The Cured Read Free

There was a cane leaning against an end table in front of him. He grabbed it and realized it was too light to do anything. Still, it would have to do. He inched down the hallway. “Whoever is in here, just leave. I’ve already called the police and I’m armed,” he bluffed, his voice too shaky to be convincing. The hallway opened into the living room. Henry gave it a quick glance. The little fake Christmas tree was tipped over in front of the television, its tiny lights still blinking their cheerful, plastic colors. Several of Mrs. Palmer’s dolls were lying on the floor, limbs askew, their little, cold bodies slowly being lined with snow blown into the window. The others looked at him from their shelf, each glass eye reflecting the manic twinkle of the fallen tree. The curtains shifted and caught on Mrs. Palmer’s easy chair as they blasted apart in the cold wind, but nobody was in the room. Henry turned toward the small kitchen. A ceramic crock pot lay on its side on the floor under the humming florescent light. The glass lid was shattered and floating in the brown puddle of steaming beans that had spilled from the pot. The refrigerator door hung open and it tilted slightly forward as if someone had tried to pull it over. Henry gingerly stepped around the beans and glass, trying not to slip. He tipped the refrigerator back and shut the door so that it wouldn’t fall. He noticed a set of long silver scratches in the dark finish of the table as he passed back into the hallway, but Mrs. Palmer didn’t have long fingernails.
    Henry crept slowly toward the bathroom and bedroom. He pushed the bathroom door slowly open with the end of the cane and tensed. It was dark and windowless. He reached one hand in and groped for the light switch, wincing with every soft thud of his hand on the wall. It wasn’t there. Henry held his breath and stepped in and reached up, finding a cord. The light turned on but the fan was louder than he’d expected. He jumped a little as the clear shower curtain rippled in the sudden breeze. There was no one there and the room was clean and undisturbed. He took a deep breath and headed for the bedroom.
    Henry could hear low voices from behind the closed door. He couldn’t make out what they were saying, but they were too even, too calm to be real. He nudged the door open a crack until he saw the bedside television tuned to a news station. It had fallen from the dresser and lay, flickering, on it’s side. Henry opened the door further and inched his way inside. Mrs. Palmer’s top dentures smiled up at him from the carpet. The porcelain teeth were tipped with pink and the floor around the denture was dark and wet. Henry shuddered.
    The closet’s flimsy door panel rattled and he jumped. He took a step toward it, raising the cane as if it were a heavy wooden bat. “Mrs. Palmer?” he whispered. There was no answer except the ongoing stream of calm reporting from the television. Henry glanced around him quickly and then looked back at the closet door. “Mrs. Palmer, it’s Henry,” he whispered a little louder, “I’m going to open the door now, please don’t be frightened.” The cane was still raised over his head. He let go with one hand and wiped the sweat that was rolling into his eyes. He gripped the cool ceramic door knob. This is really stupid Henry, he thought, Just get out of here and call the police. Henry glanced back down the hallway toward the living room. It was still empty. There was a sad wail from behind the closet door. Henry knew he wasn’t leaving. He turned the knob, holding his breath at the same time. He slowly pulled the door open between himself and whatever lay behind it, tensed and ready to slam it shut again if he needed to. Henry took a deep breath and peered around the open door. With a yowl and a sharp hiss, Mrs. Palmer’s siamese cat sprang at him. Startled, Henry brought the cane down without knowing what he was doing. The cat was faster than him and darted