Previous instalment here: https://redd.it/15r577i
This is a Maura horror story from long, long before she became my monster-in-law. It takes place all the way back in 1966, when Maura was only fourteen. It was told to me by Maura’s sister Jane, and is proof that Maura was always Maura.
It also neatly explains why Jane, two years Maura’s senior, seemed to hate her the most out of all of us.
According to Jane, Maura was always the star of the family. Their parents didn’t exactly spoil Maura rotten while neglecting Jane, but both of them (especially their mother Elizabeth) clearly favoured their youngest daughter, and there was a definite discrepancy in how the girls were treated.
For example, both girls were expected to do chores around the house, but Jane always got the nastier ones, such as cleaning the toilets and taking out the trash. At Christmas, they received an equal number of presents, but Maura’s were always slightly more expensive and of a higher quality. Elizabeth and her husband William had dozens of photos of Maura on display around the house, but relatively few of Jane. Maura received a bigger allowance, had more leniency when it came to breaking household rules, and was overall treated as more important, more lovable, more special than Jane. Unsurprisingly, all this led to Jane growing up to deeply resent her sister.
What led to her truly hating her sister, however, was the way Maura always seemed to escape the consequences of her bad behaviour.
Elizabeth and William liked to present themselves as somewhat strict parents who didn’t take any crap from their children, but really, that attitude only applied to Jane. Whenever Maura acted up, she was only given a lecture or a warning; meanwhile, Jane would be sent to her room or even grounded for the exact same infractions. Often she was blamed for Maura’s bad behaviour because she hadn’t stopped her. As if it were her responsibility, not that of the parents, to make sure Maura behaved herself.
Not helping matters was that Maura tended to act like a nice, normal girl around the adults in her life; she usually only showed her true colours to her peers. And it was poor Jane who got the worst of it. The hatred was clearly mutual, with Maura going out of her way to terrorize Jane emotionally. She would spread rumours about Jane around school, such as that Jane was adopted and her birth parents were brother and sister; or that Jane had a giant, hairy mole on her butt; or that Jane still wet the bed. Whenever Jane had friends over, Maura would humiliate her in front of them by insulting her or telling the friends embarrassing stories about Jane (most of which were exaggerated, if not outright made up). Maura would also take shots at Jane’s appearance, with a special fondness for mocking her weight (which made zero sense, as Maura was the chubby one while Jane was very thin). Granted, siblings can be pretty nasty to one another, but Maura seemed to take a disturbingly sadistic pleasure in tearing Jane down and making her feel worthless.
But all of that would pale in comparison to what I’m about to tell you.
It all started when Maura got her first boyfriend. Now, Maura only ever dated two kinds of guys: spineless dipshits who were too chickenshit to stand up to her (like David, her eventual husband) or assholes whose asshole-ness matched her bitchiness. This guy, Robert, fell squarely into the latter category. Incidentally, he was the same age as Jane, and in her grade at school. So Jane knew full well that he was a massive dickhead. Robert had a reputation as a sleazy Casanova who treated girls like crap and believed he could get away with it because he looked like an auburn-haired Marlon Brando. He would date a girl for a few weeks, all the while being possessive, manipulative, and disrespectful. Then he would get bored of her and dump her in a cruel, cowardly manner (such as over the phone or in public) and spend weeks talking shit about her to anyone who would listen. Then he would find a new girl and the cycle would repeat. Jane was expecting the same song and dance here, but she had a hard time feeling sorry for her sister. In fact, she couldn’t help but think that the two deserved each other, they were both so rotten.
One evening, Elizabeth and William went to see a movie, leaving the girls at home alone. They hadn’t been gone fifteen minutes when there was a knock at the door. Jane heard Maura open it and greet Robert.
Now, Elizabeth and William had told Maura that she was not allowed to have Robert over without them there. And Jane knew that they would blame her if Maura disobeyed, so she headed downstairs, hoping she could get Robert to leave.
She found Maura slipping on her shoes while Robert jangled his keys. “Where are you going?” she snapped.
“Out.”
“No you’re not. You’re not allowed to, remember?”
“What are you gonna do about it, Jane?” Maura sneered, holding her second shoe.
“This!” Jane snarled, and slapped the shoe out of Maura’s hand.
Maura looked stunned for a moment. Then her expression turned murderous. “You bitch!” she screamed, and threw herself at Jane, clawing at her face and pulling her hair. This was the first time she had ever gotten physical with her sister, and Jane was so taken aback by the sudden burst of violence that she couldn’t fight back.
Robert stepped between them. “Calm down, Maura, I’ve got this,” he said, gently pushing her aside. Then he turned to Jane and cracked her across the face. Hard.
The blow sent Jane flying backwards. She slammed into the wall and slumped to the floor and curled up into a ball, terrified, as Robert advanced on her.
He grabbed her hair and slammed her face into her knees. Once, twice. Three times. He broke her nose and cut her lips on her braces, leaving geysers of blood gushing from her face.
Jane was already in her sixties when she told me this story, but she said that, even to that day, she still hadn’t forgotten the sound her nose made as it broke, bone and cartilage popping and cracking. She said that there was something so incredibly humiliating about Robert using her own body to beat her up. Something uniquely degrading that made her feel horribly violated.
Once he was done bashing her face up, Robert let go of Jane and tossed her to the floor. She choked as blood filled her mouth, and rolled onto her side, spitting crimson all over the carpet. The last things she saw were Maura and Robert looming menacingly over her. The last thing she heard was Maura say, “We need to teach her a lesson.”
Then Jane passed out.
When she woke up, she was strapped into the back seat of Robert’s car, which was parked in front of a white clapboard house. It had a sad look about it, sitting like an abandoned toy on a lawn that was more weeds than grass. All the windows were covered with sheets that fluttered in the night breeze like ghosts.
Robert exited the car through the driver’s side door, walked around to the back, and opened Jane’s door. “Get out,” he ordered.
Jane didn’t move.
“Get out or I’ll drag you out by your fucking hair!”
Jane’s face hurt so bad it made her sick to her stomach, and each movement sent a hot blade of pain through her head. But the thought of Robert touching her again made her skin crawl, so she unbuckled her seatbelt and climbed out of the car.
Robert and Maura each seized one of her arms and half-led, half-dragged her up the sagging porch steps. Robert knocked on the door. There was a shuffling noise, followed by the door swinging open with the squealing protests of hinges that hadn’t been oiled in recent memory.
A girl not much older than Jane stepped out. She was skinny, her arms and legs as spindly as the bare, dead branches of a tree in winter. She wore a ratty-looking white sundress, and had long, lank black hair. When Jane described her to me, I immediately thought of the girl from The Ring, and the story got ten times creepier.
The girl stared at the three of them with a blank expression. Her dark eyes were dull and flat. But the thing about her that sent Jane’s stomach plummeting out of her body was the iron shackle around her left ankle, connected to a chain that slithered like an iron snake into the shadowy depths of the house.
“Jezebel!” a strident female voice boomed, nearly startling Jane out of her skin. There were heavy footsteps; then an elderly woman appeared. She was rather plump, with pendulous breasts and a full, round belly that pushed out the front of the gaudy floral-print dress she had one. Her fleshy ankles sagged over the tops of her clunky brown shoes. Her hair, white as an undisturbed fall of snow, was tied behind her head in a tight little knot. Her small, round eyes, peering out from the wrinkles of her round face, were the same black as the girl’s, but full of a gleam that bordered on maniacal.
“Jezebel,” the woman scolded, “what have I told you about answering the door? A girl who doesn’t speak has no business greeting guests! Now go inside and make yourself useful.”
Jezebel nodded and shuffled back inside. The woman put her hands on her hips and looked Jane up and down, her doughy lips pursed in disapproval.
“Christ on a cracker, girl, what’s been done to you?”
“She tripped and fell on the way up the stairs. Clumsy one she is. But she might be useful to you,” said Robert. He pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and pushed it at the woman. “Will this be enough?”
The woman flipped through the bills, her lips moving silently as she counted them, and nodded. “I’ll take her. Not sure much use she’ll be, though.”
“I’m sure you’ll find some purpose for her,” Maura chimed in.
Before Jane could even protest, the woman had yanked her inside and slammed the door shut. Jane heard retreating footsteps, followed by car doors slamming shut and a vehicle driving away. Tears began rolling down her cheeks as she realized how truly fucked she was.
The woman led Jane into a dark, cramped kitchen and sat her down at a rickety-looking table. Jezebel stood at the stove, stirring something in a large pot. Her movements were slow and lethargic, as if she were only half-awake.
“My name is Fran. Or Aunt Fran.” The woman sat down across from Jane, the chair creaking under her weight. “This is a place for wayward girls.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder, at Jezebel. “That one over there is my great-granddaughter. We call her Jezebel because, before she came here, she was a liar. But we set her straight.” Aunt Fran chuckled. “Speaking of which, we need to come up with a name for you.”
“My name is Jane.” Her swollen, bloody lips made it difficult to speak.
Aunt Fran snorted. “Don’t you get it, girl? You forsook your name when you came here. You’ll be getting a new one, and you’ll have no choice but to accept it.”
“But I can’t stay here! My sister brought me here because she was mad at me for trying to stop her from going out with her boyfriend. She’s crazy. You have to let me go!”
At that moment, Jezebel brought over a bowl of soup, a bread roll, and a warm, damp cloth. Jane held the cloth to her face and looked down into the bowl. Grisly chunks of meat floating in a greasy-looking broth. She grimaced and went for the role instead. It was stale, but still edible.
“You were brought here for a reason,” said Aunt Fran calmly. “And you will stay here until you learn to behave.”
Jane wanted to protest some more, but she was still dazed from the beating she had sustained, and she was afraid that if she protested more, things could get ugly.
“If you’re not going to eat, you might as well go to bed,” said Aunt Fran. “Maybe things will look clearer in the morning.”
She marched Jane down a hallway lined with doors. Most of them were closed, but one gaped open, and through it, Jane saw a blonde girl in what appeared to be a straitjacket, rocking back and forth on the bed. She felt dizzy with terror; what kind of place was this?
They reached a door near the end of the hall, and Aunt Fran opened it and ushered Jane inside. The room was empty save for a bed stripped bare, leaving only a lumpy mattress.
“This was Lilith’s room until three days ago,” she said. “One of our success stories, that girl. Hopefully you will follow her example.”
Then she left, and Jane was alone with nothing but her mounting fear and confusion.
She curled up on the mattress, knees tucked under her chin, shaking so hard her teeth clattered together. The staccato filled her head, so loud she didn’t hear the door open again. But then, a raspy male voice spoke: “You smell like lemons.”
Jane sat up so fast her head spun. She whipped around and faced the doorway, from where the voice had come. Standing there was an elderly man in a blue bathrobe and matching slippers. He had shoulder-length grey hair and eyes milky with cataracts. He was smiling wistfully, as if in the throes of a fond memory.
“You smell like lemons,” he repeated. “Just like my mother.”
Jane scooted backwards until she bumped up against the headboard. The man began shuffling towards her, gnarled fingers already reaching for her.
“G-get away from me,” Jane stammered.
The old man sat down on the edge of her bed and reached out, gently stroking her cheek. His palm felt like sandpaper. “I wish I could see you. You smell and sound so pretty. But you cannot be pure. A pure girl would never be sent here.”
Then, with a suddenness that made Jane feel seasick, his expression went from happy and nostalgic to dark and furious. He seized Jane’s jaw with a bruising force and shoved his face right in hers so that the tips of their noses were almost touching.
“Are you a whore, young lady?” he growled.
Jane was lightheaded with terror, feeling as if she had exited her body and was floating up, up through the ceiling, up into the sky, to a place from which she could never return. Her throat had cinched shut, and all she could manage were terrified, choked gasps.
“Are you a whore?” the man repeated. He pressed his thumb hard into the pre-existing bruise on Jane’s cheek, from where Robert had struck her. It made that entire half of her face feel like it was being pressed to a burning stove.
Jane opened her mouth to try and speak… and threw up all over her assailant.
When Jane got to that part in the story, I started laughing. Not because I found the story funny, but because that part was so unexpected and absurd. When I caught myself, I shot Jane an apologetic look. But she just grinned at me before her expression turned solemn once more.
She then told me how the old man reeled backwards as vomit splattered his robe. He let go of Jane’s face and began yelling at her, cussing her out and screaming that she had given him her STDs. Jane paid him no mind; she was busy scrambling off of the bed and hauling ass out of that awful room.
She ran, faster than she ever had in her life. She passed the kitchen, where Aunt Fran and Jezebel were seated at the table; Aunt Fran leapt up and gave chase, but Jane was faster. She slammed out the front door and kept going.
Jane could not tell me how far she ran, or for how long, but she eventually collapsed to her hands and knees on the sidewalk before vomiting once more. Then she stood and stumbled to a park across the street. She curled up under a towering pine tree and passed out. When she woke up, she was in the hospital, having been found earlier that morning by a man on a jog.
Despite her injuries, despite the terrible ordeal she had endured, Jane was ecstatic. Why? Because she was certain that Maura, for once, would get into serious trouble. The bitch had sold her sister to a couple of crazy old coots who seemed to be holding girls hostage; there was no way she could talk her way out of it. After fourteen years of fooling everyone into thinking she was such a wonderful person, Maura would finally fall.
At least, that is what Jane hoped. But it was not to be.
When the police came to speak to Jane, it turned out that they already had an idea of what had happened. Maura had spun a bullshit story about Jane saying she was going for a walk and leaving of her own accord. And the police believed her. They seemed to be operating under the theory that Jane, while on her walk, was abducted and taken to the house where she was held. When Jane tried to explain what had really happened, they would not listen. Neither would Elizabeth and William. The way Jane described it, it was almost as if Maura had hypnotized everyone into believing her version of events. They chalked Jane’s insistence that she had been sold by her sister and her boyfriend as the result of the trauma she had endured.
Now, legal action was taken against Aunt Fran and the old man. The police tracked down the address Jane had been taken to, and it turned out that the two were wife and husband. The old man was a retired psychologist, and he and his wife had been advertising their home as a place for “wayward girls.” Their “patients” were subjected to all sorts of abuse in an attempt to “set them straight.” Once the police got involved, the girls being held there were set free, and their captors were sent to prison, where they could no longer hurt anyone.
But for Jane, this was an empty victory. All she wanted was to see Maura face the consequences for what she had done. And once again, Maura had gotten away with it.
As for Robert? Well, he denied any involvement, or knowing anything about that house. Clearly, he did know, but how is unclear, since he, like Maura, got away scot-free.
After hearing this story, I understood that Maura wasn’t merely self-centred and stupid; she had an evil streak as well. And I understood why Jane seemed to hate her even more than Amy. Granted, Amy had plenty a good reason to hate Maura. But it was Jane whom Maura sold to be pair of psychopaths who planned on doing God knows what to her, then orchestrated it so that she, once again, would escape any punishment.