Philip Dampier's Blog

Episode 8

While all the conversation was going on between Arvie and Wanda, Mrs. McClain was recovering from the blow of the opening door. She pushed the door back without allowing it to shut.

Her first thought was to run. She had never been so frightened in her life. She knew if she did run she would never get the look on Mr. Anderson’s face out of her mind. She wasn’t a brave woman, but she had a heart.

She looked around her for something she could use as a weapon. What she saw was her mother’s cast iron skillet sitting on the top of the stove. It really belonged in the pull-out tray at the bottom of the range, but it was so heavy she often just left it on the stove top.

She moved from behind the door to the side of the range and picked up the large frying pan. It took both hands to lift it over her head. She moved towards the knife yielding woman as quietly as she could, but in reality, it didn’t matter. Wanda wasn’t listening; she was talking. Wanda only had one thing in mind, lucky for Mrs. McClain and Arvie, too.

When the iron skillet hit the back of Wanda’s head the knife she had been holding flew across space and landed point-in the door just above Arvie’s hand. Wanda landed on the floor, breathing but not conscious.

“Oh, my God,” Mrs. McClain exclaimed, “I’ve killed her.”

Arvie bent down and checked Wanda’s pulse.

“No, you haven’t, but I wish you had. Where is your phone?”

“Right here, on the wall by the stove.”

Arvie picked it up and then put it back down.

“She’s cut the line. Who else has a phone?”

“This way,” Mrs. McClain headed for the back door.

Arvie was right behind her. Wanda and the skillet were on the floor. The knife was stuck in the door. Later, Arvie would wonder why he didn’t take the knife with him.

The two of them headed across the McClain’s grass area and into a neighboring backyard at a quick pace. Mrs. McClain was alternating rubbing her hands together and rubbing them in her hair.

When they arrived at the neighbor’s back door, Mrs. McClain knocked and called out loud.

“Joanna, Joanna, come quick. Let us in.”

An older woman opened the door and looked at them. She had a paring knife in her left hand and an apple in the other.

“Come in Doris, what’s the matter? Who is this? I was just about to fix an apple pie.”

“Excuse me, ma’am,” Arvie spoke up, “we need to use your phone. We have to call the police.”

When everyone was inside, Joanna showed Arvie the phone on the kitchen wall, and while he was dialing, Doris began to explain the awful events of the past few minutes. The realization of what had happened just dawning in her head. She felt faint, and Joanna went back to the kitchen to get her a glass of water. She was just in time to listen in on Arvie’s conversation with the police.

“Yes, the same woman. She’s knocked out at the house behind mine.”

“I’m 1462 Chestnut Drive. She’s in the McClain house behind it. Hurry before she wakes up.”

“You better send an ambulance to my house because I think she may have seriously hurt the phone man who was there to install my phone.

“No, I was running away, and I don’t know what happened, but if he was okay, he would have called you.”

Arvie turned to Joanna, “Ma’am, can you tell me your address?”

Joanna gave him the number and street.

“Yes, officer. It’s 1230 Walnut Lane. It’s right behind the McClain house. Their backyards touch.”

“Yes sir, we’ll wait right here. “

“Don’t worry; we’ll lock the door.”

Wanda struggled to gain consciousness. Her head pounded where the skillet had hit her, and her heart raced from the excitement. She could feel the rage rebuilding in her body. She pushed up off of the floor, staggering but gathering her balance as she held to the stuffed chair near where she had fallen. Her eyes focused. The first thing she saw was her knife. It was still with her, in the house, stuck in the door.

Memory returned, she looked around, but the house was empty. What had hit her? She shook her head. She had to get out of there. She knew that. She needed to leave before those people in the white coats came and found her. She grabbed the knife and pulled it out of the door. It left a telling scar.

She went out the front door and across the lawn the way she had come. She parted the peonies that separated the two yards and headed for the back door of Arvie’s new house. She grunted as she stepped over the prostrate body of the telephone installer. Inside she made her way into the bedroom with the attic stairs. She moved up the stairs into the dimly lit space.

It was tall enough to walk in standing up and was half the size of the house. One window occupied the east end. It was dirty, but she could see out of it enough to make things out. Next to the window old furniture leaned against the wall. The thick cover of dust suggested that it had been stored there for many years. Two wooden chairs and a complete bedroom set were up against the window.

The bed frame was very tall and had posters on each side, taller yet. It leaned against the wall, the post bracketing the window. Close by was a small table, suitable to place at the end of the bed for quilts or to use in front of a sofa. Wanda lifted it up and placed it behind the bedstead. She crawled up on top of it and spread out. She could raise up and look out the window, but she was invisible from the other side. All anyone would see would be the bed frame and the legs of the table. She was tired. She pulled her knees up and folded her arms. She lay her head on her arms and closed her eyes.