The woman with six fingers

I stand in my kitchen and I watch Maybelle limp towards me. She's so skinny. I can see her ribs. Her nails make a clicking sound on the laminate flooring. A long strand of drool falls out of the right side of her mouth mixed with a bit of foam. She looks up at me and I stare back. Her eyes are a little blue, milky swirls with remnants of the once dominant yellow they used to be. I lower my hand to pat her on the head and she snaps at me, tail wagging. She doesn't mean to bite me; she just hopes there's some food in my hands. Maybelle is sixteen years old. Maybelle is dying. She knows this, but, she's stubborn.

When I was a little girl, we lived in a faraway place. Our neighbors all had children around me and my sister’s age. There were three of us, each two years apart. I was seven years old when Mrs. Daventry and her husband moved in. Their house was built on a slope above ours. They could see into our backyard and we could see into their windows at night when they kept the curtains open.

They had no children of their own, which was strange to us. The whole neighborhood was comprised of families, some kids older than others, some parents older or younger, but everyone had children. Mrs. Daventry had a Labrador. A golden, named Simon. He was old, very old. She said she found him on the side of the road one day when they were coming back from grocery shopping, sitting quietly all alone. It was "the way he stared at her" I heard her tell my mother one day.

He sat quietly besides her, watching her as she spoke. It was as if he understood her words. He knew they were talking about him. She let her hand drop and it hovered over his head. That was when I noticed her hand. There was something very strange about it. She had a little finger growing out of her thumb. A tiny weird carrot of a finger sprouting like a twisted branch. Mrs. Daventry had six fingers on her left hand.


I was always taught to be polite and I didn't want to draw any attention, but I couldn't help but tell my sisters. I had to show them. We huddled close together, staring out of the kitchen window, watching for another glimpse.

"She's a witch." Jaime was the oldest. She knew everything. She told us so.
"How do you know?" I questioned everything.
"It's obvious." Shirley always agreed with Jaime.
"We learned about this in Mrs. Peters class" Jaime nodded.
"You learn about witches in your class?" That's amazing. We were learning about far less interesting topics.
"There were witches in Salem, if they had cats or killed your vegetables or had six fingers, then they were a witch." So matter of fact.
"Does that make her bad? What's Salem?" Shirley stepped on my toes trying to get a better look.
I shoved her away. "She seems very nice to me."
Jaime pushed me aside. "You think everyone is nice because you're the baby."
"I'm not a baby!" I tried pushing her, but she was much bigger than me. I'm not a baby.

We all froze suddenly as we realized we had been caught. Not by our mother or Mrs. Daventry, the witch in question, but by the dog. The dog stared at us. He stared us down and he wouldn't look away. I love dogs. My sisters love dogs, we ooh and ahh at any four legged furry thing, but this dog, there was something strange about him.

Shirley got scared and turned and ran off. Jaime followed, laughing and poking at her. But I stayed and I stared right back at him. I could see the white fur around his muzzle, the long whiskers sprouting from his eyebrows. He was an ancient dog.
My mom turned and caught me staring at them in the window. Mrs. Daventry saw me and smiled, they waved to me to come out.

The dog watched me as I treaded with bare feet on the grass and slowly walked towards them. A gust of wind blew my hair across my face and into my mouth.

"Sammy, look!" my mother pointed at the dog.
"Isn't he cool, Sammy?" Mrs. Daventry beamed at me, she was very proud of her new dog.
I looked at him and saw that he was very good at holding eye contact.
"Go on Sammy, pet him. I know you're dying to."
I held my hand out as if I was learning what fire was. I knew I shouldn't, what if he bit me? He lowered his head and I rest my hand on his head. He looked down and that made it easier.

"He's going to help my Rob get better." Mrs. Daventry stroked him behind the ears. "That husband has been sad for far too long. We need a dog around I think."

I watched the dog turn around and look back up at the house where her husband was. We never saw Mr. Daventry. He never left the house. My mother said he was sick and that Mrs. Daventry had to take care of him, and that she was very patient and kind to do this, poor woman. She always added that to the end of her sentence, poor, poor woman.

We said goodbye to Mrs. Daventry and Simon and we went back into the house.
"Momma"
"Yes"
"There's something strange about the dog"
"He's a dog Sammy, nothing strange about that."

...

Mrs. Daventry adored that dog. It wasn't very hard to see. He was always by her side. He sat by her when she gardened. He walked with her to the mailbox when she collected the mail. He walked with her around the neighborhood and went for car rides to the bank.

Whenever you saw Mrs. Daventry, you saw Simon.


...

One night, we heard strange sounds coming from the Daventry's house. A long drawn out wailing sound. My sisters and I sat up in our beds and struggled in the dark to see each other.

"What is that?" Shirley whispered.
Jaime got out of bed. I could make out her outline in the dark as she rushed to the bedroom window. Shirley and I followed.
We looked out towards the back of the Daventry's house. We saw a light flick on in the upper right window.

The groaning had grown louder. It was as if it came from a creature that was half human and half animal. It was like a man's voice but so agonizing and strange sounding.

Shirley stepped away, "I'm going to mom and dad's room" and she ran off. Jaime followed her. I stood alone again staring up at the lighted window, hoping to catch a glimpse of something.

And something did come by the window. It was Mrs. Daventry. I knew she couldn't see me in the dark staring up at her, but I felt a chill as I saw her staring down in my direction. Could she see me? For a moment the groaning had stopped, but soon picked up again. She turned and walked away, the light flicked off.


...

The next morning, we sat at the kitchen table and ate pancakes with bacon. We had slept in our parent’s room that night, all squished together in the queen sized bed.
My dad came inside from the front yard carrying a newspaper under his arm.

He looked at my mom. "The ambulance was at the Daventry's last night, I just talked to the Parkers across the street. They said Mr. Daventry had a heart attack in the middle of the night."

My mom flipped a pancake over in the skillet. "Is he alright?"
My dad shrugged. "No one knows. They're still at the hospital."
Shirley held a piece of bacon and bit into it, in between bites she asked, "Was that Mr. Daventry making that noise last night?"
My mom turned the stove off and poured the last pancake out of the skillet onto a plate. "I don't know honey. I don't think someone can make so much noise if they're having a heart attack. Maybe you heard the dog."


...


A few days later, the Daventry's returned home. Mrs. Daventry pushed Mr. Daventry to the front door in a wheelchair.

We had watched over Simon the past few days while they were away. I was the only one of my sisters who went over with my mom to check on him and feed him. The three times that we went over there, we found him sitting by the kitchen table. He didn't move or wag his tail when he saw us. He just stared. He looked very sad. I wanted to go and pet him, but there was something that made my mother worried. She grabbed my hand and told me to leave him alone. We checked his food and water dish. Both were full.

...
In the days that followed, we saw Mrs. Daventry and Simon go on their usual walks. I was playing in the front yard when they passed by.

She smiled and waved at me.
"Is Mr. Daventry feeling better?" I asked.
Mrs. Daventry frowned. She looked down for a moment but then looked back at me. This time, with a worn smile on her face.
"He's coming along."
"I hope he gets better." I said again, not quite sure what else to say. The grown up world was so complicated.
"Thank you, darling, and Simon thanks you for checking on him when we were away."
I took a few steps closer, trying to get a read on Simon. He watched me in that familiar strange way.
"He didn't eat any of his food." I told her.
"I know. He missed me." She pets him on his head. "Well, we better go check on Mr. Daventry, bye honey." They walked away.

...

On another night, there was another ambulance. My mother and I went back to the Daventry's and we checked on Simon. He missed his owner and didn't eat again.
A week passed this time and they returned.

...

There's a small park in our neighborhood. My sisters and I like to go there after school and go down the slide until it gets dark or it's time for dinner. We were having a great time doing this until we saw something strange walking towards us. It was a man in a bathrobe. He wore flannel pajamas underneath and walked in an awkward stumbling staggering fashion. He was pale and his hair was a mess. Scruffy white and brown beard framed the bottom of his face and chin.

We froze and stared at him, frightened and not sure what to do. We very rarely saw Mr. Daventry, but knew this was him.

"I want mom" Shirley whispered.
"Go get mom and dad Shirley." Jaime whispered back. "Run!"
And Shirley took off as fast as she could.
Mr. Daventry didn't seem to notice her leave. We prayed that she would be back with them soon.
"Mr. Daventry, is that you?" I called out.
Jaime pinched me. "Don't talk to him."

He froze and looked around him. He then looked at us as if surprised to see us.
"You're our neighbors kids aren't you?"
I nodded, "Yes, sir."
Jaime grabbed my hand.
"I have to find help." he said.
"Is it your heart, my parents are coming."
He shook his head, "No, no, my wife and that dog are trying to kill me."
We gasped.
"You see, they took my heart. The dog has my heart and that's why mine has been so bad. I need to get my heart back from the dog."
We stared back at him blankly. I could hear Jaime's breaths quicken and could hear my own match hers. Where was Shirley? What was he talking about? Simon took his heart? Simon was a dog and Mrs. Daventry was his wife. Husbands and wives love each other and didn't do things like that.
"I have to find Simon and get my heart back. She took him away. But I need my heart. Can you girls help me? Can you tell your parents?" He began to walk towards us now, stumbling but more hurried.

Jamie tightened her grip on my hand and pulled me away and began to run. I pumped my legs to keep up with her longer ones. I began to cry. I was so scared.
In the distance we saw our dad jogging towards us. Relief washed over us.
We rushed to him and pointed at Mr. Daventry who stood still now watching us, looking more confused and sad.


...

As children, we were not allowed access to everything that went on in the adult world. We did not know if our parents spoke to the Daventry's, if our mother worriedly spoke to Mrs. Daventry and recommended a psychologist or a nurse to live with them and to watch Mr. Daventry. We did not know if our father told her firmly that she should send him away to a home to be cared for.

We were not allowed to play outside in the park by ourselves anymore. We had to wait for our father to come home from work. Sometimes he would come home too late. It would be dark already and we would have to satisfy ourselves with Disney movies or pretend to be adventurers in the living room. We were told to stay away from the Daventry's, both the Daventry's and we did. We would see Mrs. Daventry and Simon walk by outside the window from time to time, but less and less.

...

As fall approached and the days grew shorter, we began to forget about the Daventry's. There hadn't been any ambulances or stumbling Mr. Daventry's wandering around the park. No viewings of Mrs. Daventry and her extra thumb, no strange eyes to gaze back at with Simon. It was quiet. And then, something horrible happened.

...

We awoke to an awful wailing sound, a sound so tragic and sad that it didn't sound human. Our grandfather had told us about the Irish ghost, the banshee. She had a terrible wail and would appear when someone was going to die combing her long, long hair. I was certain that this sound, this horrible noise came from the banshee.

When we rushed into the hall way to find our parents, we saw that they too had awakened from the noise. We jumped in bed with our mother who held us and told us to stay with her while our father went out to investigate.

We waited and watched him pull on a sweatshirt and leave the bedroom. I grew anxious and felt worry as I saw him leave the room. Minutes passed, which felt like hours. My mom stood up and ordered us to stay in the room; she was going to go check on our father. We waited longer.

"I think she really is a witch. I think you're right Jaime." Shirley told our oldest sister. Jaime shushed her. We waited in the silence. The wailing had stopped right before my father had left.

I jumped off the bed. "I'm going to see what happened." I yelled over my shoulder. They shouted for me to come back and that I would get in so much trouble and that they would tell on me, but I couldn't stand sitting there in that dark room only listening to anxious breathing.

I saw that that the front door was slightly cracked open. I rushed into the front yard and knew to go toward the Daventry's house. The front door was open and the light was on. When I approached I could hear voices, my parents and crying distraught woman. That must be Mrs. Daventry.

"Mom?" I called and ran inside.
"Stay there, Sammy!" I heard my dad yell. He rushed to block me but it was too late.
I had already seen it. I already saw the gruesome scene that had happened in the Daventry's living room.

Mrs. Daventry cradled Simon in her arms. For the first time, he was not looking at me, but staring off looking at something in the distance. His body had been cut, ripped in half, blood and lumps of bloodied things were strewn all around him and Mrs. Daventry. I could see her hand frantically petting him, the strange extra thumb flailing out to the side. Besides them sat Mr. Daventry, he was sitting upright holding a knife, the same bewildered expression on his face that we had seen in the playground.

"No heart" he said. "The dog didn't have a heart. There was no heart." He said this over and over again. The dog didn’t have a heart. Mr. Daventry tried to take Simon's heart. He said he had taken it from him and he needed a heart, but Simon didn't have a heart.

My mother picked me up and we rushed back home. I could still see Simon's eyes staring off into the distance and hear Mrs. Daventry's crying. He had no heart, echoed over and over again in my head for the rest of that night.

...

Mr. Daventry passed away a few nights after. Mrs. Daventry enclosed herself in her home and we never saw her. Every once in a while, I would catch a glimpse of her in the upper window at night when the light flicked on, but it was very rare for any light to turn on in that house. After a year or so had passed she moved out and left the house. She never told anyone. A "for sale" sign popped up and stories of witches and dogs with human spirits inside of them began to ruminate.

Eventually, my sisters and I were allowed to go to the park again and life resumed. A normal family moved in to the Daventry house, they had two cocker spaniels and a cat, a boy a few years older than Jaime and a girl around my age. We liked them a lot. We only remembered the Daventry's and Simon once in a while but I didn't like to think about it too much. As much as it frightened me, it saddened me. Perhaps Mrs. Daventry was a witch, maybe she loved Simon so much she did something to make her husband sick and make Simon live longer. It was all very, very strange.

...

And so now, all grown up in my own house, I look at Maybelle and she stares right back at me. She's always been my partner in crime and I can't imagine life without her, although I know that day is coming.