The Old Lady

The Old Lady By Wolf Tucker

The moral right of Wolf Tucker to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted. Copyright © Wolf Tucker 2009 All Rights Reserved All characters and events in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Author website: http://www.wolftucker.com Publisher: http://www.wolftucker.com

“This is crazy Mike,” I whispered as I glanced around the shadowy house, half expecting to be caught at any moment. The place reeked of a mixture of mothballs and home cooking. The only illumination came from the light of the full moon that beamed in through the wide old style windows. Every piece of furniture in the house seemed to be antique, from the eighteen hundreds by the look of it and in great condition but then, it was dark and I couldn’t see very well, so I couldn’t be certain. “No it’s not Jimmy, it’s really smart. She’s one little old lady, she won’t be a problem,” Mike said in a whisper over his shoulder. A chill breeze blew in the window behind us that we had climbed through only moments ago. I thought about closing it but thought better of it; we might need a fast exit after all. We stood in a hallway full of well-worn mats in a multitude of colors. A long red carpet covered the stairs leading up into the darkness of the second floor. “I won’t hurt a helpless old lady,” I stated in a harsh whisper as I now turned to Mike and caught his eyes with my own. “No one’s asking you to hurt anyone,” Mike said with a sigh. “Come on, let’s start upstairs,” Mike pointed up to the second floor. Mike went up first, it was his idea to come here after all, but six steps from the top Mike froze. “What is it?” I said as I peered around Mike’s wide rear end. A large black cat was sitting on the top step with its head held high in an almost regal

pose, it glared down at us through narrowed eyes. It seemed as if it were waiting for us. Mike took another step forward, then another. The cat didn’t move, but its eyes seemed to tighten. Mike crept up another two steps; the boards beneath the carpeted stairs creaked softly, which made me cringe. With a wave of his arms, Mike tried to shoo the cat away. “Go on… scat,” Mike growled at the furry guardian. The cat’s mouth sprung wide as it hissed baring its sharp white teeth while its paw swiped out at Mike’s leg before the little beast fled into the shadows. Digging around in his backpack, Mike pulled out a small flashlight, he flicked it on and waved it down the hall, revealing five doors, two on either side and one at the very end of the hall. The carpet up here was dirty brown with a floral design that may have once been pretty but was now worn and frayed in places were it was walked on the most. Portraits of a young redhaired woman hung on the walls either side of the doors. I pulled out my own flashlight and turned it on and shone some light on the portraits. The woman in the paintings all seemed to be the same woman, in different dresses and different settings. The portraits appeared as dated as the furniture, the woman wore bonnets in some and held a lace umbrella in others, but always she wore lace dresses that ballooned out from her tiny waist which in turn made her breasts appear large and full, almost to the point of overflowing from the top of her dress. Never did a smile touch her lips in any of the images. She remained the frozen figure of control with a look of contempt on her dainty features. A bright light flared in my eyes. “Stop wasting time, come on,” Mike commanded before he moved away with his flashlight. “You check the doors on the left, I’ll do the ones on right,” Mike ordered in hushed tones. I nodded and blinked away the spots before my eyes and stepped up to the door. The coppery metal doorknob clicked loudly as I turned it, the door swung open with well-usedease. The bright glow of scattered candles lit the room with an eerie light, illuminating a ring of white sand in the centre of the floor. Two windows on the opposite side of the room were wide open and a strong breeze began to whistle through the gaping portals of night. I felt drawn into the room by an insatiable curiosity that was just part of my

nature. The circle repelled me; I stayed clear of it, it seemed somehow wrong to cross it. Instead I was pulled toward the far end of the room where the only piece of furniture, a writing desk, sat against the back wall. In the centre of the table sat a small book bound in faded green fabric. I kept the flashlight steady on the tome as I opened it, the spine cracked a little with each turn of the page. It seemed to be a book of witchcraft. I felt somehow that I had to take the book, it was almost as if I had no choice. It wanted to be with me. Without a second thought I shoved the book into my backpack and turned around to find Mike standing in the doorway. “What the hell is all this?” Mike asked taking in the circle and the room of candles. Luckily he didn’t seem to have noticed me bagging the book. “It’s freakin weird that’s what,” I replied. His eyes locked on mine. “Did you find anything?” Mike asked. I glanced around the empty room. “Does it look like it?” “Let’s try the other rooms,” Mike said. Mike took the next door on the right and I took the left. The next room I entered was a bedroom with an old Victorian style bed. It was enormous, it had to be king size at least, with huge white netting hung over the bed to keep out insects during the night. A mirrored dressing table sat opposite the end of the bed covered in all of the makeup, brushes, powders and hair-clips. Everything on the dressing table was placed in perfect straight lines, as if someone with an obsessive-compulsive disorder had arranged them that way. One of the brushes seemed to be made of solid silver so I shoved it in my bag, along with a hair-clip embedded with red stones. I turned at the sound creaking floorboards, Mike had crept right up beside me without me realizing. My heart raced that little bit faster for a second, I sighed and looked away then turned back to Mike. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

Mike ignored my complaint and looked at me expectantly. “Anything good?” “It’s an old lady’s house, not a pirate’s treasure room. There’s not a lot here,” I responded with a bit more irritation than I intended. Mike frowned. “Just get what you can. There has to be something worth a mint in this place. They say she’s a millionaire after all,” he turned and started to leave the room. “I’m going to go check the last door then we can check downstairs,” Mike said. “Wait, don’t you find this strange?” I asked. “What are you talking about now?” I looked around the room. “This is clearly the old lady’s room, but where is she?” “So what? Maybe she’s out of town visiting relatives or something,” Mike replied with a shrug. “Who cares? If she’s not here it makes it that much easier for us to find the valuables.” Mike moved to the final door, it opened with a long slow creak. Light beamed out into the hall and lit up Mike as if he suddenly had a spotlight shone directly on him. His mouth hung open and his eyes looked as if they were about to pop out of his head at any second. He was making lots of vowel sounds but nothing intelligible. “What is it? What’s wrong?” I whispered. He just stood there staring into the room, mumbling. Instantly an unknown dread overcame me, a primal fear, aninstinct that there was something seriously wrong here. I walked over and stood behind him to get a look at whatever had sent him into his catatonic state. The room was covered in white tiles from floor to ceiling and against the far wall, directly opposite the door was a bath full of what seemed to be blood. Beside the bath piled in a heap were the pale faced bodies of several young girls all were red heads and clearly once beautiful. Their empty eyes stared toward the doorway where we stood as if escape were their final thoughts. A line of red marked their throats where they had been slashed. In front of the blood bath stood a red-haired woman, she was

completely naked, and her skin was like ivory and hair red as fire trickled over her breasts in gentle ringlets. A powerful heat flushed over my face, my pulse quickened and a tremendous pounding drummed through my skull. An insurmountable number of colourful words flooded my mind at that moment but for the life of me I couldn’t make a single one of them pass my lips. The woman took slow measured steps toward Mike as she held him with her gaze, leaving a trail of bloody footprints in her wake. She extended her hand to Mike as a loved one might; she caressed his cheek and kissed him. Unconsciously I backed down the hallway keeping my eyes on the strange woman. Not once did she lift her eyes to me, it was as if I wasn’t even there. The last sight I had of either of them was her holding Mike in a lovers embrace. I tore down the stairs leaping in twos and threes at a time. I stumbled on the last step and climbed out the window, clumsily falling to the ground with a thump. My heart thudded a fiery heat in my ears as I ran all the way home, through the dark blurs of night with the cold wind whistling in my ears numbing them, but I didn’t care at all. The small white panelled cottage that I called home came into view. The entire scene was nothing but a haze around me; the cold wind had caused my eyes to water profusely. The wire gate clanked shut behind me as I clambered up the steps, glancing side to side down either end of the veranda, nothing but leaves tumbling across the floorboards. Pulling out my house keys, I thumbed through the few that I had with trembling fingers until I found the right one. Only after I had lifted the key to the lock did I notice that the door was slightly ajar. The shacking in my hands now travelled down to my legs. Droplets of sweet trickled down my spine as the wind outside picked up and sent an icy gust up the back of my shirt shocking me out of my fearful paralysis. Suddenly the door flew open crashing into the wall behind it. For a second I thought that someone had opened it, but no one was there. It was the wind, I told myself, but I was unconvinced.

I stepped inside and pushed the door shut against the ferocious winds and locked it with a sigh of relief. Leaves rattled in the trees outside with a new fierceness as the wind developed gale force strength that whipped around the outside of the house, whistling and howling to get in. I groped for the light switch and flicked it on but nothing happened. I walked into the kitchen and flicked the switch there, but again nothing. It was then that I sensed something behind me, a warm disturbance in the air that was coming closer. I tried to move but I was petrified, my words stuck in my throat choking me. A moist sticky hand tenderly grasped the back of my neck as a chill breath whispered in my ear in a seductive tone. “Stay with me,” she crooned. “Stay with me, forever.”

THE END Also by Wolf Tucker Tree stump Touch Piece Fenwick Family Visit the author’s website: www.wolftucker.com Follow wolftucker on Twitter