Succubi

belly quivering as the blade continued to rise and fall, rise and fall…

Slup slup slup…slup slup slup…

The face of the victim couldn’t be seen, but somehow she felt convinced that the person being butchered was herself.

Martin parked the Mustang on the street; several cars filled the driveway. In the foyer, Ann noticed her mother entertaining several guests in the dining room. Mrs. Gargan was there, and Constance, Dr. Heyd’s wife, plus the widowed Mrs. Virasak, and a few of Lockwood’s other elderwomen. They chatted softly, drinking tea. But when Ann’s mother noticed her, she got up quickly from the table and drew closed the dining room doors.

“She knows how to make a person feel welcome,” Martin joked. “What are they doing in there?”

“Who knows?” Ann said. “Who cares?”

“I’m going to sit out back, try to get some writing done.”

“Okay,” Ann said. Several times now she’d seen him grab his pad and disappear into the spacious backyard. He seemed to find peace here, every poet’s quest, which made Ann slightly jealous. Martin liked it here. At least if he hated it, she wouldn’t feel so alone.

Upstairs she looked around for Melanie. Her room was empty, but she heard water running—the shower. Ann peered out the window and saw Martin sitting in a lawn chair at the edge of the woods. His pad lay in his lap, his hand poised. He seemed to be looking up at the sky with his eyes closed.

“Hi, Mom,” Melanie greeted. She came in wearing her dark robe and had a towel around her head. “Where have you been?”

“Martin and I went for a drive. We were thinking of going to the inn for dinner. Want to come?”

“I won’t be able to make it. I’m meeting some friends.”

Ann sat down on the bed, perturbed. “You haven’t mentioned much about these new friends of yours.”

“Oh, Wendlyn, Rena? They’re pretty cool.”

Pretty cool. Ann smirked. “I saw you with a boy yesterday.”

Melanie smiled. “That’s Zack. He’s cool too.”

“He looks like your friends back home, leather jacket and—”

“Come on, Mom,” Melanie dismissed, drying her light brown hair with the towel. “He’s really nice, and we have a lot in common.”

“Like what?”

“Music. He listens to all the groups I like, even Killing Joke. And you should see his stereo, it’s huge.”

“Melanie.” Ann leaned forward as if concentrating. “Are you telling me you were in this boy’s house? Alone?”

“He doesn’t live in a house. He lives in the church basement.”

This didn’t sound right. “He lives in the church? What about his parents?”

“He doesn’t have any; he’s an orphan. Grandma gave him a job as a custodian or something.”

Grandma, Ann thought sourly. It was one obstruction after the next. Ann’s mother was regarded as the town’s matriarch, loved by all. Melanie was making friends here. Martin wrote better here. Where did all this leave Ann?

On the outside, she answered herself. “I just don’t think I approve of your hanging around with some boy you just met.”

“I’m not a little kid anymore, Mom. I’m an adult.”

“Is that so?”

“Let’s not argue.” Very abruptly, Melanie took off her robe. She sat down naked at the antique vanity to comb her hair.

Ann swallowed her shock. Melanie had never disrobed in front of her, at least not down to the skin. But she did so now as if it were natural. Ann felt she should comment on this immodesty, but what could she say? Certainly, there was nothing unnatural about a mother seeing her daughter unclothed.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Melanie could see Ann’s face in the vanity’s big framed mirror. “You act like you’ve never seen me naked.”

“Well, I haven’t really. Not in years.” But she thought: She is an adult. Melanie’s body had indeed blossomed. She’d been skinny as an adolescent, boyish. Now her breasts had filled out, and the straight lines of her early teens had given over to a nice feminine shapeliness. The firm orbs of her breasts jogged slightly as she combed her hair out in the mirror. Then she stood up, just as abruptly, and turned. Ann couldn’t help but glimpse the fresh young body from head to toe.

“I’m growing up, Mom.”

“I know, honey. Sometimes that’s a hard thing for a mother to realize, that’s all.”

And it was, wasn’t it? Her shock reverted to a dim despair. Melanie had bloomed into womanhood nearly without Ann’s even knowing it. Too busy, she regretted. Too busy trying to make partner to even notice your own daughter growing up.

Melanie quickly slipped into a pair of black acid washed jeans, then pulled on a dark blue “Car Crash Symphony” T shirt. Ann felt like an old curmudgeon sitting on the bed.

Melanie kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll be home early.”

“Bye.”

But Ann had wanted to stop her, to ask her something that had been bothering her of late. Are you a virgin? she’d wanted to ask. But how could she ask something like that without sounding even more curmudgeonish?

Melanie left.

Ann felt old, depressed, naive—all at once. A glance out the window showed Martin wandering off into the looming woods, seeking his muse. How much more distanced could Ann feel from the people in her life? She and her mother were constantly at odds. She didn’t understand Martin’s creative joys at all. And her daughter had grown up right under her nose.

She sat back down on the bed. And my father’s dying, and I hardly ever even knew him.

A tear threatened to form in her eye.

Then she shivered…

Slup slup slup, she heard …slup slup slup…

The vertigo returned. The glaring red vision streamed again through her mind: a fisted hand plunging the knife down. Blood spewing. Naked breasts and belly quivering each time the blade buried itself to the hilt…

—

Chapter 19

“Oh, hello, Ann.”

Ann gave a start. The double doors to the den abruptly slid open, and standing there was Mrs. Gargan, redolent with cologne.

“How are you today, Mrs. Gargan?”

“Oh, I’m fine. What are you up to?”

But Mrs. Gargan’s stiff posture and stiff, make-upped face made Ann feel sidetracked. Past her shoulder, Ann could see her mother and several friends looking through a photo album at the table. Mrs. Gargan’s rigid smile and dark eyes seemed fixed on her.

“I’ve just been puttering around,” she said after a pause. “I thought I’d go upstairs and look in on my father.”

“Yes, of course. Feel free to join us later for tea.”

Yeah, right. Ann’s mother and friends flipped through the photo album as if in deep concentration. They commented quietly at each turn of a page. Ann couldn’t hear them.

“I will,” Ann balked. “See you later.”

She went upstairs as Mrs. Gargan headed for the kitchen. Ann could imagine the banality of joining her