The Lay Away Man
(Part of a back story I did for Constance Hatchaway, the Haunted Mansions Black Widow Bride. The characters Mr. Thatch, Mara, and Dr. Alberto Shrike are my own. Constance, and the rest of the Haunted Mansion characters belong to Disney .)
Clack..clack..clack..clack..clack..clack..
The knife blade flew between the fingers of the corpse on the table, biting into the wood of the wood beneath it.
"Ha !" said a voice triumphantly, "Seems I win again, old man."
Long, thin fingers raised a glass to a pair of cruel lips, and yet another shot of whiskey was consumed. Shrike brushed a bit of long black hair from his face, and smiled sympathetically at the remains of Constances former groundskeeper. "Another go? " he laughed, "Well, you are a betting man." He poured another drink, and began stabbing the knife rapidly between the corpses fingers, but five whiskeys had slowed his reflexes, and in the next moment, the knife had firmly embeded itself into the back of the corpses hand, pinning it neatly to the table.
"Oh, too bad, old man," Shrike laughed, "First you walk in on Miss Constance dispatching her husband..now this ." He leaned in, and gave the corpse a cheeky grin. "Well, better luck next time," he snickered.
A quiet knock at the door put an end to the jovial fascade . "Yes, what is it?" he growled as the door slowly opened.
Mara leaned in slightly, making sure she kept the damaged half of her face out of her employers sight. "She's here.. that Hatchaway woman," she fairly whispered.
Shrike lower his head, and affected her voice, "That Hatchsaway woman" he minced. "That woman keeps us in business, you stupid klutz! Show her in ; I'll be there in a moment."
As Mara closed the door behind her, Shrike wondered why he'd kept her around all these years. There was the fact that she was skilled in making all sorts of useful potions, and he didn't pay her, and she had no place else to go, and oh yes.. the little matter of his failed experiment that had so mutilated half her face.. he slumped back in the chair pouting..well that was probably her fault. He shook off the memory, and picked up his silk top hat , affecting a more jovial attitude. His glance to the mirror on the wall in front of him showed a middle-aged man who was still clinging desperately to the vestges of youth. As he smoothed his hat in place, he winced at tiny crows feet that had developed at the corners of his eyes. A little extra of Maras face tonic would attend to that, he thought.
Dr. Alberto Shrike, owner of Doctor Shrikes Funeral Emporium, confidence man, quack doctor, and part- time murderer. Constnce Hatchaways greatest ally in her quest to become a very rich woman." Woman.." Shrike said quietly , leering into the mirror "Mr. Thatch, your former employer might be the ultimate cheapskate..she might be an ungodly harpy..but you must admit..she still cuts a fine figure." He laughed at his own tasteless joke. "Cuts..do you hear Thatch? One day, I'll marry her, and all her money. Oh, I realize I'll have to sleep in an iron collar..the things one does for love, "he sighed. "Well , you must excuse me, duty calls , old man." And the good "doctor" briskly left the embalming room.. never noticing the thin trickle of blood that was oozing from around the knife in the corpses hand.
"Miss Hatchaway..so very sorry we meet again in your hour of.. Mara, go and see to the client " he hissed, nodding at the embalming room.
When Shrike reached for his visitors hand, she withdrew it, coldly. "I'm relying on your discretion... for the ususal fee I assume , " she said. "Of couse," smiled Shrike, through only slightly gritted teeth. He tolerated the Hatchaway woman only slightly more than Mara..but at present, Constance was one of his very best customers.
Mara had entered, then quickly left the embalming room, and was now beet red, and waving to him. Shrike smiled widely at Constance, "Forgive me." He dragged Mara out of earshot, and a flurry of hissed accusations flew between the two.
"Did you not give him the foxglove potion? Well, why the hell is it down to me again? " Shrike lashed out in exasperation. "Oh, take her into the parlor and give her tea, you dolt !"
Shrike shot Constance a stilted smile, and bowed slightly as the two women left the hallway. Walking over to a nearby settee, he roughly grabbed a throw pillow with a golden angel sewn onto it.
"Down to me," he growled as he looked through the door at the terrified man who lay shaking on the embalming table. "Why is the cleanup always down to me?"