Grendel

©2006 Sharen Nehoda

Orange, rose and fuchsia splashed the Florida horizon behind the palmettos and low pines that edged the highway. The sunset, so warm and full of beauty, was in sharp contrast to the coldness inside the Suburban, did little to dispel the unsettled feeling that crept over Carol the past few hours. Perhaps Scott, in another one of his moods, caused her unease. She glanced at her husband. Unusually quiet since early that morning, he ignored any attempt at conversation.

If only she could sit close, have him put his arm around her, be like it used to while they traveled. Just his touch would reassure her. A pang of longing gripped her. It had been months since he wanted her close. Her love for him was strong, yet she feared she was losing his. Could it be the strain of being poor and moving from place to place? The children had settled down to nap. She reached to turn down the radio when Robby’s small voice quavered from the back seat. “Daddy, it’s getting dark.”

He sounded strange, as if he dreaded the coming night. Carol looked at her husband. A muscle rippled in his jaw, yet he remained silent. Whatever was on his mind, it did not include concern for his son. Fatigue could be why Scott seemed so distant, and why Robby sounded worried. Little Jenna was already asleep. She reached over the seat and tucked the blanket under her chin. Golden curls spilled over the soft fabric like sunshine. Turning to Robby, she smiled, hoping he just needed comforting, much like she did. “We’ll be there in a couple more hours, honey. You should go to sleep.”

“I can’t,” he whispered and stared out the window.

Poor thing. He almost looked... frightened? Maybe he was just cold. Scott had the air conditioner turned all the way up. It countered the sweltering September heat, but the inside of the Suburban was uncomfortably cool. Then again, perhaps Robby felt the strain of Scott’s silence. “Why don’t you try? Here,” she lifted the corner of the blanket, “cuddle up next to your sister.”

“Leave the kid alone!”

Her head jerked up. Patience worn thin, her irritation spilled out. “What’s wrong? What's bothering you, Scott?”

Right hand across the top of the steering wheel, left elbow propped on the edge of the window, he feigned relaxation. The movement of the truck should have made his dangling fingers wiggle loosely, but instead his hand was stiff.

“Nothing.” His voice lowered, “Just tired.”

“Want me to drive?”

Dismissed with a shrug, she waited to see if he would change his mind. She could handle the Suburban just as well as he. With a forced sigh, Scott adjusted himself on the seat, stretched his neck, and then resumed his casual posture. That didn’t fool her; she knew his expressions too well. A crooked scowl deformed his handsome face, an obvious mark of anger. Anger at what? Unable to think of what might have upset him, she reached over to pat his arm, but the expression deepened. Another rejection. Unable to touch him, she ran her hand over the nubby fabric of the seat, now worn and faded in spots. Reminded of when the Suburban was new, nine years earlier, a wedding present from Scott’s Uncle Jack, she recalled his words when he presented the keys to Scott.

“A man destined for big things needs a big vehicle.”

She could have laughed if it wasn’t so pathetic. Scott’s big destiny? Selling hotdogs all over Florida at carnivals, fairs and any other place crowds gathered. There had been countless nights she thanked God for Jack’s gift of the big Suburban. Her family would have had no place else to sleep.

The children. How she longed to give them a better life. Robby had been a tiny spark in her womb the day they married, little Jenna an accident five years later. She peeked over the seat at the sweet, angelic face. So tranquil and innocent. Robby, in contrast, was her dark child. Moody and serious like his father, he even had his angled jaw and sad brown eyes. But, the boy differed from Scott in an important way. Robby had a caring nature, and she was glad for that. Actually, it had only been the last year that he began to withdraw. His quiet restlessness seemed to grow more out of some unknown worry than resentment. Children were apt to pick up on problems between their parents as they grew older, and perhaps he realized their financial situation was not the best. Besides wearing clothing purchased from Good Will and not being able to keep friends because of the constant moving, the lack of a home had to affect him. The stress of their vagabond lifestyle had already taken a toll on her, and now showed on her children.

Seized unexpectedly by a fiercely protective love, tears filled her eyes and she looked out the rear window and blinked them back. The colorful, red, white and blue hotdog wagon trailed behind. Its custom sign cost an outrageous four hundred dollars, more than they could afford at the time, yet Scott insisted, and he always got what he wanted. It proclaimed “Scotty’s Dogs”, and prancing canines forever hungered for the displayed treats in a bun.

If only things were better. Robby should be starting third grade, but since they were on the road again, it would have to wait until they settled somewhere. And where would that be? Last year Robby had to change schools four times because Scott heard of some new carnival, or hot rod show, or one of a dozen other places where the hotdog stand would make money. That was no way to raise a child. Yet, she always complied with Scott’s whims, so she could only blame herself.

Unable to rest, she gazed out the window. The sky had turned the deep cerulean she loved so much. A peaceful color, it blanketed the coming night with tranquility so opposite from the turbulent life she knew. She glanced at Scott. Still sullen. If only there was something she could do to motivate him, get him to settle down, but after nine years, she knew that would never happen.

Miles slipped by filled with uneasy quiet, and she turned her thoughts to the coming day. She would make the run into town early, buy supplies while Robby helped Scott set up. Their stand would compete with ten other venders, but with Scott hawking the food like he always did, capitalizing on his wonderfully persuasive manner, they would get the bulk of the hungry crowd.

The Suburban turned onto a side road and a sign, Glenwood Drive, flashed by. Another marker announced the Civic Center, and below it, a small, bright orange poster. The arrow pointed north and read, Winter Haven Psychic Fair, their destination.

It was odd. Scott had picked a fight about attending. Maybe that was why he was so moody. He did not like to lose arguments, but his reasons made no sense and she persisted until he agreed. In past years, they made a lot of money at the event. That argument, and the fact that they were nearly broke again, finally convinced him. With Jack letting them stay at his place, along with a few psychics that participated in the fair, it would also be a nice break from being on the road. To stay in a real home, even if just for a week, would be heaven.

A short distance from Glenwood Drive was the entrance to Jack’s large estate. It sat about a mile from the Seminole Civic Center where the fair was to be held. Scott hardly slowed when he swung off the main road and onto the paved driveway that led to security and friendship. The distant glow from the mansion tinged the sky. Her anticipation grew for this one time of the year that promised an actual family life, meals at a table, even the pleasure of watching television.

Anxious to see her good friend, Donna, a psychic from Tampa, she leaned forward and crossed her arms. Butterflies tickled her stomach. She hugged herself, afraid joy would bubble out of her throat and anger Scott. Donna was the one friend she had not allowed him to drive away. Why he didn’t want her to have anyone close to her was a mystery. Perhaps he felt his friendship should be enough, yet he never tried to be a true confidante. Intimate discussions were brushed off as a waste of his time. Like the sister Carol never had, Donna filled that void, something Scott would never spoil. Robby made a sound from the back seat, almost a moan. The hopelessness in it tugged at her. Scott frowned over his shoulder at the boy and gave him a hard look.

“Best keep any complaints to yourself, kid.”

She pressed her lips together. Sometimes he could be so unfeeling. That was his nature, his two sides. One was sullen, indifferent and short-tempered. The other wonderfully charming, especially when he wanted something. Love as strong as hers for Scott made his faults somehow less important. Most of the time. When he behaved like this, especially with the children, his shortcomings were hard to overlook.

Illuminated by the headlights, a topiary of neatly sculpted ficus trees rushed by. Small hands pressed against the window, Robby stared out at the flickering shapes. His pose would have looked sweet except his mouth hung open in a frightened grimace. She wanted to cradle and soothe him, but knew Scott would react badly if she did. A quick glance showed the muscle rippling in his cheek again. Why was he so irritable, and why was Robby upset?

“What’s with you two?” An unexpected, scared, sinking sensation gripped her and her hand flew to her throat. Heart pounding, she looked around. What frightened her so? Then, whispered just loud enough for her to hear, Robby’s words echoed her sudden fear.

“Bad is coming."

Scott slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched on the pavement and rang strangely like a woman’s scream. Panicked, she gripped the dashboard and her fingernails dug in so hard a few bent back. The urge to cry out as the Suburban skid sidelong off the road stuck in her throat. With a tooth jarring thump, the vehicle came to rest on the gravel shoulder. Blood pounded in her ears as she turned to the children. Jenna had slid off the seat, and a plaintive wail came from somewhere on the floorboards. Carol reached down and lifted her back onto the seat. A quick assessment showed her to be okay, but Scott interrupted.

“Damn it!” He yelled and hammered the horn.

Her eyes snapped up, still startled and confused, to discover what nearly caused a crash. Illuminated by the headlights, two huge, black dogs blocked the driveway. Gooseflesh rose on her arms as she looked at the mastiff-sized beasts, ruddy pink tongues lolling from the side of their broad mouths between ivory spikes. They sat motionless, eyes fixed on the truck.

“Git!” He opened the door and stepped out, then waved his hands. “Go on, git!”

The dogs crouched, ears flat against their skulls. Jack had no dog, so where had they come from? She prayed they would run away, go back to their home. Instead of heeding Scott’s command, heads lowered, the massive hounds rose and padded slowly toward him. Muscles rippling beneath their lustrous coats, eyes glinted fiery red in the headlights, threatening. Sensing danger, she reached toward the open door.

“Scott, get back in the truck!”

“Shut up, I know what I’m doing,” he said, just as the closest dog sprang at his throat.

A yodeling scream burst from him. Helpless and frozen with terror, she watched as he threw his arm up to shield himself. The snarling dog missed his neck but caught his shirt. With a dry zing, the fabric ripped from shoulder to wrist. Scott scrambled back into the truck then slammed the door inches from the dog’s snapping muzzle.

“Son of a bitch!”

The fierceness of his outburst startled Jenna again, and she let out a wail. Jolted from her shock, Carol lifted the shrieking toddler and cuddled her, still shaken and scared.

“Look what that damn dog did to my shirt!”

A glance at the sleeve showed a fringe of tattered threads rimmed the edges of a gaping tear. To calm herself and the crying child, she smoothed Jenna’s silky curls. He was very lucky the dog only ripped his shirt. “It could have been your throat.” The thought made her shudder, and she held her daughter close as she snuggled against her breast. Sobs and sniffles had replaced her cries. Scott picked at the ravaged garment and continued to mutter complaints under his breath. How sad that his first thought after a near accident was not for his family. All of his attention was focussed on his shirt, as if that was the most important thing. Holding back tears, she turned to Robby.

“Honey, are you okay?”

Rocking back and forth, Robby hugged himself, his expression flat, dreamy. His glassy eyes were fixed on the tattered remains of Scott’s sleeve.

“She said a black cur would tear the thread and start the curse.”

Alarmed by his ominous words, she asked, “Where did you hear that, honey? Who told you such a thing?”

Scott snarled, “Shut your trap, Rob, before I close it permanent.”

“For crying out loud, Scott, what’s gotten into you?”

Robby moaned and held his stomach. A tear spilled over and ran down his cheek.

Dear God, she thought, what’s happening, what’s wrong with my son? Had he been injured? Over Scott’s shoulder, movement caught her eye. The dogs, eyes blazing, melted into the shrubbery like phantoms. She opened her mouth to speak, but Scott gunned the engine and she nearly bit her tongue when he slammed it into gear. Loose gravel scattered and pinged off the metal undercarriage as the big vehicle lurched forward. They sped down a gentle slope, then picked up speed and roared to the top of the hill toward Jack’s mansion.

“Poor relations visitin’, Suh.” He scowled. “Beggin’ ya pahdun, Suh.”

He gripped the wheel so tightly she heard his knuckles pop. Never having done anything meaningful with his life, it had always been an unstated; he resented his Uncle’s money and success. Was that why he was acting so strange? With only soft whimpers coming from Jenna, Carol tried once more to get him to talk. “We don’t have to stay at Jack’s if it’s going to upset you.”

Sulking, he maneuvered the Suburban around the circular drive that ended by the parking stalls.

“Where? Unless you want to go camping again. Besides, I belong here. Someday all this will be mine.”

That would be a long time off. Her gaze returned to the lovely, rambling, southwestern-style mansion, a grand hacienda with terra cotta tile roof. His father died when he was twelve, and he lived there with his Uncle Jack until he turned eighteen. Maybe by then it had been too late for Jack to change his character. His father definitely was a bad influence and had done little, drank to excess, and lived a fast, dangerous life, an impression that stuck with Scott. Jack tried the best he could to raise him, but once he was out of high school, his life took a similar path as his father’s. After making a miserable failure of his first semester of college, he joined the Army. Two months later, with a general discharge for “inability to adjust to a military environment”, he flew back home. The next year he never kept a job for more than a month. Perhaps his resentment started then, comparing his own failures with Jack’s success.

Scott squeezed the steering wheel and glanced at her. “You’re thinking I should do it on my own, like Jack did.”

“You could.”

He snorted, lip curled in a sneer. Swinging the Suburban around, he backed the hotdog wagon toward a covered stall next to the long garage where Jack kept seven classic cars. She caught a glimpse of her favorite as the headlights swept over the windows, a nineteen fifty-six Thunderbird. It was a baby blue, hardtop convertible with a neat porthole and white leather seats. Jack had let her drive it when they last visited, and aside from scaring her a bit with its powerful engine, she had been in absolute heaven.

“Jack made his fortune in real-estate during the early seventies. The Cape had all but shutdown operations, and engineers were being laid off in droves. Anyone with five hundred bucks could take over a mortgage on an expensive Florida home.” She tried to be encouraging, but it grated her nerves when he belittled his Uncle’s good fortune and wisdom. He used the money from the sale of those early purchased properties to buy forty acres of palmetto, scrub pine and sand just outside Winter Haven. With a vision of the potential future, he constructed the Civic Center and a racetrack for motocross and other two wheel events. His concept proved correct, and Jack’s investment grew dramatically.

“There are lots of opportunities like that, you just have to go after them.”

“With what? Hotdogs? Jack had already done well by saving and investing his earnings from the merchant marines long before he moved to Florida.”

“You could always go to work for him. He’s offered you many good paying jobs over the years. That would be a start.”

The sneer pulled his lips back. “Right. Pushing papers and keeping track of his money? No thanks, I don’t take handouts.”

The same old argument. Scott couldn’t hold onto a dime, and any opportunities were wasted. But, she mused, when she met him at a custom car rally in Daytona, so handsome and seductively persuasive, she fell in love almost instantly. She was a naive nineteen year old college freshman, and he a worldly-seeming twenty-five, so his defeats didn’t matter. Not then, anyway. He always talked of the next big deal, the gamble that would pay off, but they never materialized. Now there were the children to consider, a solid future, a home.

College became financially out of the question once they married, and soon after, any hope for a stable life. Her parents objected, but Jack never interfered, and she respected that. He did offer help from time to time, like the fifteen hundred dollars to pay for Robby’s birth. Scott refused to take another penny, and stubborn pride kept him from admitting they ever needed anything else from his rich uncle. As for her parents, his charm eventually wore thin, and although she spoke to them at least once a month, mostly collect which she felt bad about, they never asked about him.

A sigh escaped her as she gazed at Scott, so good looking and charming, yet unable to realize his dreams. She felt sorry for him. He wanted the big house, the expensive car, but never put any effort into making it happen. She tried to help, working whenever she could as a waitress or any temporary job she could find. But, at times like this, she felt he also resented her and the children. Their current “home” had been an old, tiny RV set up in a campground just outside of Key West. But, they had only rented it while the owner was up North. Now that he had returned, they were out on the road again with no place to stay, except for Jack’s. Being homeless wasn’t new, but at least the children would have a respite of a week, longer if things went well.

Robby had stopped rocking, and only a soft buzz came from Jenna. Relieved, Carol got out of the truck and lifted her down. Blanket clutchet under her chin and sleepy-eyed, she looked up and smiled. Regardless of the circumstances, Jenna was a perpetually happy child, and Carol hoped that would never change. With the steamy Florida heat washing over her, she opened the back door for Robby and he jumped out. The encounter with the dogs seemed far off when she saw Donna, tall with golden hair, waited for them at the door. It always struck her as uncanny how they resembled one another, and on occasion been mistaken for sisters. A brilliant smile lit Donna’s face and she hurried over then gave Carol a hug.

“I knew you were here.”

Scott smirked. “You saw our headlights, huh.”

Carol never understood why Scott didn’t like Donna, especially since they looked so much alike. Selfless and good-hearted, Donna had even offered them her home to share for as long as they wanted, but he put a stop to that right away. Having roots was not to his liking. It secretly pleased her when her friend gave him a tight smile, then turned her back on him to ruffle Jenna’s hair.

“Look how you’ve grown! And so pretty. Just like your mommy.”

Jenna replied with a wide, noisy yawn, and rubbed her eyes with tiny fists. Donna seemed tickled and winked at Carol, a laugh stifled by her hand.

“It’s so wonderful to see you again, I’ve really missed you. Ted and Jack are at the Auditorium getting paperwork done for the fair and won’t be back until late, finishing up some last minute entries. I told Jack I’d help you get settled in.”

“Thanks. I’ve missed you, too.” She kissed Donna’s cheek and found it easier to relax. “How’s Ted?”

“He’s great. Overworked, but great.”

She marveled at Ted and Donna’s relationship, and the comparison of hers with Scott was too painful to consider. Eighteen years Donna’s senior, Ted was the most loving and kindest man, besides Jack, that Carol had ever met. Donna and Ted had a wonderful marriage, which she envied, but rejoiced in her friend’s good fortune. She stole a glance at Scott, who kept picking at his ruined sleeve and continued to fuss after he set their bags on the ground.

Donna leaned over to give Robby a hug, but stopped and stiffened. “Hi.” She lightly touched his shoulder. “Robby?”

When he didn’t answer, Carol frowned with dismay. Whatever the trouble was, it hadn’t ended. He still held his stomach and had the same frightened look on his face. Now it frightened her.

“Robby?” Donna asked again. “How are you doing, big guy?”

The boy held his hands against his midsection, then bit his bottom lip so hard, blood seeped from the corner. Disturbed and confused, the events of the past hour pressed down on her, ominous, foreboding. “Oh, Robby.” Carol knelt down and hugged him close. “Honey, what’s the matter?” A thin trickle of crimson ran down his chin, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed into a limp pile in her arms.

“Aw, what next?” Scott flung his arms up. “Put the damn kid to bed. He’s just tired.” He snatched up their bags and headed for the door.

“It’s down the east hall, second guest room on the right,” Donna called after him. Eyebrows raised, she put her hands on her hips. “Why isn’t he worried? Robby may have had a seizure, something serious.”

Feeling her face flush, Carol scooped up the limp boy. How could she explain Scott's lack of concern when she didn’t understand it? Donna reached down and took Jenna’s hand, then walked after Scott. Without a word, Carol followed her through the high French doors. Stained glass depicted a desert sunset. She glanced down at Robby, his face pale and so still her heart ached with worry. As she walked the wood paneled hallway she made up her mind. No matter how exhausted she was, she had to talk to Donna. Something was going on, something bad, and she needed her advice. Once in the room, she placed Robby gently on the trundle bed. Snuggling her blanket, Jenna curled up next to him, then fell asleep in an instant. Steam seeped from the top of the bathroom door with the splashing sounds of Scott taking a shower. On the floor lay the remnants of the ruined shirt. Everything looked mundane on the surface, yet seemed seriously foreboding.

Donna sat on the edge of the bed and stroked the dark hair away from Robby’s forehead. Her eyes closed and a deep crease formed between her eyebrows. Carol had seen this before; Donna knew things, sensed events, past or future, with uncanny accuracy. Considered a master psychic, her abilities were beyond criticism and held in high regard. Often cryptic, her messages always had a deeper meaning that revealed itself at odd times.

“I feel a strange undercurrent of danger, as if something hidden is revealing a disastrous event.”

Carol swallowed hard, her own feelings had told her that very thing. “But what?” Voice hushed so she wouldn’t wake the children, or allow Scott to overhear, she explained the strange events that had occurred during their trip. Donna seemed horrified when she finished. The psychic stood, then appeared to watch for something in the boy.

“Tell me again, what did Robby say?”

“Something weird about black curs and curses.” She paused. “Oh, and torn threads.”

“Someone’s put a curse on Robby,” Donna frowned, one hand on her throat, “but, why? Ask Scott if—”

“Get out of here!” Scott’s angry voice came from the bathroom doorway.

Startled, Donna turned to face him, then quickly backed toward the door. Carol grabbed her hand before she could leave.

“I want to talk to you later, okay? Meet me in the kitchen.” She glared at Scott for being so rude. “Forgive him, Donna, he’s very tired.”

Donna’s eyes narrowed and the crease between her brows returned. “Tell Carol the truth,” she said and closed the door.

What had she meant by that? She turned to Scott. Wearing a white terry bathrobe, hair wet and slicked back, Scott looked like a handsome jet setter just coming from the pool. A clean, soapy steaminess filled the air. For some reason, Donna thought he had lied about something. Her heart skipped a bit when she looked at him. Was she blinded by her love for this man? “Are you keeping something from me?”

Scott sauntered across the room, dropped the bathrobe on the floor and flopped on the bed in his shorts. “Christ, I’m beat. Can’t this wait until morning?”

Robby stirred on the bed. With a whimper he sat up and clutched his stomach, face contorted, his eyes scary. She put her arm around his shoulders and tried to comfort him with a gentle kiss. His skin felt damp, but not feverish. Was he just shaken from the incident with the dogs, or, as Donna had implied, was something more serious going on, something only he and Scott knew about?

“Tell me what’s wrong, honey. I’ll make it better.”

Robby glanced up with a wild, nearly animalistic look in his eyes. The savageness of it, so horribly out of place on her little boy, made her arms tingled with gooseflesh. His voice, a dreadful, rasping whisper, chilled her to the bone.

“A bad thing is in my stomach, Momma, and it’s coming out soon.”

Unmistakable dread filled his eyes. Was that possible? Was there really something inside him, something sinister? Uncertain what to do, she held him to her, wanting to protect him from whatever had him in such a state. When she looked at Scott for help, instead of finding concern, he was glowering at them.

“That’s crap, kid.” He crushed a handful of blanket in his fist. “I told you to shut up!”

He nearly screamed the words, which only distressed her more. “Why do you keep telling him to shut up? What are you trying to hide? What have you done?” He flinched, then jumped up from the bed and paced the length of the room. She had hit a nerve. Unlike her to challenge him, this time she would force him to explain. More was going on than just fatigue from a long drive. A lie was behind it, and within that, she sensed a growing danger. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since this morning. No, that's not right. You've been distant and cold to all of us for nearly a year, and today has been the worst. Why?”

Scott continued to pace, wringing his hands, his face a flat, unreadable mask. Why wasn’t he talking, explaining? What could be so serious? Robby’s voice broke the troubled stretch of silence with a wail.

“Grendel’s inside me, Momma! She told Daddy I’d be a monster and eat everybody up.” He held his stomach and groaned. The terrible whisper returned when he said, “But Grendel’s gonna eat me up first.”

Robby’s eyes rolled like a frightened dog. Quaking with fear for her son and anger at Scott, she turned to him. He put his hands to his head like he expected it to explode. Though irrational, she wished it would to spill out the truth. Obviously, Robby knew what was going on, and Scott was trying to cover it up with another one of his surly moods. For once she would push him, force him to explain. Nearly shouting, she pointed at Robby and asked, “Who said that to our son? Who is he talking about?”

“This is total crap!” he screamed, and slumped on the edge of the bed, his back to her. Jenna moaned in her sleep, rolled over and pulled the blanket over her head. Carol’s heart ached. Inside, she felt something happening, something so serious and grave that nothing would ever be the same.

“Momma,” Robby said, his eyes searching. “Ask Daddy about Cecilia.”

Cecilia? Oh God, no.

A sinking sensation snuffed her anger and filled her with sadness. She moved toward Scott, and his sigh told her more than she wanted to know. At last year’s fair, Donna had told her about a beautiful, eighteen year old girl named Cecilia. A promising Tarot Card reader, she had gotten pregnant, had a falling out with her lover and tragically killed herself. The sorrow she felt for the poor girl returned. “What about Cecilia?” She held her breath. He wouldn’t do that to her, would he?

Long moments ticked by. His face softened and he picked up her hand. When he gave her his patented “forgive me for being out late and getting drunk” look, a knot formed in her chest. It couldn’t be true.

“I suppose I should have told you, but I didn’t think it would ever come out.”

Stunned, she tore her hand away. “What are you saying? You got her pregnant?”

When he looked away, she tried to take a breath, but the air in the room seemed stifling, pain seared in her chest. Everything she believed of Scott had suddenly been blown away like dust in a hurricane. An anguished sob caught in her throat. With effort, she got a gulp of air when thoughts of the children helped her focus. She had to stay strong for them, for here it was, something that would change their lives forever. “What does this have to do with Robby?”

“Malava.” Robby winced and rubbed a balled up fist into his stomach.

Scott turned toward his son. “Look, Robby, she was just mad, that’s all.”

The urge to slap her husband made her palm itch, and until that moment, she never would have thought of striking him. “Talk to me! Explain yourself!” He ran the back of his hand across his mouth, as if aware of what she wanted to do.

“The affair with Cecilia only lasted a couple months. She approached me at the Psychic Fair in Tampa. Hell, you don’t know what it’s like!” He moved away, his arms thrown out to the side. “A beautiful, young thing throws herself at you. What do you expect?”

“I expected faithfulness.” Didn’t he think she was beautiful anymore? Did their marriage mean so little? The ache hardened. How many other lies had he told her? Her eyes traveled over Robby and Jenna. Tears and anger for being so naive, so trusting did not change reality. Scott tensed, his expression indifferent.

“Yeah. I guess I was stupid. I broke it off and didn’t see her for about three months. She showed up at Okeechobee and told me she was pregnant. We had a bad scene after I said she probably slept around, so it wasn't mine.”

A bad scene? His refusal to take responsibility for the baby probably drove Cecilia to suicide. She needed answers, no matter how much they hurt, and had to get to the bottom of Scott's lies. "How does making a girl pregnant have anything to do with Robby? And who is Malava?”

Scott gazed at the ceiling as if deciding what to tell her. Then he shrugged as if that was all he knew. Did he think she was that stupid? Perhaps she was for believing him for so many years, but not any more. Through clenched teeth, she said, “Answer me!" He looked at her, head tipped downward, eyes imploring, an expression he used for sympathy. For a brief moment, her heart softened, then reality crashed down and sickened her. This was how he had played on her love, used it, used them all. Eyes hard, she stepped toward him. Surprise flickered across his face, then resignation.

“Last year, at the fair, I found out Cecilia killed herself. I felt bad about it, but it wasn’t my fault. She could have had an abortion.” He frowned at little Jenna.

She followed his gaze to the sleeping child. Was he suggesting Jenna should have been aborted? He had gone too far. Not only had he thrown aside their marriage, her love, but now the family, their children. He lowered his voice, as if someone might hear.

“Robby was helping set up the steamer when this Malava woman walked up. How was I to know she was Cecilia’s mother? She smiled at Robby and gave him a piece of candy, then turned to me.”

“Murderer!” She forked her fingers at me. “You killed my Cecilia.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” I told her, “she killed herself.”

“She loved you and you caused it! I curse you, and your family. In one year’s time, when the sun rises on the anniversary of this day, you will all die!” She spit between her fingers and crossed herself, then reached out and grabbed a long thread that was hanging from my sleeve.

“Robby started to cry about that time. I think he was scared because of what the old woman had said. But, it could have been because he swallowed the candy and there was some blood on his lip.”

“You ever read Beowulf?” Malava asked me. “Do you know of Grendel?” Then she pointed at Robby. “What you made from your loins shall kill you, just as what you made killed my daughter!”

“I told her to stop, she was scaring the kid. But she just laughed.”

“Before you die, a broken mirror will herald my curse, warning you there is but twenty-four hours left. Next, two curs of black will rend the thread that binds the curse, releasing the beast. Then, your life will be crushed by your own words.”

“She wound the thread around her hand, then spit through her forked fingers again. Then she laughed and slapped my face. “Blood for blood.”

He had broken the square side mirror on the Suburban early that morning as they pulled out of the campground. In the dim light of pre-dawn, he cut too close to a tree and whacked it against the trunk even with a shouted warning from her that the turn was too tight. Then those frightful dogs. And now, by his own words he had shattered their marriage.

“Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

“I didn’t want you to know. I guess I was protecting us.”

“Protecting us? It sounds like you’ve killed us!” She grabbed his arms and wished she had the strength to shake him. “How could you do this!”

He pushed her away. “Are you crazy? Malava was just trying to scare me and upset Robby. Curses are crap.”

“How can you be so sure? The three things she said would happen have.”

“Coincidence.”

She glared at him, not believing he could be so stupid. “Look at your son.” She pointed to the trembling child.

Eyes huge circles of fear, hectic blotches of red covered his cheeks. While he continued to knead his stomach, his long, drawn out grunts, sounding markedly feral, made her shiver. She had never heard anything like that from him, or any human being, leaving the reality of what she just learned terrifyingly possible.

“It just scared him, that’s all. There is nothing to curses.”

“Why can’t you admit that everything that happened today is proof this is real, not simply words meant to frighten you?” She shook her head. “What's happening to Robby’s can’t be so easily explained.”

Scott glanced at the boy, ran a shaking hand across his face, then dashed to the bathroom and slammed the door. The sound of him vomiting carried through the wood panel. Tense minutes passed as she cradled her trembling son, trying to comprehend the horrible truth. What did she need to do? When Scott came out, he flicked off the lamp, climbed into bed, then pulled the blanket up to his ears. He hadn’t even looked at her or Robby.

“Scott!”

“Leave me alone. We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”

“You fool! We may not have a tomorrow!”

Drained and confused, she sat on the edge of the trundle bed and stared at his back. He remained motionless. If Robby was only frightened, why did Donna’s words and her own feelings tell her otherwise? Panicky tendrils of fear tightened around her heart. There must be a way would stop this.

“Momma?”

“Yes, honey?”

“What time is it?”

“Just past twelve. You should go to sleep.”

“No, don’t want to,” he moaned. “Before the sun comes up I’ll be all gone. Then Grendel will eat you.”

She hugged her son close, wishing this was all a bad dream. “No, honey. Momma’s going to make sure Grendel stays away.” Her heart ached as she gently laid him back and covered him. “Close your eyes and sleep. Don’t worry, I'll always protect you.”

“I love you, Momma.”

It sounded like a goodbye. Stifling a sob, she leaned over and kissed him goodnight. What was she going to do? Was a monstrous creature really inside her son, waiting for the dawn? Terror clawed at her as she slipped out into the hall and closed the door. She walked the length of the mansion; the dry rasp of her sandals scuffing the plush carpet sounded so alone. How could she reveal this shame, the horror, to her friend? Would she be able to help? Near the end, a right turn brought her to the tidy kitchen. Beyond, in the cheery breakfast nook, two cups of coffee and a tray of fresh vegetables in front of her, Donna sat chewing a celery stick. Trembling, she approached her and fought the urge to cry out.

“Carol, sit down. You look awful.”

The deep green vinyl felt cool on her legs when she slipped onto the bench seat. Unable to control her anguish, she leaned against her friend and sobbed. “Oh, Donna.” Comforting and warm, Donna's arm around her shoulders did little to diminish the terror.

“Oh, honey, what’s wrong? What did Scott tell you?”

With difficulty, she sputtered and stammered until she revealed it all, the shame of Scott’s infidelity, the curse and the fearful condition of her son. Drained and trembling, she grabbed a napkin and wiped the tears from her face. “I’m so frightened. This is real, I can feel it, and I don’t know how to stop what’s coming.” The look in Donna’s eyes told her she believed everything. Worse, it frightened her, too.

“Scott took advantage of your love, and now it seems you are to suffer for his actions. That’s not right.” She squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you came to me, my friend. If there is a way to end this, together we’ll find it.” Then she rested her elbows on the table, fingertips on her temples, and closed her eyes, the deep crease like an exclamation point at the end of a warning. Uneasy relief filled Carol. She had done the right thing in telling her. If anyone could help, it was Donna. She had always been there for her in the past; her priceless insight and wisdom gave her strength to make it through some very hard times. Scott disappearing for days only to return drunk and broke; being in one of his moods and taking off for a carnival, leaving her and the children stranded with no food except sour milk and a box of saltines for an entire weekend. Those seemed like nothing compared to the catastrophe facing her now. After a long moment, Donna leaned back.

“Malava cursed Scott, and Robby is the instrument of that curse. We must talk to her. Only she can tell us what will lift it.”

“We don’t even know if Malava is here.”

“Ted has the roster of the Fair’s participants that shows who registered. Jack updated it earlier this evening. If she signed up to do readings, he’ll have her on the list.”

“Is he still at the Auditorium this late?”

“Probably will be for at least another hour.”

“And what if she isn’t on the roster?” Carol squirmed. With a shaking hand, she picked up a carrot stick and took a nervous bite. Something rough scraped her tooth and she looked at the bitten end. To her amazement, a slip of paper stuck out. “What’s this?”

How could that have possibly gotten in there? She unfolded the paper and realized it was a tiny Tarot card. A bit dizzy and confused, she could barely whisper its name.

“The Tower of Destruction.”

“What?” Donna's jaw dropped as she took the card and examined it. “This means calamity or disruption, but also deception, or sometimes leaving past relationships. Seems to fit what's happening to you pretty well.”

“I guess so. But, how in the world did it get into there?” The absurd way it was presented struck her. “It’s almost like someone’s dangling a carrot in front of me, taunting me.”

“I have no idea other than it is a powerful sign that other forces are at work. This must be an important clue. Malava is a tarot card reader, as was her daughter, so it shows you are on the right track, or at least being led in that direction.” Carol shivered, time was running out and she had to find Malava. “This makes me even more certain my son will change into something horrible by dawn.”

“Then everyone is in danger.”

“Why? Malava only cursed Scott, our family.”

“What do you remember about Beowulf?”

Her hand trembled as she ran it over her forehead. “When I was in college I took Classic Literature, but that was a long time ago. I remember we had the choice of reading one of two early literary works, The Faerie Queene or Beowulf. I liked the gallantry and intrigue of the Faerie Queene better and got an A on my paper. Beowulf was similar to it in some ways, and I do remember he was a knight or something, but I didn’t study it, so I don’t recall much about the story it told.”

“Beowulf was a German warrior who rid a Danish Mead hall of the terrible demon, Grendel.” She glanced at the card then back to Carol. “Grendel killed everyone he ran across. Ate them, too. So, if Robby is somehow turned into Grendel, he won’t stop with just your family. Everyone here is in danger.”

Now she remembered why she didn’t study Beowulf, the horror of it, so violent and filled with monsters. She shivered. Now the savagery seemed all too real. A glance at her watch showed it was nearly one o’clock. Urgency pressed her. “Please. Let’s go see Ted.”

The side path by Jack’s garage of antique automobiles led back to the car stalls. Deep shadows created by the cave-like openings seemed the perfect hiding place for monstrous beasts. Carol walked quickly to Donna’s car, skin crawling, and jerked the door closed, the air heavy with disaster. During the quick ride to the Auditorium, she studied the Tower of Destruction, hoping to find its hidden meaning. Did it signify the ruin of her marriage, or did it portend more violent events to come?

“When we get inside, let me do the talking. You’re far too upset. I’ll just tell Ted you are interested in talking to Malava about curses, solving them through Tarot. The less we have to explain, the more time we’ll have to find her.” By the entrance, Donna put her arm around her shoulders. “Don’t worry, we’ll find a way to break the curse. Things seem desperate, but I feel there is good working to help you.”

Donna put on a reassuring face for her, but Carol knew she had to be terrified, too. Thank God she was here and accepted the situation. A chill swept over her. Real. Donna’s recognition, her insight, could only mean everything Carol felt was true. Still terribly afraid, she followed Donna down the long hall that ran the length of the auditorium. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly in the darkened corridor. Unseen, someone or something, watched them on their trek through the long building. The unsettling sensation of eyes on her kept her glancing over her shoulder every few steps, expecting to see a monstrous creature stalking them. Nerves jangled near overload, she spoke, hoping to dispel her growing terror.

“What was the Grendel?” She asked quietly as they approached a door with a glass top. Black letters stated: Office.

“I’m not sure. They called his mother a brine-wolf because she lived by a lake. Grendel was described as a war-wolf, and a wight or demon. Perhaps in some ways he was a werewolf, but not all. He was a ferocious creature the Danes described by comparing him to the animal they feared most, the wolf. Grendel seemed to possess all the savagery and blood lust of wolves but had to be something more. Evil spawned of another evil.” She opened the door to the small office. “It was never a man.”

Evil spawned of another evil, could that be her son? Malava and her curse had condemned them all for Scott’s disastrous, selfish ways. Robby was the innocent and should never be held for his father’s deeds. There had to be more to it than what Scott had told her. Was the Grendel Malava’s last resort?

“Carol, how nice to see you.” Ted spoke from behind a desk littered with folders and mounds of paperwork.

“Hi, Ted.” She tried to smile, but it felt more like a smirk.

"Must have been a long drive. You should be in bed, not galavanting around with Donna."

"Oh, hush, you old geezer." Donna bent and kissed the bald spot on the back of his head.

In the next office, Carol noticed Jack, a distinguished, older version of Scott, rummaging through a box in the far corner. He looked up, smiled and waved. How she wished she could run him for comfort and reveal her terrible plight. She could only wave back. While Donna told Ted a very selective version of her problem, she listened impatiently and tried not to look as desperate as she felt.

“So, Ted, we need to take a look at the roster to see if Malava is here.” Donna leaned against the desk and tickled his earlobe. “Pretty please, sweetie.”

Ted shooed Donna’s hand away with a grin, then turned to Carol. “You know curses are nothing but foolery.” He lifted a folder from the desk. “Dumb, voodoo worship and zombies, that’s all. Fortune telling for dupes.” He flipped through the thick file and pulled out a stapled sheaf of papers. “Here’s the roster.”

“Ted, what do you I think I do?” Donna scowled at him and he winked back.

“Genuine psychics, like you, my dear, are special, gifted people. Sacrificing a chicken then reading its liver is pure ignorant superstition.” He shook his head and yawned into his hand, then went back to assigning stations.

Jack carried in a large stack of papers. “How’s my favorite niece-in-law?” He kissed Carol’s cheek then plopped the lot on Ted’s desk. “I think this is the last batch. Guess I’ll have to fire Stacey for not showing up again. It’s times like this when I wish I didn’t own the place.”

“You might be the owner, but I’ve done most of the work.”

Jack chuckled and clapped him on the back. “You are a godsend, Ted. I’ll admit, there is no way I could have done all this on my own.” Ted grinned. “Nice to know I’m appreciated. Now about that raise.” With a loud laugh, Jack shook his head. “My friend, you move up here from Tampa, and I’ll be glad to put you on the payroll. For now, you’re dear, talented wife gets a free booth for the fair. That’s two hundred fifty dollars for six hours work. Sounds like an equitable exchange.”

“He’s got you there, honey,” Donna said.

Ted winked at her. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

Jack turned to Carol. “I’m so glad you came. I truly hope you can stay longer this time.”

After a satisfying hug, she said, “I’ve missed you.” Looking into his kind eyes, she remembered Donna saying Grendel would kill everyone. It took everything she had to keep from crying.

“I’ve told Scott for years, you are always welcome here, and to stay if you like. That big old house could use a few more smiling faces. You know there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my nephew and his family.”

His words were sincere, and she felt a pang of regret for the years lost to Scott’s pride. They were, after all, Jack’s only family. His wife had died many years before, and he never remarried. With no children of his own, he had to be a very lonely man.

“I’ll stop by tomorrow morning for a quick visit. We got a lot of last minute entries and there’s a ton of paperwork to finish before the fair starts at noon.” He checked his watch and sighed. “See you then,” he said, and walked back to the boxes.

“Malava is on the list, but it doesn’t say if she’s here.” Donna held the roster and frowned. “Looks like we’ll have to hunt her down.”

Where would they look? An anxious glance at her watch revealed it was creeping up on two o’clock. The walk back to the car seemed like miles, and they would have to go through that spooky corridor again. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out into the hall and shut the door behind them.

The further down the hallway they got, the more edgy she became. In the middle of the lobby, the skin on her back crawled and twitched to some invisible force that chilled her flesh. Every shadow seemed to hold the promise of something prowling, waiting for the opportunity to spring. Finally, unable to shake the feeling that there were more than just eyes on her, she stopped. A clammy gust on her neck made her back up to the wall.

“Carol?”

“Can’t you sense it? It, it's like something horrible is biding its time, lurking just outside of our vision. I can feel its breath on me.” An uncontrollable shiver rocked her. “It’s giving me the willies.” Donna looked up and down the hallway then rubbed her arm, the familiar crease in her brow.

“Yes. I feel it, too.” She nodded. “Strange I didn’t until just now. You must have psychic abilities you aren't aware of. Whatever presence is here is purely spiritual. To be able to sense and recognize it, you must have the gift.”

Before she could respond, the weight of a hand seemed to rest on her shoulder, and she lurched away from the wall. Breath held, she turned toward the bulletin board. The poster for the Psychic fair, pinned over various announcements for events at the Arena, liquefied into the board. She sucked in a gasp when an ornate, gilt frame with a glass front emerged like a bubble surfacing in thick syrup.

“My God!” Donna’s mouth dropped open and she inched closer. “What language is that?

“Can’t you read it?”

“What I see reads like Chinese.”

The words were perfectly clear to her. Baffled that only she could read the yellowed parchment, she stepped closer. Her voice sounded strangely distant in her ears and echoed eerily in the deserted corridor.

“Then at the dawning, as day was breaking, the might of Grendel to men was known.” She covered her mouth, then slowly brought her hand down. How was this possible?

“That’s from Beowulf,” Donna murmured.

There was an unsettling sense of urgency to the writing, as if it rushed her to finish reading it. She continued. “Take heed this warning. A mother’s love for child a wrath released. A mother’s love for child its remedy seeked. Of signs five a solution be, lest Grendel’s ire encounter thee.”

Shocked that the help she desperately needed had come in such a strange and unexpected way, Carol felt her knees buckle, the world darken. Two staggering steps back brought the firm and reassuring touch of Donna’s hand on her arm. Steadied, strength gradually returned to her legs.

“It might be a chance to save your son and your family.” Donna reached her free hand toward the plaque. “If you can find the five clues and then figure out what they mean.”

A brief tingling sensation swept over Carol and the frame evaporated into gray mist. That explained the urgency, the ethereal nature of the parchment, it wasn’t meant to last. As the murky haze dissipated, in place of the gilded frame, pinned to the board with a tiny, golden dagger, another Tarot card. Donna jerked back her hand as if it touched an open flame, and gawked at the card.

“The Lovers, and it’s inverted.”

“What does it mean?” Carol peered at it from a safe distance over Donna’s shoulder.

“Look how the dagger pierced the man’s heart. Marriage ended because of his infidelity.”

Scott’s unfaithfulness, yes, only it should be through the woman’s heart. Carol’s had been dealt a mortal wound. And what of poor, heartbroken Cecilia? she asked, “And a lover’s betrayal?”

“Very good. I might make a Tarot card reader of you yet.”

When she touched the dagger to pull it from the board, Donna’s face contorted into a shocked scowl. The metal disintegrated into a puff of sparkling powder. A quick step backward, hand at her throat, her eyes followed the card as it drifted slowly to the floor. She bent, reaching with a trembling hand, and retrieved the card from where it landed at her feet.

“Even for someone as open minded as myself, I find all this quite terrifying.”

Carol could only nod. Tense anxiousness superimposed itself over a deep fear that threatened to chase her, screaming, into a dark corner. If she allowed the fear to overtake her, all would be lost. The children, she had to keep herself focussed on Robby and Jenna. Love for her children gave her the power she needed to move her feet.

“Let’s get out of here.”

She grabbed Donna’s arm and hurried down the passageway, leaving the Auditorium, and some of her fear, behind. Humid air rushed over her when she opened the door. Outside, the muggy Florida night, silent except for the faint rustle of palmettos in the breeze, seemed quietly hostile. The thin fronds cast hectic shadows on the walkway, like tooth-studded jaws that snapped and bit at her feet. Head up, she kept her eyes off the path.

When they turned the corner of the building, a figure stood by Donna’s car. A short woman, dark-skinned, with white hair in a braid that reached nearly to her waist, seemed to be waiting for them. An odd, tugging sensation in her abdomen forced Carol to a halt. The stranger, dressed in a black blouse and long floral skirt, bowed low with a flourish, then looked up at her with glittering eyes.

“Malava,” the old woman announced and offered her hand.

At first shocked that the woman she desperately sought was standing before her, she quickly regained herself and glanced at the extended hand, remembering her curse. “There’s blood on it,” she said, and crossed her arms.

Malava’s eyebrows shot up and she laughed. “Oh, ho, ho, you should have been a Gypsy!”

Outraged that this woman thought she would shake her hand, Carol continued to glare at Malava but held back her anger. Somehow, against all probability, this woman had found them. Information vital to her family’s survival was needed from her, no matter what her feelings might be.

Malava’s laughter died off with a short, hiccuping tee hee and she wiped her eyes on the silky blue scarf that swirled around her neck. “Ah, I like you. That is bad. Were it not for your husband,” she spit on the ground, “we might have been friends.”

“How could I be your friend? You cursed my husband and my innocent son is going to kill us.” Despite her anger and the hateful curse that shrouded her, she struggled with the fact that there was something about the woman she liked.

“Your man is bad, selfish, and must pay for the wrongs he’s done.” She stepped closer, then leaned toward her, lowering her voice. “If he had been true to you, he would never have gotten my beautiful Cecilia pregnant. If he had been honest, he would have told you of his deed. If he had been honorable, he would have helped my poor daughter.” She leaned still closer. “And if he truly loved his family, he would stop my curse!”

Carol’s heart sank. “He knows how?”

“Yes, of course he knows how,” Malava said slowly, nodding her head. “I would not levy such a heavy penalty if he were not aware of the price to pay.”

“I knew there had to be more to what he told me.”

With a sneer, she said, “A coward, unable to face up to his punishment.”

There it was, Scott’s eternal failing. Whenever he was required to be accountable, he passed it off as her responsibility. Once again he had left her to mend what he destroyed. She looked at the woman, realizing she wasn’t the one to hate. “Please, tell me what I need to know.”

Malava smiled. “I told him blood for blood. He took my only daughter, a blessing bestowed upon me after twenty-five childless years. I would take back the curse if he cut off his right arm. Like Beowulf did to Grendel. Your husband killed her spirit, a soul with a light so bright and loving, the loss was like taking my right arm.”

Tears glistened in the old woman’s eyes as she held up her right hand in a clenched fist. Carol saw deep grief and pain, and felt sympathy for her. What a price she had asked, yet it seemed small when compared to the loss of her only child.

“I gave him a whole year to stop my curse.” Malava’s dark eyes searched Carol’s face. “You are worthy to know this. You, too, understand a mother’s love.”

Carol understood all too clearly. If she put her sweet, little Jenna in Cecelia’s place, the idea of losing her brought such terrible pain it felt as if her heart was being torn from her body. She thought of Scott’s actions, what he had said. “But he doesn’t believe in your curse.” The old woman smiled at her words, then nodded confidently.

“He believes. The mark has reminded him of it every day for the past year.”

“What mark?”

“Why, the mark of Beowulf, the Boar’s head.” She patted the outside of her upper arm.

She stared at Malava in astonishment. The tiny woman’s eyes gleamed with mirth, as if she had played a terrific practical joke on them all. Carol took an unsteady step toward the car, then leaned against it. “I,” she stammered, “I thought he’d gotten drunk and had it done.”

“Had what done?” Donna asked.

“The tattoo on his right arm,” she whispered, “a boar’s...”

“When?”

The words stuck in her throat. “A year ago.”

Donna shook her head and looked disgusted. “Dear God.”

Malava’s laughter echoed around Carol and made her dizzy. A shimmering mist enveloped the diminutive psychic and to Carol’s utter astonishment, she vanished. The eerie, dissociated sound of her chuckles lingered in the deserted parking lot, then slowly dispersed into the muggy night’s breeze.

Before she could react, the sound of quick footsteps from beyond the parking garage reached her. Jack came into view around the corner with something white in his hand and waved it at her. Still in shock, she steadied herself, forced a smile and waved back.

“Glad I caught you,” he said, puffing. “Ted told me you were looking for someone called Malava. I found an obituary stapled to her entry form. She died two weeks ago in West Palm.” He handed her the envelope.

“Oh no.” Donna slumped against the car.

Stunned, Carol unfolded the newspaper clipping and, in a choked voice, read the obituary aloud. “Malava Galotia, sixty-two, died suddenly August nineteenth, of a massive cerebral hemorrhage. Noted for her psychic abilities and famed Tarot parlor, Malava will be missed by many West Palm Beach socialites who frequented her for advice and divination. Funeral services to be held at Our Lady of Roses.” With growing horror, she struggled with the realization that she battled the curse of a dead woman.

“Oh, almost forgot.” He pulled a Tarot card from his shirt pocket. “This was in the envelope.”

After a brief, unsettled hesitation, her hand shook when she accepted the Ace of Swords from him. “Thank you.” She put her arms around him and rested her head against his chest. Reassurance flooded over her. It took a mighty effort to step back, but she managed and held onto his hand. “I hope, after this night, you’ll see a lot more of Robby, Jenna, and me.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He patted her hand then lowered his voice. “Are you in some kind of trouble, Carol? Is there something I can do to help?”

Warm closeness passed between them, and Carol bit her bottom lip to keep tears from coming to her eyes. “No, Jack. You’ve already helped me more than you realize. I have to take care of this on my own.”

He appeared to think over what she said, then without a word, a sad smile on his lips, walked back toward the Civic Arena. She kept her eye on him until he disappeared into the warm Florida night.

Donna took the obituary and looked it over. “Spiritual forces,” she said softly, then glanced up and shivered. “And visited by Malava’s ghost.”

“She knew we needed her help.”

“Yes, but I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

The strain was showing on Donna, and Carol knew what she meant. “It doesn’t matter, I have to bear up under whatever is thrown at me or we’ll all die.” Donna frowned. “I know.”

Resting her hand on Donna’s shoulder, Carol looked her in the eye. “If you want to quit now, it will be all right. Eventually, I’ll have to do the rest alone, anyway.”

“No, I’m okay now. I told you I’d help, and I will for as long as I can.” Donna managed a crooked smile.

Carol glanced down. The card in her hand was the third sign. “I know what the Ace of Swords means.”

The look of worry on her face was replaced by surprise. “Tell me.”

“Conquest, strength, determination. It’s the way to break the curse.”

Donna nodded slowly. “Beowulf’s sword.”

“Malava’s dead. That means the clues are coming from beyond the grave...” A shudder ran through her, and she steeled herself for what was to come. “So far, it’s the Tower, the Lovers, and the Ace of Swords. We know Scott was supposed to give Malava his right arm, but will she still take it to terminate the curse?”

A grimace twisted Donna’s face. “That’s your guess. But I’m not into human mutilation.”

“Are you into human murder? Would you rather see Grendel kill everyone?” Scott’s arm seemed like a cheap price to pay when compared to the lives of the people she loved.

Donna’s frown vanished. “Oh.” She looked down at her shoes. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Good,” Carol fought to control her growing apprehension over what she must do, “because if it’s true that Scott’s blood will appease Malava, it’s the only thing that will prevent my son from turning into some kind of ancient monster and killing all of us.” Unable to say more, she turned to Donna’s car, a grievous weight in her chest.

The car door opened with a quiet click and she slipped onto the seat. A glance up at the clock on the console showed it was two-seventeen. Less than four hours until dawn. The thought made her legs twitch with the desire to race back to Robby and Jenna. Still worried over her children’s safety, something white on the dash caught her eye. It was another Tarot car, the Queen of Swords. Donna slipped behind the wheel and winced when Carol showed it to her.

“That’s the card of mourning. It signifies a widow.”

She didn’t intend to kill Scott, and she couldn’t believe that Malava wanted him dead, either. Maybe to pay, suffer for what he had done, but not die. Carol studied the card. The queen had long, dark hair and held a sword. She looked protective, like she would use the sword on anyone who threatened her children. Like Carol would. No, not a widow, a guardian.

“Let’s hurry.” She clutched the card to her chest.

The brief drive back to Jack’s estate filled her with dread. She rushed toward whatever end she made of the situation. The solution, and everyone’s lives, depended upon her. She held all four Tarot cards tightly, trying to discern what each one meant. How did their cryptic meanings allude to what she must do to break the curse? One clue left to find.

When she opened the side door, the home was silent and dark as a mausoleum. Somehow, she expected it to be this way. As they approached the east hall, a strange noise gradually grew louder. At first, she thought it was someone snoring, but it grew deeper, more like growling the further she walked down the darkened corridor. The closer they got to her room, the more like an animal's the sound became.

At the door, a deep grunting, panting growl vibrated the wood. Donna’s face, white with fear, surely mirrored her own. On legs stiff and jittery as tightly wound springs, she reached for the doorknob and prayed Robby and Jenna were safe. The latch snapped open with a hollow ping. Quaking at what she might find, she swung the door wide.

Scott, fully clothed, lay near the door. Sound asleep, a suitcase beside him, the keys to the Suburban lay next to his open palm. His faint snore was muffled by horrific growls from the corner of the room. Jenna snuggled in her blanket on the carpet near the open doorway of the bathroom. From there, a white slash of light cut through the semi-dark room.

From the bed in the corner came ominous labored breaths. Were her eyes playing tricks? Donna yanked at her arm and tried to pull her back into the hall. She shrugged her off. To leave now would condemn them all to death. Stiff and numb as wood, she stepped into the dim room sheltering an abomination sent to right a terrible wrong.

On the trundle bed, a massive form lay under the blanket, a grotesque mountain that shook and twitched, its growls a warning. Terrified fascination propelled her forward. Whatever lay in the bed had once been her son. Breath held, she mustered every ounce of courage she had, took hold of the blanket and pulled. Donna’s shriek rang in her ears, and the sound of running footsteps faded down the dark corridor. Frozen, she waited to see if the noise would waken them. As if some magical sleeping powder had been used, no one awoke.

An ancient creature, bear-like, but without body hair had taken Robby’s place. The muscles of its hulking body rippled and flexed beneath skin turned a deep, olive brown. A huge clawed hand grasped and clutched at the air while curved teeth gnashed to some dreadful dream. Could this really be Robby, blown up into some loathsome evil? She sobbed and drew the blanket back over the sleeping monstrosity.

The back of her hand pressed against her mouth, she stared at the beast and fought the urge to flee. In a sparkling shower, a card materialized on the blanket. The Devil. His evil, horned image glared at her in the muted light, left hand holding a scepter, right hand upraised. She hated what he stood for, violence, fatality. But, was it really evil? Her eyes returned to the sleeping beast, and her heart softened.

“No,” she said quietly, “you are my son.” Leaning over, she took in the monstrous visage, the deep-set eyes in heavy folds of flesh, the massive brow. Love for her son seized her with amazing clarity and, without fear, she gently kissed the sleeping beast’s muzzle as it snarled in its nightmare slumber.

The picture of the devil glowed softly, and she looked again at his upraised arm. Understanding jolted her with hope. Her gaze fell on Scott, and she rushed over.

“Scott!”

When there was no response, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard, shouting his name. Nothing roused him. This was as it should be, necessary for what was needed to lift the curse. Although improbable, somehow she knew what had to be done. The cards had scattered across the floor and she carefully gathered them up, then stuffed them into the back pocket of her jeans. She couldn’t afford the time to search for any should they become lost in the dark.

With an aching heart, she grabbed his arm and rolled him onto his back. She stripped off his jacket and shirt while he continued to snore, oblivious to her rough handling. Sweat dripped from her face as she gazed at him. Here was the man she had once loved and trusted completely. The keys lay by him. There was no doubt he meant to abandon them, let them die, but something had overcome him, stopped him before he could go. Perhaps Malava had interceded on their behalf with one last chance to right his betrayal.

Grasping his right arm, she laid it out, away from his body. The boar’s head tattoo shimmered and gleamed, its eyes eerie in the faint, reflected light from the bathroom. As she drew the Tarot cards from her pocket, they glowed softly with their own light. With a deep breath, she made a silent entreaty to Malava, and then named each one as she placed them beneath his outstretched arm.

“Tower, Lovers, Queen, Devil...”

A long column of bright, color-splashed light emanated from the Ace before she could place it on the floor. Awed, she watched the light transform into a shimmering sword. As she gripped the glowing hilt, power coursed through her. Eyes closed against the brilliance, she prayed for strength. The salty tang of blood made her realize she had bitten her lip. Her eyes snapped open, the agonized choice made. Suffused with the glow from the unearthly cards, Scott appeared as two separate, luminous bodies, one superimposed over the other.

“With this sword...” She sliced downward. “I give blood for blood.” The blade melted through the luminous flesh, and bright spiritual blood sprayed and spattered across the cards. Tears streamed from her eyes as she finished the stroke. No longer able to look at the man who had caused so much pain, she turned away. Hands trembling, she gathered up the Tarots shimmering with ethereal gore, and rushed to Robby.

“Please God! A mother’s love,” she said, and ran the sword across her wrist.

***

The most a glorious sunrise of her life warmed her as she sat by the window. Like a golden promise, the sun peeked from the horizon, the nightmare banished. Peace filled her. The sight of her son, restored and sleeping quietly, brought thankful tears. The room blurred, and she blinked away the wetness. Strength she never realized she possessed filled the space once occupied by doubt. Their future held uncertainty, but whatever it presented, her strength and love would handle. Movement on the floor drew her eyes from the sleeping boy.

Struggling to sit up, Scott cursed and grappled with himself. Finally in control, he managed to stand and realized she was watching him. That look on his face would haunt her forever. Shock, and shame. His right arm hung useless, paralyzed at his side. There were no cuts or scars, nothing to indicate the cause. He ran his left hand over the lifeless limb and let out a whimpering moan. Then his mouth dropped open, eyes wide, as he stared at something even more telling. The boar’s head tattoo was gone. In its place, jaws wide and ferocious, the hideous Grendel laughed.

Long moments ticked by, then, without a word, Scott awkwardly dressed himself, then gathered his things. Her heart was silent as she watched with no pity or apology. He knew she had done this to him, but the responsibility was his. Maybe he was grateful that she had the strength to do what he could not. Scott wasn’t a murderer, yet he lacked compassion for anyone other than himself.

Without so much as a glance at his children, he stuffed the keys to the Suburban in his pocket, then dragged the suitcase to the door. As he went out, he kicked the sturdy oak panel shut behind him.

Exhausted, she bent and kissed her son, then turned to Jenna. Life without Scott would be difficult, but she would make it better for her children. Lifting the sleeping toddler from the floor, she cherished the lives spared. Not proud, or glad, she accepted what cards had been dealt. Placing Jenna on the bed next to Robby, she was thankful for another day with them, and more to come. Next to them both, Carol closed her eyes and allowed sleep to take her.

***

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