Tandem of Terror (5 page)

The largest window in the home, shaped like
an arch, had red velvet drapes hanging across it. They were always
drawn. On one side of the manor stood a turret with three windows,
ivy grew around it in a spiral. It reminded Lisa of a castle. The
estate had a regal look and feel-- -she'd always been drawn there
for some reason. Her imagination conjured grand parties there that
only the town's wealthiest would attend.

Eleanor Belcher was the last of her family to
keep residence in the home. Taken ill, or so the stories in town
were told, Eleanor retired to her bedroom at the top of the turret
and never left the house. Her maid, Millie, ran all the errands and
tended to her every need. No one in town ever saw Eleanor and she
didn't accepted visitors, at least not any longer. Lisa couldn't
understand why, when recalling Eleanor Belcher in town she'd
practically looked like a movie actress, a golden-haired goddess
with porcelain skin and a radiant smile. She had classic beauty
that never seemed to fade.

Once, Lisa was able to steal a peek inside
the house. She learned through the grapevine that Eleanor and Mille
were out of town on vacation. One of the few they ever took. Lisa
made her way to the house and discovered the curtain that shrouded
the front door's window curled to one side. It allowed just a
glimpse inside.

Lisa skipped up the front steps and peered
in. All the sunlight would allow her to see was the red carpet that
filled the hallway and washed up the spiral staircase. "I'm gonna
live in this house someday," Lisa said to herself.

She did just that.

Just six months ago, Eleanor Belcher passed
away. She spent all her years as a spinster with no children or
extended family. It was not long before the bank put the house on
the market.

A twinkle shimmered in Lisa's eye and her
husband Chris knew he was in trouble. He was a city lawyer and made
a very comfortable salary but worried that they couldn't afford
such a lavish house?

"
Please, Chris," Lisa
begged. "You don't understand what that house means to
me."

"
What does it mean to you?"
Chris quipped, his voice dripping with sarcasm, his mouth twisted
into a grin.

"
Cut it out. Let's just
look."

"
Just look?"

Well, if the price is right..."

"
Lisa, it might be way out
of our price range. I don't want you to get your hopes up. You'll
sulk for months."

"
If it's meant to be it's
meant to be."

"
Right."

"
We'll drive up to my
hometown and stay at a B&B. It'll be fun, an
adventure."

"
Okay hon, if it'll make you
happy."

"
Yes!" Lisa jumped into his
arms and smothered his bearded face with kisses.

When she saw the estate, nearly twelve years
since the last time, her heart almost broke. It had gone into such
disrepair. After Eleanor died the town cleaned the house of its
contents and auctioned her belongings off.

The house sat vacant for months. The velvet
drapes were replaced with shades. The paint on the outside cracked.
The yard grew wild and unkempt. Gutters were broken. Roof shingles
were missing but despite all of this and, thankfully because of it,
the house
was
the right price.

Yes it needed work but, that made the bank
drop the price to compensate and offered it in an "as is" sale.
That was all Lisa needed to hear. They spent weeks battling other
house hunters, red tape, house inspectors, and each other, but in
the end Lisa and her husband Chris snatched the house up. A dream
come true.

Three months later they moved in.

The Tenth Night

Lisa felt hot wind batter her face. In the
dream she was paralyzed. No matter how hard she fought she couldn't
escape the wind and the dark. It was difficult to see in the
blotchy darkness all around her but she sensed she wasn't
alone.

Fingers, spindly and pointed, brushed against
her face. Their texture felt like tree bark against her skin. They
caressed her at first then scratched at her cheek. Lisa heard a
terrible sound-- -
scritch.
Each time the fingers touched her
it reverberated.
Scritch
and again...
scritch. Scritch,
scritch.

Lisa swatted them away as if flies circled
her face. She put her hand to her cheek and felt a deep scratch. A
smidgeon of blood blotted her fingertips. Panic gripped her and she
tried to run. She couldn't
. Damn it...wake up...wake up!

The fingers reached for her again and she
slapped them in horrific anger. That was when she heard the
whisper.

It said: "Why does it protest? Ugly. The
covering is so ugly."

Leave me alone!
Lisa gasped as her
eyes popped open. Her legs tingled with pins and needles. She had a
hard time moving them but eventually slid them to the edge of the
bed. Her chest was damp with sweat. The morning sun stung her
eyes.

She heard whisper from her dream in the back
of her mind. "Ugly," it repeated.

Chris?
Lisa's hand swept his side of
the bed, discovering it was empty. She started from the master
bathroom when her husband came dancing out of the bathroom in his
boxer shorts, a toothbrush protruding from his mouth, toothpaste
coating his chin.

Lisa jumped back and screamed. "You
jerk!"

Chris plucked the toothbrush from his mouth.
"What? I'm just goofing around."

"
Sorry, I didn't expect you
to come lunging out of the bathroom."

"
Some people call it
dancing. Hey, what's wrong with your face?"

"
What?"

"
It's all red and there's
a---"

Before he finished, Lisa pushed past him and
ran to the vanity mirror. Both her cheeks were beat red and a
hairline scratch ran from her right cheek to her chin. She traced
it with her fingers. It felt warm.

"
What happened?" Chris
appeared in the mirror behind her. "How did you get that?" He
pointed to her face.

"
I must have scratched
myself in my sleep."

"
Maybe you should cut those
fingernails," Chris laughed then made his hand into a claw and
hissed.

"
Not funny, Christopher."
Lisa turned and examined her face again.

"
Oh baby, I'm only kidding."
He wrapped his strong arms around her, towering over her at 6 foot
2, as his glasses slipped off his nose. "It's nothing. You're
beautiful. A scratch isn't gonna change that. It's barely
noticeable."

"
Really?"

"
Definitely. Forget it.
Enjoy your new house."

"
I know. I have so many
plans. We should get started. The morning is vanishing."

The scratch was forgotten in the wake of
curtain colors, carpet swatches, and restoring antique
furniture.

Lisa worked hard on the built-in hutch on the
dining room wall, sanding the last of the glass door's frame. Cans
of tarnish sat at her feet as she finished up. Excitement ran
through her as she eyed the dark tarnish. She would restore the old
hutch back to a luscious mahogany color in no time.

She closed the door and caught a reflection
in its glass. A crooked image stood behind her, elongated arms hung
listless from its body, wet patches glistened in the weak sunlight.
"Ugly," it whispered as
scritch, scritch
echoed in the
background.

"
Christ," Lisa cried and
tripped over the tarnish. The cans toppled over with a clatter,
spilling a pool of chocolate across the hardwood floor.

"
Shit," Lisa growled and
looked around the room. She was the only one in it.
Maybe I'm
working too hard.

She walked away from the hutch and stared out
the dining room window. Outside Chris trimmed the hedges in the
yard, attempting to give them the artistic shape Lisa wanted. A
smile formed on her face as she turned back to her disaster. She
sighed and headed for the kitchen to get some rags and polish.

Hours later the back door flew open and Chris
stomped into the kitchen. "Hey," he bellowed. "I'm starved. What's
for dinner?"

Lisa slipped into the kitchen, rays of the
setting sun cast shafts across the floor. She studied the patterns
absently, losing her thought. A yawn escaped her as she shook off
the distraction. "God, I'm sorry. I've been so busy I haven't even
started. I was going to throw together a stew."

"
You look exhausted," Chris
said. He walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. "I'll
make the stew. Go get some rest and I'll call you when it's
ready."

"
Really?"

"
Really. Now go lay down on
the couch for a while."

"
Thank you, honey." She gave
him a peck on his bristly face and headed to the living room. The
couch looked so inviting she couldn't wait to set down on it. First
she needed to ditch the paintbrush in her hand. She realized she'd
been holding it the entire time in the kitchen.

Lisa chuckled, put the brush down on some
newspapers, and collapsed onto the couch. It wasn't long before her
eyes grew heavy. It wasn't long before that sound caught her
attention.

Scritch, scritch.

Somewhere between sleeping and waking, Lisa
heard that dreadful sound of her skin being plucked from her face.
Scritch. Scritch
. Again, she could hardly move. Her legs
refused to obey her command and in a daze of heat and exhaustion,
she observed long, thin fingers hovering over her face.

They snatched at her chin, and snipped a
piece of flesh like candle wax.
Scritch.

"
You do not need mask," the
whisper informed her. "I told the other one too. The mask is ugly.
Ugly. You should be beautiful. Like me."

No!
Lisa's thoughts cried. She tried
to stop whatever it was, feeling her arms move slightly. Immense
pressure pushed down on her stomach and legs. A dark image winked
in and out of her consciousness-- -many dark, knotted fingers,
impossibly long attached to gaunt, elongated arms, a lithe body
made up of coarse patchwork-- -sitting on her and calmly picking at
her face.

Scritch, scritch.

Get off me!
She tried to scream. She
tried to call out for Chris. Nothing would come.
Stop it!
Stop!
Finally, her right arm pulled away from her side and
lashed. She struck something soft and wet and whatever it was
floated up and away.

"
What the hell!" This time
Lisa's voice rang true. Her gaze darted around the room but found
she was alone. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted something
on the front of her sweater. She lifted her head and looked down.
On closer inspection she discovered it was a pile of her own
skin.

Her mouth gaped as she brushed it away with
disgust. Pain seared her chin. She touched it, dampening her
fingers. Lisa pulled her hand away and saw blood on her hand.

She leapt from the couch and ran to the
bathroom in fright. In the mirror she examined a strangely jagged
wound down the length of her chin. "I couldn't have done this in a
dream..."

It wasn't a dream!

Lisa thought about telling Chris, this was
starting to make her nervous, but she didn't know how to explain it
herself. It didn't make any sense. What would she say to him? Best
thing to do was patch it up. Her hands trembled as she opened the
medicine chest to fetch a bandage and antibacterial ointment.

"
Dinner's ready!" Chris
called.

She composed herself in front of the mirror
before joining him. There would be questions. Chris could be
stubborn. God, there would be questions.

Millie Everson.

The line in the bank was terribly long. Lisa
stood and waited with everyone else. These days it seemed more
money went out of the bank then went in it. The bags in her hand
were stuffed with red velvet material. She couldn't wait to get
home to the sewing room and begin making the curtains for the front
foyer and living room. She was determined to restore Belcher house
to its former glory.

Behind her an elderly woman shuffled her
feet, it was obvious she was trying to get Lisa's attention.
"Excuse me," the old woman said.

Lisa turned to soak in the short woman with
white hair. Her hands were covered in liver spots. Her eyes had
dark circles around them. Harsh lines creased her cheeks. She was
bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf as if she expected a blizzard
at any moment.

"
Yes," Lisa
replied.

"
Are you the young woman
that bought Belcher house?"

"
Oh yes, that's
me."

A twinkle flashed in the old woman's eyes and
for a moment she had a distant look in them as if recalling
pleasant memories from long ago. "Splendid. I'm so happy to see
someone finally took it over. It's a special house."

"
That's sweet. You don't
have to worry. I'm going to take good care of it. I've wanted to
live in that house since I was a little girl."

"
I used to live in it
myself."

"
You did?"

"
My yes. I was Eleanor
Belcher's maid."

Lisa's eyes widened with excitement. "You're
Millie Everson."

"
You know me?"

"
In a manner of speaking.
I've always admired the house and its family."

"
The madam was a beautiful
and courageous woman. It was a shame about that awful skin disease.
I stayed with her until the end."