Chapter Twelve. #2
“Yes, Aunt Kenny,” the other teen and girls said in unison.
“Is Bloodsworth House standing?” Clio asked.
“Yup, although Uncle Chatter…”
“Wait, a minute. I thought Lavender was burning some trash,” Kenny held up a hand.
“Aunt Lavender was. She made a pile in the bonfire pit, and then Uncle Chatter threw a box on it,” the older girl oozed innocence.
Clio sat up and narrowed her eyes. “Isla Michaelson, don’t tell me you set Uncle Chatter up!”
The girl looked angelic alongside the one standing beside her. “No, Mom.”
“Liar,” the youngest boy hissed.
“Brax!” Kenny warned, and he clamped his lips shut. “What did Isla do to Uncle Chatter?”
“Nothing,” Brax whined.
Perfectly timed, a faint male shriek drifted in from the distance. “Demons!”
Kenny closed her eyes. “Which one of you was it?”
Silence fell. Clio eyed the group sternly. “Own up.”
“Snitches get stitches,” the youngest girl said. Laughter rose, and I managed to turn it into a snort. Kenny raised an eyebrow, her expression knowing.
“He/she who snitches gets cake,” Clio retorted. The kids exchanged glances and then faced Clio as one, folding their arms. On cue, all six made a zipping motion across their lips and then threw away the key.
The door banged open, and several brothers marched in. “Troy,” one growled.
“Yes, Dad?”
“Who did it?”
“Did what?” Troy replied innocently.
“Finn filmed it,” another man said, glowering.
“Send to me, babe,” Kenny demanded. That had to be Rooster unless Kenny called all men babe. He yanked his phone out and tapped on it. Moments later, Kenny’s cell pinged.
“What was it this time?” Clio asked.
“Exploding body parts!” Rooster ground out. “Chatter’s been sedated.”
“What the fuck?” I gasped.
“Go to the children’s room now. No snacks, and you’ll wait for punishment,” another man ordered. His patch said Banshee.
“What?” Brax exclaimed, his hand going to his heart in horror.
“Nope, you deliberately traumatised Uncle Chatter, and he’s not recovered from last time.”
“But he’s so easy,” Troy replied.
“The room, now! Go!” Kenny bellowed, and the kids quit arguing and rushed away.
“Chatter has a phobia of dolls, which is really tragic because Lavender is a leading expert in identifying, valuing, and repairing dolls. Her home is crammed full of them! You can’t even say the word doll around Chatter without him having a meltdown,” Clio explained.
My eyes widened as Kenny began sobbing with laughter. She passed the phone to Clio, and I peered over her arm. There was a dug-out fire pit and a stack of rubbish in it. The children were surrounding it, apart from Finn, who was recording it, and Kit. The bonfire had already been started.
“Uncle Chatter, Aunt Lavender said this needs burning too,” Kit stated, approaching at speed.
“Stay back,” Chatter warned, and then threw the large box on.
Nothing happened for a few seconds before a pop sounded.
Chatter looked over and frowned. The kids cocked their heads, and then something exploded and ripped through the box.
A doll’s head landed at Chatter’s feet, and he shrieked.
Moments later, several more pops occurred, and some arms and legs went flying.
The cardboard disintegrated in the fire, and suddenly there was a large explosion, and doll body parts rained down.
Chatter full-on screamed and then began gibbering in a rush.
I was laughing too hard even to work out what he was saying as Clio screeched next to me.
Chatter backed up, leaving the kids who were rolling around crying as he was smacked with body parts.
Finally, his legs gave out, and he collapsed on the ground and tried to crawl away.
He screamed once more as a blackened, melting doll’s head landed in front of him. His gibberish began again, but even faster. A woman ran from the house and dropped-kicked the head, making Chatter screech. The horror on his face shouldn’t be funny, but it was. The poor guy.
“You little fuckers!” the woman I guessed was Lavender yelled.
The kids couldn’t answer because they were laughing too much. Damn.
“They need punishing; it took four of us to pin him down and sedate him,” Banshee said with a grin.
“Holy crap,” I gasped.
“Yeah, Chatter don’t do dolls. We can’t even mention that around him. He and Lavender call them Gremlins,” Kenny explained.
“I shouldn’t laugh; he was terrified, but that was so damn funny,” I commented.
“Be grateful the Hellions aren’t here. There’s often a full-scale war between them,” Clio added.
“Hellions?”
“The Hellions are the Rage MC kids, and the Holy Terrors are the Hellfire MC brats. And both sides are very imaginative. It’s got to the point now where Chance sectioned off a piece of land; we throw them on it and shout them when it’s time to eat.
They can kill each other in private.” Clio grinned.
The door opened, and Lavender walked in. She had faint smudges of soot on her face.
“Where are they?” I tried not to laugh as fingers pointed to where the children were. She stomped over.
“You little fuckers. Uncle Chatter has been sedated, which means he can’t paint my fence tomorrow!” she yelled.
“I can do that, Aunt Lavender!” Brax offered helpfully.
“Oh, all of you are. With these!” Lavender held up a pack of children’s paintbrushes.
“We can’t use those; they’ll take ages!” Kit exclaimed.
“Then don’t terrify your Uncle Chatter!” Lavender snapped.
“But he’s so easy!” Troy whined.
“Yup, he sure is. But that doesn’t mean you can target him. If you can dish it out, you can take the pain,” Lavender retorted.
“That fence is huge,” Troy complained.
“Yeah, you’ve one side each, starting at opposite ends so you can’t talk and have fun!” Lavender growled out.
“Fair enough. Mine’ll be the best, Aunt Lavender; will I get lemonade and cake?” Brax wheedled.
“You suck-up!” Isla bitched.
“Can we paint him?” Louisa-Mae demanded.
“If you paint anything other than the fence, or deviate from the task given, the coal cellar needs cleaning,” Lavender stated. Horrified gasps met her.
“Oh, she’s good,” Kenny muttered. “I like the deviation rule.”
Lavender turned on her heel and came over to join us. “Rooster, please, can I have a drink?” she asked sweetly.
“Sure. You earned it. Has Chance and the rest put out the fire before it spread?”
“Yes. Little bastards used accelerant in the box on top of gunpowder,” she said to us.
“Wow, they weren’t messing around,” I replied.
“They never are. They all take after their fathers,” Clio complained.
“I’ll give them their due, though. They stick together. If more than one is involved, they’ll never snitch, never turn on each other and take the consequences as a group. The kids accept their punishment in good faith too, although sometimes that leads to more shit,” Lavender said.
“Yeah, they’re honest too; they always own the crap they do,” Clio agreed.
“We’re doing something correct,” Kenny concurred, and I wondered what it would be like to be a part of this group. Then I shoved the thought away. That didn’t matter right now. My concerns were a bit more worrying.