Those Wicked Women

By Annette Siketa

From vile mothers to femme fatales - there are many forms of wickedness, and in this enthralling collection, the women will use every method at their disposal to get what they want – no matter the cost.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Annette Siketa
• Release date: Feb 11, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393441304

Annette Siketa

For those of you who have not yet made my acquaintance, my name is Annette Siketa, and I am totally blind. Were you aware that most blind and visually impaired people are extraordinarily perceptive? To sighted people, this ability must seem like ESP, and I suppose to a certain extent, it is. (I'm referring to the literal meaning of Extra Sensory Perception, not the spooky interpretation.) To compensate for the lack of vision, the brain and the other four senses become sharper, so that we can discern a smell or the identity of an object. I promise you there's no trickery involved. It's simply a matter of adapting the body to ‘think’ in another way.Being blind is no barrier to creativity. Like most things in this world, life is what you make of it, and after losing my sight due to an eye operation that went terribly wrong, I became a writer, and have now produced a wide variety of books and short stories, primarily of the ghost/supernatural/things that go bump in the night genre.So, how does a blind person write a book? On the practical side, I use a text-to-speech program called ‘Jaws’, which enables me to use and navigate around a computer, including the Internet, with considerable ease. Information on Jaws can be found at www.freedomscientific.comOn the creative side...well, that’s a little more difficult to explain. Try this experiment. Put on your favourite movie and watch it blindfolded. As you already ‘know’ the movie – who does what where & when etc, your mind compensates for the lack of visualisation by filling in the ‘blanks’. Now try it with something you’ve never seen before, even the six o'clock news. Not so easy to fill in the blanks now is it?By this point you’re probably going bonkers with frustration – hee hee, welcome to my world! Do not remove the blindfold. Instead, allow your imagination to compensate for the lack of visualization, and this will give you an idea of how I create my stories. Oh, if only Steven Spielberg could read my mind.

Book preview

Century Bride.

GERRARD BORDEAUX AND I sat sipping kirsch and coffee in my study after dinner.  A colleague once said of my friend, A little of Gerrard goes a very long way, and to a certain extent this was true.  He was vain, pompous, and had a weakness for cakes.  But he was also an excellent doctor and the shrewdest man I’ve ever known.

The next time you come to Paris, he said, I will take you to a little patisserie on the Rue Tivoli.  Mon Dieu!  It takes much strength of character not to stop and buy their fancies.  The Neapolitans are crisp and as fragile as a coquette's promise, the éclairs overflow with perfectly sweet cream, and the Black Forest gateau is so sinful, it should be banned.  Just to see them displayed in the window is to...

The whine of screeching brakes, followed by a crash and the tinkling of smashed glass, sounded in the street outside.  We were at the front door in a flash, and in the autumn twilight, saw a young man stumbling towards us.  His eyes were half closed, and a trickle of blood was running down his face. 

I gasped.  Good Lord!  It’s Ned Lambert.

Get him into the surgery - quick! cried Gerrard.

I ran to Ned and hooked his arm over my shoulder.  I'm afraid I rather overdid it, he said faintly.

Never mind, old chap.  I’ll take care of you.

Oh, God, he moaned, I wish you could.

I got him onto a table and examined his wounds.  The cut above his eye was more bloody than serious, but the one in his scalp needed three stitches.  At one point, a policeman appeared at the door.  Obviously the crash had attracted attention.  Gerrard put on his most Gaelic manner and ushered the officer outside. 

All settled, he announced when he returned.

What did you tell him?

That our young friend was having a reaction to a bee sting.  You called him by name.  I take it you know him?

I should - I brought him into the world.  Bit of a tearaway, but a good lad at heart.  I believe he was recently in your home town.

Paris?  Ah, but he’s coming around.

I poured a shot of medicinal brandy and held it to Ned’s lips.  He coughed as the fiery liquid slid down his throat.  Am I alright? he asked feebly.  My head hurts something awful.

Of course it does, answered Bordeaux.  When we brought you in here, Doctor Trowbridge gave you a small whiff of ether so he could work on your cuts.  But, in your delirium you said some very strange things.

What little colour had returned to Ned's face, drained out again.  What did I say?

Something about a tomb and a snake.  Perhaps you were dreaming of Cleopatra.

Ned's laugh was hard and brittle.  If only it was.  Yes, I suppose I have been dreaming, but not in the way you think.  I am not delirious and I know exactly what I'm saying.  Insane as it sounds, I made a promise to a dead woman that I do not want to fulfil.

You made the promise on her death-bed?

No.  She was already dead.

Then, if she did not hear you, you...

But she did hear me!

Eh, what is that you say?  Bordeaux's small blue eyes gleamed as he caught the occult implication.  You spoke to a dead woman?

Yes – And I can prove it.  Ned raised himself unsteadily and sat on the edge of the table.  May I have some water?

I filled a glass and gave it to him.  He drank it all, reached into a pocket, and produced an envelope.  It was lavender in colour, with the rear flap edged in silver gilt.  The address was in tiny, almost unreadable letters. 

This is why I came to see you, he said.  I just didn’t know where else to turn.

It’s alright, Ned, said I soothingly.  You can tell us anything you like.

Perhaps we should adjourn to your study, suggested Gerrard.  I think the young man needs...how you say...a restorative.

Once settled, Ned gave me the envelope.  The notepaper and handwriting were the same.  I read aloud, ‘Remember your promise and the kiss of blood that sealed it.  Meet me at the cemetery on Friday the 19th.Same time as before.You must come.  To refuse is death.  Julia’. 

When did you receive this?

Yesterday, he answered.  I’ve been going out of my mind with worry ever since.

Then, mon amee, said Gerrard, you had better tell us everything.

IT HAPPENED IN PARIS.  Some fellows and I were out on the town.  We’d enjoyed a good dinner and had gone for a walk.  Near the Eiffel Tower, we became separated and I found myself in a respectable but rather dingy street. 

I stopped outside a house to try and get my bearings.  The moon was full, and I could see the house perfectly clearly.  It was a two-storey affair, with a fancy ironwork balcony on the upper floor. 

Something flew very close to my head, and at first, I thought it was a bat or a bird.  And then I heard a girl laughing from the balcony.  She pointed at my feet, and I saw a rose lying on the footpath.  Would you mind throwing it back? she asked.

Believe me when I say she was the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.  The first thing I noticed was her hair.  It was chestnut in colour, fashioned in a tight bun with a few loose curls around her face.  Her lips were crimson and moist, and her eyes had a dark, Eastern quality.

Her dress was a little odd but no less becoming.  I’m no fashion expert, but it reminded me of something out of a Jane Austen novel.

I tossed the flower up to her.  She leaned out to catch it but it fell through her hands.  Either your aim is bad or my arms are too short.  Bring it up to me.  The front door is not locked.

I pushed it open, groped my way along a narrow passageway, and climbed a flight of winding stairs.  She was still on the balcony and even lovelier close up.  I held out the rose but she did not take it.

No, it fell into your hands.  It is you who must put it back, and pointed to her cleavage.  When I hesitated, she laughed.  Come, monsieur, do not be shy. 

She began to hum a tune.  Something old I think.  It was charming, but I was eager to rejoin my friends.  She must have sensed that I wanted to leave, for her dark eyes suddenly seemed full of pain. 

Would you run away and leave me, Julia D’Angelo, starving for love?

I’m afraid I must, I replied.  But I will call again if you wish.

There was something more than gratitude in the look she gave me.  You mean it? she said in a quivering voice. 

Of course.

Then swear it.  Seal your promise in blood. 

Her eyes were half-closed as she leaned towards me.  I saw a thin white line of tiny teeth as she parted her lips.  Then, as they touched mine, her mouth opened and seemed intent on swallowing my own.  I could feel them searching greedily.  She inhaled deeply, as though drawing breath from my lungs. 

And then came a quick stab of pain.  She had bitten my lip.  A humming sounded in my ears and everything went dark around me.  A sensation of dreamy lassitude was engulfing me when she suddenly pushed me away. 

I staggered back against the railing, gasping for breath.  And then I saw that she had dropped to her knees and was staring at something in the room behind the balcony door.  I saw a low, slender shadow move in the moonlight, and realised at once that it was a snake. 

The wedge-shaped head swayed and then reared not six inches from Julia's face.  Terrified, I stood like a statue, not daring to move lest I aggravate it into striking.  But my terror changed to amazement when I heard her talking to the snake. 

I did not recognise the language, but I caught the name Shatowa several times.  The snake was convinced.  At least, I presume it was because it lowered its head and disappeared into the room.

Julia rose to her feet and put her hands on my shoulders.  You must go, she whispered urgently.  She is old and not easily convinced.  I am terribly afraid of her.  She pressed herself against me.  There were tears in her eyes as she said, Please do not forget me.  My life now depends upon it.  Come again tomorrow night.

I FLED LIKE A SCARED rabbit, and somehow, found my way back to my hotel.  I went straight to my bathroom and looked in the mirror.  My bottom lip was swollen, and there was dried blood at the corners of my mouth.

It all seemed incredible.  Had there been no blood, I'd have thought I had suffered a hallucination.  I couldn’t even blame alcohol because I certainly wasn’t drunk when I left the restaurant.  Julia was as out of time as a figure in a Gainsborough painting.  Her costume was one thing, but talking to a snake was something else. 

Ned, I said to my reflection, you have just met a certified lunatic.  Thank God you’re leaving tomorrow.

I washed my face, turned to grab the towel, and froze.  Barely twelve inches from my foot was the snake.  Stupefied, I seemed to watch in slow motion as its head darted forward.  And then it stopped, the action seeming to indicate that it could bite me any time it chose.

It drew back a little and looked at me with menacing eyes.  It started to hiss, and to my utter astonishment, I discerned the words ‘you will not leave’.  I blinked, and it was gone.

I hardly slept that night.  I was sure I could hear it writhing across the floor, and when I awoke the next morning, I felt an utter fool.  A woman who dressed in old-fashioned clothing?  A talking snake?  Obviously I had eaten something that disagreed with me, and my swollen lip could have been acquired in hundreds of ways.

I bathed and dressed and began to pack.  I dropped a pair of socks, bent to pick them up, and came face-to-face with the snake.  This time, it glared at me with murderous eyes, and when it opened its mouth, I heard again, ‘you will not leave’.

I won’t, I stammered.  The snake slid across the floor and passed through the door as if it wasn’t there.

I needed fresh air.  I went downstairs and deposited my key at the desk.  Monsieur, said the clerk, there is a letter for you.

I opened the lavender envelope.  The notepaper was the same colour and edged with silver gilt.  The handwriting was tiny, and it took an effort to make out, ‘My darling, do not come to the house.  Meet me in the cemetery near the hotel at nine o’clock tonight.  Yours forever, Julia’. 

I stuffed the note into a pocket and left the hotel.  I walked the streets but paid little attention.  The more I thought about the whole affair, the less I liked it.  Julia was as lovely as a princess in a fairytale, but there are some tales that are unpleasant to the point of horrific.  Moreover, I had only spent an hour with her, and yet it was now ‘my darling’ and, ‘yours.  One of us was delusional, and I didn’t think it was me.

AS I WALKED BETWEEN rows of tombs, I heard the far off whistle of a boat on the Seine.  My footsteps made no sound on the grass, so that I might have been a ghost myself.  I made a complete circuit but there was no sign of Julia.

Looks like she's stood me up, I murmured. 

No, mon chéri, I am here.

I jumped at the sound of her voice.  She clapped her hands in delight, which I thought was in bad taste.  Did you think I wouldn’t come? she said, raising her face to be kissed.

I ignored the gesture and asked, Where were you?  I've been circling the graveyard for half an hour but didn't see you.

Ah, but I saw you.  I watched you walking around as the sun went down.

Where were you? I repeated.

Right here, she answered, resting a hand against a tomb. 

I frowned.  What?  In there?  I quickly examined the tomb.  It was of rough stone and encrusted with shells.  Sealed from every angle, I doubt even a mouse could have got in.

No, silly, behind it.  Julia raised her arms and stretched.  I am so stiff from sleeping.  Come, let us walk for a while.  She linked her arm through mine and led me down the grassy path. 

It was all very bewildering.  I had to have an explanation.  Look here, Julia, I want to know...

You have not complimented my dress, she interrupted, a slight pout to her lips.  Do I not look very elegant?

There was no denying she looked beautiful.  Her dress was the same old-fashioned style as the previous evening, only tonight it was pale pink satin.  Her hair had been swept up and tied with a string of pearls, and her necklace, earrings, and single bracelet, all made from diamonds and pearls, matched in style. 

Are you going to a costume party tonight? 

A look of hurt showed in her eyes.  No, it is my best outfit.  I wore it specially for you.  Do you not like it?  Do you not love me in it?

The opportunity to set things straight was too good to miss.  Love?  I am not in love with you.  I am going home tomorrow so there’s no point in kidding yourself.

She laughed.  You do not mean it.  You only denied it to tease me.  I suppose being English, you want to observe all the formalities before we’re married.

Married!  A hiss sounded somewhere near my feet, but I was too angry to be frightened.  Set your devilish snake on me if you want, but I will not marry you.

The snake was quick but Julia was quicker.  She flung out an arm and pushed me back.  So forceful was the shove that I fell against a tomb and struck my head.  Sinking to my knees, I saw the snakebite Julia’s ankle.  It then turned its attention towards me. 

No!  Julia knelt in front of the snake, hands clasped as if begging.  Not this one.  Let me...  Her voice broke with a gasp, and falling forward, she lay inert on the grass. 

I tried to rise but my effort failed when I saw an aged Negress with turbaned head, bending over Julia.  Where had she come from, and why was the moonlight flickering like a dying candle? 

The next thing I knew, the light of early morning was streaming into the cemetery.  I lay quietly for a while, my mind grappling with the chain of events.  I raised my head, but there was no sign of Julia, the snake, or the Negress.

Stiff and sore, I staggered along the path, stopping at a tomb to catch my breath.  I almost collapsed when I saw the shells.  The inscription stone was probably once white, but now it was dirty gray.  Time and the weather had worn down the lettering, but some of it was still legible.  Written in French was, ‘here lies the unhappy Julia Marie D’Angelo.  Born Paris, 29th April 1788.  Died...1807’.

I could not believe it.  The girl I had kissed and held in my arms had died a hundred and twenty years ago.

NED STARED SIGHTLESSLY at the floor.  Bordeaux, who was deep in thought, absently twiddled with the pointed ends of his moustache.  I had already thought of a partial explanation, but it was banal at best.

Many people have a morbid fascination with cemeteries.  The name on the stone was historic.  The young woman assumed it in order to mislead you.

And the snake? posed Bordeaux.  Was it also an assumption?

No.  It was a trick.  The old Negress probably had some strange influence over the snake.  Ned, have you seen the snake again?

Yes, but not in Paris.  I returned to the hotel in a sort of daze.  Perhaps that’s why when I packed my bags, nothing happened.

You didn’t think of anything in particular?

I didn’t think of anything at all.  I just moved around the room, collected my things, and left. 

Ah, the soup thickens, said Bordeaux.

Plot, I corrected.

Pardon?

Never mind.  Go on, Ned.

He indicated the letter.  It was when that arrived yesterday that I saw the snake again.  I was in the parlour and had just read her note when I happened to look up.  It was broad daylight, and yet the shadow of an enormous snake appeared on the wall.

You recognize the writing?

Oh, yes.  It’s the same as the note that arrived at the hotel.

Did the clerk happen to mention how it was delivered?

No.

So, mused Bordeaux, the snake came again at the same time as the letter.  Strange that it had no substance, a phantom if you will. 

Could it have been some form of hypnosis? I asked.

Bordeaux shook his head.  As your excellent Monsieur Holmes might say, ‘when you eliminate the possible, then whatever remains, no matter how impossible, must be the answer.

The quotation was slightly inaccurate but this time I did not correct him.  What are you getting at?

I believe our young friend saw exactly what he says he did.  I do not understand it, but I know a man who might.  He looked at Ned and said gravely, You must return to Paris.

Ned looked horrified.  Are you mad?  Go back to where this nightmare began?

Precisely!  It started in Paris and it can only end in Paris.  Mon petite, do you not understand?  She wants to meet you on Friday the 19th – yes?

Yes.

And what is today’s date?

Ned turned white as a sheet as he answered, The 17th.

Bien.  You have two days to reach the rendezvous, but you will not be alone.  I shall accompany you.

And me, said I impulsively.

Bordeaux smothered a yawn.  "We can do no more tonight.  Monsieur Lambert, I want you to fill your mind with thoughts of the appointment – good thoughts I mean.  Try and imagine your reunion with