Subj: Collinwood 2001 Part Twenty Two
Date: 6/16/01 9:56:02 AM Central Daylight Time
From: N.E. Collins

The wind and rain pelted the small fishing village with such fury. The waves tossed forth with their foamy spray and coated everything with their salty scent. Bob Rooney made a quick fix of a broken window pane at The Blue Whale tavern which had been plunged into darkness along with most of the rest of the area. Sam Evans helped himself to a free shot of whiskey while Bob was doing his best to keep out the elements. He felt he really needed it. Anything to keep himself from thinking of those awful paintings. How could he keep on painting that horrendous picture again and again? That tortured figure in flames? She...? He thought it was a woman, but he didn't know why and he didn't want to. He wanted to stop making these images come to life on canvas and he had fully intended to paint a rustic fishing village scene the last time he had set brush to palette, but such had not been the outcome. He found himself coming up as though he had been asleep under ground. And there before his startled eyes was another version of the horror that was the only thing he had been able to create. He had violently pushed the easel over and scattered and spattered paints and oils carelessly to the floor. He drank his stolen shot and it felt like lead in his gut. Bob Rooney came back to join him after his successful patch up job on the window. "It's a beastie of storm and that is fer sure, ayuh. What's say you and I have a drink, m'man?"

Sam didn't hesitant to hold forth his empty glass for a refill.

"Everyone, please keep your seat! Don't wander about in the dark. The wait staff is getting together some candles and some flashlights for our convenience. There is no need to stumble about in confusion. There is a lot of glass about and we don't want anyone injuring themselves needlessly." Dr. Hoffman had taken on the role of leader in the assembled chaos of the throng that was attending the grand opening of The Purple Cow. Her sister Pepe was good at putting on a show, but when it came to running things she beat her by a nose. Pepe had rolled up her sleeves and joined in with the rest of her staff as they passed out candles to all of the tables. Flashlights were on hand aplenty and soon the cavernous darkness of the room took on an eerie underwater type glow with the reflection of the mirror balls casting off the flickering flames and beams of light. It was at this point that a drag queen came forward from the shadows. She didn't need an introduction. She looked just like Marilyn Monroe as she stood there in an irridescent tight fitting sequin gown. She was breathtaking and a vision to behold as she shimmered in the glow of the candles.

"I'm sorry I'm so late. I hope you'll forgive me, but I got caught in the storm." She spoke in that breathy gasping way that Marilyn Monroe used to. "I'm afraid we've lost the use of Mr. Music, but if you are all real quiet I can sing my little song all on my own." She smiled that Marilyn smile and laughed that Marilyn laugh as the audience gave her the applause she was cueing them for to continue. She took a deep breath that filled her lungs with air and she sang her little song. "Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, Mr. President. Happy Birthday to you." She stopped singing and held up her hands and invited the audience to join her. "Everybody sing!" They sang and for a while they all forgot the raging storm about them.

"Who's there? Who's there?" Mrs. Johnson yelled fearfully as someone rattled the back door entrance off the kitchenette that was nearest to her bedroom in the great house. "I have a gun and I'm not afraid to use it!"

"Oh, for crying out loud you silly woman, it's me! Open this door at once!" The unmistakable whine of the voice of Roger Collins broke through the sheer inky blackness that permeated the house. Mrs. Johnson opened the door and in came a very wet Roger Collins with a roar of wind that threw the door from her grasp and a sheet of driving rain met her face. "Close the door, Mrs. Johnson! Close the door!"

She angrily slammed it shut. "What were you doing you sneaking around the back of the house like that in the dark. You like to give me a heartattack prowling around like a thief in the night. What were you doing out there in this unholdy deluge?"

Roger shook off his rain slicker and plopped himself down hard in a chair he had found in the dark. Mrs. Johnson lit a match and got an oil burning lamp going. Roger lit a cigarette and took a soothing puff or two before explaining himself. "I am sorry to have caused you such a fright, but I seemed to have misplaced my keys out there somewhere, so I was just trying to get back into the house without waking everyone up to do so."

"And do you think that I would go to bed and leave the back door open so just anyone could get here and murder us all in our beds?" Roger rolled his eyes as Mrs. Johnson prattled on. "And what were you doing out there anyway? Taking a midnight stroll through the woods in the rain? Just look at your shoes! Why, they're covered in mud."

Roger reached down to rub some of the mess off the side of his nice shoes. "I fell in a puddle. It's raining you know."

"Well, you've tracked mud in all over the place! Just look at the mess you've made." Roger took his shoes off and set them aside. He got up and spoke his goodnight to the housekeeper. "And since you're so concerned about the mess why don't you be a dear and clean it up. That IS your job isn't it? Good night, Mrs. Johnson."

He left the room with the aid of a flashlight to aid him leaving Sarah to contend with yet another mess. She spoke outloud to herself. "I'll clean it up alright." She picked up the muddy shoes and tossed them heedlessly into a nearby garbage can. "There! All clean." The storm outside matched her fury inside.

Dark Shadows is a Dan Curtis Production.