Mad Sisters
written by: Phyllis Souza
“Hey, look at this,” Alice said. “A hearse for sale. Cheap.”
Herman stopped picking his teeth. “Yeah, who’s selling it?”
“See for yourself.” Alice tossed him the paper, pushed away from the table, and straightened her short skirt.
“1960 Cadillac Hearse. $500,” Herman replied. “Says to call Max at Gateway Mortuary. Hope I’m not too late.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not.”
Later that day, Herman slipped a blue-jean jacket over his white tank top and walked out of the house. Alice behind him, they hopped onto his motorcycle. He revved up the engine and headed toward the mortuary.
Herman knocked on the door.
Max, dressed in a dark-blue suit, answered.
“I called earlier about the hearse for sale,” Herman said.
“It’s in the parking lot.”
Herman and Alice followed the mortician to the east side of a windowless building.
“This is it.” Max stood with his spider fingers curled on a silver handle. He opened the door.
Herman stuck his head inside the black hearse and whiffed. “No stink.”
“Take a test drive.” Max handed him the key.
After a spin around the block, Herman glanced at his wife.
“Buy it. I’m tired of riding on the back of a bike,” Alice said.
“Hmmm, five-hundred bucks.” He raised a brow. “Maybe, I could make money hauling the dead.”
Back straight, eyes fixed on the road, a smile tugging at his cheeks, Herman drove the hearse to his sister-in-law, Margaret’s house for a late-night supper.
Alice pointed to a deer sprawled on the side of the road. “Slow down.” She poked Herman’s shoulder. “Look! A coyote is eating it.”
The canine’s eyes glowed, its muzzle— red with blood.
Passing shopping centers and restaurants, Herman drove for several more miles. Then he turned into a neighborhood of homes with sprawling lawns.
“Stop! You just passed Margaret’s house.”
Herman slammed on the brakes.
Looking over his shoulder, Herman backed up and parked at the curb in front of a large two-story brick home. Ivy climbed one side of the exterior. Large oaks shaded the other.
“Strange how Edward just up and died.” Herman scratched his head.
Storm clouds gathered in the darkening sky—a gust of wind. Thunder rumbled.
“Hurry up,” Alice slid from her seat onto the sidewalk with her dress clinging to her legs.
Herman got out of the hearse. Tugging on the bottom of his blue Hawaiian shirt, he attempted to cover his belly.
The front door swung open. Margaret, bathed in a fiery glow from a light in the entryway, stood with outstretched arms. Wearing a long red dress, she ushered Herman and Alice inside.
There was a mahogany table in the dining room: china, silver, and cut glass. Napkins sat beside the plates, rolled, and tied with black ribbons.
The aroma of roasting meat filled the air.
“Something smells good.” Herman rubbed his hands together. “Where do I sit?”
“In Edward’s chair.” Margaret pulled out a chair at the head of the table.
Herman blanched. “Not Edward’s.”
“You heard my sister,” Alice chimed in.
“What?” Herman asked. “Alice?”
Margaret moved toward the sidebar. She opened a drawer and turned with a gun firmly planted in the palm of her hand.
His bulging eyes widened as he slowly lowered himself onto the chair. “Your mad.”
“Quiet!” Alice yelled.
Margaret motioned toward the sidebar. “Get the duct tape. In the drawer.”
“Please. Don’t,” Herman exclaimed.
“Sister, seal his mouth.” Margaret moved behind Herman.
Alice plastered tape over Herman’s lips.
“Now, his arms and feet,” Margaret said.
Alice secured each wrist to the arms of the chair. Then she knelt and fastened his ankles.
“Good.” Margaret put the gun away. “Alice, sit next to Herman.”
Margaret lit the candles on top of the table, flicked off the lights, and walked toward the kitchen. She returned with a tray of food: prime rib, baked potatoes, and a green salad.
She sliced into the meat with a carving knife. “Alice, fix a plate for Herman.”
Alice did as her sister commanded.
Margaret raised her glass. “Herman!”
Alice replied, “May he rest in peace.”
Herman struggled to break free. Muffled sounds came from under the tape.
“What did you say?” Alice cocked her head. Then she looked at her sister.
“Herman says he wants horseradish.”
“A little burn wouldn’t hurt.” Margaret handed Alice the sauce.
The chair wobbled. Herman grunted.
“Too much noise,” Alice paused. “Herman, did you know we like to play games during dinner?”
Margaret’s lips stretched into a smile.
Herman tried to stomp his feet.
“Knock it off. You’re giving me a headache.” Alice jabbed her fork into the meat. “Margaret, is it time?”
Wild flames on the candles drew moving shadows on the wall. Outside, the rain pelted the ground.
Lightning flashed.
“It’s time,” Margaret mixed arsenic with the last of her brandy.
Alice ripped the tape from Herman’s mouth.
He winced.
“Did that hurt?” Alice pooched out her lower lip, then pushed back on Herman’s forehead with her hand.
Margaret pinched his nose. His jaw dropped. She poured down the poison.
Countdown. Three. Two. One. Zero.
His body jerked. His head fell forward. Herman was dead.
Alice freed his limbs. Then, with a thud, he hit the floor.
Margaret surveyed Herman’s body— at least a hundred pounds heavier than Edward. “Sister, should I take some flab off with the carving knife?”
“No. I want Herman whole,” Alice replied.
“Move the hearse into the driveway. I’ll get a blanket.”
A few minutes later, Alice came back into the house.
“Did you park near the back door?” Margaret asked as she spread the blanket on the floor.
“It’s next to the porch.”
Margaret slid her arms under Herman’s shoulders.
Alice stepped over the body.
After having him wrapped and tied, the sisters dragged Herman out of the house.
Hunched over in the back of the hearse, Alice grabbed onto his ankles.
Margaret shoved.
Herman was ready to travel.
The windshield wipers were swiping furiously. “Slow down before you get us killed,” Margaret called out.
“I’m nervous.”
“Do you want me to drive?” Margaret asked.
“No. I’m okay.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“When you get close to the mortuary, drive down the alley behind it.”
Max stood rubbing his hands together under the dim light at the back entrance. “I have a fire going in the crematorium.”
“When does the countdown begin?” Margaret asked.
“It already has,” Max said. “Edward and now Herman.” He grinned. “How old was Herman?”
“Fifty-two,” Alice replied.
He stroked his pointed beard. “You’ve each earned twenty-six more years of life.”
The Devil rolled Herman down a dark, narrow hallway to the oven. The flames grew brighter as he neared the end.
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