Rob Zombie - Lords of Salem

Chapter Twenty-five

All the way home he couldn’t help but think about it. The Lords of Salem. He took the note out of his pocket, looked at it again. Yes, the handwriting had characteristics that made it representative of a style of script common in the late seventeenth century in the New England colonies. But so what? The paper was handmade but not old. It was obviously just someone having fun. Why had he taken the note? Did he really want to compare it to samples of handwriting that he had? Whose? Margaret Morgan’s? That was crazy, exactly the kind of thinking that he’d discouraged that young woman from. What was her name? Heidi? He looked at the note. Adelheid Elizabeth Hawthorne. John Hawthorne had had a daughter named Elizabeth, if he remembered correctly, and another named Adelheid. With a name like that, she had to be a descendant of his.

When he reached home and climbed the stairs, he found Alice standing by the open apartment door, arms crossed, waiting for him. Seeing her was enough to bring him back to the present. Inwardly, he groaned, thinking of what a disaster the radio show had been. He took off his coat, hung it on the hook while she watched him with a concerned look.

“Did you listen?” he asked. “How was it?”

“Did I listen?” she asked. “Of course I listened, Francis. You were wonderful.” She was lying; he could tell. She uncrossed her arms and leaned forward and gave him a kiss. It was bad, he knew, anything but wonderful, but she was trying to protect his feelings. He let her lead him to the couch.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked.

“Don’t bullshit me,” he said. “Seriously, tell me the truth. How was I?”

“You were completely… fine,” she suggested.

Fine , he thought. Well, he hadn’t even been that, to be honest. “Fine?” he said. “What does fine even mean? Can we back things up? What happened to wonderful ?”

Alice’s smile was a little strained now. “How can I put this?” she said. She looked away from him, her eyes focusing on the radio. “Well, you got a little weird with that girl when she asked you about real witches.”

“Was it that obvious?” said Francis. “I hate that question. And she kept asking it, no matter how many times I said no.”

“But you recovered,” said Alice. “I taped it so you could listen back. It’ll make you feel better.”

God no , he thought. Last thing he wanted was to live through that again. “No thanks,” he said. “I can’t stand the sound of my voice.”

Alice patted him on the knee. “Think how I must feel,” she said, and smiled. Her smile was genuine again.

“Very funny,” he said. “But no, I don’t think I want to listen to it again. I had to live through it, remember?” He grabbed his head with his hands. “What a disaster.”

She put her arm around him. “There, there, dear,” she said, her voice soothing. “It’s not as bad as you think. You don’t have to listen to it now, but it’ll be waiting whenever you’re ready.”

He just shook his head. She’d let go of him and was standing up when he thought of something. “Was it just me you recorded?” he asked.

“Of course not,” she said. “I had to record the people who were asking you questions, too.”

“No, no,” he said, shaking his hands in frustration. “That’s not what I mean. Did you happen to record the music they played afterward?”

“Ugh, yes,” she said. “I didn’t know if you were done or were going to come back on again, so that’s there, too. I can’t believe the awful noise that masquerades as music these days. What was up with those girls?”

“Girls?” he asked.

“They kept calling in, saying how much they loved the music, almost weeping over it. One after another after another.”

“I don’t know,” he said absently. “I was gone by then.” I’ve got to hear it again , he was thinking. Something about that music really bothers me. Especially what she called it…“ The Lords of Salem,” he said, softly.

“What, dear?” asked Alice.

“What?” he said. “Oh…” and then shook his head.

She waited for him to go on, and then when he didn’t she shrugged. “Also,” she said, “you got the tickets, right?”

“What?” he said. “No.”

“No?” she said, her voice rising.

“Well, yes. They said I could pick some up on the way out. I just forgot. I’ll go back for them tomorrow.”

She patted him on the arm. “That’s fine then. You hungry?” she asked. “I can reheat the leftover pasta.”

“Huh?” he said, already lost in his thoughts again, eager to turn on the tape and take a closer listen to what was there. He felt his pocket, made sure the note was still there. “Sure,” he said. “Pasta’s fine.”

Chapter Twenty-six

The parking lot was largely empty, the pavement cracked and the air frosty. A cold wind whistled, rattling the handicapped parking sign and rippling the awning, and a handful of fallen leaves skittered their way over the asphalt. They stayed together, all in a bunch, whirling around one another, around and about, but not separating. They scuttled back and forth across the parking lot, almost as if waiting for someone.

Then the station door opened and all at once they scattered, blowing every direction. Heidi, Herman, and Whitey came out all at once, talking and laughing. They walked over to Herman’s car, gathered there a moment, shivering but not yet ready for the evening to end.

“All right, children,” Herman finally said. “I will see you tomorrow.” He turned to Heidi. “And you get some sleep, would you? I’m sick and tired of worrying about you. You look exhausted.”

“Thanks a lot,” she said sarcastically.

“You know what I mean,” he said. And from the way he searched her face, she knew he was nervous that she was up to something stupid. Like using again. But he didn’t keep it up long, and Heidi didn’t mind—she wasn’t using and it was kind of good to think that he was still watching out for her.

He turned to Whitey. “You ready to go?” he asked.

Whitey nodded, opened the passenger-side door. Herman moved around to his own door.

“You get some sleep now, hear?” he said to Heidi.

“Fear not,” said Heidi with false bravado. “I have a plan. I’m going to implement the red wine method tonight. Never fails to bring sleep.”

“Sounds vaguely similar to my scotch on the rocks plan, if I can sneak it past the warden. You want a lift?”

“No, thanks,” said Heidi. “I need the exercise.”

“Fuck exercise,” said Herman. “It’s cold. And we’re all gonna die someday.”

“Nice philosophy,” said Heidi. “But no thanks. I should walk. It’ll help me sleep.”

She walked through the streets. Salem was a little creepy at night, all the old houses that looked fine during the day starting to seem sinister. There was hardly any crime here, so she was pretty safe, but still it freaked her out just a little, probably because of the town’s history. Maybe she should have taken the offer of a ride from Herman.

But she had to walk a little, had to calm herself down. She’d had a terrible sleep and that Lords track had done something to her. Whoa. It had given her a headache to listen to it again. And she couldn’t understand why it had played backward in her apartment the night before but played normal at the station. The music seemed different, too. Had she really been drunk enough last night that she hadn’t had a clear idea of what was going on? She might’ve thought Whitey was playing a joke on her, but he was hardly the type to let it go on for this long. No, he was a good egg. He’d have told her. Something was weird. And that, with the darkness and her lack of sleep, had jangled her nerves. Better to get a good walk and calm down a little. Maybe that would help her sleep.