The Sins of His Grandmother

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Chapter 46

She had been a widow since the mid-1960s. Though Frederickstein Sillow, a brute, contumelious son of a bitch, had been out of her life for sometime now, the damage had been done: Ms. Sillow was a wreck. Although the relationship that she had with her husband wasn’t in the least bit a healthy one, once he had passed, Ms. Sillow realized that she would have given anything to bring him back. Being all alone in that big old creepy house wasn’t exactly what she had envisioned for the latter years of her life. She had at least wanted to have a house full of happy, rambunctious grandchildren around her until it was time for her to make her departure over to the other side. And even though she had never forgiven Sondra for her behavior during her last visit to the cottage, Ms. Sillow would have liked it if her daughter could have still been a part of her life in some way. On several occasions, the long-time recluse had even heavily contemplated taking a visit into the community, as Sondra had begged for her to do time and time again. When her daughter had told her many years earlier that no one in society would have even recognized who she was if they were to see her face after so many years, those words stuck with her. If the widow’s loneliness was to get her any more down in spirits than she already was, she was going to see if her daughter’s statement had any truth to it at all. In fact, as of late, Ms. Sillow had been thinking of not only heading into the community of Yarmouth for a visit; but she was considering relocating altogether from her dwelling in the woods to live within the community. The thought alone was one that would have flustered the nerves of anyone who had been sequestered from the general public for as long as she had been, but as it stood, the woman desperately coveted human interaction. Then, as though an angel had been keeping a tab on her despondent thoughts over the years, there was a gentle succession of tapping noises heard coming from the front door of the cottage out of the blue. Impossible. Nobody had knocked on that door in ages. Struck with exorbitant curiosity and ecstasy, Ms. Sillow lost her grip on her excrement-laced glass of water, sending it crashing to the wooden kitchen floor, and scuttled across her living room to get the door. “I’m coming,” she yelled, half out of breath, making her statement inaudible to whomever was outside. (Another several taps.) Her visitor was freezing outside. Suddenly, the door flew open, and Presley was greatly startled. But it wasn’t so much the manner in which the door was opened that stunned him; rather, it was the grotesque figure that stood before him.

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