Wolfy Chai

The day finally came. Miss Evvula Winters was ready to dislodge the eye bandages that had been suctioned to her face all month long. You see, she had only recently made a full recovery from the earlier encounter with Blake’s son Gregory. As such, she was ready to step her foot out in public once again. All month she had been going to the grocery store, nail appointments, and even doing yoga in what looked like a burqa made out of scarves. She had huge black-out sunglasses on in order to hide her battle wounds. She dodged anyone who might have been familiar enough to detect her distinctive voice and heavy accent.

Having always held a packed schedule, Miss Winters had a lot to do to make up for lost time. This year, she would be an award recipient at Palm Beach’s very own “Beach Ball Gala” for her work helping pave over a nature preserve that had been obstructing development in the city for decades. She was known colloquially in the town as the “Cash Clutcher” for her unprecedented ability to close both development deals and lucrative marital arrangements.

Additionally, as a side note, she was referred to as the “Puppy Cruncher” for her extensive time volunteering to euthanize animals at animal shelters.

Meanwhile, brothers George and Gregory got together for a little hangout. It was around sunset. The two were passing around a blunt in the backyard, watching dolphins splash in the river. The sound of Jamaican music was heard from across the way.

Gregory said, “I heard the big gala is tonight. Are you going to be at the dinner?” His eyes started to wince from inhaling just a bit too much smoke.

Coughing, George said, “Nah, I think I am going to pass on that because M.E.W. will be there,” rolling his eyes after employing the code name for their stepmother.

A conga line began forming on the docks where the music was coming from. A series of drunk tourists began to scream in unison and get up from their tables as soon as the music shifted.

Gregory squealed, “Well, it looks like they are having more fun than us tonight,” laughing to himself.

George perked up in his seat. “Actually, I might go stop by the house tonight because I forgot my laptop charger in my room,” he said, referencing his bedroom at his father’s house. “Do you know what time they are leaving?” he asked.

Gregory replied, “I am 99 percent sure they already have. The gala starts at 8:00 p.m.”

George started getting up and collecting his things after taking one final hit of the blunt. “Well, I am out of here. I am going to try to go while they are gone,” he said.

Gregory, rubbing him on the back, warned, “Alright, be careful, buddy. You know how it can be over at that house.”

George began walking to his car. He selected some classical ballet music for the ride and began humming along to the familiar tunes. He had an all-black car with tinted windows and low-clearance suspension. So he knew he made it to the right house when he hit his father’s bumpy brick driveway. At this point, it was nearly pitch black.

He opened the garage first to make sure that they were, in fact, gone. Blake’s car was no longer there. Since Blake was the one who always drove, he figured he was safe to go in. The house was dead silent, frigid, dark, and the air was sterile, as if he were walking into a hospital. The isopropyl alcohol smell that seemed to perpetually linger in the air vents was just as poignant as usual. Not a single light was on downstairs, except outdoors, where the bright LED security light always remained. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He proceeded to the modern metal staircase that sharply jutted out into the entrance hall. He climbed the steps one by one—tiptoeing to make sure that he was being very discreet. His eyes began to sting and water from the alcohol droplets that were suspended in the air. When George got to the last step, he turned to face the long, dark hallway to his right. Suspiciously, he noticed a faint, flickering glow of light that seemed to be coming from the end of the hallway. At first, he thought nothing of it.

George quickly passed by the suspicious light and dove through a box of stuff in his room to get his charger. He walked out, stopping at his door when he realized that the light was actually coming from the master bathroom. He went and got a knife, just in case there was an intruder, as it had happened before. But this time—things were different.

George started to make out music from the dramatic opera Salome—the scene where Salome beheaded the man who rejected her so that he finally would be forced to kiss her. The first thing he saw was a freshly poured glass of champagne. The fizzing bubbles caught the glowing amber light, which he soon realized came from a series of candles placed around the bathroom. Startled, George began to hold up his knife. He realized a creature was sitting on Miss Winters’ makeup chair. However, her three-ply mirrors faced inward so that he couldn’t fully make out the face.

As he approached the hidden figure, he accidentally knocked over a tissue box. The figurine in the chair did not bother to turn around. Instead, it repositioned the mirror so that it had the proper vantage point to scan its surroundings. That was when it happened. Miss Winters caught a glimpse of George holding his knife above his head. Her lips slid into an evil half-smile. Her silvery eye reflected the candlelight like a fox caught in the headlights of an oncoming vehicle in the middle of the night.

George, now realizing it was probably her, slowly let down his knife, even though he was only able to see part of her face.

“Oh, Miss Winters…” George started to utter.

Miss Winters, cutting him off, chuckled, “Uh uh uh, dear, you can call me ‘mommy’ from now on,” hissing her words while simultaneously turning around in her rotating chair to face him, staring at him disapprovingly. “We are married now, after all.” The pleasure of saying it soaked into her face like a sea sponge.

Her face was lizard green. She had on a green face mask—one that was made by mixing placenta fluids with toad-slime extracts. The thickness of the mask compounded the stabilizing effects of her Botox. Her facial expressions moved mechanically, as if she were an animatronic from the movie Gremlins.

George said, while stuttering, “Oh, I thought you would already be at the gala. My dad’s car is gone?”

She returned to stroking her fingers through the strings of pearls in her jewelry box, actively looking for the best quality ones in her collection. She had on one diamond earring so far and was seeing which one would match the best for the event tonight.

She lifted one eyebrow and, looking at him through the mirror with one eye, said, “Well, you see, dear, I needed Blake to go pick up my new dress from the boutique downtown since they just got done tailoring it.” Her eyelashes flickered in delight.

A timer went off on the counter.

“Ah, it looks like it is time for this mask to come off,” she exclaimed with glee.

As she began wiping off the green substance that was caked onto her leathery skin, Miss Winters could not hold in her excitement any longer.

“So, George,” she started. “Just to let you know, now that I am married to your daddy, I had you taken out of his will.” She smirked, wiping a wad of green gunk off her eyelids. “Snip, snip,” she said in a clearly well-rehearsed fashion.

George’s face lit up in rage. Miss Winters stared right at him, eating up the anger with her eyes like a bloodthirsty fruit bat. She let out an evil cackle, one she couldn’t stop once she began.

George ushered close to her with the knife behind his back. While she was laughing, a single tear rolled off her eyelash, causing her eye to temporarily shut. Seizing this fleeting opportunity, George went in for the kill. He stabbed her right in the chest, the first time only superficially grazing her as the knife failed to pass through her breast implants. Instead of blood, her left breast just burst. He tried a second time, this time not missing, and wedged the knife straight through the middle of her chest.

Still manically laughing, Miss Winters began coughing up black blood. She lost consciousness, and suddenly her head clunked flat on the counter with a loud bang. Finally, Miss Winters was gone, this time for good.

George turned his back to walk away when all of a sudden, Miss Winters took in a large gulp of air, temporarily reanimating her corpse. She let out a loud screech like a pterodactyl and leapt across the room, projecting black bile onto George.

George quickly grabbed the toilet plunger, whacking her in the head as hard as he could. Miss Winters then fell to the floor, twitching like a malfunctioning robot briefly before finally dying.

George did not know what the hell had happened. But before he had much time to think, a dark shadow had formed around Miss Winters’ lifeless body. Frigid air began circulating into the room from below. He soon realized she was being dragged down into hell, where she rightfully belonged. Her body vanished into the floor, leaving no trace of her existence.

And that was when headlights flooded in through the downstairs windows…