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  “I’m afraid that’s impossible, miss.” Hobart backed her out of the dining room and closed the pocket doors.

  What is with this house and eating? she thought. She dutifully returned to her room, ate her lunch and smoked some cigarettes, but abstained from the whiskey. She looked in the mirror and saw a carnival face with clown make-up and ridiculous hair. Her body, poured into the shapeless black uniform, reminded her of a matron at a mental ward. She popped out her teeth and rinsed them off before she went back downstairs.

  The dining room doors were still closed shut but she heard giggling, sucking and slurping coming from inside. At least they’re getting a good meal, she thought.

  Unexpectedly, Hobart shoved the doors open and the children ran past her, smelling of oranges and licorice and rare beef. She had smelled those aromas somewhere before, but she couldn’t place them. Maybe her first dinner in the house.

  “Not so fast, there,” she called out. “Where’d you think you’re going?”

  “We’re going to thank the God for our meal,” Betsy said.

  “Couldn’t you do that at the table?” she asked.

  “Why, no, we have to go to the temple and give thanks,” Randolph persisted.

  They had to be some kind of religious nut cases. That explained a lot about their strange customs.

  “Can I join you?” Maude asked.

  “Oh no, P-P-Papa wouldn’t like that at all,” little Betsy said. “We’ll be wight back.” And out the front door they went and into the gardens and out of sight.

  Maude saw Hobart now standing at the front door. “Have you been to the temple?”

  Hobart immediately stiffened up. “Why, miss, would I want to go to the temple? It is not my place.”

  “How long have you worked here?”

  “Since Mr. Munford was a child, miss.”

  “And you don’t think anything strange is going on?”

  “Miss, I am not paid to think. I am paid to be a butler.”

  “All righty.”

  “If you are seeking my advice, it is to mind the children and leave the rest of the house to the professionals.”

  “I’m a professional.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, but you are an aging barfly who smokes and drinks too much and has never been around children before.”

  “How dare you!”

  “How dare you, miss!”

  “Then why’d I get hired? Surely, there were more qualified candidates in line for the position.”

  “Miss, none that would sign the agreement.”

  “The agreement, you mean about not feeding the children?”

  “We have talked too much. Now, here come the children. Smile and make them happy. That is your job.”

  * * *

  Maude was more uncomfortable than ever now that she knew the family recognized she was a fraud. She wondered if the children knew. If they were anything like they acted, they probably smelled her fear of them. However, the afternoon passed by without any troubles.

  The Munfords returned home at five-thirty.

  “Hello, Miss Barrow, how did your first day go with the children?” Mrs. Munford asked.

  “They are a delight, ma’am. But they got a little hungry.”

  “I can see that you did not feed them.”

  “How’s that, ma’am?”

  “Oh, never mind. I bought you some more cigarettes and now dinner is almost ready. Perhaps we can talk in the morning.”

  “But the children went to a temple?”

  “Yes. We all go there to be thankful for our meals.”

  “I’d like to see it someday.”

  “Oh, I am sure you would. Have a good night, Miss Barrow.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Maude crept downstairs at dawn. The family was still asleep and Hobart was nowhere to be found. She was out of the door as the sun rose and followed the path that the children took on their way to the temple. As she got closer, the temple loomed large on the rambling lawn. The domed building had four entrances, each facing a point on the compass, with runes etched all over the walls and stairs worn from decades of use.

  She entered the eastern portal since it was lit with the morning sun. Inside, the floors and columns were perfect marble and a table that strangely looked like an altar stood in the center. It was beautiful mahogany with delicate inlay. As she approached the table-thing to get a closer look, she heard footsteps behind her.

  “Oh, it’s you, Hobart,” Maude said, relieved.

  “Miss Barrow, you are where you do not belong.” Hobart wagged his index finger.

  “So, you caught me.”

  “Now, I will have report you to the family.”

  “Oh, Hobart, let this be our little secret.”

  “Very well, miss, it’s our little secret.” Then, Hobart thrust a ceremonial knife into her front. Maude felt it pierce all the way through her chest plate and her warm blood ooze out of the wound.

  “What the hell?”

  “The family will be here shortly, so stay awake.”

  Hobart carefully removed the knife from her failing body and struggled to lift her onto the altar. At once, Mr. Munford, Mrs. Munford, and the children arrived with place settings.

  “You . . . can’t . . . EAT . . . me?” Maude gasped.

  “Of course we can,” Mrs. Munford said. “You signed a contract. I only stipulated that you were not to feed the children, I didn’t say that you would not feed the children, silly old woman.”

  While she watched, the forks and knives started in on her fleshy thighs and wobbly belly.

  “Now children, isn’t she a good nanny?” Mrs. Munford asked.

  “Oh yes, she’s delicious,” the children said in unison.

  About the Author

  Barbara House lives in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania with her husband and two black cats. Her short story “Albert Got Shot” is available at major online retailers. In early 2012, Pill Hill Press will publish “The Dead Editor” in 365 Days of Flash Fiction and “The Intrusion” in Bugs!, two short story anthologies. Contact Barbara at [email protected].

  Copyright and Acknowledgements

  Copyright © 2011 Barbara House. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.

  Cover Design: Cory Van Note. He can be reached at [email protected] or on the web at www.coryvannote.com.

  Book Design: Aaron Polson. He can be reached at [email protected].

  Table of Contents

  A Good Nanny

  About the Author

  Copyright and Acknowledgements

 

 

  Barbara House, A Good Nanny

 

 

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