How could my parents leave us alone with Mrs. Hadley, the mortician's widow? Didn't they love us anymore? Nothing stirred fear more than her, not even the mortician before he had died. Did we wrong my parents to have such a punishment?
"You are being dramatic," Mom said as she packed her overnight bag.
"We don't need a babysitter."
Mom stuffed a shirt in the corner of her bag and looked at me. She chuckled.
"Please, Mom," I whined and threw myself on her bed for theatrics.
Angry eyes replaced the smile on her face. "Marcus, stop overreacting. You will be fine. Mrs. Hadley is a fine-standing woman in the community. We are blessed that she would give of her time so freely."
I dropped next to mom's bag, and when she lookd away, I swiped a candy bar out of it and stuffed it into my pocket. "Why would someone a hundred years old want to babysit a bunch of kids anyways?"
Mom opened her drawer and grabbed socks and underwear.
-Gross, Mom's underwear. I looked away.
"You know how Dad shampoos her carpets at night? He is traveling up north to purchase a refurbished Tier IV electrolyte plus vacuum. Mrs. Hadley is kind of making him buy it since she thinks it would do a better job cleaning her carpets."
"Sounds expensive."
Mom furrowed her eyebrows and wrapped her arms around her chest. "It is."
"Why doesn't Dad just tell her no? Our vacuum is fine enough. The banks don't complain about it."
Mom's face went white. "Oh no, you never tell Mrs. Hadley no."
Seeing Mom's fear, my skin prickled. "Well, why do you have to leave at the same time as Dad? Can't you wait?"
The color returned to Mom's face. "Your Aunt Shalice is in labor. I can't make your new baby cousin wait to be born." Mom chuckled and seeing her face light up again felt good.
If I could have given Dad anything, I would've given him a solid career. His numerous jobs exhausted him, consisting of an on-call firefighter, a transportation driver for the nursing home, and a handyman-for-hire. Every night, he cleaned the funeral home's carpets. Additionally, he spent the weekend shampooing the school and bank's carpets. And despite all he did, we always needed money.
Soon, my parents abandoned us as the putrefacient Mrs. Hadley took their place. Her arms dangled from that unnaturally tall and lanky body of hers. I remembered those long fingers from Grandpa's funeral, and they still haunted my dreams, stretching across my neck and choking me. Since her face looked like a pasty mask, I could look at her. Dark bags puffed under her eyes. Oh, and that hair, stringy ramen everywhere.
Why had they left Mrs. Hadley as our babysitter?
"How old are you, Marcus?" She asked as she made an awful-looking soup.
"I am fourteen," I replied.
The soup smelt sour as it boiled, and the windows cried as they percolated. When she stepped to the sink, I stirred a spoon in the soup, searching for eyeballs and fingers. When she turned around, I dropped the spoon, and the soup sucked it under. I put my arm behind my back and pretended I hadn't done anything.
"Ah, you are old enough to work at the funeral parlor. I need you there Wednesdays to wash the windows." Her whispery voice spread across my body, making my arm hairs stand tall.
"What?" I inhaled my spit, choking on it. "Um," I said with runny eyes as I repeatedly cleared my throat. I had no words. No way would I step foot in a place that housed dead people.
"Perfect," she said as if I had agreed.
The wind howled outside and rattled the windows.
Mrs. Hadley pulled her shawl tighter around her bony arms. "Your house is mighty cold. I must turn up the heat?"
We hadn't had oil for the furnace for years. Instead, Dad chopped and piled wood three times yearly to heat our home.
"We just use a wood-burning stove."
"Well, I am going to put more wood on the fire," she said as she awkwardly moved across the kitchen, her body seeming too long for our low ceilings.
"Well, don't use too much wood. Dad conserves it."
"Not while I am here." She sounded seditious.
After the horrid dinner, Mrs. Hadley had us sit in front of the crackling fire. She studied the pictures on our wall as we sat.
"Ah, yes." She said to the picture of grandpa. "I made you look better."
Stop talking to the picture of Grandpa. My skin tightened.
She turned from the image and held a book out. "I am going to read you George Orwell's Animal Farm."
I moaned while my younger siblings clapped their hands.
"I love animals," my sister Rachel said.
"Be prepared to be disappointed," I whispered into Rachel's ear. I hadn't read the book, but I had never seen a more disappointing movie.
Mrs. Hadley looked down her bifocals at me and said, "Humph."
"Mr. Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night but was too drunk to remember to..." She began in her mysterious voice. How would I survive the weekend?
Mrs. Hadley droned on, and my eyes wandered around the room. I couldn't see Great Grandpa's walking stick as I gazed at our decorations.
"Where is Grandpa's stick?" I shouted, interrupting Mrs. Hadley. I turned to my little brother Parker. He liked to use it as a wooden horse until Mom would yell at him.
Mom often reminded us, "This walking stick is more valuable than you know. It's my most prized possession." It was a stick! Why did it have so much worth?
"Where is the stick?" I asked again.
"What stick are you guys talking about?" Mrs. Hadley asked.
"The one that leaned against the bookshelf."
Mrs. Hadley's face grimaced. If I thought she was ugly before, dang!
"Oops. I think I used that for firewood." She didn't sound sorry.
A massive pile of wood gathered next to the wood-burning stove. Why hadn't she used that wood?
"That isn't good," I said and flung open the door on the stove. There, great grandpa's stick burned, broken in half.
"Mom is going to kill you," I snarled. Teach her to leave us with Mrs. Hadley again. I rescued both pieces, carried them with the fire tongs to the tub, and extinguished them. As I turned, the stick knocked the glass soap dish off the bathroom counter. I caught it just before it shattered on the floor. I placed the dish back on the counter, blackened from my sooty hands.
Pound. Pound. Pound.
"Hello," I heard a deep voice enter the house. I think someone had walked in. "Your sheep are out." It sounded like Dad's best friend, Bob. We had a flimsy fence around the sheep pasture. The wind had probably knocked it down again.
Without having time to wash the black off my hands, I ran outside to corral the sheep back in the pasture.
I grabbed Tank, Arlo, and Cashe, all sheep that happened to be mine.
"Back you go," I said, shepherding them to the corral. No other sheep were out. Together, we worked on fixing the fence. Thankfully, Bob helped us; otherwise, we may have lost all our sheep.
"Let your dad know I stopped by," he said, leaving a book for Dad.
I double-counted the sheep, noticing that Tank, Arlo, and Cashe had my black handprints all over them. Hopefully, it would rain through the night and wash them clean.
Once inside, I took Great Grandpa's walking stick and stashed the pieces under my bed.
"Girls, it's time for bed," Mrs. Hadley said to Angie and Rachel, taking their hands and leading them upstairs. Stupid, she better not plan on putting me to bed.
The high pitch squeal of Parker called, "Marcus!" I could feel his fear across the room as he peered out the living room window. I joined him and gasped. Three white ghosts floated in the pasture.
I grabbed Parker's hand, and we both squeezed each other tightly.
"Those are Mrs. Hadley's Ghosts," I whispered. "Why did Dad leave us with her?"
Tears ran down Parker's face. "I'm scared."
"Me too." As the oldest, I should remain strong, but I couldn't.
Spencer walked over.
"What's going on?"
"There are three ghosts in the sheep pasture." The words came out weak.
"You're lying. I'm not falling for that."
"No, really, there are."
"Stop, you guys are..." Spencer saw Parker's face and knew it wasn't a joke. He looked out the window and stared at the ghosts.
"Those aren't ghosts," he said. "Those are sheep."
"Sheep?"
I studied the ghosts closer and could hardly believe it. Spencer was right. Those were sheep. Out in the pasture, three sheep floated above the others.
"Go get them," Parker cried.
"I ain't going out there. You go, Spencer."
"I ain't going out there either," he said. "Marcus, you are the oldest. That is your job." Spencer crunched to the floor.
Boom. Boom. Mrs. Hadley shook the house as she came down the stairs. Her odor of mothballs reached us before she did. I quickly pulled the curtains closed. What would she do to us if she knew we saw her black magic? We dived onto the couch, trying to act natural.
"Why aren't you boys getting ready for bed?" She asked.
Without hesitation, we ran up the stairs to our room.
After I had my pajamas on, I returned to the bathroom and closed the door. When I flipped on the light, I screamed.
The soap dish floated in the bathroom.
"Is everything all right?" Mrs. Hadley asked as she jiggled the handle and tried to come in. Why was she coming into the bathroom with me?
"Just a spider. I'm fine," I said.
I reached for the floating object, then pulled back. I tried again but didn't have the bravery to grab it. Finally, I took hold of the soap dish and shoved it under the sink.
Good thing my brothers and I shared a bed because we clung to each other all night long, none of us hardly sleeping.
All the poltergeist activity came from Mrs. Hadley. When you live with dead people, they follow you places.
The storm blasted our house during the night. The fresh air greeted me in the morning as I walked to the sheep pasture to count the sheep. The chill in the air penetrated my clothing as the sheep huddled in a group, none floating. Their musky smell hovered above them. I needed my parents to come home soon, so I didn't have to have another night with Mrs. Hadley. Unfortunately, they didn't. I hadn't trusted the hag before, but now I had reason to fear her. What type of evil must one have to possess innocent sheep? As we waited for my parent's return, Mrs. Hadley had us spend our entire Saturday weeding, mowing, and caring for her yard.
"Are you going to pay us?" Rachel asked as the evening set. We deserved something for sacrificing our precious Saturday to Mrs. Hadley's slave labor.
"Hahahahaha!" Mrs. Hadley cackled. "Pay you! I have given my entire weekend to watch you guys. Oh no, darling. You and your siblings are entirely indebted to me. I figure you have a month's worth of Saturdays to satisfy this debt."
Rachel looked at me with saddened eyes.
"That is crap," I explained to Rachel, away from Mrs. Hadley. "We didn't ask Mrs. Hag to watch us. I ain't giving up any more Saturdays for her."
But I was wrong. Our parents made us work in her yard for five more Saturdays. If I were to write a story problem, it would go like this.
"How much money in slave labor did Mrs. Hag collect with five children working ten dollars an hour? Those children worked ten-hour days. They worked six days. The answer, $3,000." As far as I figured, Mrs. Hag made $3,000 off watching us for that weekend. What a crook.
If only working Saturdays constituted my only problem with Mrs. Hag. She commissioned me to wash her windows every Wednesday. I tried to get out of it, but Dad forced me.
I thought I would die the first time I washed inside the funeral parlor. It felt like stepping into a haunted mansion. The home had to be five thousand years old. Not a second went by that it didn't creak. My muscles tensed as I looked around for the zombie or ghost that made the house moan and squeal.
And the rats! They ran in and out of the wall molding. What was worse, rats or ghosts? At least Mrs. Hag didn't make me catch the rats.
After working two months there, I gathered my courage to ask Mrs. Hag about my wages.
"Um, Mrs. Hadley. When do I get paid?" I gripped the cleaning rag and stared at the floor. She had yellow eyes where white should be. I looked away as anguish moved up my spine. She had to be a ghoul herself with eyes like that. And that crazy-wicked eye that rolled in circles when she talked with you. I never knew where to look.
"Paid! Oh, dear boy, you will never get paid. You owe me." Her voice came out scratchy, like air across sandpaper.
"Um, I thought I paid off my debt when we worked in your yard." It scared me to talk with her, but she owed me for the windows.
"Oh, that is a different debt, son. You are working off your dad's debt. Your grandpa's debt. Your great grandpa's debt."
I stared at her. What was she talking about? My ancestors didn't owe her money. Why would they? And besides, she had burned grandpa's stick. If nothing else, Mrs. Hag owed me.
The bell over the door rang. Mrs. Hag's eyes bulged out as she rubbed her hands together. "Customers," she cackled.
As I washed the windows in the parlor, I heard The Findleys talk with her. I guess their daughter had just died from a two-year battle with cancer.
"And so, you see, I personally feel you would dishonor your daughter if you bought her the cheapest lining." Mrs. Hag said.
I snuck a look at the Findleys. They blankly stared out of their lifeless eyes. I almost felt their sorrow and wanted to cry. I had seen them at church, and they usually had lots of energy. But there, as they talked about their daughter's funeral, they seemed empty vessels. That's too bad their daughter Ann had died. It now made sense why she had stopped coming to church. Now I felt terrible. I hadn't known she had cancer.
"To honor Ann properly, you should go with the velvet insert. See, feel how wonderful that will feel on her skin."
Mrs. Hag grabbed Mrs. Findleys' hand and rubbed it against the velvet. Mrs. Findley didn't respond.
"Yes, that is lovely, isn't it?" Mrs. Hadley said. "I will put you down for the velvet. What was Ann's favorite color?"
Silence.
Mrs. Hag snapped at them like they were schoolchildren. "Ann's favorite color," she demanded.
"Oh, uh, hunter green."
"Nice. Nice. We will inlay the coffin with hunter-green velvet. Now, let's discuss the coffin. Ann deserves the 18-gauge steel with the full rubber gasket sealer."
"No, I am sorry," Mr. Findley said, breaking out of his trance. "We owe hundreds of thousands for Ann's medical bills. We need to have the cheapest casket. Nothing with precious hunter-green velvet or full rubber seals. We actually hope you have a leftover clearance casket in the back."
"No. No. No. I am appalled at you!" Mrs. Hag roared as she stood up. "Ann deserves so much better than you cheapskates are offering. This is your only daughter. Why would you force her to spend eternity in a clearance coffin?"
Mrs. Findley gasped as tears sprang forth. Her cheeks puffed out.
"You know what, Mrs. Hadley. You are entirely out of line. This is a hard day for us." Mr. Findley turned to his wife and grabbed her hand. "Let's go, Susan."
Mrs. Hadley arched her long fingers in a tent. "Where are you going to go? There isn't a funeral parlor for over three hundred miles. They will upcharge you for the delivery of your clearance casket. So, you might as well just buy the nice one from me, instead of spending the same amount on their cheap one. And then, are you going to make all of Ann's guests travel 300 miles for the funeral? What a burden you are willing to place on everyone just to save a buck."
Susan sat down, and Mr. Findley squared up to Mrs. Hag. "I am leaving here not to save a buck but because of how insensitive you are."
"I can't let emotions get involved, Mr. Findley. You must understand that. I know everyone in this town. If I played favorites with someone just because we go to the church picnic together, then I would go under. Do you understand that?"
He stared at the hag, but his eyes were no longer empty. They now burned with hate for Mrs. Hag.
"Sit down," Susan moaned. "What choice do we have? Please, sit down, Horace. You two are upsetting me, and I can't handle it anymore."
Horace sat beside his wife but refused to look at Mrs. Hag.
The hag put her face directly into Mr. Findley's' face. Poor guy, I remembered how rotten her breath smelt. "Now, you have insulted me. I will have to add ten percent onto your bill because, frankly, I don't want to do your funeral anymore. If it weren't for Ann, I would throw you out on your butt, but I do this for Ann."
"Sure, you do," I snarled under my breath. But I guess it wasn't under my breath because Mrs. Hag flew across the room and grabbed my ear.
"It is rude to eavesdrop," she said.
"Ouch, let go," I cried. She dragged me down the stairs into the morgue, or at least that's what I called it.
"Don't leave me here. Don't leave me here," I cried. "I am sorry."
"Noddy little boys will learn to be good little boys. Now, mop the floor. You will find all you need in the corner."
Mrs. Hag bounded up the wood plank stairs. The metal clicked as she locked the door, encasing me in her tomb.
I shook as I tried not to look around. I didn't want to see any dead bodies, especially Ann's.
A large mop bucket sat in the corner. Its mildewy smell hit me as I peered inside at the black water with a layer of oil on top. I dumped the hideous water down the mop sink. The smell of death billowed up and choked me. How many spilled bodily fluids had this cleaned?
I stayed as far as I could from the large metal door. She probably kept the dead bodies in there.
I moped the floor as fast as I could, and to my surprise, Mrs. Hag let me out of the basement. I ran all the way home, bawling.
When I arrived home, I found Dad's best friend, Bob, leaving. I didn't want Bob to see me cry, so I snuck in through the back door.
"I will never go back," I complained to dad when we were alone.
"We have no choice," he told me. He didn't look up from his pile of bills. His status as a protector diminished in my eyes. He could tell that witch no.
"Why are we in debt to her?"
"It is complicated, son."
"Tell me." I hit the table with my fist.
"Watch yourself," he growled, still not looking at me. His voice then wabbled, "Well, I am going to keep it simple. But let's just say Mrs. Hadley lent me the money to buy my new Tier IV electrolyte plus vacuum."
"Why did you borrow money from the hag?"
Dad sighed long. "It's complicated. Let's just say I am already in debt to her for life. That is why I shampoo her carpets and help her prepare the bodies that come in."
"You touch corpses! I never knew that. I thought you just cleaned. Please don't ever touch me again." I thought of his hands manipulating dead bodies. How often had those tainted hands prepared my food or rubbed against my face? My face uncontrollably twitched.
"Mrs. Hadley said my shampooer was no longer doing a quality job on her carpets. She was right. She told me I had to get a better shampooer, but I didn't have money for that. So, that is why she sent me up north to get the refurbished Tier IV, and she paid for it."
"Is that why she babysat us?" I asked.
"Yeah, because it was kind of her idea. She didn't mind because she said she needed some yard work done from you kids. She thought it would be a fair exchange."
"Fair exchange! We worked $3,000 worth of hours for her. That ain't fair."
"Yeah, I had figured she was only talking about a few hours on a Saturday. I hadn't realized she meant so many Saturdays."
"Why don't you stick up for us?"
Dad's arms wrapped around his body. I hardly saw him insecure. "Oh, I can't. I really can't. I think I owe her my soul."
"FOR A STUPID VACUUM?"
Dad pushed his chair back, and he shot up. "Watch your tone, boy! You have no idea."
That evening, Mom made three delectable pies. Two for the church potluck and an extra special one just for our family to enjoy later. When everyone went to the church potluck, I stayed behind. I couldn't handle seeing more of Mrs. Hag; I knew she would be there.
My steelie rolled under my bed as I played marbles on my floor. I reached my hand under, and something powdery and smooth rubbed against me as I grabbed my steelie. Black soot covered my palms and fingers. I wiped them off on my comforter.
Oh yeah, that must be great-grandpa's Amazon rainforest stick. I pulled one of the halves out. Mom was pretty mad when she learned about Mrs. Hag burning her prized possession. I had meant to tell Mom I had rescued the two broken pieces, but she hadn't given me a chance, and then I forgot.
The black reminded me of the ink of a pen. I picked up a pair of white canvas shoes that Mom had bought me at the thrift. I hated those shoes. I rubbed the soot on them and turned them a smokey gray. Maybe I would wear them now.
What else could I color? I looked around the room. There was Spencer's pillow. I hated that pillow. It constantly rubbed against my face at night. I rubbed the stick's charcoal all over Spencer's pillow. Hah, that'll teach him!
The front door opened as I heard my family return. Quickly I stashed the stick under the bed. I rubbed the black from my hands on a pair of basketball shorts, then ran to the kitchen, so I didn't get blamed for blackening the stupid pillow. Mom angrily stomped into the kitchen and glared at me as I washed my hands at the sink.
"What did I do?" I asked as I shook the water off my hands. Without replying, she flung open the fridge door.
"Mrs. Forshe," I heard. That had to be the voice of the hag in the front room. What was she doing here?
What is the hag doing here? I didn't go to the church potluck to avoid seeing her, and then my family brought her home. Mrs. Hag appeared in the kitchen. Mom turned away from the fridge and presented our family's apple pie to her. My apple pie. What was Mom doing?
"I'll take that," the hag said without even thanking her.
"Humph," Mom said and pushed past the hag.
The hag stood in the kitchen, looking confused. I wanted to grab my pie from those disgusting fingers and run, but I didn't move.
"I'll see myself out," she said as she left with my pie.
As soon as the front door closed, Mom started yelling at dad.
"Why did you offer her my pie at the church? You know that was for the family."
Dad said, "I'm sorry. I wouldn't have mentioned it if I knew she would follow us home and demand it."
"Of course, she would demand it. She demands everything of us. Now, she even has Marcus working for her. Before you know it, it will be the whole family."
I snuck into the front room and ducked behind the couch to be closer to the fight.
"Mrs. Hadley owns everything of ours. She even burned my most sacred keepsake of my grandpa. And what do you do?" Mom's shrilling scream hurt my ears, and I covered them. "You give her my pie."
"Mom," Spencer screeched from upstairs in our room. "Mom, come here quick."
Oh no, this isn't a good time for Spencer to tattle on me about the pillow. Mom was already fuming. She might be more heavy-handed in her punishment. Maybe I shouldn't have dirtied his pillow.
"Not now!" Roared Mom.
"Mom," Parker joined in. "Please, it's an emergency."
I better hide.
On my way to my new hiding spot, Mom screamed. That wasn't a scream of an angry mom but more of fear. I left my hiding and ran to my room. Inside, my comforter, Spencer's pillow, my shoes, and the basketball shorts hovered in the air.
"That's what happened last time she was here," I said, frightened and amazed.
"What do you mean?" Dad asked, joining us.
Spencer pulled the neck of his shirt up over his eyes. "Mrs. Hag. All the sheep were floating last time she was here."
"What are you talking about?" Mom asked.
"It is true," I said. "Well, almost true. Not all the sheep were floating, but many were."
"How come no one told us?" Mom asked.
"We didn't think you would believe us."
"I still don't know if I believe you," Mom said. The color drained from her face. She clutched Dad's hand.
Dad collected the possessed objects and tossed them in the outside trash. That night we all slept on my parent's floor.
***
Before I knew it, Dad forced me to the hag's house on Saturdays.
"What do you mean I have to do yard work every Saturday morning? Isn't cleaning her windows on Wednesdays enough torture?" My voice hurt from yelling, but I had to fight the injustice.
Dad wouldn't look at me. "Because Mrs. Hadley insists."
"Why are you so spineless?"
Dad's hand slapped across my face. My cheeks burned from the assault, but my pride stung deeper.
Why didn't he stick up for me? He shut me up whenever I tried to talk to him about her.
Mom would pick me up after my grueling Saturday shift. Otherwise, Mrs. Hag would never release me.
"I don't get it," I growled as I plopped my feet on the dashboard. "Why do you guys let her run our lives?"
"It's complicated."
"That's what Dad said. But, if you expect me to keep giving Mrs. Hag slave labor, then you need to tell me what's going on."
"Mrs. Hadley," Mom's voice came out as tart as a crabapple.
"Mrs. Hag," I corrected, and Mom snickered.
"Well, five years ago, Grandma Forshe died."
"I remember."
"Well, we didn't have any burial or funeral money for Dad's Mom. We went to the funeral parlor and Mrs. Haggley...I mean Hadley."
I laughed.
"She said she would work out a deal for us. So, she put together a mediocre funeral, and Dad has been working for Hadley ever since to settle the debt."
"Surely, he has paid it off by now."
"I doubt he will have satisfied it." The car stopped at a red light. Mom looked at me with sorrow in her eyes.
"When that tragic car accident took my parents and grandpa last year, the funeral cost more than our home. Dad was forced to sell his shampooing business to her..." Mom's voice choked up. "And our home. And even then, she said we still owed her thousands. So, all of Dad's money now channels through her. She keeps what she deems worthy of covering the funereal costs and our rent. We will never settle the debt. She will make sure of that."
That explained a lot. I hadn't realized how evil the hag really was. No wonder spirits followed her and possessed items.
That night, my brothers and I slept again on my parent's floor. Mom and Dad couldn't convince us that the evil spirits were out of our room.
"Oh no," Parker bellowed after my parents turned out the lights. "I left Mr. Stinky Winky." Stinky Winky was his favorite teddy bear.
"Then go get it." The grumble in Dad's voice showed how tired he felt.
"NO WAY!" Parker whimpered. "I can't go into that room alone. Will you get it for me?"
"Not a chance. I am all nice and tucked in," Dad said.
"You slept without it last night," Mom said.
Parker's voice elevated. "I can't sleep without Stinky Winky. I need Stinky Winky," he cried on the verge of hysteria.
"Marcus, go get it for him."
"Why me?"
"Because you are the oldest."
"That is stupid."
I quickly tiptoed into my room. I looked everywhere for his dumb teddy bear but couldn't see it. I knew I had to find it because they would just send me back again if I came back empty-handed.
Below the bed, I saw the bear trapped under one of the broken rainforest sticks. I lifted the stick, and immediately my hand blackened. I wiped it on the underside of the dumb bear. As I stood, I saw my Spider-Man comic book. I put Stinky Winky down and grabbed my comic. When I turned around, the bear levitated by my head.
I almost screamed, then stopped. As the bear floated above my head, I saw my black handprint on its bum.
Instantly, the mystery came together.
The sheep.
The soap dish.
The bear.
Mrs. Hag wasn't possessed.
I pulled the rain stick out and wiped more soot on my hand. Then, I wiped the soot on a backpack at my feet to test my hypothesis. Within ten seconds, the bag floated next to the teddy bear.
I wiped more soot on a pair of underwear.
Up they went.
Mrs. Hag had nothing to do with this.
Well, actually, I guess she did. She was the one who had created the soot on the Amazon stick when she had thrown it in the wood-burning stove.
I wiped my hand all over the room, and soon thirty things floated. I didn't understand how this worked, but at least I knew what was causing it.
I took a wet wipe, and the objects fell when I removed the sooty prints. That is why the sheep had stopped levitating. The rain had washed the handprints off.
I ran into the bathroom and looked under the sink where I had stashed the soap dish. It still floated under the sink. I guess no one had gone under there in a while.
Once I had cleaned my prints off everything, I went to my parent's room and found everyone asleep. Even Parker had fallen asleep without his Teddy Bear.
Sadly, as we slept, something tragic happened. A tour bus full of The Voodoo Kings from New Orleans had driven off a bridge thirteen miles away. After the small hospital had prepped all the bodies, they stored them in Mrs. Hag's basement. Her large body-fridge had room for all of them.
"You have no choice," Dad said at breakfast, not looking at me. "You have to come help."
"I don't want to be anywhere near dead people," I moaned.
Dad refused to listen.
"We need help with preparing the Voodoo Kings' bodies. There are just too many of them for just Mrs. Hadley and me."
"No!"
"Stop acting like a toddler. You have fifteen minutes to get ready."
I slammed my bedroom door.
"I hate dead people."
I kicked a soccer ball, and it went under my bed. At that moment, genius hit me.
***
In Mrs. Hag's creepy basement, Dad took me to a section of clothes and luggage.
"We are just waiting for their families to pick up the bodies or send for them. Here are the names of all the passengers. It is your job to go through everything and put them in piles of each owner."
I kept my back turned to the other section of the basement—the section with the bodies.
"I hate voodoo," Mrs. Hag said as she and my dad worked with the bodies.
"I don't believe in any of that crap," Dad said.
I searched the outside of the luggage first. I had thirteen names to sort everything into.
Mrs. Hag continued, "Someone did a voodoo doll on me once. I tell you, the worst month of my life. That magic is real."
I wish I had a voodoo doll to do on her.
"You should stop worrying about it. You are just going to get yourself worked up," Dad said. "Besides, these guys are a band. They don't practice real voodoo. It's just their band name."
Two hours passed when Dad and Mrs. Hag ran upstairs for something. I knew my time had come, and she made it so easy with the hag's fear of voodoo.
I opened my memento box. I had filled the inside with soot from the rainforest stick. I rubbed my hands in it.
I peered at the bodies. Wouldn't it be classic if Mrs. Hag came downstairs, and all the bodies were floating? I went to do it, but my legs wouldn't move. I didn't have what it took to touch those slimy bodies.
I lacked the bravery.
I heard the top door open. I only had seconds. What would I do?
As quickly as possible, I wiped my hands on every piece of clothing, shoes, jewelry, and keepsakes that had come off the bus. When Dad and Mrs. Hag entered the room, most of the people's possessions levitated around me.
"Ahh, Ahh!" Mrs. Hag screamed. "I told you voodoo was real."
She shrieked and laminated, and we couldn't calm her.
Dad looked frightened, but I think he didn't know what to do about the hag. He tried to calm her. He talked softly to her, but she wouldn't stop screaming. Eventually, he had to call the paramedics to take her away.
I felt triumphant but couldn't help feeling more guilt than pleasure. I had rocked that hag's world. I had only meant to have a little fun with her.
***
We were at church three months after the voodoo incident at Mrs. Hadley's house. The pastor had ended the sermon on forgiveness when Dad's best friend, Bob, went to the podium. This was unusual since only the pastor or guest pastors used that podium.
"Wasn't that a lovely sermon on forgiveness," Bob said.
"Boo, sit down," people growled.
Why did the congregation have a problem with Bob? I didn't know a nicer adult than Bob.
"I understand most of you don't like me."
"Understatement of the year," Someone called out.
"I get it. I get it. I know you think I deserve it, and in a way, I agree. But you must also understand, as a lawyer, I am bound to the law. Even though you didn't like what I did, I followed the law."
"You'd sell your own mom to the devil," Someone called out.
"What did Bob do?" I asked Dad.
"Shhh!"
"We all know Hadley owns half of the town, and I was instrumental in helping her obtain it."
I looked around the congregation and mainly saw faces of hate. I had never seen such anger in one place, and in church for that matter.
How could everyone be mad at Bob? He was the nicest man in town.
Mom and Dad looked worried. At least they would stand by him. I knew I would.
"Yesterday, the doctors declared Mrs. Hadley mentally incapacitated. She no longer can make any legal decisions."
I hung my head in shame. It was my fault. Mrs. Hadley had a psychotic break at her house when I 'possessed' all the Voodoo Kings' stuff. The authorities locked her in a mental institution, which was my fault. I had spent the last three months begging God for forgiveness.
Bob continued, "I am Mrs. Hadley's power of attorney. Therefore, starting right now, I have some changes to make."
The room went silent, and Bob, I guess I'll say, Lawyer Bob looked at everyone with pleading eyes. "Might I ask for your forgiveness as I make these changes?"
There was a mixed response to that.
"For starters, anyone who is in debt to Mrs. Hadley, your debt is settled."
A roar moved through the congregation like thunder.
"If Mrs. Hadley owned your house, come and see me. I will return your deed to you. Free and cleared."
Now the church shook as if an earthquake pounded through.
After church, we joined the potluck.
The pastor put his arm over my shoulder. "Have you forgiven yourself yet?" He asked me as the holder of my secret.
"I don't know. How can I? I ruined her life."
"Hmm," the pastor replied. "First of all, I know for sure you didn't cause Sister Hadley's psychotic break."
-Little did he know, I had. "Even if you did, it's been three months, and I have seen you in confession for three months straight. God forgives. That is what my sermon was on. Look around at the powerful gift of forgiveness. Because of the delicate situation, the congregation has found forgiveness. Many of these people have carried heavy burdens because of our sister. Today, they could release those burdens."
I saw and felt the joy in the room.
"Now, Marcus, it is time to forgive yourself."
The pastor balmed my soul with his kind words.
I thought about my role in Hadley's psychotic break. I hadn't told anyone else about the soot from the Amazon stick. It still hid under my bed. Did I ever dare use it again?
Perhaps.
I knew where to find it if I ever needed it.
Dad never talked about the crazy day at Mrs. Hadley's funeral parlor. What did he think about the levitation?
We were collecting our casserole dish at the end of the potluck when Lawyer Bob approached us.
"Well done, Bob," Dad said. "What you did today healed a town."
"It was the right thing."
The best friends shared a quick hug.
"The town could use a mortician." Lawyer Bob said. "You were like her understudy, weren't you?"
"Yeah, I guess."
Lawyer Bob handed Dad three sheets of paper. "The deed to your home. The deed to your shampooing business. And the deed to the funeral parlor, I give to you, Mortician Forshe."
"Mortician Forshe," Dad scratched his beard. "I could get used to that title."
-My dad, a mortician!
Gross!
The town was no longer indentured servants to the hag. Now, the town had a mortician that served with fairness and love.
-And like that, my deepest desire happened. Dad sold the shampoo business, and as the town's new mortician, he had one steady, decent-paying job.
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The Mortician's Widow
by Stephanie Daich
