Blood Games

    ‘I think Batty’s batty,’ Finley said. ‘Probably doesn’t know shit.’

    ‘There’s only one way to find out.’

    ‘What else have we got to go on?’ Cora asked. ‘Hell, he lives here. Even if he hasn’t seen Helen, he might have some ideas about who took her.’

    ‘Besides,’ Abilene said, ‘if nothing else, this’ll give us a chance to check out the cabin.’

    ‘Enter the lair,’ Finley said, grinning slightly.

    ‘It isn’t as if he’s forcing us.’

    ‘Yeah,’ Cora said. ‘He had us and walked away.’

    Vivian stood up straight. She shook her head. She said, ‘Let’s do it. What’s the worst that can happen?’ With that, she walked toward the back of the cabin.

    The others followed.

    Finley, striding along beside Abilene, said, ‘What’s the worst that can happen? Let’s see. We might all end up in jars.’

    At the top of the stairs, Vivian rapped on the door.

    ‘Come into my parlor,’ whispered Finley.

    ‘Can it,’ Abilene said.

    Vivian pulled open the door. She stepped over the threshold and paused, an arm stretched back to hold the door open for the rest of them.

    Entering, Abilene found herself in a long, narrow kitchen. She saw cupboards, a black iron stove, a small pump over the sink that looked like a smaller version of the pump she’d seen outside. No refrigerator, not even an old icebox. A gas lamp hung suspended from the ceiling, and another rested atop a small wooden table in one corner.

    ‘Batty?’ Vivian called.

    ‘Waitin’ for ya.’

    They stepped through a doorway into the main room of the cabin. It wasn’t as brightly lit as the kitchen, its few windows apparently hidden from the sun by overhanging trees. In the center of the room, Batty was leaning over a table, spreading out a leathery scroll.

    Vivian’s Reeboks looked enormous on the lunatic’s small feet.

    ‘Come over and sit.’

    On her way to the table, Abilene took a quick look around. Except for the kitchen, this seemed to be the only room. A bed along the right wall was neatly covered with a quilt. The shotgun was propped against the wall near its head. At the foot of the bed was a steamer trunk, lid shut. In the room’s far corner was a pot-bellied stove. There were a few chairs scattered about: straight cane-backs and one rocker. She spotted a few gas lamps on small tables. Every wall had shelves laden with bulky old tomes and an odd assortment of nicknacks: wax figures, candles, crucifixes, pictures of saints, bones and feathers, stuffed birds and squirrels, bowls, every size and shape of clear glass jar -from which Abilene quickly averted her eyes.

    Only to notice a stuffed bat, wings outspread, nailed above the front door.

    From the general size and shape of the creature’s ugly head with its stubby snout and pointed teeth, she realized that Batty’s necklace ornament must be the skull of a bat.

    Charming, she thought.

    I’m in a madhouse.

    Clearly, Helen wasn’t here.

    Unless in that trunk…

    She glanced again at the trunk beyond the foot of the bed and decided it wasn’t large enough for Helen. Not unless…

    ‘Are you some kind of a witch?’ Finley asked.

    ‘Some say so.’ Cackle. ‘Some say I’m batty.’

    ‘What do you say?’

    ‘Old Batty sees the unseen, knows the unknown. Sit sit sit.’

    They pulled out chairs, and sat around the table. Most of its top was covered by the mat that Batty’d been unrolling when they came in. It looked like tanned animal hide, stained dark brown. A wiggly oval outline about the size of a football was faintly visible near the center.

    The wood of the table showed through a hole near one end of the outline.

    Coming up behind Abilene, Batty poked the hole with the point of his knife.

    ‘Batty’s place.’

    ‘This is a map?’ Cora asked.

    ‘Oughtabe.’

    Cora reached out and touched an edge of the oval. ‘And this is the lake?’

    Batty, scurrying away, didn’t answer.

    ‘You’re going to show us where Helen is?’

    Batty came back from a shelf, cupping an earthenware bowl.

    Off in a corner, something creaked. Abilene flinched. She shot her eyes in the direction of the sound, and saw the rocking chair teetering. For just a moment, her mind was stunned by a memory of the hideous deformity they’d encountered one Halloween night a few years ago. In a chair in a corner. Unseen at first. Just like now.

    Then she saw the snow-white cat crouching on the seat of the rocker.

    She let out a shaky sigh of relief.

    The others, as startled as she by the unexpected disturbance, also seemed glad to find nothing worse than a cat in the chair.

    ‘Amos,’ Batty informed her guests.

    The cat switched its tail.

    ‘Figures,’ Finley said. ‘A witch, a cat.’ Smirking at Batty, she asked, ‘Do you know where Helen is? Have you seen her? Or are you just planning to divine for us?’

    Abilene grimaced. Was Finley nuts? How could she talk this way to a lunatic?

    ‘I’ll know,’ Batty said, and placed the bowl on top of the map.

    ‘If this is gonna involve chicken heads…’

    ‘Can it!’ Abilene whispered. ‘Okay? Just cut it out.’

    Finley tilted one corner of her mouth and rolled her eyes upward.