Dead Clown Barbecue (16 page)

But just her soul. Not her body.

"No mother of mine is gonna be buried six feet under the dirt," Pa had said. "They did it to Grampa, but they aren't doing it to Gramma! They aren't gonna burn her up, either, and that's a promise!"

Ma and Pa had argued about it, but Pa told her that this was just the way things were going to be. He was going to respect her body until there was no body left to respect. He liked to fix up animals that he'd shot or caught in traps, even though some of them fell apart sometimes, and he'd been really proud when he showed Ma, Jamie, and Matt what he'd done with Gramma.

Most of the time they kept her in the basement. Sometimes they brought her upstairs to sit on the couch when the family watched TV. They never sat her down at the dinner table, though, because Pa said it was unhygienic.

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut as tightly as she could. She squeezed them shut until her eyelids ached, while she begged her mind to let her fall asleep.

Was somebody breathing?

She held her own breath and listened carefully.

She couldn't hear anything except the soft sounds of the TV from downstairs. She opened her eyes and stared at Gramma, watching carefully for a rise and fall of her chest in the shadows, but she wasn't moving.

Of course she wasn't. She was dead.

Gramma's corpse was still cold, and it was also kind of sticky. Jamie would've given almost anything just to be able to scoot away from her, but she had no doubt that Pa would make good on his threat to check on her, and there was no way she could sleep with the body another night.

She lay there, staring at the ceiling. She tried to imagine horses galloping across the ceiling, splashing through a river, carrying her away from her bedroom into a beautiful meadow.

She thought she heard breathing again.

Jamie stared at Gramma, silently praying:
Don't open your eyes. Don't open your eyes. Please don't open your eyes.

Gramma did not open her eyes. She didn't move at all.

Jamie wanted to cry, but she refused to. No matter what, she wasn't going to cry, and not just because it would make Pa angry. She was going to be brave. Gramma was dead. She couldn't hurt her, not even a little bit. This was
her
room, and
her
bed, and she wasn't going to let a dead old lady scare her anymore.

It was like the creepy doll Ma had got her last Christmas. At first it terrified her and made her cry, but Ma forced her to hold it, and after a while it wasn't so scary anymore. She'd just have to make Gramma's corpse less scary.

Her eyes were starting to adjust to the light, so she observed Gramma closely. Just a stupid ol' dead lady. It wasn't like she could come back to life and bite her. All she could do was lie there and stink. Matt stunk a lot of the time, and he wasn't the least bit scary.

Please don't open your eyes . . .

Jamie extended her index finger, and held it up to Gramma's nose. She hesitated for several moments, gradually building up her courage, and then —

 — no, she couldn't do it . . .

Yes, she could.

She poked Gramma on the nose. In her mind she made a "Boing!" sound.

Gramma didn't move.

See? Just a stupid dead body that couldn't hurt anybody. Jamie could do anything she wanted to it. She pinched Gramma's nose shut and started to count to ten.

She only made it to three before pulling her hand away in revulsion.

She'd never make it through the night. Never ever.

And now she had to go to the bathroom.

But she couldn't get up. If Pa heard her leave her room, he'd be furious, and if she did leave her room, Jamie didn't think she'd ever be able to crawl back into bed with that creature.

No, not that
creature.
Creatures could hurt you. This was just a dead body. A stupid, harmless, dumb-looking dead body.

She wondered if Gramma's spirit was in the room, watching over her body. Maybe her ghost was mad that Jamie had pinched the corpse's nose.

So what? A ghost couldn't do any more to her than a dead body could.

Gramma's corpse licked its lips.

No, it didn't. She'd imagined that. Gramma's mouth was sewn shut. It couldn't do anything. Nothing at all.

Why hadn't she studied harder?

Why hadn't she at least cheated on that spelling test?

She could feel herself starting to cry but refused to let it happen. No way. Not a single tear.

Jamie lay quietly until the tremors in her chest subsided. She closed her eyes and tried to think about the horses again.

She felt something warm and slimy — a tongue — slide across her neck.

She gasped and opened her eyes, but Gramma's corpse lay still, exactly where it was before.

Thank God she hadn't screamed.

Jamie touched her neck in the spot where she'd felt the tongue. It was dry. Nobody had licked her. It was just her brain trying to scare her.

She hated Gramma.

She hated her rotten, smelly corpse. Probably full of bugs and worms. Maggots.

What if the bugs came out of Gramma while Jamie slept? What if they crawled into her ears and mouth?

Maybe she could pretend. She could scream for Pa, and say that a maggot came out of Gramma's nose. Pa wouldn't make her sleep with a corpse if maggots were coming out of it, would he?

No . . . but he'd know she was lying. He always did.

There were no bugs anyway. When Ma and Pa had argued about it, Pa said that the chemicals kept them away.

Stupid Gramma. Stupid dead Gramma. Jamie wanted to punch her in the face.

Why not?

If she was scared of her, why not punch her in the face? You couldn't be scared of something that you could beat up, could you?

Jamie clenched her right hand into a tight fist.

She shouldn't do it. Pa might find out. Or Gramma's ghost might get mad.

She didn't care.

She punched Gramma as hard as she could, right on the cheek. Her fist made a wet slapping sound as it hit, and one of Gramma's eyes popped open.

What had she done? Pa was going to kill her!

But Gramma didn't move. Not at all.

See? She couldn't hurt anybody. There was nothing to be scared of. She was like a big rag doll. And she wasn't so cold anymore.

Jamie was going to close her eyes, and she wasn't going to open them again until morning, no matter what. Maybe she'd ask to sleep with Gramma for a couple more hours, just to show Pa that he hadn't scared her.

She couldn't close her eyes. Not while Gramma's own eye was open. It was hard to see in the dark, but Gramma's eye didn't seem to have a pupil, it was just white.

Jamie very, very quickly put her finger on Gramma's eyelid and closed it, squealing as she accidentally touched the eyeball.

She froze, listening for Pa's footsteps.

Nothing.

She heard Matt laugh at something on TV.

Good. She was safe. Gramma's eye was closed again, and nothing could hurt her. Jamie closed her own eyes and lay still.

No sounds but her own breathing.

No tongue on her neck.

No teeth on her shoulder.

It was almost funny the way Pa thought he could teach her a lesson like this. Maybe she'd get
worse
grades on her next report card, just to show him what she thought of his punishment.

Jamie rolled over on her side. Gramma's arm came with her, wrapped around her waist.

Don't scream.

Without looking back, she lifted the dead arm and tossed it back on Gramma's chest.

Horses. Pretty horses, galloping away from here . . .

She imagined Gramma's laugh, a high-pitched, scratchy laugh that hurt Jamie's ears.

Was Gramma looking at her? Staring at the back of her neck?

Gramma was going to kill her. Gramma was going to lean over and take a big bloody bite out of her neck. "
Mmmmmmmm
," Gramma would say. "
So, so tasty
!"

No, she wouldn't.

Maybe she would.

Jamie realized that she was crying. She didn't remember when she started.

She didn't want to die.

She shouldn't have punched Gramma in the face.

Gramma's fingertips danced across Jamie's back. Gramma was licking her lips — Jamie knew it. Licking her lips and thinking about how delicious Jamie would taste.

No, no, no, no! She was not!

There were no fingers on Jamie's back.

Or on her neck.

It was a lie.

Please, please, please let me fall asleep . . .

When you fall asleep, I'm gonna get you . . .

NO!

Oh, yes, little Jamie. You never loved Gramma enough. You always turned your head when Gramma tried to give you a kiss? Why wouldn't you give your Gramma a kiss, Jamie? Why don't you make it up to her and give her a kiss right now?

Jamie slammed her hands over her ears.

Mmmmmmmm . . . Gramma's hungry . . .

Leave me alone!

Jamie didn't know if she'd screamed that out loud or in her mind.

She was sobbing now, and she didn't care if Pa heard her.

A hand grabbed her neck.

Squeezed.

This wasn't in her mind. She really couldn't breathe!

Jamie tried to call for help, Pa, Ma, Matt, anyone, but her voice wouldn't work. The fingers on her throat were too tight.

Gramma squeezed and squeezed.

Such a bad little girl . . . never studies, never does her homework . . . and doesn't love her Gramma . . .

"Please stop . . ." Jamie managed to say. She'd definitely said this out loud.

No, sweetie. I'll never stop until you're just like me. Just. Like. Me.

Jamie fell asleep.

* * *

Jamie's hands were so tight around her own neck that Martin could barely pry them off. While his wife stood next to the bed, screaming, Martin checked his daughter for a heartbeat.

"
My baby! My precious baby!
" Patricia wailed. "
What have we done
?"

There was no heartbeat or pulse. His daughter was dead.

She'd needed to be taught a lesson, but, God, he never thought something like this could happen. He just wanted to scare her, that's all. Make her realize that her future was important.

Patricia scooped up her tiny body and cradled it to her chest. "
My baby . . . my baby . . ."

Martin just stood there, absolutely stunned.

Gramma lay on her back in the bed, unmoving.

Patricia looked at Gramma and continued to shriek. "Why is she grinning like that?
Dear God, why is she grinning?
"

BURDEN

Life takes you in a lot of unexpected directions. I went to college to become a dentist. Never looked at a single tooth — now I do data entry for a couple of bucks above minimum wage.

I didn't get married to Jeannie, my fiancée. She didn't leave me at the altar, which would've at least have made for a memorably tragic tale, but instead broke it off two weeks before the big day. It "just didn't feel right." There wasn't another guy. I spent many long nights wondering if that would've made it easier or more difficult to take.

I'd assumed I'd be living in a mansion by age thirty. Would've settled for my own place. Never would've expected to still be living with my parents. I pay rent and come and go as I please, but even so, it's not quite how I'd envisioned things.

I like mashed potatoes now. Always hated them before. What's up with that?

Of course, the biggest surprise in my life's journey is that I never expected to find myself planning to murder a quadriplegic. Not something you see coming.

It was supposed to be oh-so-wonderful when Danny came home. My mom got her house all ready. She installed a wheelchair ramp, rearranged the furniture, bought this contraption that's like a toilet seat on wheels that hovered over the real toilet and also doubled as a shower chair — she did everything she could to create an appropriate living environment. Made him a chocolate cake and a "Welcome Home, Danny!" banner. The whole family within driving distance — eight of us — hid behind the sofa, waited for Mom to push him through the front door, and shouted "Surprise!" like it was his birthday or something.

Danny didn't react. He just didn't react to things anymore.

Everybody acted like it was the greatest thing in the world to watch him eat his cake. Oh, yeah, a beautiful sight — huge globs of cake stuck to his teeth and hanging off his lips. Did he even know it was chocolate cake? Could he even taste it? Was I really supposed to be elated at the sight of my younger brother being fed like an infant? At least with an infant you can make plane noises.

"Isn't this great?" Mom asked me.

Great. Sure, she thought it was great. She wasn't the one driving. She wasn't the one who nudged Danny in the side and pointed out the woman on the sidewalk whose blouse had popped open while she struggled with two bags of groceries, who accidentally ran the red light, who got a few bruises and a broken arm while his brother broke his back and cracked open his skull, who had the inconvenience of a few weeks with his arm in a sling while his brother had the inconvenience of a coma, brain damage, and paralysis?

Is it great that this was shoved in my face every day?

I tried to move out. Not enough room, I insisted. Ridiculous, Mom said. There was plenty of room for both Danny and I before the accident, and there was plenty of room now. Besides, she needed me to help take care of him.

What was I supposed to do? Refuse to help? Say, oh, nope, sorry, I've got places to be and people to meet. Big business deals to negotiate. I'm a busy, busy guy. No time to help my mom and brother. Yeah, right.

And that was my life. Go to work. Come home. Take care of the vegetable in the wheelchair. I know, I know, he wasn't truly a vegetable — sometimes he kind of looked like he understood what you were saying, and if you switched channels in the middle of a TV show, he might shift a bit like he was annoyed — but there wasn't enough going on to put me through this nightmare.