Alfred & Etta, Dread 3
Etta stood in the doorway. “Stop it, Alfred, you’re scaring them beyond reason and they need to keep their wits about them,” admonished his wife.
“You know I’m only trying to warn them. They don’t have any idea what they’ve walked into. Just like the last family” replied Alfred, exasperated.
Alfred sat down in the office chair, his elbows leaning on the desk, head in his hands. He was trying to decide his next move.
“All you’ve accomplished is to scare them out of their minds and put Jim in the hospital. He thinks he’s crazy,” replied Etta, smoothing her apron and then clasping her hands behind her back.
“At least Jim’s out of harm’s way. Based on Rebecca’s declaration this afternoon, she doesn’t look like she’s going to give up without a fight. Trouble is, she doesn’t have clue as to what she’s up against. One minute we’re trying to scare them out of the house and the next we’re trying to protect them from …” his voice drifted off, not wanting to remind Etta of their century long battle.
Etta sighed and shook her head. Her husband always underestimated her strength. If he only knew what she had endured at the end he wouldn’t “tip toe” around her feelings all the time. Her thoughts drifted back to that day with the handsome stranger and how she felt, greeting him at the door and welcoming him into their home. A relative from Germany, anxious to deliver family news to Alfred. As they waited for Alfred to return home from work, they chatted about everything and fell into easy conversation. The dark stranger had wanted to freshen up before dinner, could he use Alfred’s shaving mug and razor?
Suddenly Etta felt tension flood her body and her back stiffened. She said nothing but gave Alfred a look that left him in no doubt of the approaching menace.
“Did she tell you how I made her scream, Alfred? Did she share with you that her last moments were spent looking into my eyes, her heart in my hand?” came a hoarse whisper descending on them from the ceiling and lingering near the bookcase, like someone struggling to breathe.
Alfred struggled to maintain his composure and did not look at Etta but forced himself to look toward the sound.
“This dialogue is stale, no,” he paused, “strike that, …foul. As you can see, you effected a mere temporary separation. Since we know what you’ve done and why you’ve done it, I don’t know why you bother to keep up this pretense.”
Alfred leaned back casually in his chair. He was wearing a dusty, flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, pleated wool pants held up by suspenders and work boots, sparkling clean. In spite of his condition, he continued to maintain the same daily routine he began as a young man, getting up each morning and shaving with his brush, mug and straight razor, although the sight of it made him cringe. With his hair neatly combed straight back, he looked as if he was off to work.
Etta was petite and wore her long gray hair in a neat bun. Around her waist was an apron, the same apron she had been wearing for years. She couldn’t bear to take it off. Tightly laced shoes along with a dainty lace collar fit with her role as the housewife of Alfred Bauer, the town’s cabinet-maker and finish carpenter, for Alfred could make wood sing. It was what was in between the apron and the collar that was disturbing… a gaping hole in her chest where her heart once had been.
“Time has no meaning, no value. And this new bitch is the first to acknowledge the books. I can tell she’s curious. All I need is one, Alfred, just one,” hissed the voice. “I can feel them, feel their anxiety and fear and I feed on that energy.” Another deep and painful breath, and upon exhale, “I will finish what I started with Etta.”
“No,” Etta said firmly,”you won’t.”
“And why is that?” rasped the voice.
“Because this is my fault, my responsibility. And I’m still here.”
The voice began to cackle, “Did you hear that Alfred? Yes, she invited me in…”
