee already hadda shower an’ were fixin’ ta bed down.
Goop moved on.

The very next hole— Goop stopped,
stuck his eye right up.

An’ there she were.

Nekit, like the first time
he seed her, an’ touchin herself. Goop had to touch
hisself
just lookin’,
purdy as she were.
I loves her so
much,
he thought, pressin’ his hand against
his pants front.
I’d marries her inna
heartbeat, an’ be a good husband ta boot…

His eye, a’corse, didn’t have a whole
lotta mobility, peepin’ inta that wall-hole, but he coulds see just
the same. There were some funky li’l commuter-thing sittin’ with
its lid up on the desk, but Miss Jerrica herself…

She were layin’ on the big,
high bed an’ moanin’ an’ squirmin’ as her hand played with her
girly parts.
I loves her,
he thought again, squeezin’ his own crotch whiles
he were watchin’. Ever-thing about her were just beautiful. Them
pretty tits onner, them long tan legs and trim tummy. Her
bush—swear ta God!—were the same fine bright-blond color as her
hair. Shiny as silk, it were!

Then Goop thought:
Wonders what she thinkin’ ’bout whiles she doin’
it. I wonder if she thinkin’ ’bout me…

She were done, though, in another
minute ’er so, so loud enough fer Goop ta hear through that wall.
Her face turnt a kinda soft-pink, then her tensed-up body went just
as soft. Then she laid there fer a few, her chest goin’ up’n down.
An’ then—

She leaned up, turnt over onner side.
That vision just there—Jerrica half rolled over—almost made Goop
shoot a wad right in his pants, it did! ’cos he could see her li’l
beaver pressed ’tween her cheeks as she done so, like a li’l blond
chipmunk like the kind that run ’round in back, in Miss Annie’s
flowers. Cutest li’l thing…

But—

What’n tarnations she
doin’ now?
he thought.

She was leanin’ over ta the
nightstand, fishin’ somethin’ out. Hadda lady’s compact mirror open
an’ were pourin’ somethin’ onta it, then choppin’ it up with what
looked like a razor blade.

What the—

Then he knowed.

Miss Jerrica, what she done then was
she brought that li’l mirror upta her face an’ started
sniffin’…

Drugs,
Goop thought. He’d heard about it from folks.
The devil’s toy,
Miss
Annie’d said once, commentin’ ’bout it. It were this city stuff,
this white powder, that folks’d sniff inta their noses an’ mess ’em
alls up. Mess up their heads, it would was what Annie’d said, make
’em git close ta the devil.
She’s doin’
drugs,
Goop realized, his unblinkin’ eye
pressed hard against that hole.
The
devil’s gotta hard bite on her!

She sniffed that evil stuff up a
coupla times, then lay back with a tiny grin onner face.
Then—

She got up, slipped onna nightgown an’
left the room.

Goop had no idea where she
might be goin’ at this hour, but he didn’t care. All he knowed was
this:
I loves her, an’ I gots ta help her
fight that devil-made ah-dik-sher-un she got…

Goop, frantic now, paced back down the
unlit corridors until he got back to his own room.

Then he raced out.

(V)

Charity couldn’t sleep. She
tossed amid the sheets, audibly whining. Each time she started to
nod off, some awful dream would plague her, mostly dreams of her
past men, the men who had rejected her and never said why.
What’s wrong with
me?
Why do I repulse men every time
I’m with them?

Familiar questions, and
familiarly unanswered.
Mental
block,
she always told herself. Some aspect
of her subconscious, perhaps, was blocking her capacity for
sensation.

Then, she’d keep waking up.

But was that what really bothered
her?

No…

She knew what it was. That grave. That
little stone.

R.I.P. scratched onto it, below the
base.

Geraldine, forgive
me.

Whose grave was it? Why did her aunt
go there?

My aunt…

Maybe she’d thus far kept the ultimate
question out of her mind.

It was something secret.

Why had Annie not mentioned
this second grave—this
unmarked
grave?

And maybe it was her imagination,
but—

Though this was the first time in two
decades that Charity had actually seen her aunt, she had, in fact,
received many letters from her over the years. Hundreds of
letters—

And now she couldn’t help but think
about that.

The etched scrawl at the bottom of the
gravestone…