The Will

I

Sixty-three-year-old Gerry Clifford’s family took him home from Candlelight Ridge Care Center for an afternoon visit. Gerry’s children, thirty-three-year-old Daniel and thirty-two-year-old Amber fawned over their father.

Amber attempted to trigger her father’s memories by showing him a photo album, and Daniel presented a book of articles he’d compiled about Gerry’s years performing with his band, Mainline, and the many friends he’d made along the way.

“This article’s about Henry Kalmar, Da,” Daniel said. “You remember Henry, right?”

“Yeah, the chap from Rio, innit? Henry is black and he’s from Brazil.”

“Well, that’s close,” Daniel corrected. “You’re thinking of Salah Al-Din.”

“He’s black too?”

“Right. And he was living in Rio, but he’s actually from Saudi Arabia.”

“Oh, cer. Like the Arabian Nights. He’s a genie, innit, Salah Al-Din?”

At first, Daniel wondered if his father was serious and was considering his response when Gerry chuckled and gave Daniel a cheeky wink, nudging him with his elbow.

“I’m messin’ with ya, Mate. I know Sal ain’t no genie and neither is Harry. Now, I ain’t sure which one is which. They’re both bald black blokes, and I ain’t a racist or nothin’, but you see, I’ve a little trouble with me memory these days, and these two look just alike ‘cause they’re both bald. But the one’s quite tall, and he has a nose like so, which means he’s an Arab, right?”

“You’re right, Da. Here’s a picture of you with Salah Al-Din and Uncle Davy on New Year’s Eve 2011,” Amber said.

“My brother Davy?” Gerry inquired.

“Yes, Da,” Amber confirmed. “This was taken outside the hospice.”

“Davy is in the hospital? Is he not well?”

“Well, Da…” Daniel started.

“Oh, this is ridiculous!” Anne snapped. “He won’t remember a thing an hour from now, so just stop this foolishness. Gerry, your brother died about twelve hours after that picture was taken. He’s been dead for nearly three years now.”

“I don’t remember…” Gerry stammered, clearly distressed.

II

“Of course you don’t,” Anne continued impatiently. “You have Alzheimer’s disease, Gerry. Your memory is fading away. It was cruel of the children to remind you of David or Henry. Are you going to remind him that Henry committed suicide on New Year’s Day 2013, Daniel, or shall I?”

“Looks like you already did, and in the nastiest way possible,” Amber said coldly.

Amber’s husband, Vance Collins, put a hand on Amber’s shoulder, but she shrugged it away.

“Not now, Vance,” Amber commanded. “I know it’s in your nature to try and keep the peace, but this needs to be addressed. Why don’t you and Dan take Da to the study? See if you can get him to eat those snacks that Ace sent along with him.”

“I can take him, Mate,” Vance said gently, seeing the expression on Daniel’s face. We’ll just settle ourselves into the study. It’s frightfully chilly. A spot of tea by the fire would be the very thing.”

“I think you’re right, my good chap, but you’ll have to carry the logs,” Gerry said. “Big bloke like you shouldn’t have any trouble carryin’ firewood. I’m afraid I’ve misplaced your name.”

“It’s Vance.”

“Splendid, then, Vince. Now, refresh my memory. Which of me many sisters do you go with?”

“I’m your daughter’s husband, Mr. Clifford.”

“Well, there’s no need to call me Mr. Clifford, seeing as we’re family. Now, when did you tie the knot? I’m afraid me memory is a shambles of late.”

“Amber and I married on March 23, 2011--me twenty-seventh birthday.”

“Oh, splendid, splendid! I’ve a daughter named Amber you know. She’s my little princess. Now, I’m awfully sorry, Tommy, but I’m forgetting where you said you were from. The accent is familiar, but I’m afraid me memory is for shite of late.”

“I’m from Wales. I was born in Beaumaris.”

“Oh, the one with the castle?”

“Yeah, little town famous for its bonny castle built on the marsh.”

“You don’t say! Well, I’d surely like to see that sometime. So, you’re married to me sister Hailey, then. Well, we call her Queenie, as you know. Now, last I remember, you were living in the Isle of Wight. Let’s not stand here freezing our balls off, Mate. Come into the study and we’ll put a kettle on and get caught up, though I can’t say how much I’ll remember later.”

III

“What the hell was that about?” Amber demanded as her mother strode to the window to watch the roiling clouds on the horizon.

“Hell of a storm brewing,” Anne remarked.

Amber turned Anne to face her.

“You’re bloody right there is, and the weather outside has nothing on the storm brewing in this house. Why the hell did you bring him here if you were just going to act a right bitch?”

“Very well, why don’t we get everything out in the open? You always took your father’s side. You were his little princess. A combination of you and Paul would have made him a perfect wife.”

“Don’t you dare start that shite!” Amber snapped as her mother sat down at the table, a solemn expression on her face. “Quit moving about and face me!”

“It’s bloody cold in here. Dan, turn up the thermostat on your way to your room.”

“Who said I was going to me room?”

“Danny, maybe it’s for the best,” Amber said gently. “This isn’t going to be pretty, and, you know, your seizures…”

“Right, send the bloody invalid off to his bloody childhood room as if he was still a fucking child.”

“Dan, it isn’t like that,” Amber protested, touching his shoulder. “You know how it is with me and mum. It’s going to get ugly. I see your hands shaking. I don’t want you to have a seizure. You’ll do better for yourself if you leave. I’ll see you in a bit, all right?”

“Fine. I’d send for an Uber, but I want to see Da before I go.”

“Thank you, Dan. Yer still me best mate,” Amber praised, kissing Daniel’s cheek.

“Yer mine too,” Daniel said, playfully punching his sister’s arm before heading up the stairs.

“It’s lovely that the pair of you get on so well,” Anne noted as Amber headed to the table. “Look at that sky, Love. It’s as dark as pitch.”

“You’ll not dodge my question, Mum,” Amber insisted. “Not this time. Why did you agree to bring Da here if you were going to behave awful to him? You could have said ‘no, Amber, best not.’ You could have said ‘take him to your place if you must.’ You could have gently reminded me that my father is fading away and it’s probably best to just visit him at the care center. I wasn’t ready to admit that until today. I ain’t ready to admit it now or ever, but I must. And then you dredge up that same ugly old accusation. Da never laid a hand on me in an inappropriate fashion, Mum. He never ogled me or made any sort of lurid suggestions. He was always a proper sort of father. That shite you accused him of near to destroyed him, and I don’t think you ever apologized properly. If you hate him so much, why didn’t you divorce him?”

IV

“Amber, you have no idea what it’s been like living with your father and his idiosyncrasies,” Anne sighed. “You only saw the good side of him. And before you ask, no, he’s never hit me or called me names. He’s always allowed me to do as I pleased. However, it was clear to me that Paul’s opinion was gospel. If Gerry could have found an unrelated female version of his brother, he would have married her.”

“He rather did,” Amber said. “He had Aunt Annika. But she was a mate, not a lover.”

“He certainly brooded long enough after she died. Oh, it isn’t as if I think he fucked her or even lusted after her. But if he hadn’t been so concerned with doing what’s proper, don’t you suppose he might have been tempted?”

“Must you always make everything crude and filthy?” Amber demanded. “You’re attempting to deflect, and I’ll not fall for it. You had a reason for bringing Da here and I know it because you’d be happy enough to let him rot at Candlelight Ridge otherwise.”

“My dear, I am not allowing your father to rot at Candlelight Ridge. He likes it there well enough. He’s ingratiated himself to the staff. He seems to have taken a special liking to that skinny, tattooed night nurse who looks like a stork and his tattooed sumo wrestler chum. Those two have rather an old married couple vibe, don’t you think?”

“They’re mates. They worked together on the road back when Ace was in Jester. You know that. It isn’t pertinent to the conversation, Mum. You’re trying to get under me skin and you’re well succeeding, but I’m not going to drop it. Why did you agree to bring Da here when his presence makes your skin crawl?”

“Amber, you read too much into things. I simply don’t have the patience to deal with your father’s rapidly eroding cognition. Now, why don’t I make us a nice cup of tea?”

Amber rubbed her temples as her mother rose and went to the kitchen.

“Bloody awful weather out there,” Anne remarked.

“So you have said. We’ll be going soon. I don’t think I can tolerate being in this house much longer. I feel sick at my stomach.”

“Then a spot of tea is the very thing. Perhaps you ought to have a little rest before taking your father back to Candlelight Ridge. You oughtn’t get yourself into such a lather, Amber. You mustn’t allow your father’s and my disagreements to affect you so.”

“Yes, I suppose not. Your passive-aggressive attitude is certainly nothing new. I suppose it’s just the way you are. Bloody weary it makes me.”

“Would you like raspberry thumbprints or digestives?” Anne inquired.

“Either or both,” Amber replied.

“Excellent! Despite our differences, we’ve always enjoyed our teatime, haven’t we?”

V

Anne poured tea for herself and Amber and set a plate containing a variety of biscuits on the table. A few minutes later, Vance came out of the study, closing the door quietly.

“Gerry’s asleep,” he announced. “Poor chap was falling all over himself trying to remember things. That Ace is brilliant. You’d never guess that these little nutrition bars would truly taste good, but they taste like a flapjack, just as it says on the bag. Gerry put away several, and I may have indulged in one or two meself. I saved one for Danny and one for each of you ladies.”

“Oh, you go on and have it, Amber,” Anne insisted. “Since your father’s napping and Vance is here, I think I’ll have a wee lie-down myself.”

“That’s fine, Mum,” Amber agreed, not looking at her mother. “We’ll round Da up about three if he’s not woken on his own.”

Anne disappeared up the stairs. Vance sat across from Amber, gripping her hands. Amber blinked back tears.

“My bonny blond Welshman,” she said quietly. “Always here to smooth things over. I fear that the wound between mum and me runs deeper than you can patch up, Vanny.”

“Yeah, but at least I can put a plaster on it, so the blood don’t gush everywhere,” Vance replied.

Amber laughed softly. Vance led her to the loveseat and drew her close. Amber was taller than her father but her elfin features resembled his. Amber recalled a time shortly after learning of Gerry’s dementia diagnosis when she’d expressed doubts about her parentage, wondering if either she or Daniel really were Gerry’s children.

“You look just like him, Love, and so does Dan,” Vance had replied. “You’re definitely a Clifford.”

“He’d still be my daddy even if he wasn’t my biological father,” Amber said. “I always knew that he loved me and Dan no matter what. Bloody wretched I feel for thinking it, but I can’t help wondering, why did it have to happen to him and not…”

Tears spilled down Amber’s cheeks as she wrestled with the same awful thought that she could never allow herself to put into words. Vance held her tenderly.

“Why did it have to be him, Vanny?” Amber sobbed. “Oh, I imagine the world will wag on without Gerry Clifford the same way it’s wagged on without Jimi Hendrix or Brian Jones or Jim Morrison and so on. But how am I going to go on without my Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, Love,” Vance soothed. “Rotten thing it is. He don’t deserve it one bit, that’s certain.”

While Vance comforted Amber and Daniel rested in his old room, Anne crept down the back stairs and into the study where Gerry lay asleep on the couch.

“Gerry!” Anne hissed, shaking her husband’s shoulder.

VI

Gerry woke with a start.

“Oi, what’s it all about then, Annie?” he inquired.

“Can you come over to the desk, Gerry?” Anne asked.

Gerry did as he was bidden, a puzzled look on his face. Anne set a folder in front of him and opened it to a document with a blank signature line.

“I just need you to authorize the changes to your will,” she said.

Gerry hesitated.

“I don’t think I ought to be doing that, Annie,” he protested. “I used to be quite good with contracts and documents and all, but I ain’t anymore. I’d not feel right doing it without a solicitor to guide me.”

“Why do you need a solicitor? I can assure you that everything is in order.”

“But I don’t recall having any changes made to me will.”

“Gerry, you don’t recall what you had for breakfast.”

“No, but I do recall who I had breakfast with. It was those two blokes at that hotel. I don’t remember their names, but they’re solid chaps. Then Paulie and David came by and we had morning tea before Annie and her fella came to pick me up. You were there I think, or maybe it was just them.”

“I wasn’t there, Gerry. It was your daughter, Amber, and her husband, Vance. Paul left before they showed up because he didn’t want to see me if I was there. Your brother David has been dead for almost three years, as I told you before. Now, if you’ll just sign here…”

“Well, I don’t bloody want to sign there!” Gerry countered. “I don’t know what it is, Andrea! I’ve trouble reading it. I need a solicitor to explain it to me and to make sure everything is correct.”

“How would you know what is correct? The last brain scan they did revealed that yours has shrunk to seventy-five percent of normal size. Don’t you trust the woman who loves you?”

“I might if she were here with me,” Gerry responded tersely.

“Oh, really then? And who might you have in mind for that, Gerry? Your friend Annika, perhaps?”

“Which is Annika?”

“Annika Scarlotti. Busty blonde Italian, sang the duet with Odinn, went on the road with you a few times. You always said she was like your sister, but none of your sisters looked like that.”

“Don’t mean I had it off with her. I wish I could place her as I had a bird who was me good mate. Is she in this will?”

“She’s dead, Gerry. She died six years ago from breast cancer.”

VII

“I don’t know why you’re so ruddy awful to me,” Gerry said quietly, tears filling his eyes. “Seems as all you want to do is tell me that me mates and kin are dead. I don’t trust you and I ain’t signing me soul over to you. Maybe I don’t know much anymore, but I can see that you’re a succubus. Bloody minion of Mormo you are! That bitch has been trying to get her talons in me for at least a thousand years, but I’ll not allow it while I can still fight! Get the fuck away from me, yer undead vixen! Did that witch from the hotel send you, or were it Nyarlathotep even?”

“Gerry, you’re getting yourself excited over nothing,” Anne soothed sweetly. “I’m sorry, I pushed you too hard. It’s all right. We’ll have a solicitor help with the will. I just wanted to make sure everything was in order.”

At that moment, Amber opened the door.

“Mum, what is going on here?” she demanded.

“Oh, Diane, I’m so glad you’ve come!” Gerry exclaimed. “Only you must be careful. This one, she’s a succubus, assuming the shape of one of our own. Pure evil she is! She was sent by none other than Mormo herself, I’m sure of it!”

“What the hell is this, Mum?” Amber demanded, taking the paper from the file. “Just what were you hoping to get him to agree to?”

“Only to ensuring that I could protect our assets,” Anne insisted. “There’s nothing out of order here, Amber.”

“Except that according to this version, all of Da’s money goes to you.”

“Your father is barking mad. He’s raving about Succubi.”

“Perhaps he ain’t so barking mad as you’re implying, ‘cause from where I stand, whatever’s wearing my mother’s skin looks an awful lot like a succubus to me.”

Acknowledgments

Mormo is the creation of H.P. Lovecraft, appearing in his story “The Horror at Red Hook,” first publication Weird Tales January 1927.

Nyarlathotep is the creation of H.P. Lovecraft, initially appearing in his 1920 story of the same name.