The weather changed, wind shifting from east to west, and it was sunny and in the forties when Deena went outside to get the newspaper.
Deena looked out the kitchen window at the field behind the house. The dog was at it again, barking away, but it was the morning and she silently vowed not to let that dog or her neighbors get under her skin today. Wind blew the heads of the daffodils in the field; they bobbed in clumps around the small shrubs. Soon winter would be gone and perhaps she’d even find a new man by then, who knew?
Not a minute too soon, since she was halfway through breakfast, Arlene came downstairs, looking more bruised than the night before. Deena bit her tongue.
“I suppose I ought to head on home,” Arlene said reluctantly.
“If you feel up to it, there’s no rush to leave,” Deena answered politely. “I do have to head out myself in a little while. I have some supplies to pick up. Do you want to come along with me?”
Arlene gave her a look that said I shouldn’t, and then said: “No, I have to face him sometime; might as well get it over with. But thanks for the offer and the bed. I should be heading home and let you get on with your life. You don’t need some middle aged, punching bag dragging you down along with her.”
“Stop that,” scolded Deena. “You’re not a punching bag.”
“Just middle aged?” Arlene said, managing a smile. Suddenly the two women began to laugh.
“Sorry,” Deena replied.
* * * *
About an hour later, Deena had driven to PaperClips in nearby Glendale. She passed staplers, folders, reams of paper, pens, pencils, markers of every sort and color before she stopped at the laptops. She would need a good laptop and word processing program if she wanted to write. Though, she told herself, there wasn’t anything wrong with the old-fashioned pen and paper. But Deena wanted to be a modern writer and they used computers. Joseph hadn’t allowed her to take their laptop when she left him in Florida. Deena had believed this to be due to his large files of porn on it. Anyway she was starting over without Joseph. A new house, a new life, and new career (hopefully), and a new man (someday)—two down and two to go, Deena urged herself.
Gertie Pappas, the manager and former wedding guest of Deena and Joseph’s, totaled her purchase up along with the software she had recommended.
“So you’re going to be a writer now, huh?” Gertie asked.
“I’m going to give it a try,” answered Deena.
“Good for you,” Gertie replied. “So you and Joseph didn’t work out, huh?”
“I guess you can say that.”
“Um…do you think he’s ready to date again?” Gertie’s question disgusted Deena. Everyone in Strafford loved Joseph Hopping. He was the golden boy with movie star looks and shit for brains. Deena laughed to herself.
“I’m sure he is seeing that he was screwing any girl he could when we were married.”
“That’s no way to talk about Joseph Hopping. Perhaps, you just didn’t cater to his need, that’s all, huh?” Gertie said with a smirk.
“Honey, if you want him, take him, please. You would be doing me a favor. He’s in Florida; maybe you should go and join him,” Deena snapped, grabbing her receipt and heading out the door. Bitch, she thought.
The dog was barking when she got home, and Maggie’s black Cadillac was pulled up in the driveway.
She pulled up next to the car.
“Morning, Deena,” Maggie offered.
“Good morning.” She had to raise her voice because of the dog.
The dog stopped for a second before starting up again.
“Heavens to Betsy! That dog’s been at it since I got here. How do you stand it?”
“I don’t. It is a problem,” Deena said. “I asked if they could do something with it last night and they rudely declined. They keep the beast chained out back in the cold, all day, and all night.”
“Someone should call animal control.”
“I just might,” Deena said. “I just might.”
They talked back and forth about the house, the upcoming holiday season and planned to have dinner together often.
“I’ve told some of my friends about you and you’re decorating,” Maggie said. “They are interested in seeing what you could do for their houses.”
“Um…thanks…but I don’t know if interior decorating is right for me. I was kind of hoping to start a writing career.”
“And how is that going?” Maggie asked.
“Just bought the computer today, and I’m good to go,” Deena replied enthusiastically.
“Wonderful. Good for you. But that doesn’t sound like it will pay the bills, dear.”
“Not yet, but I have a little saved up and the divorce pending, so I’ll be all right,” Deena said.
That was a lie. Her savings were dwindling more each day and there was no telling what would happen with the divorce.
“Well, give it some thought. It could help support your writing career until that takes off,” Maggie finally said.
“I will think about it.”
“Good,” Maggie said, reaching into her purse. “Here’s your first client. Her name is Eloise Blanchard and she lives not ten minutes from here. I’ve already spoken to her and she’s willing to pay fifty dollars an hour to you to redecorate her house.”
“What?” Deena yelled.
“I’m sorry, dear. Did I speak out of turn? I was only trying to help. Good heavens, forgive me. The last thing I want is to alienate you. I’ll give Eloise a call and cancel.”
Arlene backed away.
“There’s no need. I’ll give her a call later and set up a time to go over and see her house. But I don’t want to be surprised anymore. If one of your friends needs a decorator, then ask me first before committing me to it, okay?”
“Okay.”
Inside the kitchen, Maggie walked over to the door to the basement. She reached for the knob. That is when she noticed the smell.
“Oh, my. What is that odor?”
Deena rushed to usher Arlene away from the door. “It’s been here since I moved in. Must be from the fire and all the construction afterward. Did you know that a family died in the fire?”
Arlene got red in the face. “Unfortunately, yes. Not all of them died, though. The oldest boy, Mike Leopold, survived with some burns. You know they actually suspected him of setting the fire for a while. But they couldn’t prove it.”
“I didn’t know that. Where is he now?”
“Around. The poor boy doesn’t have anything or anyone to live with and he roams the streets. Homeless.”
“Why hasn’t anyone helped him?”
“Lord knows we’ve tried. But he…” Arlene became silent. She blushed again.
“What? What aren’t you telling me?”
“Nothing, forget him and what happened here. It would be best,” Arlene said.
“Best for whom?”
“It is nothing, Deena. Nothing to worry about.” Arlene felt the cold dagger stare from Deena and could not hide anymore from her. “Well, Mike Leopold claimed that the house was haunted.”
“Yes, you and Willard mentioned that many people around town thought this house was haunted before it burned down. So why are you being so secretive?”
Arlene shrugged. “Nothing, it’s just that it wasn’t so much the house he spoke of as being haunted as the basement.”
“The basement is haunted?” Deena laughed. “Come on, Arlene, that’s nonsense.”
“Is it?”
“No, the basement is really haunted by some big ghost. Come on, that is crazy.”
Arlene smiled. “I guess you’re right. I’m just being silly. But it wasn’t a ghost that Mike Leopold claimed haunted the basement, it was a monster.”
“Beautiful. I rent a house with a basement that houses a monster; no wonder it wasn’t put in the real estate ad.”
“It does sound stupid and silly, doesn’t it?” Arlene remarked.
“Yes, a little.”
“Forget I said anything,” Arlene said.
Forget. Deena knew that she would never get a full night’s sleep again. Monster in the basement, that could explain the smell, she thought. No, Deena you’re just being foolish, she kept telling herself over and over again as she led Maggie to her car.
* * * *
Rosemary Spiner was not dead—yet.
So the next time Frank Marsden came into the basement, Rosemary heard him before she saw him.
She was still squatting in the shallow grave, err pit, cramped beyond belief, when Marsden thumped down the stairs. This time, though, he had someone with him—a woman who was crying and saying she didn’t want to go.
“Shut up!” she heard Marsden say. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Despite the radio which was still blaring away, Spiner heard him repeating the shackling procedure with the new arrival. Finally, Marsden came over and slid the board back. Reaching down, he grabbed her arm and pulled her up. She was so stiff she could hardly stand. She was dizzy, too, from lack of food, and the whole world seemed to be spinning. It was then she realized something else for the first time—she was covered in ooze—slime, to be more precise. A thick fluid that had the consistency of honey and the color of used automotive oil covered her from head to toe.
“Nasty,” Marsden said with a smile. “But look what it’s done for your figure.”
He held up a hand held mirror for her to see and she appeared to have lost twenty pounds in the short time she’d spent in the ground.
“Oh my God!” Rosemary gasped. “Give me a towel or something…please!”
“Guess again,” mumbled Marsden. “It wouldn’t help. Besides you’ll just get another coat later, so I suggest you learn to live with it.”
Rosemary nearly fainted. The world continued to spin out of control. When it slowed down she looked up, straight into the eyes of a dark-skinned, pleasant-looking woman about her age. The woman’s jaw hung slightly open and her eyes looked as big as saucers. The woman didn’t comprehend this at all, Spiner realized. She didn’t know what was going on.
“Rachel,” Marsden said, using the only name by which he knew Rosemary Spiner, “this is Angie.” Turning to the new woman, he said, “Angela, this is Rachel.” He might have been introducing two women at an afternoon tea party.
When Marsden left, Angela explained her name was Angela Quirino and that she had known Marsden for five years.
“I met him when he used to hang around Moran,” she said, explaining painstakingly to Spiner that the Moran Institute was an institute for the mentally and physically handicapped which was located on Trevor Boulevard, across the Shoemaker River, on the other side of town.
“Frankie was good to me,” Angela added. “He used to bring me here all the time before the fire and take me to McDonald’s or Wendy’s. We used to have a lot of fun.”
“Did you ever have sex with him?” Rosemary asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Angela replied. “Him and Vinnie both.”
“Who is Vinnie?” Rosemary wanted to know.
“Vince Marsden,” said Angela. “Frankie’s brother.”
Rosemary looked carefully at Angela. Her skin was a deep, chocolate brown and as smooth as an infant’s. She had rather large, sturdy bones and carried herself well. Basically, she seemed to be a happy person, caught up in a circumstance she could not comprehend. In fact, Angela, formally classified as mildly retarded, could not understand why her friend Frankie had suddenly turned against her.
“What happened to you?” she asked of Rosemary.
“I wish I could tell you, but, honestly, I’m not sure myself,” Rosemary answered.
Angela began to cry and they were big, deep sobs that made her whole body shake.
“Come on,” Rosemary said, stopping herself before she said that everything was going to be all right, because she truly doubted they would. As Angela cried, Rosemary thought about her own life and how it contrasted markedly from Angela’s. Although Angela had a high school diploma, she had graduated through the special education program. Rosemary, too, was a high school graduate, but she was the product of a tough inner-city girl’s school run by Catholic nuns. While Angela led a protected home life, watched over carefully as possible by a solicitous mother, Rosemary had been on the streets as long as she could remember.
Rosemary was twenty-six years old, with the heart and cunning of a fifty-year old; Angela, the same age, had as much savvy and sophistication as a fifteen-year-old.
* * * *
About an hour later Marsden returned with a welcome chant. “It’s dinner time,” he said, producing a handful of crackers and a bottle of water.
Rosemary looked at the meager offering and cursed herself for refusing the sandwich and juice the day before. If she had it in front of her now, she wouldn’t have had any qualms about digging in. Being poisoned was probably better than starving to death. At least it was quicker.
Without another word Marsden turned and again retreated up the stairs, leaving the women to get better acquainted. In a way, they were sort of related: two wives in a growing harem.
A few hours later Marsden returned and resumed digging in the pit, anxious now to make it large enough for two. Again, after some vigorous digging, he stopped and went over to Angela. Rosemary knew what was coming; she had been there already. She was quickly learning his pattern. First he forced Angela to take his penis in her mouth, and then he entered her in the conventional way. Then he forced Rosemary to have sex with him too. Afterwards, he turned mildly talkative.
“Angie has wanted me for several years now,” Marsden said, confirming what Angela had already said about their relationship.
* * * *
The next morning, after preparing and serving the women a breakfast of hot oatmeal, they all were startled by a loud pounding.
“Yes, master—I know you hunger for more. I’m doing my best,” Marsden said out loud.
The entire basement felt as if it was going to explode due to the pulsating and pounding, which made Angela cry again.
Marsden left the basement in a dash.
When he left, the two women looked unhappily at each other. Instinctively they knew darker days were ahead.