The Pulptress (5 page)

“
John thinks it would look
good over the fireplace.” Arthur stared at the gray castle walls
and the callous man at the forefront. “What do you
think?”

“
Well I…” Her voice caught.
“I think it would look good there.”

“
You know it’s nearly eleven
o’clock.” Arthur yawned. “It’s time to hit the hay.”

“
Mom, let me hang that up
for you.” John nodded. “Just direct me to the hammer and a couple
of nails.”

“
No, John, you don’t have to
do that tonight.” Lorene stared at the cruel blue eyes beneath the
stern brow. “Goodness, he does look blood-thirsty.”

“
John, put it away. You’re
parents can decide what to do with it tomorrow.” Jill rose from the
sofa, her arm intertwined with her husband’s.

“
Okay, sure.” John patted
her hand. “Anything you say.” He turned toward his folks. “Where
are we bunking tonight?”

“
We were going to have you
sleep in your old room.” Arthur scratched the light covering of
whiskers along his jaw. “But now that doesn’t seem appropriate. You
and Jill can stay in the guest room at the top of the
stairs.”

“
Grandpa’s old room?” John
arched his eyebrows. “The one with the big safe?”

“
Big safe?” Jill
repeated.

“
My Great Grandfather had a
walk in safe built into the east wall. He used to keep all his
valuables inside.” Arthur said. “We keep the canned goods in there
now.”

John stood the painting at
the end of the sofa. “I used to sneak into Grandpa’s room when I
was little. I loved that room.”

The older couple turned to
the bedroom located beside the kitchen. “I’m sure you’ll find it
very comfortable. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“
Where are you going?” John
scratched his head. “Why are you going to the maid’s
room?”

“
That’s our room now. I
can’t climb those stairs as good as I used too. My bad hip barks at
me every time I try.” Lorene kissed her son on the cheek. “We’ll
see you for breakfast.”

“
Sure.” He hugged her
tightly. “Ham and eggs?” John’s eyes twinkled.

She nodded. “Ham and eggs.”
Lorene and Arthur turned toward their bedroom as John and Jill
walked up the stairs.

“
You’ll love this old room.”
John squeezed her waist. “I used to pretend that I was a knight and
the old safe my castle.”

They turned out the lights,
plunging the house into darkness. A shaft of moonlight glowed
through the window, centered on the cruel face of Oskar von Rohm. A
malevolent light glowed from the blue eyes.

During the night dense
clouds swept in on a fierce northern wind. The temperature dropped
ten degrees in as many minutes. The warm glow from the fireplace
quickly dissipated, cold settled into the house like a silent
invader. Soft footsteps moved over the pastel linoleum floors. A
foul odor centered in the living room, akin to the scent of death
and rot on a hot summer’s day.

Moonlight fell on a
freakish hand, slender fingers, with long nails sharpened into
miniature daggers. The intruder paused, nostrils distended, he
sniffed the air. A familiar odor traveled on the cold penetrating
breeze. He knew that stench. The same pungent aroma had tortured
him for many months.

An old fashioned boot
descended on the first step of the marble staircase. A second odor
caught his attention, an odd mixture of the one from the stairs,
but older, aged like fine wine. A smile touched his cruel lips, as
he turned toward the heavy door.

***

“
Mom, Dad,” John shouted
from the top of the stairs. “Are you guys sleeping in this
morning?” He tied the robe around his waist.

“
John, let them rest. Last
night had to be stressful for them, meeting their new daughter and
everything.” Her freckled face appeared in the doorway, she raked a
hand through her tousled red hair.

“
Grab a robe, and I’ll meet
you in the kitchen. We’ll cook breakfast this morning.” His house
shoes scuffed on the stairs. “I’ll go wake them up, tell them to
get prepared for breakfast in bed.”

“
Throw some wood in the
fireplace, John. It’s cold in here.” Jill’s hesitated on the
landing.

“
Yeah, it is nippy.” John
glanced at the fireplace. Nothing left of the wood but ashes. Eyes
lifted to the mantle, the fearsome visage of Von Rohm stared back
at him. Something was different. The hair had turned from gray to a
dark vibrant black, the wrinkles around the eyes gone; the skin
smooth and subtle. A coating of crimson lined the thin
lips.

He stared at the portrait
for several seconds, his mind unwilling to accept what he saw.
Chill bumps prickled his legs and arms. John licked his lips
nervously. His eyes strayed to his parent’s bedroom, the door
slightly ajar.

“
Mom, Dad.” House shoes
slapped the floor; he raced across the room, and pushed through the
open door.

Arthur and Lorene lay in
the soft embrace of the feather mattress, covered by heavy quilts.
John’s eyes locked onto their ashen faces, and blank eyes. A
gut-wrenching scream tore from his throat.

He barked his shins on the
hardwood frame in his haste to get to his parents. Their skin felt
cold to the touch. Tears filled his eyes. He noticed the deep holes
in their throats.

“
No,” His anguished scream
rattled the windows. “This can’t be happening.”

“
John, what are you shouting
about?” Jill stepped through the doorway. “You’ll wake all the
neighbors.”

“
Call the police.” John ran
to his wife, pushed her outside the bedroom. “Hurry, get the police
here. They’re both dead. Hurry!”

“
What?” The color drained
from Jill’s face. “What are you saying?” Her trembling hands
clutched her neckline.

“
Get the police. Go on
Jill.” Saliva flew from John’s mouth. “Call the police!”

She wiped the tears away
from her eyes and ran to the phone. John followed her into the
living room. His eyes returned to the painting hanging above the
fireplace.

“
They didn’t hang this
painting up here,” he mumbled. “I knew by her face that Mom hated
the damned thing.” He heard Jill’s voice in the
background.

“
The police are on their
way. They’ll be here in a few minutes.” She quivered
uncontrollably. “I’m going outside. I don’t want to stay in this
house another instant.”

John nodded. “I’ll be out
in a few minutes.” His eyes found the gold cross on the floor. His
hand closed around the cold metal.

Jill rushed to the front
porch. Despite the cold she refused to return inside.

John stared at the
painting. His battlefield instincts screamed at him, somehow Von
Rohm was responsible for his parent’s death. Cold hard logic told
him that was impossible, but he knew it was true. He lifted the
portrait from the mantle. “No one will ever look at this again.” He
turned and walked slowly up the stairs, returning to his
grandfather’s old bedroom and the walk in safe.

***

9-July-2011

The Pulptress stood in the
shadows at the far end of the alley. “Hello boys,” she teased. “You
fella’s act like you’re late for an appointment.” She moved into
the warm glow of the streetlight giving the lavender suited thugs
near the dumpster a good look at her.

The artificial light played
along her black skirt and red and white striped tee shirt. Her
black fedora sat at a rakish angle atop her red hair. A black mask
covered her upper face, a short barreled pump action .410 shotgun
cradled over her shoulder. “Leave the Emerald and you can
leave.”

“
Move out of the way, little
girl.” A thickset burly hood with a crooked nose stepped forward. A
pair of lightweight gray gloves covered his hands. “That bauble
belongs to the boss, and we aim to see he gets it.”

“
That emerald belongs to
Curtis Harper.” Her red sensuous lips set in a half smile.
“Lannigan’s not going to get his hands on it.”

The sharp crack of a
cocking pistol echoed from the darkness. “Get out of the way,
Dozer. I’ll plug this dame and we’ll be on our way.”

“
Shut-up, Runt, put that
roscoe away. We don’t want the cops hearing any gunfire.” Dozer
popped the knuckles on his massive hands. “The boss told me about
you. You’re some kind of karate expert. Well that crap don’t
impress me much. We’re going out. If you get in the way, I’ll run
you down.”

“
Come on, Dozer. Show me
what you can do.” The masked woman taunted.

Dozer ran toward her. His
heavy footsteps echoed from the high walls. Three smaller toughs
wearing matching suits followed closely behind.

The well shaped masked
woman calmly leaned her shotgun against the aged brick wall.
Placing her right foot forward, she assumed a boxers stance. The
dull thud of rushing feet echoed like a herd of stampeding cattle
in the narrow confines.

Dozer cocked his right,
ready to plant a devastating blow on the lone female. The Pulptress
ducked under the punch. Her right foot shot out. The spiked heel
slammed into the knee of the hood on Dozer’s left. He dropped to
the asphalt clutching his dislocated joint.

Her hands closed on Dozer’s
right arm. She leaped; her momentum carried her behind the beefy
giant. Both feet slammed the jaw of the trailing crook. Ivory
pearls flew from the crook’s mouth as he crumpled to the
ground.

“
Come here, you.” A thug
with a nasal twang grabbed her ankle and yanked her to the ground.
The breath burst from her lungs on impact with the hard surface. A
hard soled shoe streaked for her head. She rolled away from the
kick.

“
Damn it!” The man’s foot
sailed high over the woman’s head. The impetus behind the missed
blow threw him off balance, sent him crashing to his back. The
masked heroine leaped to her feet. With one well aimed kick to the
felon’s face, he moaned and lay still.

Dozer recovered quickly. He
moved in close throwing haymakers. The Pulptress slipped and dodged
the wild punches. She unleashed a tremendous strike to Dozer’s
solar plexus. The big man groaned, his right knee buckled, hands
dropped to protect his stomach. A powerful straight right struck
his concrete jaw. Dozer staggered, knees turned to rubber. He spun
on his heels; eyes rolled back in his head, and fell like a massive
oak crashing to the ground.

The masked warrior rifled
through the giant’s pockets. She held the large green orb up to the
light and admired the purity. “Mr. Harper will be happy to see this
again. Don’t worry, Boys. The cops are on their way. They’ll make
sure you get medical attention.”

The short hood with a sharp
nose crawled toward the streetlight, dragging his injured leg
behind him. “The cops will pinch me for sure. I’ve got a warrant
out for my arrest on a parole violation.”

“
It's a bad day to be you.”
She lifted her fedora from the filthy alley and sat it atop her
head. “Maybe you’ll learn an honest trade while you’re in the
joint.” A snicker burst from her lips as she gathered her
shotgun.

***

3-March-1966

A two-tone fifty-nine
Chevrolet Impala
with wide flaring fins parked before a
dilapidated house.

“
John, I don’t like coming
back here. I hate this house.” Jill Charles stared through the
glass at the two story structure. Time had scrubbed the coating of
white paint from the boards. Shingle fragments were scattered over
the yard. Pointed shards of glass littered the grounds and the
porch.

“
I don’t like this either.
We’ve had this eyesore for over twenty years, and we need to get
rid of this white elephant. Alonzo thinks he’s got a buyer lined
up. There are a couple of things I need to do first.”

“
I’m not taking Betty inside
that place. I still remember that morning, when we found your
parents.” She glanced into the backseat at the sleeping girl lying
on the cushions.

“
I remember that too.” He
reached over and pressed the button on the glove box. The lid
dropped open to reveal a chrome plated .38 inside. He caught the
checkered grip and tugged it into the sunlight. “I’ll be back in a
few minutes.”

“
John, what are you going to
do with that pistol?” Jill stared at her husband, her eyes wide and
bulging. “What are you afraid of? What’s in that old
house?”

“
That’s why I came here
during the daylight. I hope it’s only my imagination spooking me,
but I don’t know and I’ve got to find out.” He climbed from the
vehicle, stuffing the .38 into his waistband. “I’ll be back in a
few minutes.”

“
John, you be careful in
there.” Jill shouted as he climbed the trash covered
steps.

Leaves and twigs snapped
under his feet. John’s eyes swiveled from side to side. He knew
several bums had died in the house in the last twenty plus years.
From the descriptions the police had let slip when they called him,
their appearance matched his parents on that fateful
morning.