"Don’t be afraid. I’m your Great-Aunt Lucinda, and I’ve things to tell you. Come along, Gregory."

She turned, and without waiting to see if he followed, crossed the cozy sitting room and disappeared inside the kitchen at the back of the house.

"My name’s Simon. Don’t call me Gregory."

"That’s what they named you when you were born," Lucinda said. She pointed to the table next to the kitchen wall and he sat down. "I should know. I saw you when you were five minutes old."

"You did?"

He stared at Lucinda, but she had her back to him, bending over a dish she was pulling from the oven. He suddenly became aware of the delicious aroma wafting through the small house.

"Apple crumb cake," she announced, setting it on top of the stove. "I hope you’ve room for a piece or two, after everything you just scoffed down."

"Well, sure. I’d love a piece, but how did you know –?"

"I know lots of things, Gregory, most of which I wish I could cut out of my mind for the pain they cause me."

"Please don’t call me Gregory. He calls me that."

"Your Uncle Raymond." Lucinda shook her head. "He’s some piece of work, isn’t he?"

"He took me in," Simon said. "I’m grateful for that."

"He did it for his sake, not yours." She let loose a cackle of laughter. "Raymond only does what serves Raymond. He’s evil through and through."

She cut him a square of apple cake. "Bite in," she said. "Tell me how it tastes."

It had to be the best apple cake ever. "It’s terrific. Awesome!"

Lucinda grinned, showing teeth yellowed with age. Simon figured she was at least eighty years old. "Your father always liked my apple cake."

Simon’s heart began to race. "You knew my father?"

"Of course. Edward was my nephew, wasn’t he? Just like Raymond. Only there was nothing those two boys had in common. I’ll pour you a glass of milk."

Lucinda set the glass in front of Simon and added hot water to her mug of tea. He sipped and ate, wondering which of the eighty-five questions swarming around in his head to ask first. Before he spoke, Lucinda got in a question of her own.
"You thought I was a nutter, didn’t you, saying those things to you out in broad daylight?"

He nodded.

His great-aunt grinned. "It was the only way to grab your attention. As it is, the people of Buckley think I’m mad. I tell them what I know is the truth, and they laugh at me."

Simon thought back to what she’d said to him earlier in the day. "‘You meant what you said about Uncle Raymond – that he’s evil."

Lucinda nodded. "Through and through. It’s not all his fault, though, but he’s made the most of our curse. He’s the worst of the lot."

Simon blinked, confused. "I don’t understand. What’s he done?"

"Terrible things, judging by his sudden good health."
"Yeah, I noticed he looks much better than he did when I first met him. But what terrible things are you talking about?"

Lucinda seemed to shrink within herself. Her cheeriness gone, Simon noticed the sunken cheeks, the lines and wrinkles on her face. She reminded him of a gnarled old tree.

"Our family isn’t like other families, but I’m sure you know that by now."

‘I really don’t. I never met any of my father’s relatives until after the accident."

"That’s because your father wanted to protect you. But he didn’t do a good job of it, because here you are again – in Buckley, living with Raymond."

Frustrated, Simon pounded the table. "I still don’t know what you’re talking about! Would you please tell me what you mean?"

"Your father never told you anything about his family? Never explained why he and your mother grabbed you and sped away in the dead of night so no one could come after you?"

Simon shook his head.

"Your father was an honorable man. He considered the powers certain members of our family have as evil. And he was right."

"Evil," Simon repeated. "Such an old-fashioned word."

"What else do you call draining young people of their lives so you can live longer?"

The awful image of a plastic tube thrust down a little girl’s throat flew into his mind. "Melissa Gordon," he murmured.

Lucinda nodded, her expression grim.

"And there were others. Why do you think Raymond’s brimming with good health these days?"

He stared at her. "But if you know, why don’t you tell the police! Do something, so there won’t be any more murders!"
"Hah! Don’t you think I’ve tried? But I’ve no proof, just my own hideous knowledge. And I’ve my own checkered past behind me."

The image of a young Lucinda riding a white horse through the town wearing a tiny bikini flew into his head. Now where did that come from?

"And there’s Raymond Davenport, president of the town council and former Buckley mayor, ready to tell one and all I’m crazy. Too many people have called me witch for them to disregard what he says. The next thing I’d know is being locked up in a psychiatric ward."

What kind of family was he a part of? No wonder his parents flew out of town. "Are you a witch?" Simon asked.

Lucinda shook her head. "Of course not. And I’m not like Raymond and his father and my father – able to drain someone’s life force to enhance his own. But my senses are heightened, well beyond the ordinary range. Last night they fairly shook me like my own internal hurricane. I figured it had something to do with Raymond." She gazed at Simon, her expression gentle. "And you."

"Me?" Chills ran up and down Simon’s back. "But he hasn’t done anything to me. I mean, I don’t especially like him, but..."

"As I said, everything Raymond does has a reason, and the reason is to serve Raymond Davenport. He’s evil, Gregory – I mean, Simon – and you must close yourself to him."

"Close myself to him," Simon echoed. "My dad taught me about that when I was little. All these thoughts and images used to flood my mind and drive me nuts. He taught me how to do it, and I’d close my mind regularly. Until the thoughts stopped coming." Until they came again this afternoon.

"You plugged up that avenue by closing yourself automatically – like breathing -- but there are other forces waiting to assail." Lucinda squinted at Simon. "Are you absolutely positive Raymond didn’t hypnotize you or something?"

Simon thought a bit. "There was this weird dream I had in the middle of the night. I woke up with a headache and lots of thoughts, and what seemed like memories I never had before. Do you think Raymond did that?"

His great-aunt stared at him. Terror filled her eyes. "My God, that’s something no Davenport has had the nerve to attempt since Uncle Frank’s fiasco."

"You’re scaring me. What are you talking about?"

"You should be scared, Simon. I don’t know how he means to work it, but your uncle Raymond intends to enter your brain and take over your body."

"And– and where would I be?"

Lucinda closed her eyes. "As good as buried thirty feet under the ground."

©Copyright 2006-2007 Marilyn Levinson. All Rights Reserved.