Chapter 12: No More Room: Unforgettable Horror

 Background

Wilma Rae Downs, a 69 year old mountain recluse, fights for life to be restored as she once knew it. Her fragile mind snaps in and out of reality. On top of all that, Jasper, the unwanted stranger, has placed her in a precariously dangerous situation...

Wilma sat down on the small foot stool. Exhausted from all of the chaotic commotion, she simply could not stand over Jasper any longer.

"I don't know 'exactly what's happened, son, but I know it ain't good. It's never good when I blank out like that." She pulled from the bureau dresser drawer, a handkerchief. The letter 'D', in dark blue, had been embroidered in the left corner. She wiped her eyes, then, coughed catching from it, whatever filled her mouth.

Jasper had not moved. The furious downpour continued.

"You don't like the rain, do you, son? I can tell right off, you're as scared as a jack rabbit." She yawned deep, before she gagged up more phlegm. She wiped her mouth.

Jasper stood up.

"I hope you ain't seen nothing that's got you all fidgety, and up in the air.

This is a mighty old house, son. Some of the things that goes on 'round here can't be 'splained all that good. Did you happen to see one of them night demons?" Wilma's face turned to a speculative inquiry.

"No mam, I didn't see any demons that I'm aware of." He moved to the green barrel chair in front of Wilma, and sprawled out, knees wide apart.

"Jasper, we sure have been through a right smart mess, since you've been here."

Wilma folded the nasty handkerchief before placing it on the poplar wood night stand.

Jasper shook his head in disgust.

"So, how long was I out?" Wilma probed.

What was Jasper suppose to say? He could easily see, she had no recollection of what had just transpired. It would be so easy for him to make up any lie, he wanted to tell her.

He didn't answer. His bewildered mind considered his own horrendous nightmare he had just bounced back from.

"It WAS a nightmare, wasn't it?" He quickly asked himself. The lurid gruesome details of abuse remained.

Wilma tried to get up, but had difficulty doing so. She hovered on the stool a while longer.

"Have you a-heard Simon moseying around?" Most times, he won't stay in his room when a thunderstorm starts up. He's a little nervous about such things."

"I think I did hear him a while ago," he paused, "in the living room. He turned on the television." Jasper responded.

Wilma laughed.

"No, son, just 'cause you heard the television a-playing, don't mean Simon was up in the living room. During thunder storms, the old set just comes on all by itself. I guess it has a mind of its own." She tried once more to stand up.

"He's more than likely buried down in the basement. He feels safe down there. He won't be up 'til an hour or more after the storm stops."

"But, I really thought I saw him coming down the hall." Jasper reaffirmed.

"Well, of course, you did, son. He had to come down the hall to get to the basement. First door on the right, after you pass the spare bedroom."

"Oh. Yes, mam, that's what he, must have done." Jasper leaned forward; he noticed the trouble she had, trying to get up off the stool.

"You want me to help you up, Miss Downs?" He offered both hands in a genuine warm gesture.

"I'd surely 'preciate it, Jasper. That'd be mighty kind of you. I just can't seem to get right, today."

Jasper pulled Wilma to her unsteady feet. He supports her shaky body, as they leave the bedroom.

"Would you like to go to the basement and meet Simon?" Wilma injected quickly.

"I think it's high time the two of you meet."

"Do you think that's wise, Miss Downs?" Jasper was still trying to figure out what he was going to do with Wilma, without having to consider how Simon figured in the picture.

"I mean he was so mad, before; and, what about your legs?" He seemed concerned enough. "Can you make it down the stairs to the basement?"

Wilma held onto Jasper as they shuffled their way to the living room. The television screen was black. No sound.

"I don't know, son. I really don't know. I don't nothing, no more." Jasper guided her to the royal purple sofa. She coughed three more congested times.

"Are you alright?"

"I might be; I might not be. I just can't tell." Wilma eased onto the sofa.

He paced the floor. The rain had slowed some, but thankfully, the thunder was completely gone. Jasper sighed in relief. His anxious mind crashed with conflicted thoughts. What did he want to do with Wilma? Kill her, take her money, or make friends with her, what? He studied her hoping for an answer.

"Why don't you sit down? Why are you still so antsy?" Wilma straightened her body, carefully, as she watched him apprehensively.

"What time is it?"

Jasper looked up at the gold -plated peacock clock.

"It's almost 4:00 o'clock." He returned

Wilma stiffened. "Oh no. The day's almost over; soon it'll be night. I ain't talked to Simon, I ain't found out nothing 'bout you I wanted to, I aint' begun to solve my problems of tomorrow. Jesus Christ. This day's sure been a hell of a-waste." A scowl of regret formed on her lips.

Jasper formed a vested idea. He quickly moved to the other end of the sofa.

"Miss Downs, what about," he wavered, before he continued, "let's just say, if you and Simon wanted to, consider moving away from this old house?'

Wilma tried to break his irritating drone, but he talked louder to drown her out.

"Look, the fact is, you are getting to the place, you need somebody to take care of you."

Wilma frowned. "I don't need nothing or nobody. Me and Simon does quite alright, thank you." Jasper could immediately see that she was terribly upset; insulted by Jasper's impudent remarks.

"No, really, Miss Downs, listen to what I'm saying. I know you love this house and all but it's so old, almost falling down. And, it's so far back up in these mountains, you'd never be able to get to the doctor, if you got any sicker, right?

Wilma was livid by this time. She wanted to hear no more from Jasper and his unwanted advice.

"Shut your damn mouth, boy. I ain't leaving my house. Do you understated me, you little pipsqueak?" Her troubled voice increased.

"I said, there ain't no way in hell, I'm a-leaving my home of 69 years. You are out of your ever loving mind."

After all the words of wrangling back and forth, Jasper did not care that Wilma was damned mad. He persisted.

"But, you've got a lot of money; I mean a WHOLE lot, to be able to buy something much nicer than this place." He kept right on jabbering, in spite of the fact, she had told him under no circumstances was she moving away.

Wilma's breathing grew into one of severely laboring irregular patterns. She grabbed her chest, and began to cough offensively.

Indifferent Jasper offered no help.

While her face turned blue, Jasper stood watching, no more than three feet from her.

"Water," she gasped. "I need some, water."

Jasper debated for a matter of seconds before he decided to get her a glass of water.

"What am I going to do with the old woman?" He scanned his mind while the tap water filled the glass.” Simon won't stay in that basement forever."

Hurriedly, he brought the glass of water to Wilma, handed it to her. She drank it all

Jasper sat on the sofa beside her.

"You see, Miss Downs, this is exactly what I'm talking about. What would you do if I wasn't here?" he beamed, as he mocked her.

"Simon's here, you fool!" she snapped. "Have you forgot all about Simon? IF you have, that's the biggest mistake you'll ever make." She sat the glass on the marble topped end table, struggling to get up.

"I'm a-going down in the basement right, this minute, to see Simon. And, the best thing I can tell you is for you to get on down the road, wherever it is you need to be a-going."

Wobbly, she managed to stand.

Jasper never moved.

Wilma caught herself before she fell. She grabbed a hold onto the corner of the foyer front wall.

"Miss Downs?" Jasper jumped up, rushed to her side.

"Get the hell away from me, you devil!" Wilma's mind had split, again. She insanely wailed at him.

He tried to calm her down.

She snatched away, and headed for the front closet, where her shot gun waited.

Jasper instantly knew what she was planning to do. He grabbed her and pinned her frail body against the wall.

"Look, you crazy old woman, I'm not going to keep doing this! You just give me a little bit of money, and I'll be glad to get out of this mad house."

Wilma spit in his face. "I ain't giving you shit; let go of me." She struggled, as much as could, to get away.

"Simon," She screeched.

Simon could not hear her.

Her frayed mind popped back into reality, momentarily. It was the first time since Jasper had arrived that she was filled with fear and remembered it.

Jasper wiped the filthy spit from his face. He recognized terror. He seized the moment by placing his hand over her mouth.

"You can make this easy on yourself, or hard. Just give me some money." He glanced down the hall; no Simon, in sight. He pushed for a response.

"What's it going to be? Money or me crush your skull?" His voice had assumed the tone and flavor of his childhood torturing abuser, Delbert.

Wilma's petrified eyes, relinquished.

"Where's it at; in the box, under your bed?" He tightened his grip.

Surprised, she shook her head, yes.

"Well, it seems we've got a problem. In order, for me to get the money, I've got to let go of you or drag you past the basement door where you might try to yell for Simon."

He pressed his face against hers.

"Can, I trust you not to scream like a wild woman or would that be total stupidity on my part?"

She quickly promised she wouldn't scream in a muffle under his cupped hands.

"Well, just to be on the safe side, let's get that old 12 gauge; call it my insurance policy."

He shoved her, a few feet, to the closet door, retrieved the shot gun while he dragged her down the hallway.

Wilma starred at the basement door helplessly. How in the world could Simon have let her down like this? He had no idea of what had transpired on the top floor while he was shut away in the basement.

"Get him out," Wilma clearly remembered the danger in the prophetic words the disgusted Simon had spouted. 'He was right. Simon is always right."

Wilma was three seconds from passing out, again.

Author's Notes:  A gracious generous "thank you" to frattmike for this wonderfully portrayed photograph.