A Will To Murder by Hilary Thomson

cheerful, and she'll be more popular with the other kids, but she won’t listen.  Now for the second coat.  Aren’t your nails nice and silvery?”
    “Uh-huh,” Arthur was forced to agree.
    Richie walked in, sniffed the air, smelled Lily-of-the-Valley, and noticed Arthur’s nails.  Instantly, he squealed with nausea.
    Jac cut him off.  “Richie, come here and have your nails done.”
    “What!?!”
    His mother leaned forward.  “Sit down and have your nails done,” she commanded.  
    Richie gaped.  Arthur had been about to hoot with revenge, but Jac’s face stopped him.  Unprotesting, Richie extended his hands, his face flinching and mushy.  Arthur couldn’t believe it.  He hadn’t known anyone, even Aunt Jac, could make his cousin grovel like this.
    “I think pink would do nicely,” said Jac.  She worked in total silence, an odd twist to her lipstick that was not quite a smile.
           
       
    Later that night, when Arthur was asleep in bed, something rammed into his face and chest.  A scream exploded in his ear.  Arthur woke up and flailed madly, throwing his attacker off.  There was light coming from the hallway, light that winked out as the bedroom door shut rapidly.
    Shaking, Arthur switched on the bedside lamp and leaned over.  Herbert Maxillamus lay on the floor.  The skeleton hadn’t walked here on his own, Arthur knew.  That scream had been a boyish one--Richie’s.
    But even with the human source pinpointed, the shock had still rattled him badly.  Lip quivering, he opened the connecting door to his parents’ room.  “Richie dumped Herbert Maxillamus on me,” Arthur whined to his mother.  “I don’t want to sleep in that room anymore.”
    “Oh for--,” began Bert.
    Arthur burst into tears.  Instantly, Rose clasped her son to her chest.  “It’s all right, you can sleep here with us tonight, honey.”
    “There’s not enough room in the bed.  He’s a big kid now,” Bert protested.
    “Then you can go next door and sleep in Arthur’s bed,” replied Rose primly.
    For a moment Bert studied his wife and tearful child.  Then he sighed, went next door, and settled into Arthur’s bed.  As he turned out the lamp, however, he got a glimpse of what was on the floor.  Bert stared.  A minute later he was shaking Rose and saying, “Move over, I’m squeezing in.”
    Obligingly, his wife shifted with Arthur in her arms. “What’s the matter?” she asked.
    “There’s a skeleton on the floor,” said Bert tersely.
    “That’s Herbert Maxillamus,” Arthur told him.
    “Where’d the sonofabitch thing come from?”
    “He’s been in my family forever.  He usually hangs in the nursery,” said Rose.
    “Christ!  The things your family has.  You know what?  I’m going to have a word with your sister about that rotten kid of hers right now.”  Bert donned his bathrobe.  “Hey,” he said as he tried to turn the doorknob, “I can’t get this open.”
    “It’s locked,” said Arthur.  “I told you Mrs. Marshpool was locking everybody in at night.”
    Bert bared his teeth savagely and fought for a moment with the brass door handle, as if trying to tear it off.  Rose exclaimed.  Bert smacked the handle, giving up.  “Mrs. Marshpool, huh?  Let me try Arthur’s door.”
    A moment later he came back, irate.  “That one’s locked too.  She must have done it right after Richie left.  I’ll have it out with that blasted woman in the morning.  All right, you guys, move over.”  Bert set the alarm for five a.m.  “I intend to be ready for her.”

Chapter 7
     
     
    A key turned softly in the lock.  Bert sprang out of his chair and yanked the door open.  Mrs. Marshpool was bent over the other side, keys in hand.  Bert snatched them from her.
    “What are you doing, Mr. Cummings?  Give me back those keys!”
    “The hell I am.”  Bert grinned savagely.  He looked terrible, his face sagging and gray, his eyes red.
    Mrs. Marshpool tried to