Family Business by Terry Le Feber

Family Business by Terry Le Feber

The white Cadillac slid onto the crumbling brick driveway:  tires crushing the crabgrass that had grown through its seams.

Shutting the engine down, Karen slowly swung the door open and stepped into the crisp fall air.  Dry brown maple leaves crunched beneath her feet.

Trudging up the short walk she climbed the three wooden steps to the front door.

Taking a key from her pocket she inserted it into the slot of the old Yale lock.   With pounding heart and a sense of dread she turned the key and twisted the tarnished brass door knob, and shoved inward.

The door, swollen with moisture, resisted causing Karen to shoulder it open.  When it finally yielded, it did so with a loud groaning crack which sent a cold shudder through her body. Goose pimples formed on her arms.

My god, Karen thought. Why am I here? Why am I doing this?  

Of course, the answer was the same.  It was always the same.  Another relative had died.  Another estate to be settled. Another house to be sold. Contents disposed of. Another lawyer and realtor making money off of the deceased’s life work.  Another time of toil and trouble for her.  Is there no one else who could do this? My God! It’s the fifth time in three years.  This is getting to be a career, she thought.  

Stepping into the hallway with its formal staircase to the right, woodwork dulled with dust, the smell of death and mildew assailed her nostrils.  Not a nice place to be the afternoon of Halloween, but here I am, doing the work of others too lazy to help.  But, smart enough to con me into doing this again.  All those dumb lazy relatives! Not so dumb as I’m here and they’re not!  Bastards!  Smart Bastards! If only, she silently cursed while again being wracked with gnawing guilt.  She knew she shouldn’t be.  If anybody should feel guilty is was her damn relatives.

Reaching to her right, Karen flipped the hall’s light switch.  Nothing happened.  The only available light was what streaked through the dust laden air from the open door behind her or dimly from the parlor windows to her left. Most of the house’s windows had drawn shades, curtains, or shutters to keep prying eyes away.

“Damn it!” she uttered. “The power is supposed to on.  And, I don’t have a flashlight! Damn, Damn, Damn!

Her frustration had taken the chill off her body, at least, for a moment.

She never heard the door close behind her nor saw the brackish green vine slither across the floor.  She did feel it entwine around her ankles.  She did feel its tug as she pitched forward screaming as her face smashed into the oak floor.  Then nothing.

Karen’s muffled shriek woke Hal up with a start. He rolled over to face his trembling wife.  

“Another bad dream about your damn relatives?” he sleepily asked. “Maybe if they didn’t keep dying you wouldn’t have to go through all this?”

 “Yeah, I guess,” Karen replied. She was seated bolt upright in the bed, hugging her clammy cold arms, sweat covering her face. “And, maybe if they weren’t so annoying, I wouldn’t have to keep killing them.”