The Last Tea Party

    Ten year-old Beverly stood in front of  her sun-filled bedroom window.  It lit up her wild blond hair like a halo.  She looked like an angel, and James couldn't say, "No," to her when he saw her like that.  She held out a tiny tea cup to him, and his first instinct was to tell her that he had too much to do.  He thought about the grocery shopping.  He thought about scrubbing out the bath tub.  He thought about finishing his Sophomore career paper that was due in three days, but then James absorbed the angelic vision of his sister who had already endured more than most people would in a lifetime. 

         He acquiesced to her request for a tea party.

         Their mother had been found dead in their basement without hands or teeth.  The investigators had explained that their removal was likely meant to prevent the identification of the body. 

         "But she was in her own basement," their father had puzzled.

         "Maybe someone interrupted the killer," the investigator suggested.

         James and Melanie had huddled together, helpless in the wake of that tragedy.  They ate microwaved dinners, and watched television while their father wheedled out the details with the investigator.

        Since that time, their father had numbed himself with the delusion that his career was paramount. James took care of Beverly and the house like a good housewife would if that wife were a 16 year old high school student.

         "Of course we can have a tea party."  James sat at the miniature table between an overdressed cat and rabbit, each in a shimmering gown.

         "Remember when Mama used to tickle my cheeks with her fingertips?  Did she ever do that for you?"  Beverly smiled wanly.  Her eyes danced between her brother and the other party guests.

         James nodded, but tried not to think about his mother.  "I prefer herbal tea, you know." He tried to play along, but felt separated from the experience.

         Beverly glared at him with an accusation.  "It would be such poor form for you to attempt to dictate the menu." 

         He nodded in agreement.  It was a game.  It was a tea party with his baby sister.  He understood that, and could not make sense of fear that coiled down his spine like a cool drop of oil.

         "Is that your work?"  He pointed at an intricate mosaic that hung in a frame against the wall behind his sister.  She nodded proudly, but stood between him and the design:  white rectangles that encircled red tiles in a primitive pattern.

         "Are those white....there?  Are they?"  He leaned in closer, and didn't recognize the source of the sudden pain in his head.  For just that moment he didn't realize that Beverly had pummeled his head with a hammer.  For awhile, James' world went went black.

         When he came back into consciousness, a headache clawed sharp behind his eyes.  He tried to raise his hands to his forehead, but his wrists were tied closely to the legs of his chair. 

    Beverly shrieked at the cat and rabbit to sit up straight as each in turn fell to one side or the other, and James recognized them now as corpses.  The rabbit's head was stitched close to its neck inexpertly with thick floss.  The empty eye of the cat festered.  Flies crawled from inside to escape its bloated abdomen.

         "Sit up! Sit up! Sit up!" Beverly howled at them, her voice low and guttural, rising from somewhere deep inside her.  She pulled random dolls from a nearby pile to prop the corpses upright at the table. 

         Fine hairs at the bottom of James' neck pricked up to attention as Beverly turned her attention towards him, and smiled.  "You're awake."  She held the gray, severed hand of her mother's corpse in her tiny pink palm.  It's red painted nails had been pulled away to be included in her crafts.  She lifted the stiffened fingers to her cheek, and crossed them lazily over her cheek. 

         "Did you want tickles?" Her voice mimicked the melodic whisper their mother had used when she tucked them in.  His stomach roiled.  She held the severed hand out in front of her, and he and shook his head.  Tears spilled past his lower lid in spite of his best efforts to hold them back.  "Drink your tea then." She spat the command out, her arms crossed across her chest.

         James looked at the murky liquid in the cup in front of him.  "What's in this, Bev?"

         She held a tiny tea cup next to the corpse mouth of the cat.  Dark liquid from the cup poured over its body as she tilted it back towards the cat's mouth.

         "Are those teeth in that picture?"  He gestured towards the mosaic he had admired earlier.

         "You said you'd play tea party."  Her voice was flat, her eyes looked past him.  She held the rabbit's tiny cup to it's mouth, the contents dribbled impotently over its fur.

         "We can get help," James had said before Beverly lifted his tea cup to his lips.  He tried to purse them tightly, but he could feel the poison glazed over them.  The room shrunk until he could only see Beverly.  "Why are you doing this to us?"

         Beverly smiled at James as he convulsed in front of her.  The last bits of light passed the window, and she shrugged.  "Why not?"