Devil In A White Dress

Seventy-One

At an hour later, Timothy fled and barged into the cabin that formerly belonged to Oscar and Margery. Feeling both relieved that Emma wasn't going to be able to find him shortly, while also feeling very dim-witted for leaving his father behind.

It didn't matter anymore, because he was probably murdered by now, the voices of Timothy's head muttered, she's about to come for you and you'll be as good as dead. There's nowhere to hide. You're all alone now.

Inside, he found out that Emma had been the cause of all his suffering and ailments this whole time. "DEVIL IN WHITE" was painted in blood all over the wooden walls, the two-seat sofa and couch were left torn and ripped apart, bullets were found on the floor and along with a horrible scent flowing from upstairs.

There was also a path of blood that led to a room with the impression that stated Do not venture forth. His heart racing, Timothy placed his hand to cover his eyes while venturing forth. When he opened them, the claustrophobia started again? He was horrified to the core upon seeing not only dozens of animal hunting trophies hanging on the wall, but the severed head of Oscar placed in the middle.

Timothy vomited when he caught another glimpse of its hideousness. He refrained from looking. But in reality, this wasn't the first horror show. He'd seen Jenny Louise's severed head days ago, yet still he continued breathing. Walking further, he came across a pile of large boxes stuffed with coats made from the animals the couple had hunted.

He couldn't tell, though. Maybe it was Oscar or Margery who did the hunting. Old cassettes, a damaged tape recorder and more bottles of Jack Daniels. A ladder was seen wedged unto the corner of the room, and then on the ceiling, a door.

For a second, Tim almost laughed, because he couldn't understand why everything was now playing in the form of a movie. Was he going to die like all the characters did at the end?

Was it going to go down exactly as how Toby had told him things would? Would he be the character to survive or were they any survivors in this nightmare?

It sounded totally absurd. In that secret room, Timothy found a similar box filled with animal fur coat, then hanging on the wall to his left was a Side By Side shotgun, looking as though it was last used in the 80's. He armed himself with it, but from the weight, it was assumed there were no bullets.

There had to be.

He just wasn't sure, but Timothy would go for it anyway. Slowly descending the ladder, he tried recapturing his early lessons with Uncle Sam during the time where he and Toby were taught how to aim and fire. It didn't feel so hard. During his stay with Sam and Kitty, he'd accidentally shot a policeman's kneecap during training and got his dear uncle in trouble.

That day was not any different from being chased by a madwoman in the woods. As soon as he stepped one foot on a stair, Emma was already seen in the sitting area. Claustrophobia started rising. She was caught in the attempt to burn down the cabin. Can of gasoline in right hand sprinkling all over the furniture, TV set and carpet.

This needed to stop. This madness needed to end, but how far was he going to go in doing exactly that?

With high assertiveness, Timothy corked the shotgun and aimed at her. He aimed right at her head, like good ol' Uncle Sam taught him.

"Stop it," Timothy demanded, then Emma dropped the can, her "good side" shone brightly as she watched the steadiness of the thirteen-year old.

"Do you know how to shoot?", she inquired in a sarcastically evil tone, as though everything that had just happened never happened and this was just the typical, getting'-to-know-you bonding period between the minor and the crazed adult, "Were you taught well?"

Timothy nodded.

"Good," Emma smiled in reply, "Because I want you to shoot me anyway. Oh, but first I like to introduce myself. My name is Emma Woodburn..."

"I know who you are," Timothy snarled, fascinated that he was somehow settled with this deceiving, calm personality of the psychopath. She talked so smoothly, her ignorance and lack of sympathy psychologically haunted him on the spot. Her voice was a combination of seductiveness and anarchism.

"I'll have to admit, though, " she continued happily, "You and my son are alike. I'm not intending to kill you, just for the sake of your curiosity. I see a lot of Willie inside you. He was the only kid I ever loved. But sadly, something devastating happened on October ninth, and now I can't change the past. But at least now you know what it's like to lose someone...or should I say, people you love dearest.

Don't you, young man?"

When she said those words, Timothy's fear, hurt and anger provoked him to the near point of pulling the trigger. He refrained from sweating. The taunts made from Emma about his cousin or family's deaths drilled into him deep.

"Did you kill them?", he inquired, waiting for her to say the 'yes' word, so the bullet fired straight to her nose.

"No," she simply replied, "They won't die until I say so. Your father, mother, sister and brother are back in the cabin waiting for you to join. I only killed your.... aunt and uncle....as well as your cousin."

"What do you want from us?", he whimpered, "Why did you come here?"

Emma narrated it all in a devilish, twisted sweet type of voice, like singing a lullaby to Willie.

"My doctor asked me a similar question. What makes you sane, Emma Woodburn. I never really understood him, but now I think it's obvious. Killing, to me, is something that makes me feel........"

She started to sob softly. But why that change of tone? This disturbing side of her made Timothy sick to his stomach. Was this freak trying to laugh or cry?

"....It makes me feel happy," she continued, "Ever since that day I lost both Peter and Willie, I felt so alone. Trapped in darkness. Like you are right now. But I wasn't aware of what I did on October ninth. All I remember was dancing, then hours later, I find a knife in my hand. Blood splattered everywhere. Their beautiful faces, stabbed and gutted. I spent half of my life in the quiet, isolated room of utter darkness.

Strapped to the bed, restrained from movement. Thinking about why I did it. But then when I escaped, I found out the logic of all this was the world to nurture me into a newborn killer."

She giggled after mentioning the last word.

"The world does things to you, you know. When you believe that you're not capable of doing this, the next thing you know, a complete transformation begins. And gradually, you lose yourself to the disease that's called insanity. I love little boys. I love Willie, even though he's in Heaven watching over me."

"But why did you shoot my cousin, you sicko?!", Timothy barked.

"He was in the way", Emma replied coldly, "I'm sorry, but you can't change the past. You'll just have to move on and forget about it."

Timothy heard enough. He fired a shot but the outdated firearm didn't agree to his terms. The shot backfired and blasted his fingers off completely. He screamed and cried in pain just looking at the blood splattered over his shirt and floor. The single finger remaining on his left hand was the pinky. Others vanished. Emma, however, didn't care. She watched, while being emotionless.

Claustrophobia attacked him like never before. His heart pounded really fast, and now all he saw was the blurry image of the Devil in WHITE. Timothy blacked out.