Now Playing On The Jukebox In Hell Part 15

"Yes?"

"Would you give Mom a message from me?"

"Of course. What message?"

I slammed the phone down again.

At the mirror, Ca.s.sie frowned and switched off the blow dryer for a second. "What now?"

"If you've got any asbestos underwear," I growled, "wear it. This is going to be a h.e.l.l of a night."

(c) 2000, K. Simpson To Part 13 The Devil's Workshop (c) 2000, M.C. Sak Disclaimers, Credits, & E-Mail: See Part 1.

Chapter Notes:.

Thanks to Ginger for a snake story that gave me a perverse idea. In real life, snakes don't grow or behave like the one described here...but of course, you left real life when you entered this story.

CHAPTER 13.

The cul-de-sac was pitch dark when we got there -- no lights in any of the houses and no streetlights either. That was odd. We hadn't had that much snow, and it wasn't even the heavy kind that knocked down power lines.

"Wonder when that happened," Ca.s.sie remarked. "I didn't notice any power outages on the way over, did you?"

"No." Warily, I studied the house. "Park away from it, Ca.s.s."

"What are you talking about?"

"The house. Something's not right. Just to be safe, let's park on the street."

She hit the brakes, making the BMW skid slightly. "Would you mind not talking like that? I'm already nervous."

"Sorry, sweetheart."

Not entirely rea.s.sured, she pulled up to the curb a few houses away -- very close to the plowed-off snow, which was piled up to nearly the door handles. I had some trouble getting out but didn't mention it. Better to save my fire for a battle that mattered.

We walked toward the house in silence except for the crunch of our footsteps on the snowy street. The closer we got, the more apprehensive I got. There was just enough moonlight to show the Christmas decorations on the neighbors' houses -- decorations that on this dead, dark cul-de-sac had the effect of wreaths on a tomb.

Ca.s.sie touched my coat sleeve. "Look. Full moon."

We stopped to admire it, our breath misting up around us in the frozen night. The moon was half-shrouded in haze, which meant more snow later. But it was a thing of ghostly beauty now.

"You know what they say about full moons," I said. "The inmates take over the asylums, and all the dogs go mad."

She reached into my coat pocket to squeeze my hand. "You're such a comfort, pookie."

"Just telling you what I hear."

Still holding onto my hand, she gave me a little tug to start us walking again. We pa.s.sed the Hills' house, where the kids had built a crude snowman in the front yard; as we drew even with it, the head fell off, hitting the ground with a thump and rolling toward us. Startled, I kicked the thing away.

Ca.s.sie didn't say anything, but she moved a little closer.

As we reached the end of my parents' driveway, the black bulk in it resolved itself into a Cadillac parked at a weird angle. In fact, it had been driven in at a weird angle, judging by the tire tracks across the neighbors' yard. Uncle Edgar couldn't drive worth a d.a.m.n. It was one of the many things Mom had against him.

Truth be told, I didn't like him either -- much less Aunt Kitty. And they were both inside right now, waiting for us like spiders.

Not cheered by this train of thought, I led Ca.s.sie up the drive. We were close enough now to notice a dim, s.h.i.+fting glow in the windows, which had to be candlelight. I wished we'd thought to bring the flashlight from the car, but we could always go back for it. Besides, there had to be a flashlight in that barge of Uncle Edgar's. You couldn't have a car that big and not have something in it.

I'd just touched the doork.n.o.b when the doorbell caught my attention. The electricity was out, but the b.u.t.ton was glowing. That didn't make sense. As I watched, the light began to change shape, forming into something like a human face -- an old man in an old-fas.h.i.+oned nightcap, looking very much like...

"Stop that!" I shouted.

The face vanished and the doorbell reappeared, dark this time.

"Did I just see what I thought I just saw?" Ca.s.sie asked.

"That depends," I said cautiously. "What do you think you just saw?"

She thought about it briefly, then exhaled in frustration, sending up a huge plume of steam. "Forget it. It's too stupid."

"Then you saw it. Monica's making a little d.i.c.kens joke."

"Not a very good one." She touched the doorbell tentatively. "If this were a movie, you know, this would be the part where the audience would tell us to run."

"But if we did, there wouldn't be a movie, would there?"

Ca.s.sie laughed. "Let's get this over with, then. I've got plans for after the show."

They were in the kitchen, drinking wine -- the screw-top stuff Aunt Kitty liked, so sweet you could pour it on waffles -- and they were all very civil when we walked in. But it was a chilly kind of civility, a kind I knew only too well. They'd been talking about us, and they were hacked that we'd showed up and ruined their fun.

Well, we wouldn't stay long. I didn't want to ruin our fun, either.

Politely, I walked Ca.s.sie over to my aunt and uncle. They blinked at her, froglike, while I introduced her. Not for the first time, I wished I had presentable relatives. By candlelight especially, their features were grotesque; they might have crawled out of drains in the middle of the night. On top of that, Uncle Edgar still wore that G.o.dawful vulgar gold chain. It was like being related to hillbilly Mafiosi.

"So," Aunt Kitty said. "You're Candy."

Mom shook her head. "Carrie."

"Ca.s.sie," I growled.

Ca.s.sie smiled sweetly. "Whatever's easiest for you."

"And you're a friend of my niece," Aunt Kitty said.

"A very good friend," Ca.s.sie confirmed.

Across the room, Connor snickered. Ryan and Jen both poked him hard, but I got the impression it was just for show.

Aunt Kitty frowned at him over her gla.s.ses. "What's funny?"

"Nothing," I a.s.sured her. "Connor's a jerk. You know that."

"You're all jerks," she said -- without malice, as a statement of plain fact. "Now give me a kiss."

Ca.s.sie, expecting the worst, held her breath. But I simply did as I was told -- resentfully and with only one lip, but without argument. Aunt Kitty was even worse than Mom when she wasn't happy, which was almost always.

Dad jumped in before the situation could deteriorate any further. "So now we're all here. Glad you two made it. We don't know about dinner..."

"It was almost ready when the power went out," Mom snapped.

"No one said it was your fault," he soothed her. "I'm just saying we don't know when we'll have dinner."

She refused to be soothed. "As soon as the power comes back on, that's when."

Everyone s.h.i.+fted uneasily except Aunt Kitty, who was already deep in the grape, and Uncle Edgar, who hadn't actually partic.i.p.ated in conversation since 1941. I glanced over at Ryan; he mouthed the word "Help."

Well, what was I supposed to do? We all knew how this went. Mom didn't like her sister, who didn't like her back, but neither of them would admit it, so these little gatherings made everyone crazy. There was nothing to do but endure until Kitty got on her broomstick and left.

Correctly interpreting the unhelpful look I gave Ryan, Jen tried her luck at damage control. "I don't think we're going to starve with all this food around. Dev, Ca.s.sie, come try this cheese ball. It's fantastic."

"It's a heart attack on crackers," Aunt Kitty countered.

I gave her what may have looked like a smile. "Do let me get you some."

Ca.s.sie jabbed me.

"Killjoy," I muttered. "Come on. Let's have some anyway."

We were about halfway across the kitchen when Ca.s.sie tripped over something and grabbed my arm for balance. As she did, the lights came back on, and we all saw what she'd tripped over: A big black anaconda.

No one moved. Not a muscle. Even Ca.s.sie, who liked snakes about as much as she liked mice, which was not at all, was riveted to the spot.

"Oh, there you are, Milton," Mom said.

Two more beats of silence -- and then everyone else jumped up on furniture. It took a few extra seconds for what she'd said to register.

"M-M-M-Milton?" Amy quavered.

Mom, insultingly calm, spread braunschweiger on a cracker. "He was a science project. Got away from one of my students last year when he was a baby. He must've come home with me in my briefcase....Here, Milton. Have some braunschweiger."

Many conflicting ideas crashed in my brain, which was in serious danger of exploding. It was a real snake. My mother knew it. My mother was feeding it braunschweiger. But worst of all...

"Milton?" I demanded, as soon as my voice worked. "Milton? What evil, twisted sonuvab.i.t.c.h would name a snake Milton?"

"Watch your language," Mom said, fixing another cracker.

"And why would you have a runaway science project? You teach English."

She ignored me, crooning something to the snake, which was swaying expectantly on the linoleum.

Ca.s.sie's reflexes finally kicked back in. She'd jumped on the same chair as me, largely because she'd never let go of my arm, and she released her grip slightly now, but not enough to give me full use of my circulation.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

She drew a ragged breath and leaned her head against mine. "I don't know anymore. It's been so long since anything was normal."

There was nothing to do but laugh. After a second, she did too. Then my brothers and their wives joined in, and even Dad cracked a smile.

"I don't see anything funny," Mom complained.

Dad was still smiling. "Never mind, Martha. Boys, get down here and help me with this snake."

They didn't move. "You said 'boys,'" Connor explained. "We're men."

"Manly men," Ryan agreed.

"Doing manly things," Connor added.

Dad's patience ran out. "Now."

Grumbling, they climbed down and took up battle positions. There was a long, complicated argument about tactics, but they finally agreed on herding the snake into a packing box. That led to an argument about whether a person could actually herd a snake and, if so, whether that would make them snakeboys or snakemen.

The snake settled the argument by slithering under the refrigerator.

Mom got up and dusted her hands off briskly. "Don't worry. He'll turn up again. Let's eat."

We had chicken for dinner ("Tastes just like snake," Connor declared), and I don't think I chewed a bite. Ca.s.sie, sitting as close to me as humanly possible, bolted hers too. She was worried about the big reptile loose on the premises; I was more worried about the smaller ones.

Aunt Kitty especially. She'd had four gla.s.ses of wine, which was three past her tolerance, and she'd been watching Ca.s.sie and me all through dinner as though we might try to steal the silverware. I tried staring back at her, but the woman was shameless.