ALL CHARACTERS ARE ADULTS.
Robin Rizzo looked like a young Liz Taylor, everyone said it, and it was true, her beauty was striking. Robin was a reporter for the Bay City Sentinel, and the owner of a brand new Detroit Motors 'Road Rager' convertible she splurged for after her promotion to Senior Investigator.
She bought the Road Rager with all the sexy options featured in the tv ads, and it was a marvel when it all worked, which wasn't often. It was always something, and the something was almost always the computer that controlled everything. In six months Robin's car was in the shop for repairs seven times, and now number 8. When she switched ON the headlights the trunk opened.
Robin was the only customer sitting in the Detroit Motors Service Department lobby, and she'd already waited forty-five minutes without anyone appearing behind the counter. She heard laughter and chatter behind the 'employees only' door, and looked at her watch. She thumbed through ancient sports magazines for another fifteen minutes, until her patience was gone, and stuck her head through the door. "Hello?" She called.
A young woman stuck her head out the door of an office, looked at Robin, and spoke, "What?"
"Can someone help me? I've been waiting in the lobby for an hour to see someone and get my car fixed."
The girl rolled her eyes, muttered something under her breath, and spoke to someone in her office," I guess I better go to work, the natives are restless!"
"Hey! I didn't come here for some attitude! I came here to get the car you sold me for forty-thousand dollars, fixed. You got a boss I can talk to?"
The girl glared at Robin and walked past her to the service department lobby, then paged someone for customer care assistance. Another fifteen minutes passed before anyone responded. Finally a tall man came, Robin thought he looked like Lee Van Cleef, the bad guy in all the old Clint Eastwood movies. He spoke briefly with the girl before speaking to Robin.
"My daughter tells me you're unhappy. So?"
"So my car I bought from you is broke again," Robin replied.
"Melinda? Do we have a file on this lady?" He asked.
"Yes, Daddy, she's been in like three or four times," Melinda said.
"Eight times!" Barked Robin. "Eight times with the same problem! If I turn on the headlights the trunk opens, if I turn on the radio the hood opens, the heater makes the window washer spray cleaner fluid. I'm sick of it!"
Daddy looked at the computer record. "It's the computer controller; that's a factory issue, and you're just gonna hafta relax till they fix the bugs and do a recall," he smirked at Robin.
"Crimonie! It's been six months!" Robin complained.
"Get a hobby! I don't care what yuh do," Daddy walked off.
"Have a nice day!" Melinda chirped. Robin stared at Melinda for a few moments, turned, and left the building.
That night Robin met a kid named Brian, at a desolate spot, out in the country, many miles from Bay City. The sky threatened rain, and dark came early because of the dense overcast. They sat in Robin's car and talked.
"You sure this is the right place?" She asked.
"I'm positive! The road back to the old house is maybe a quarter-mile up the highway, on your left. It's paved with old bricks from long ago. At the end of the road is an old creepy cemetery. The gate is always open. Drive through the cemetery but don't leave the drive; it snakes around a large pond and trees, and eventually comes to another road, actually it's a long drive back into the woods. Walk up the drive to the old house."
"How far?" Robin asked.
"Ummm, maybe one-hundred yards," he estimated. "You can probably hide your car in the cemetery, go to the old house, and find a good place to see what happens."
"You sure the house is unlocked?"
"Yeah, I've been there a bazillion times, its abandoned," he swore. "Find a dark spot upstairs so you can look down and see who comes and goes and what goes on."
"Pretty wild, huh?" She wondered.
"What I've seen was pretty weird," he replied. "The people dress like old times, and then they get naked and mess around, and stuff."
"Like an orgy?" She asked.
"I never been to an orgy, but these people get drunk and naked," he said.
Robin looked at Brian, "You're not bullshitting me, are yuh?"
"No! I swear!" He looked and sounded sincere.
"Okay, bucko," she said, I'll come out Saturday night and see what's shaking.
Saturday night was cold, wet, and windy across Bay City and Valencia County. Robin drove to the old house with diligent caution and alertness, and found the old brick road where Brian said it was. The cemetery was further back than she expected but the gate was open and the lane though it was clearly marked. "This is so creepy," Robin thought. She found the drive that went to the old house, and it looked dark and sinister from what her headlights revealed. The rain started falling harder. "Gotta find someplace to hide this car," she thought.
Driving around she found an empty lot between two crypts that was adequate for the car; she backed into the niche and killed the motor. Robin grabbed her raincoat, flashlight, and umbrella from the back-seat; she wrestled the raincoat on as best she could. The dash-clock said 8PM. "Should I leave the door unlocked?" She wondered. "Better lock it."
She unlocked the car door and got out, then hurried to open the umbrella. "Crap!" She thought. "I forgot my cell phone." So she unlocked the door and fetched the phone from her bag. Outside again, she looked around; the cemetery was dark. She switched on the flashlight and followed the aisle to the road and on to the driveway where she paused to look the situation over, the driveway lay through a thick hedge of old cedar trees. Her imagination played tricks with her light shining through the rain and the wind swaying the trees and moaning as it passed around limbs and branches. Robin calmed herself as walked up the drive. "Brian said it's 100 yards, that's a football field long," she thought. "Shouldn't take too long to get there." Rain ran down her cheeks and dripped off her chin.
After a while an old wood pergola materialized out of the rain and darkness, Robin walked to it, and followed the stumble-stones beneath the pergola, through the darkness, on to the old house.
The old house was built in the Queen Anne style popular in the 1890s; this one reminded her of Cinderella's castle except for its abandoned and neglected condition. Robin climbed the stair to the porch and moved her light along the walls, the window panes were broken and opaque with old grime.
She located the front entry, the door was open, and she went inside. The floor boards creaked beneath her feet. Shining her flashlight around the foyer she saw nothing hazardous or threatening, though the air felt cool and smelled of mildew.
The foyer connected to a large gathering room with a large fireplace, furniture, and a staircase to the upper floor. The darkness swallowed her flashlight's small beam. Robin stepped into the room and walked along the walls. Something ran between her feet across the old carpet and froze when she illuminated it with the light; a large rat looked back at her, then fled. Ferns grew out of the carpet beneath the broken windows. Somewhere in the old house a bird screeched in terror and was never heard again.
Robin followed the wall till it ended at the staircase, she pointed the light up the stairs, and climbed the risers to the 2nd floor. The balcony and hallway were encrusted with spider webs and darkness; Robin moved her light along the walls but the long hall absorbed the light like it didn't exist. She checked the time: nine o'clock. At nine-fifteen she went downstairs to search for a seat, brought back a wood chair, and waited.
The din from a disturbance awoke her. The house was filled with light, and the trouble seemed to be downstairs in the gathering room. Robin crept to the balcony banister and looked down.
The gathering room's appearance remained archaic and dated but looked to be clean, organized, and in good condition. And a group of women, in sundry costumes, were assembled around a matron dressed in a style common in the 1950s: full skirt with crinolines, a halter top, girdle-bra, and nylon hose clipped to a garter belt, and stiletto heels. The woman reminded Robin of Lucy, even the red hair.
The other women looked haggard and ill and thin and pale. Their costumes ranged from a flounced bustle, on one, to mini-skirt, diaphanous blouse over braless tits, and knee-high boots at the other end of the scale. In the center of the group was a young man, trussed and drugged atop a rolling, fiberglass autopsy table. A punch bowl with ladle, and cups, sat on the shelf beneath, under the drain.
