The Halloween Project Day 8: A Family Affair
Next up, a werewolf story. Why not. Full moon in Connecticut this year is November 4. A little late for Halloween, but not too late for this tale. Dedicated to all the happily married couples, who, one or the other, may sometimes act a bit beastly.
“I’m sorry Rob, but I have to kill you,” Maggie said flatly.
“Honey, don’t be ridiculous, that’s just crazy.”
Rob was tied, strapped, anchored and locked into an old dining room chair that now sat in the middle of the shed, 200 feet from the house, mostly filled with yard equipment; tractor, leaf blower, rakes and shovels. Maggie sat about eight feet away in a similar chair, minus all the restraints, with a deer rifle aimed steadily and squarely at Rob’s chest.
“How the hell did you ever get me into this…this situation?” he asked.
“Me? I didn’t get you into this situation. You did a pretty good job yourself,” she replied with a snark of sarcasm rising in her voice.
“No, not that, I mean this,” he tried to gesture but she had done a masterful job with knots and even a chain or two. Barely the only thing he could move were his facial expressions. “The shed, the chair, the ropes.”
“Oh, well, it wasn’t that complicated. I mashed up some sleeping tablets, quite a few of them in fact and put them in your Manhattan. You know you love your Manhattans. I really thought about trying to overdose you with the sleeping tablets, but when I considered it logically, I couldn’t really be certain that it would kill you. You know, given your current state of…” she thought hard for a word, and resolved on “being”.
“But how the hell did you get me out of the house, out here to the shed?” he continued to question.
“Well, that was a bit of a struggle, but thank god you always kept yourself in good shape with all that working out and running. What do you weight now? 170?” she asked, honestly.
“165, I’ll thank you very much.
“Thank god you’re not your brother. I don’t know how I would ever have managed. What is he? 225?
“Probably pushing 240 by now. Well, I don’t think he ever worked out a day in his life, except for lifting those Heinekens.”
“I wouldn’t go there right now, it was your Manhattan that got you here. Anyway, there was quite a lot of dragging but I realized if I put you on a blanket it was quite a bit easier.”
“And the ropes and knots?” he asked, “What are you now? A Boy Scout? A longshoreman?”
“I actually took a book out of the library. I really did. You would have been proud of me. I kept it in my car so you wouldn’t see it,”
“I wouldn’t say proud,” he replied.
Maggie held the rifle with one hand, reached down for her glass of Pinot Grigio, took a sip and set it back down.
“So, what’s the plan?” he asked.
“I guess I have to kill you,” she replied.
“Maggie, really,” he stated.
“Yeah, really. Let’s go over it, just so we’re clear. Three months ago you killed that little dog over on
Winchester Avenue,” Maggie recounted.
“How do you know that was me? Come on, Maggie, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable?!” she replied quickly, “The dog was eviscerated and thrown over the power line in the street. That wasn’t you!?”
“Jesus priest!” he complained, “It was a Pekinese! You hate Pekinese!” he protested.
“Regardless,” her reply was business-like, direct, “then two months ago, and this is where it all got pretty damn ugly Rob, you killed Mr. Ferguson down the block. Yes?” she turned her head in a gesture both knowing and sly.
“O.K., O.K. I’m not going to deny it, but didn’t you always hate him? Didn’t you call him ‘fat face Ferguson?”
“Again,” she responded, taking another long sip of her Pinot, “not the point. But last month was the worst. I locked you in the basement, we thought everything was under control. But…that didn’t work out so well. When you change you’re like strong, super strong. I had to lock Robby Jr. and me in the bathroom. I jammed the door closed with the curtain rod and heard you outside making all
kinds of terrible grunts and screams and growls. There’s no way that’s happening again.”
The quiet filled the room. Maggie filled her glass.
“So, what happens next?” Rob asked.
“I kill you, that’s it. Simple.”
“You’ll get caught. You’ll be in prison forever,” Rob cautioned.
“I don’t think so. I’ve been giving this a lot of thought, obviously. We had a domestic. You punched me around. I’m going to give myself a few knocks here and there. I think I can work this out. It’s better than being eviscerated.”
Rob grasped at straws.
“The gun won’t work, it won’t kill me,” he declared.
“Oh, yes it will. Silver bullets. Cost me a fortune. I had to go to Boston,” she answered.
“How many bullets?” he asked.
“At this range, with this angle, I think one will do the trick. But I have six,” she announced.
“Damn,” he said.
She picked up the conversation. “You had to go hunting with your stupid brother and his buddies! In Wyoming! Where the fuck is Wyoming?”
He protested. “What, now it’s my fault?! I go hunting and I’m to blame?!”
“How the hell does somebody get bit by a wolf? No, a werewolf! In Wyoming!” she was starting to yell.
“How the fuck do I know! Are you kidding me!” he yelled back.
“Your stupid brother!” she yelled, but her energy was flagging.
“Yeah, my stupid brother,” he agreed.
A minute passed, maybe three, they sat across from each other, each intently thinking.
“Just put me on a plane, send me far away. Send me to Iceland or Kenya. I don’t care. Just get me out of here.”
“I can’t Rob. You know I can’t. For 29 days a month you’re in your right mind. I Know you. You’ll come back. You’ll find a way back. You’ll want to see Robby Jr.” she said, sadly, and just a little drunk, then added, “and if you don’t get back, you’ll kill innocent people there.”
The silence grew. Finally, it was broken by…
“I love you Maggie. I always have and I always will.”
“I love you too, Rob,”
“But I have to tell you something,” looking straight at her, straight into her somewhat glassy, but pure crystal blue eyes, “I bit Robby Jr.”
Maggie tossed her head as if to shake off the effects of her wine. A puzzled look gathered on her face.
“You what?” she asked.
“I bit Robby. On his neck. Just a little. Just enough to draw blood,” he said.
“Why would you do that? Why? What were you thinking?” she asked, a cross between plaintive and anguished.
“I thought that maybe you might do something. Something just like this. And I was right. And you did.”
“But you weren’t changed at the time. You were just…,“ she hesitated, “Rob.”
“You want to take a chance? You want to wait for an hour and see what happens?”
She looked at her husband hard, with all the hardness she could find within her.
Then she pulled the trigger.
She walked slowly, with love and care, back to the house, hefting the rifle in the crook of her right arm.
She looked at the sky and focused on the rising full moon.
She headed for Robby Jr.’s bedroom.