So it came to be that, following the refreshments and tour of McKinnon Manor, but before the mingling with the local upper echelon at the annual Lily Society Community Charity Event, the gaggle of elderly ladies and Lewis found themselves standing in front of a fireplace where the portrait and urn of the late Terrance McKinnon rested. If Lewis felt any sort of way about being courted to public events by his Nona, he didn’t express it. He knew better than to speak out of turn.
“I would have liked to acquire some of his charity,” Dorris winked to the circle straggling behind the main group. Two other women giggled and reprimanded their friend. Lewis’ grandmother was silent. She had told him in the car ride over that her fat friend was as loose as her tongue and that’s why she never could hold down a man. “Oh… don’t look at me that way Agnes. He was a handsome man.”
Lewis felt the warmth of a presence crouch behind him.
Wouldn’t have fucked her… the wind carried the dead man’s voice. Too fat.
“If you’d been around fifty years earlier you might have had your chance,” the skinny lady Lewis’ grandmother referred to as “that dying bitch” said. “He never remarried after all the health problems of his wife Elizabeth, poor thing.”
…Drop of arsenic… daily in her tea… A hiss. Nothing more.
“Nona,” Lewis asked, “what’s arsenic?” Her hand clutching the collar of his shirt tightened. The cloth pulled against his neck. The unseen presence remained behind him.
“At least he took care of her sister Bethany after,” Dorris nodded.
…Took care of her most nights…
“-and adopted his nephews when her husband abandoned them…”
…Three blows to the back of the head… Buried him beneath the willow…
“-raised himself up from nothing.”
“Nothing my behind. You know he inherited both sisters’ money after Elizabeth died and Bethany was institutionalized . You don’t suppose he…”
…I did… a brothel of a family…
“Nona, what’s a brothel?” Lewis asked. The cluster of hens around him went silent. The cloth collar choked his neck. Without glancing at him, Nona spoke.
“It’s where your father was seduced by your mother. Lewis, do you need to use the bathroom before we join the rest of the party?”
Head drooping, Lewis nodded. Nona offered a smile to the others who, clucking and shaking their heads, finished their drinks and exited the room. After they disappeared Lewis was rocked forward by a slap to the back of the head. Tottering off balance, a heeled shoe kicked his behind and sent him sprawling. His chin hit the hardwood floor. Crawling away from the woman, he curled up next to an armchair by the empty hearth.
The full warmth of an invisible hand fell upon his shoulder.
The figure of his Nona loomed between him and the door. A chill ran up Lewis’ spine.
“A good little boy is…” she said, clutching her purse in front of her.
“Seen… not h-h-h-eard,” he stammered.
“Good. Now do you need to go to the bathroom again before we leave here?” Lewis shook his head. And although he still didn’t know what the word “arsenic” meant, he wished he had some, just enough to make his grandmother stop.
After she exited the parlor Lewis picked himself up and shuffled after her. The stinging in his knees quickly abated, as did his tears. The weight of the hand on his shoulder, however, did not.
***
The night progressed as the Lily Society had planned. One by one, boys from the McKinnon program took to the outdoor stage and talked about how the funds from the program had swept them off the streets and into the McKinnon Home for Boys.
“It is because of your generosity that young men, like myself, are given a second chance,” said a dark skinned boy with tight dreads, “and your actions serve as a reminder of Mr. McKinnon’s words: ‘I give, for I see in their faces a reflection of my own. Thank you.”
He dismounted the stage to the muffled applause of gloved hands. Lewis clapped. His grandmother did not. Instead, she removed a cloth from her purse and wiped her forehead. The night was cool, but Lewis noted her growing discomfort. She shifted in her seat, as if sitting on something sharp.
“Pour me some water Lewis.”
Eyes downcast he reached over to the glass pitcher at the center of the round table. There was a thump and the empty glass to his right toppled onto its side. Sharp nails pinched his leg under the table. Grimacing, he righted and filled the glass. The bony fingers imparted one last pinch. Nona picked up the chalice and brought it to her red lips. The rim touched them. There was a pop.
Shards of glass tinkled against her china plate. Nona stared dumbfounded at the stem in her hand before drawing in a sucking breath. Her other hand rose and wrapped around her withered and bleeding thumb. The women from the table turned to her and she offered them a polite nod before turning to her grandson.
“Look what YOU did,” she growled, letting go of the hand that still held the stem to point at him. “You-“ she inhaled sharply and clutched her breast. Scrunching her face in pain, she turned from him and exhaled.
“Agnes, are you alright?” one of her friends whispered as the next speaker took the stage.
“Just a spot of indigestion. I think I’ll take a walk.” Nona rose. There was a crack and the back left leg of her chair snapped. Gasps bloomed in the crowd as she sprawled out onto the lawn and the speaker paused to glance in her direction. A young man from the next table rose and came to her aid, placing his hands under her arms to right her. She said nothing, turning instead to the brown-haired boy next to her.
“Lewis, I think you need to use the bathroom.”
There was no use protesting. The boy pushed his chair away from the table and followed the sickly scent of roses wafting from the old woman in front of him until, once again, he found himself in the dimly lit parlor of Terrance McKinnon.
Her fist pummeled his gut. Clutching his stomach, he collapsed.
“You ungrateful shit.” Nona snarled, towering over Lewis. A curtain billowed. The smell of fresh pipe filled the room.
Fat… old… bitch… came the rasping voice of the wind.
“I take you out of that shithole of a shack for a day. I put you in fresh clothes. I comb that nappy hair you get from your mother-”
The toe of her shoes found his bottom.
… get up… lad…
“And all I ask is that you shut your ugly, fat-lipped mouth and stand by my side like the good little boy your good-for-nothing father could’ve been.”
She crouched down.
“But you can’t. even. do. that.” She punctuated each word with a slap and, cocking her fist back, prepared for one final blow.
The door behind her slammed shut. The lights faded from a warm yellow to a burnt orange and wood groaned as if the room was drawing in on itself, on them.
It was then that he heard the tapping of feet, crossing the room to where he lay. A thickness filled the parlor, a warmth like the inside of a car on a hot summer day. It was hard to breathe. Lewis kept his eyes on the woman hunched over him. The footsteps stopped next to the boy. The room inhaled.
With a bang, Lewis’ grandmother was shoved backwards. Her head hit the mantle with a sickening crack. She collapsed forward onto her hands and knees and, through tendrils of sweat-soaked, grey hair, regarded her grandson. Blood flowed from the base of her skull to pool in the collar of her pink dress.
“Lewis, you cowardly shit. Get help you useless…” her eyes widened and her gaze rose to something behind the boy, something that he felt draw the hairs from the backs of his arms. “Useless” was her final word, and then with a shutter the large plaster urn on the mantle rocked back and forth before falling upon her head. The sound of the impact was a squelching thud, accompanied by a plume of ashes that billowed from the shattered urn. Nona’s eyes rolled back into her head and, encapsulated in a cloud of human remains, she collapsed.
The dust filled the room, floating through the air like bits of pyrite in an autumn river. It landed on Nona, whose face swam in a quickly growing pool of blood. It landed on Lewis, who could do nothing but sit and stare.
It did not fall on the man who stood in front of him, who remained watching the scared little boy until the staff of the McKinnon house found him, and ushered him to safety.
Genre: Ghost Story
Event: Fundraising Event
Character: Chaperone
The Word and The Song 