Under the Night

Part Three

Oh, keep up, old girl!

She frowned at the curtain and set down the candle. I should have brought some salt, she thought, shivering. The bulge under it wasn't large, but much bigger than that of the child-sized scepter. It was long and slim. At any moment, it looked like it would stretch and elongate into a monstrous being of darkness. Ida shook her head. But it's Grandmother's birthday...and it's just been mine. Certainly she wouldn't harm me after such festivities....

Ida crept closer and blew another puff of smoke.

"I don't know who you are," she said, "But you're not my grandmother. That much I know. Whoever you are, please give me a signal. If you are the spirit of Martha Stonefield Spinner, blow out this candle!"

Silence. The pale flame glowed gently, almost gentler than before. Ida walked toward the coffee table. Mrs Fincher's heart pounded.

"This basket is quite large, spirit. Open it if you are good."

Fiddlesticks! Finchy thought, I thought it blended in with all her other...! The wicker basket remained closed. That is, until Ida slid her fingers under the lid and opened it.

A yellowed skull greeted her. She shuddered at the long, jagged crack from the top of it, at the endless, blue-black tunnels where eyes once glowed....

"Good evening, Mrs. Pumphrey," murmured a dull, clipped voice, "Is the room to your liking?"

Ida whirled around. Mrs. Fincher slid out from behind the scarlet curtain, gripping a large kitchen knife. The sharp silvery point glistened like a claw in the moonlight.

"No," Ida gasped, "You can't be...!"

Mrs. Fincher smirked and wrapped her long strong arms around the big woman, dragging her toward the balcony.

"You really thought it was a ghost stealing everything, you fat stupid broad?! You're like an overgrown child-- always needing some little shadow above you!"

She shoved the knife toward Ida, who dodged it, and threw her own massive figure around the maid. They struggled for a bit, until Ida wrestled the knife from Finchy's broad hand and threw it over the balcony.

"Really, Finchy?! How dare you hold such contempt for the woman who trusted you!"

"Wait, wait...Ida!"

Ida grabbed Mrs. Fincher by the shoulders and raised her above her head.

"I've wasted all this time searching this house for ghosts, and you're the real image of death."

"I...I...only want...!"

"What you can't have. Well, I'm sorry, Finchy, but did you really have to kill five women for it?"

Mrs. Fincher's jaw dropped.

"How did you...?"

"Instinct, and the skull in your basket. Now, if you don't mind wind rushing through your hair...."

Ida let go, and Finchy fell from the second-story balcony. She landed flat on her back. Ida cringed. The brown-red cobblestones must have prickled the bones. Her heart suddenly pounded. If she's dead, she thought, So am I! Everyone will know...!