Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

back.
    "How dare you use such profanity? What are you doing?" Aunt Bet demanded.
    "I'm going to rub these in his face," I said. "He dipped them into the dog dung and put it in Jefferson's closet, just the way he put that towel with honey there," I accused.
    "I did not!"
    "Yes you did," I said, moving closer. He pulled himself back, leaning behind Melanie for protection.
    "Christie!" Aunt Bet cried. "Stop it this instant."
    "He made a major mistake this time, Aunt Bet," I said. "This time your precious, perfect little angel messed up. You picked the wrong shoes, Richard," I said, turning back to him. "You should have taken more time and done better planning."
    Richard flicked a glance at Aunt Bet and then at me.
    "What are you talking about, Christie?" she demanded.
    "These shoes, Aunt Bet. Jefferson has long grown out of them. He can't wear them anymore; they pinch his feet. Mommy was going to give them to the Salvation Army along with some other clothing he and I have outgrown, only she never got the chance. Richard didn't know that, though, did you, Richard? You took these shoes and dipped them and then planted them and complained so you could get Jefferson in trouble again."
    "I can't believe . . ." Aunt Bet looked at him. "Richard?" He tried to smile and look undaunted, but I could see the fear in his eyes.
    "I didn't do that, Mother,"
    She shook her head at me.
    "Richard couldn't . . . he wouldn't be so coarse as to go looking for dog stool and . . . oh no," she said, refusing to believe it. "He couldn't."
    "He did," I said. "And this time, he got caught."
    "You're a liar!" Richard screamed. He got to his feet, but backed away.
    "She's making it up, Mother," Melanie said quickly and stood up to be beside him. "How do we know those shoes don't fit Jefferson?"
    "Yes," Aunt Bet said, liking the possibility. "How do we know that?"
    "I'm telling you, that's how," I said. "And I wouldn't lie about it."
    "We'll have to see. I'm not saying you're lying, Christie, but you might be mistaken. We'll have to wait until Jefferson comes home; we'll have to see," she insisted.
    "Fine, and once you see, you will owe him an apology and you will punish Richard. That's only fair. You can't just punish us," I said.
    Richard's face turned more frantic—his eyes wide and wild.
    "I didn't do anything," he claimed.
    "Yes you did, and I think your punishment should be having your face smeared with doggy-do," I threatened.
    "Christie!" Aunt Bet gasped. "Remember you're older and you're supposed to be a lady and . . ."
    Before she could go on, we all heard the front door thrust open abruptly. It sounded as if someone had smashed it open. No one spoke. All eyes were on the living room doorway to see who it was.
    Uncle Philip appeared, his eyes ablaze, his mouth twisted in an ugly grimace of horror and sadness. His hair was wild and he looked as though he had run all the way from the hotel to our house.
    "Philip!" Aunt Bet said. "What . ."
    "It's my mother," he said. "My mother . . ."
    "Oh dear." Aunt Bet's hands flew to her throat like frightened birds.
    "What happened to Grandmother Laura, Uncle Philip?" I asked softly, my heart pausing, my breath still.
    "Mrs. Berme . . . found her on the bathroom floor . . . a stroke," he said. "My mother . . . Dawn's mother . . . Clara Sue's mother . . . she's gone," he finished. "Gone, forever."
    He turned to the left and stopped. Then he looked back at us as if he didn't know us. In confusion, he walked out the way he had come bearing the burden of new sorrow. Aunt Bet fell back in her seat, overwhelmed for the moment. The twins went quickly to her side, each taking one of her hands. Numbly, I shook my head. I had gone dead inside. My heart felt empty and cold. Poor Grandmother Laura, confused and lost in her maze of thoughts. She had spent her final days grappling with her memories, desperately trying to sort out her life, but moving about in circles like someone who had wandered into a wall of spider webs and struggled to get free. And now she was dead.
    I went to the front window and gazed out at Uncle Philip. He was pacing back and forth on the front lawn, talking out loud, gesturing wildly with his hands as if he had come into contact with all his descendants. The family of ghosts had gathered around him to hear about the latest victim to fall under the shadow of the great curse.
     
    Another funeral, and so soon with all my funeral memories still fresh, was upon us. Once more we were all draped