The Howling Man Read Online Free Page B

bruises. They disappear and are forgotten. You must be taught a lesson. You must be taught never to play tricks again."
    The hot night air went through the great house and into his body, but when Miss Gentilbelle took his hand in hers, he felt cold. Her fingers seemed suddenly to be made of iron. They hurt his hand.
    Then, in silence, the two walked from the living room, down the vast, dark hail, past the many dirty doorways and, finally, into the kitchen.
    "Now, Roberta," Miss Gentilbelle said, "run up to your room and bring Margaret to me. Instantly."
    He had stopped crying: now he felt ill. Robert knew what his mother was going to do.
    He reached up and clutched her arm. "But--"
    "I shall count up to thirty-five."
    Robert ran out of the room and up the stairs, counting quickly to himself. When he entered his bedroom he went to the small cage and took it from the high shelf. He shook it. The parakeet inside fluttered white and green wings, moved its head in tiny machine movements.
    Twenty seconds had passed.
    Robert inserted his finger through the slender bars, touched the parakeet's hard bill. "I'm sorry, Margaret," he said. "I'm sorry." He put his face up close to the cage and allowed the bird to nip gently at his nose.
    Then he shook the confusion from his head, and ran back downstairs.
    Miss Gentilbelle was waiting. In her right hand was a large butcher knife. "Give Margaret to me," she said.
    Robert gave the cage to his mother.
    "Why do you force me to do these things, child?" asked Miss Gentilbelle.
    She took the parakeet from its cage and watched the bird struggle.
    Robert's heart beat very fast and he couldn't move; but, he did not hate, yet.
    Miss Gentilbelle held the parakeet in her left hand so that one wing was free. The only sound was the frantic fluttering of this wing.
    She put the blade of the knife up close to the joint of the wing.
    Robert tried not to look. He managed to stare away from Margaret's eyes; his gaze held on his mother's hands.
    She held the knife stationary, frozen, touching the feathers.
    Why didn't she do it! Get it over with! It was like the time she had killed Edna, holding the knife above the puppy's belly until-- "And now, when you wish you had your little friend, perhaps you will think twice before you climb trees."
    There was a quick movement, a glint of silver, an unearthly series of small sounds.
    The wing fluttered to the floor.
    "Margaret!"
    The parakeet screamed for a considerable time before Miss Gentilbelle pressed the life from it. When it was silent, as last, the white fingers that clutched it were stained with a dark, thin fluid.
    Miss Gentilbelle put down the butcher knife, and took Robert's hand.
    "Here is Margaret," she said. "Take her. Yes. Now: Shall we mend Margaret?"
    Robert did not answer.
    "Shall we put her together again, glue back her pretty little wing?"
    "No, Mother. Nothing can be mended."
    "Very good. Perhaps you will learn." Miss Gentilbelle smiled. "Now take the bird and throw it into the stove."
    Robert held the dead parakeet gently in his hands, and secretly stroked its back. Then he dropped it into the ashes.
    "Take off your gown and put it in, also."
    As Robert drew off the thin blue nightgown, he looked directly into his mother's eyes.
    "Something you would like to say to me, Roberta?"
    "No, Mother."
    "Excellent. Put in some papers and light them. And when you've finished that, get a rag from the broom closet and wipe the floor. Then put the rag into the stove."
    "Yes, Mother."
    "Roberta."
    "Yes?"
    "Do you understand why Margaret was killed?"
    This time he wanted to say no, he did not understand. Not at all. There was such confusion in his head.
    "Yes, Mother. I understand."
    "And will you climb trees any more when you ought to be in bed?"
    "No. I won't climb any more trees."
    "I think that is true. Good night, Roberta. You may go up to your room, afterwards.
    "Good night, Mother."
    Miss Gentilbelle walked to the sink and carefully washed her hands. She