Wednesday, September 18, 2013

Dead Rite chapter 158.03

“I suppose so.” Frederick turned back to the television. “Best you leave her to it. I've always found women prefer to find their own lubrication. There's nothing worse than using the wrong sort of oil and finding it makes a bad smell.”

“I really hope we're talking about different things here.”

“I'm talking about squeaky doors. Ada complained about hers once. Years ago, mind, when I was still the sort of person you could ask to do odd jobs around the house.”

“Alive, you mean?”

“Yes, exactly. Well she had these doors in her house...”

“As you do.”

“Yes. Anyway, I don't know if you've seen Ada's house but it's old and a bit draughty at times and the wind can get hold of the doors and make them squeak. It gave her the willies.”

“This is Harold's mum you're talking about? Kindly old lady, drinks coffee and rips the souls out of spiders?”

“Hmm. Not sure about the spiders. She always preferred cats when we were small.”

“To rip the souls out of?”

“No. As pets.” Frederick steepled his fingers. “Although now you mention it, a lot of them did die in unexpected ways.”

“Unexpected how?”

“Falling from trees, Sleeping in front of the lawnmower, trying to catch the tip of Ada's katana as she practised her katas in the ballroom, that sort of thing.”

“I see. Why?”

“Why were the cats so short lived? I don't know.”

“No, why would Harold's mum have a penchant for killing cats?”

Frederick shrugged, a curious gesture involving the sinking of his head into his torso. “I don't know. Harvesting their lives, I suppose.”

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