Whacked

“Crack! Whackety-whack…whack…whackety-crack-whack!”

“Hmmm, there’s going to be another death.” Miranda cocked hear head sideways as she sat in her kitchen sipping an ice cold glass of mint tea; she listened to the racket coming from the old wash stand in her bedroom.

The treasured family antique had never lied. It had heralded the deaths of family members for as long as she could recall and it had just predicted one the previous week, quieting down once the funeral was over. It has originally belonged to her grandfather, a cantankerous alcoholic who had often beaten her father and his brothers with an old bull whip. Miranda still recalled the scars on her fathers’ back and legs from the years of abuse. When her father had finally passed away, it was one of the only possessions that she had received after suing her two siblings over the will. The expensive legal battle yielded so little, but she still felt that it was worth the trouble.

For years Miranda had listened to the cacophony that issued from the old wash stand, but she’d wanted it because like his father before him, her Dad had also used it to shave in the old days. Whenever the whacking noises resounded, she would search diligently through the obituaries for the names of family members who might have passed away. She wouldn’t dare ask her sisters; they wouldn’t tell her anyway as they didn’t speak anymore and hadn’t for over a decade.

“One day,” she thought, “I’ll watch them all die and I’ll know ahead of time because the wash stand will tell me. I won’t even warn them.” She hated her sisters for making her sue them over the old estate; they’d cost her a pretty penny in legal fees and she had come away with so little with which to remember her late father.

Miranda would, just as soon, not be bothered or insulted by them; after all, she’d grown up having to deal with the lies they told and the abuses that she’d endured because of them. Their mind games cut to the core of her soul and she was determined to never be their victim again. They’d treated her only son, Mark, like an outcast from the family and he never even had the chance to get to know his numerous cousins. “Oh yes,” she murmured to herself, “I’ll get watch them all die.”

“Whack…whackety-whackety-whack…” the wash stand resounded again and again; the sound like the cracking of her grandfathers’ bullwhip as he beat his sons, unmercifully; it was as if the old man continue to beat his sons across time and space and throughout all eternity. The most fascinating thing was that the wash stand only made the noises when someone in the family was about to die.

Miranda had seen so many in her family pass away, over the years. Her parents’, grandparents’, aunts, uncles, numerous cousins and even some distant kinfolk that she hadn’t seen or heard from since she was a small child.

“Whackety-whack!” It made such a racket and resounded so furiously, but, whose death could it possibly foretell? Miranda had just attended a funeral last week and was puzzled about who could’ve become ill in so short of an amount of time. She would find out easily enough and soon; after all, she’d kept up with everyone through neighbors, family friends and people at church who knew her family, despite the fact that she didn’t ever speak to any of her relatives. She knew everything about them through third parties and she made it her business to glean any new information whenever she saw any mutual acquaintance. “Whack-whackety…” the thing resounded again and again; it had been going on all day.

“Oh well” she thought, “I’d better finish mowing the yard and get supper on the table before Jake gets home; he’ll be exhausted and hungry”. “Jake”, she considered, “no, it couldn’t be for Jake or her son Mark; if either of them had been injured or taken ill, she would’ve been notified immediately.”

“Whackety-whack-whack-whackety…crack…whack...” the old washstand sent its’ cacophony throughout the house and Miranda took one last swallow of the iced tea. She placed the empty glass in the sink, grabbed her sunglasses and sauntered out the back door.

Outside, Miranda noticed that the sky was beginning to cloud over. Still, rain wasn’t expected until later in the evening, so she still had time to finish the yard. She wiped the sudden beads of sweat from her face as she headed towards the garage for the gas can and was overwhelmed by a wave of dizziness that sent her reeling into the wooden door frame. It passed quickly, as it usually did in this sort of heat and she glanced at the thermometer by the garage door; it read, 98 degrees. Earlier she recalled the weather reporter saying that the heat index would reach 115 today. “No matter,” she thought, “I’ll be done shortly and I can cool down and fix a nice supper for Jake and I.”

She filled the mower with gasoline, checked the oil level and gave the starter rope a swift tug; the old rusty lawn mower roared to life. As she mowed, she mentally scanned the list of family members who could possibly become ill and die soon. Her son, Mark, immediately came to mind; he’d had a genetic heart condition from birth. She quickly dismissed the possibility because Mark, just as she had taught him, always ate sensibly, exercised and was diligent about taking his heart medication. Why just yesterday, he was playing touch football with some friends when she’d called to check on him. No, it wasn’t mark; he was as strong as an ox. So was her husband, Jake and despite his many exhausting and long hours behind the wheel of a semi-tractor trailer, he was as healthy as a horse. No, if anything had happened to Jake or Mark; she would’ve known already.

Perhaps one of her evil siblings, perhaps Susan, after all, she did have a bad heart condition among numerous other health problems. Now Susan was definitely a possibility, but Miranda recalled that yesterday, a neighbor had told her that Susan had seen her doctor last week and that she’d been given a good prognosis, despite her ailments. Susan had been so excited to tell Mrs. Neil about her doctor visit, when she saw her at the grocery; no, it might not be Susan after all.

Miranda bent, picked up and tossed away a small tree branch that had fallen from the previous storm to the side and continued mowing What about her other sibling, Alice, she might have fallen ill, but she dismissed that thought with a quick comment to herself, “nah, that bitch is too mean to die!” She snickered to herself at the thought and moved on down the list to Uncle Ned.

Another wave of dizziness came over her and Miranda stopped mowing for a few seconds, sat on the ground and hung her head until the misery subsided. Restarting the mower, she continued her review of family members. “Uncle Ned, he used to drink a lot; it’s any wonder that he has a liver left, (or maybe he doesn’t). Yes, it could be Uncle Ned.”

“But, what about Aunt Pat? Now, there’s a good possibility; she eats like a pig and smokes like a stack. How she’s lived to be 67 without getting cancer is beyond me! Yeah, it’s no doubt Aunt Pat; she’s going to have a diabetic seizure and end up dying. That has to be why the wash stand is making all of that noise.” “It would serve Aunt Pat right; the old biddy,” Miranda thought. She’d sided with Miranda’s sisters over the will when her dad died and it was because of her that both of the other siblings had counter-sued her. Aunt Pat had suggested it and even gave them the name of a lawyer whom they could call. Yes, I’ll just bet it’s her.”

Miranda mowed the last strip of grass and rolled her mower into the garage. As she locked up the garage door and headed towards the house, she was startled to find it getting harder and harder to breathe. She barely made it to the patio where she staggered and fell into a chair. Her chest seemed tight and the dizziness was coming again. “I must’ve overdone it in this heat”, she thought to herself while gasping for an occasional full breath.

“Whackety-whack…crack…crack…whack…whackety-whack!” She could hear the old wash stand, just banging away inside of the house, although it seemed to be getting quieter instead of louder; “No”, she thought, “my hearing seems to be going…what is happening?”

Miranda needed to get inside and as she tried to stand and walk towards the back door, she collapsed on the patio. “My God!” She realized; still gasping for any small breath, the noise that the old wash stand had been making was for her; the sounds suddenly ceased inside of the house; so did the beating of Miranda’s heart.

Copyright, 2019, M.L. Kiser

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