Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

I didn't move quickly. "Feed us. Poor Morton's starving. What are you doing?" she asked, going to his side.
    "Just figuring out the best way to get back on the main highways," he replied.
    "We've got time," Aunt Fern said. "Don't you like your little holiday with the folks?" she joked.
    "Sure," he said. "But how long do you want to stay?"
    I held my breath.
    "Until I get bored," she replied. "Besides," she added, smiling up at me, "we don't want to desert my poor niece just when she needs us the most, do we? Oh," she said. "You don't know why she ran away from home. Well, it seems one night . . ."
    An egg slipped out of my hand and smashed on the floor.
    "Aunt Fern!"
    "Now look at what you've done," Aunt Fern said. "Miss Butterfingers. Well scoop it up, Christie. That can be yours," she said and laughed.
    I glared at her, finally fed up enough to defy her, but one look at her face told me she was anxious for such a confrontation. She wanted the opportunity to make everyone's lives miserable, as miserable as her own. I bit down on my lower lip and swallowed my pride.
    "Why did she run away?" Morton asked.
    "Never mind," Aunt Fern said, looking down at me on my hands and knees. "It's private talk between a niece and her loving aunt, right princess?"
    I soaked up the broken egg in a rag and tried to ignore her, but she wouldn't relent. She was the kind of person who enjoyed pouring salt into someone else's wounds. I should have realized she wouldn't feel sorry for me. There wasn't an ounce of compassion in her unless it was for herself.
    "Right?" she insisted.
    "Right, Aunt Fern," I said, swallowing my tears.
    I realized I had run from one horrible trap into another. Every time I broke one of the links in the chain that bound me to the family curse, something mended it. I felt just like someone wearing irons around her neck, hands and feet. I rose to my feet slowly and, mechanically, like some galley slave, made Aunt Fern and her boyfriend their scrambled eggs. I did the best I could to keep my tears from dropping into the food.
    "Aren't you eating breakfast?" Aunt Fern asked when I served her and Morton their eggs and fresh cups of coffee.
    "I don't have any appetite," I said.
    "Well, you'd better eat something anyway," she insisted. "You've got to keep up your strength. There's lots more for you to do. Later on in the evening, you can entertain us on the piano."
    "I'd rather not," I said.
    "Sure you would," she retorted, enjoying every moment of my discomfort. "It will give you an opportunity to show off again and you know how much you like to show off, princess."
    "I don't show off, Aunt Fern."
    "Of course you do. You're supposed to after all that expense. My brother spent a fortune for her lessons," she told Morton, who nodded with little interest. "A lot more than he wanted to spend on me," she added hatefully.
    "I feel sorry for you, Aunt Fern," I said, shaking my head. "You've got a monster inside you, a green monster eating away at your heart. I feel more sorry for you than I do for myself," I added and started out of the kitchen.
    "Don't go too far, princess," she called after me and laughed. "You never know when I might need something done for me," she added and laughed.
    Her laughter echoed through the plantation house. It was the kind of laughter that found a welcome home in the dark corners of this old mansion. I was positive it was the sort of evil that had lived so well within its walls.

 
    15

BAD TO THE BONE
     
    ALTHOUGH IT WAS A BRIGHT, SUNNY MORNING WITH only puffs of clouds that appeared to be pasted against the deep blue sky here and there, I was so unhappy I might as well have opened the door and stepped into a gray, overcast day. Even the chirping of the sparrows and robins seemed dull, their music sadly off-key to me. A large, black crow, perched on the back of an old wooden lawn chair, stared at me with what looked like morbid curiosity. It barely moved and resembled a stuffed bird more than a live one. Instead of being greeted by the aroma of freshly-cut grass and the blossoms of wild flowers, I inhaled the musty scent of rotting wood beams in the porch floor. Flies danced in the air around the house as if they were celebrating the discovery of a huge carcass on which they could feed forever.
    I sighed, realizing I was tuned into only what would make me uncomfortable and sad; I was in the mood to see only what was ugly and bleak, no matter how wonderful the day really was. I used to think it