Page 89

"You're right about that, Aunt Charlotte. Aunt Charlotte, can you show me the room now where my mother lived and I was born?"

"Oh yes, yes, yes. That's the Bad Room," she said rising. "I was in it once, too."

"The bad room?"

"You'll see," she said and led me upstairs.

When I set eyes on the room, I understood immediately why it would be called "The Bad Room." It looked like a prison cell. It was a small room with a narrow bed against the wall on the left. The bed had no headboard; it was just a mattress on a metal frame. Beside it was a bare nightstand. On the stand was a kerosene lamp, but I could see it had not been used for years. There were spiders living in it. The walls were dark gray and there were no mirrors or windows. To the right was a doorway to the small bathroom. I saw that the fixtures were rusted and rotten. It had been some time since water had run in that sink, I thought.

Looking around this horrid room, I sensed some of the terror and sadness my mother must have felt being locked up in it and forced to give birth in such a hovel. How lonely she must have been, and how frightened all the time. With no sunlight, no fresh air, nothing but dreary colors to gaze at, she surely must have felt like a prisoner or someone evil being punished.

"You're right to call this the Bad Room, Aunt Charlotte," I said. And then I recalled what she had said before. "Why were you put here?"

"I was naughty, too," she said. "And had a baby growing in my stomach."

"A baby? What happened to it? Was it a boy or a girl?" I asked quickly.

"A boy. Emily said the devil took him home. He had the devil's mark on the back of his neck right here," she said, turning around and pointing to the area.

"The devil's mark?"

"Uh huh," she said, nodding emphatically. "It looked like a hoof. And Emily said he was going to grow a tail soon, too."

"That's silly, Aunt Charlotte," I said, smiling. "There really wasn't a baby, was there?"

"Oh yes there was. I'll show you where he lived for a while," she added sadly.

I followed her back down the corridor. As we walked, I couldn't help feeling someone was following us, but every time I turned around, there was no one there. Was it just because the house was so large and full of shadows that I had these feelings? I wondered.

Charlotte stopped and opened the door to what had apparently once been a nursery. There was a crib at the center of the room and in it was a doll with a faded blue blanket drawn up to its chin. It gave me the chills. Had Aunt Charlotte really had a child or was this all some invention of her childlike imagination?

"How old was your baby before . . before the devil took him, Aunt Charlotte?" I asked.

She shook her head.

"I don't remember. One day he was here and then one day he wasn't. Emily never told me when he was taken off. One day I looked in and found he was gone," she said, looking at the doll.

"And Emily told you the devil took him?"

"Uh huh. One night, she saw the devil enter the nursery and then she heard the baby laugh. By the time she came to the door, the devil had taken my baby and flown out the window in the form of a black bird."

"How could you believe such a silly story, Aunt Charlotte?"

She stared at me a moment.

"My baby was gone," she said conclusively, her eyes beginning to tear. I looked at the crib.

"Who put that doll there?" I asked.

"Emily did because I was so sad and crying so much," she said. "Emily said, make believe that's him and don't complain or the devil might come and take you, too."

"But what about the baby's father, Aunt Char-lotte? Wasn't he upset?"

"Emily said the devil was his father. She said the devil came into my room one night while I was sleeping and made the baby grow in me."

How horrid of her, I thought, to frighten simple, sweet Charlotte like that and convince her of so many frightening things.

"Emily must have been the devil herself to do all these horrible things to you and to my mother. I'm glad I never had to meet her," I said.