Demon Child

good FM station already set on the dial. We'll see you at seven-thirty.”
        She left, closing the door softly behind her.
        Jenny went to the south window and untied the golden cords which held the umber drapes away from the glass. The heavy velvet panels fell into place, shutting out the cold, wet fury of the storm. She did the same at the other window, put the cords on top of her dresser.
        The room was almost dark now.
        She found the light switch, turned the lamps on.
        She inspected the room more closely, determined to squeeze the story of the curse from her mind and to enjoy her first day in the Brucker mansion. Just when she had become engrossed in a study of the novel titles on the bookshelves, carefully avoiding the crimson volumes, her attention was brought abruptly back to the dark air that hung about the household. Outside, the wind shrieked in the eaves directly above her window, gibbered and howled, moaned and hissed like something trying to get in to her…

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    3
        
        The atmosphere had not improved by dinnertime. Jenny was the last to enter the family dining room, but she could sense the tension in the air and the fact that Richard and Cora had recently had words about something. Neither of them looked at each other, and both seemed relieved to have Jenny join them, as if her presence would keep either of them from taking up a subject that could only cause argument.
        There were only three place settings. Richard and his mother sat at opposite ends of the small table, and Jenny took the place between them. “Aren't the twins eating with us?” she asked.
        “They always have their meal at five-thirty. They have an eight-o'clock bedtime until they reach their eighth birthday. Then they can stay up until nine. If they earn the increase. I don't believe in letting children have privileges they don't earn.”
        The door between the dining room and the main kitchen swung outward, and a short, somewhat heavy but pleasantly attractive woman forced her way through, carrying a serving dish full of whipped potatoes. “I'm ready for you, Richie,” she said.
        Richard smiled, obviously delighted with the newcomer, and rose from his place, disappearing through the swinging door.
        “Jenny,” Cora said, also smiling, “this is Anna, Harold's wife. She cooks like a dream, even though she is rather bossy.”
        “How do you do,” Jenny said.
        “I'm fine. I'm always fine,” Anna said. “It's everybody else around here who's hard to get along with!”
        Richard returned from the kitchen carrying a tray with four serving bowls on it. There was coleslaw, green beans sprinkled over with slivers of almonds, creamed corn and peas with onions in butter sauce. He put the tray on the table, to Anna's left, and went back to the kitchen while the maid quickly distributed the individual dishes along the center of the table.
        “Everything looks delicious,” Jenny said.
        “You'll find that it tastes every bit as good as it looks,” Anna said.
        Richard had just returned with a ham set on a field of parsley. “That's our Anna,” he said, chuckling. “She's so modest that you can rarely get a word out of her.”
        “Just don't make any smart remarks about the food,” Anna said. “Or you'll be eating elsewhere. Did you get everything?”
        “Yes, Anna,” Richard said.
        She surveyed the table. “You forgot the rolls.”
        She hurried into the kitchen, came back with the rolls, plunked them down next to Jenny. “If I don't serve correctly,” she told Jenny, “it's because that's usually Harry's job. But nobody cooks better.”
        With that, she was gone.
        “She's great, isn't she?” Richard asked.
        “She sounds wonderful,” Jenny agreed. Anna's bragging was not the outgrowth of some enlarged ego. She could cook well, and she knew it. Her bragging was based on accomplishment and a pride in tasks well done.
        “She won't let me in the kitchen,” Cora said. “But I'd look foolish trying to compete with her anyway.”
        “I hope Harold isn't ill,” Jenny said. She remembered how he had brought the umbrella to her in the storm this afternoon. A man his age should not be about in such miserable weather.
        “No, no,” Cora said. “He's fine.”
        Richard watched his mother as he dished green beans onto his plate. When she was obviously not about