Aunt Edith

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Skip's arms seemed bound immovably to his sides, his legs tight together, and his body braced stiff and straight. He was being propelled toward the entrance of a cave — dark and moist and unknown inside. He tried to speak, to call out, but no sound came from his constricted chest. Nothing. Nothing at all.

Some three hours earlier Skip had been sitting beside a lithe blond girl in the front seat of his BMW. His arm was around the girl's shoulders with his hand resting lightly on the upper swelling of her young breast. He nodded toward the blue-trimmed white cottage set back from the street where they were parked.

"So this is where Aunt Edith lives," he said. "I was expecting something more like Dracula's castle."

The girl swept her long hair to one side with a graceful movement of her head. "I suppose you say that because of the stories they tell in town about my aunt."

"I have heard that she's not your typical sweet old lady," Skip said. "Nobody seems to know what goes on out here, but there are some mighty interesting theories. Some people say the old girl is practicing voodoo. Or raising up the dead. Or maybe she's really a vampire and sleeps in her coffin." He grinned. "My guess is that she's building a monster out of spare parts. What's she really up to, Audrey?"

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