The Final Days of Herbert Tulliver
Copyright 2011 Elsha Hawk
Smashwords Edition
Voodoo doll photo by creepyhalloweenimages and fire photo by ben watts
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book, please link to this book’s webpage. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This story is purely fictional.


Herb woke to a stark white blurriness that slowly took on contrast as he blinked. He turned his head away from the window and its retina-searing light. He didn’t recognize this room, this bed, or the smell of this pillow. He closed his eyes and took a deeper breath.
Beeps and many footsteps, squeaky shoes, and the smack of swinging doors assaulted his ears. The strong smell of disinfectant and the mild tinge of soap, probably the detergent from the pillowcase, reached his nose.
The stiffness of the sheets and heaviness of the blanket began to make him feel trapped, a guest in a foreign land he did not choose to visit. He wanted up, out, to be free to move his body away from this too bright, too clean, too uneasy room. But suddenly he felt completely exhausted. Were they drugging him?!
He raised his arm just a little to spy the IV line in his hand. Following it with his eyes, he squinted to read the print on the bag. Saline. Another bag hung there too, but it was turned from him. Could that be the liquid that made his limbs feel like lead?
“Morning, Mr. Tulliver.” A too-cheery female voice called from beyond the hanging bags. “Don’t try to move too much, Mr. Tulliver. You’ve had major surgery.” The nurse easily held Herb’s shoulder to the bed. He wasn’t going anywhere.
“What happened?”
“You had a massive heart attack. Your heart stopped twice during surgery. The doctor had to put in a stent and do a double bypass.” Herb winced as a stab of pain poked his chest. He gently lifted the sheets to spy a purple scar stitched down his sternum.
“You’re going to be sore for a while. We have you on morphine. You are moving to a private room today.” The nurse began unplugging machines and wrapping cords up on the bed.
When he’d asked her what happened, he hadn’t meant what happened to him. Annoyed, he simply kept his mouth shut. She did not have the answers he needed.
His private room was green. He turned off the fluorescent lights with a button on the remote and asked for the blinds to be drawn. “Of course, Mr. Tulliver, you must rest.” The nurse finished plugging in machines and drawing the blinds, leaving before he could ask her to hand him the TV remote. No matter, his eyelids immediately felt too heavy to hold open.
knock knock
Herb was bothered by how many times his door was knocked upon before being forced open. Why knock? They just waltzed in anyway. This time it wasn’t a nurse trying to take his temperature, nor a doctor explaining that he had to avoid salt and eat tasteless green leafy foods.
“Glad to see you up, buddy!” Devon’s deep bass voice boomed off the ceiling tiles. Herb gave a grimace. “Gave us quite a scare!”
“They catch that arsonist?”
“You know they didn’t! You saw that blaze! It destroyed all evidence. After you found that incendiary and collapsed, well, it was all about you!”
“Hope they catch him. Whose house was it?”
“Some old lady’s; was a teacher or something. Funny thing is, she was like an aunt of the last arson target!”
“So you have a lead.”
“Look at you, always workin’! Take it easy! Don’t want another heart attack!”
“She live?”
“The old lady? Yeah she got out.”
Herb kept up the small talk as he sank into his pillow and feigned tiredness until Devon left. 
So.., she lived. It was time to finish what he had started.
Herb was released on cloudy day in May. The weather suited him just fine. He needed to act on his plans.
First, he needed to retire from the fire department. It had all been a cover anyway. That phase of his life was over.
He turned on his computer and began to research. He made a few calls. Things began to fall into place. He got up and stretched.
Though it was a balmy 68 outside, he lit a fire in his fireplace. It was a major selling point in this house. He’d miss it when he was gone.
He coaxed the fire to grow, fed it paper and cardboard boxes from expired foods in his fridge he wasn’t allowed to eat now anyway. He stacked branches as thick as his wrist upon the blazing cardboard and listened to the crackle. The flames embraced the branches and he added larger logs. The fire rolled around and between them, chasing the air, finding food in these logs, reaching higher. They filled his chest with peace, gave him life.
He took a cleansing breath. He’d learned to control fire.
But still she lived. Herb swallowed his bitter pills without water. It was time for phase two.
Herb rolled to a stop at the edge of the world. The dry land gave way to wetland grasses and muck. As far as he could see, what appeared to be solid islands of grass were really just growths in a sea of brackish water.
Somewhere further east, along this divide of solid land and mush, a grass hut hid. No one knew how far or how long you had to hike to find it. It didn’t even show up on a satellite view of the area. He had to rely on instinct alone.
All day he trudged. More than once, he had to cut a wide berth around a crocodile. It would have been much easier to burn his way through, but that would have a detrimental outcome. He had to tolerate the chafing waders, humidity, and insects. As the sun set, he thought he spied a thin wisp of smoke, like steam from a bubbling cauldron. Giddy, he had to force himself to step more cautiously.
“Hello, Madame Esmerelda?’ he announced his presence with his hands raised in surrender. “I bring you a sacrifice and ask for your assistance.” The words were too kind for his mood, coming out between deep gasps for air.
Listening hard for rustles in the grasses over his own heart beat in his ears, scanning the hut and brush for movement in the shadows, Herb grew more weary and angry. He was beginning to think she was out.
“Leave, or be cursed!” squawked someone behind him. He froze, his reaction was to spin around and attack when startled like this, but he knew that would not aid his cause. 
“Madame, legends tell of your great power. Most don’t believe in the old ways, but I do. I wouldn’t have come this far if I didn’t.” Herb figured a bit of flattery, compounded with his offering would win the witch over. “I bring you a feast.”
Intrigued, and silent as a ghost, the witch slid around to face him. She beckoned at the pack slung over his shoulder. He slowly placed it on the ground before her and backed away, arms wide out. She poked it with her walking stick, then opened it.
“What manner of food is this?!” she hissed.
“Those packages are dehydrated, you just add fresh water. It’s sort of a magic all its own. If I may..”
Slowly Herb used his water bottle to create a meal for her. He offered it to her. One taste, and she was his best friend. He waited for her to finish messily using her hands to scoop the food into her mouth.
“You need a spell?” she offered.
“I need a voodoo doll. Here is a package of the lady’s hair.” He handed her a film canister, opening it for her. It had been easy to get the hairs right before the arson.
They were gray. The witch’s eyes narrowed.
“Have you no respect for your elders?! Why is this lady so old? She will die soon.” The woman spat.
“Not soon enough!” Anger boiled close to the surface. How dare the woman judge him and his motives?!
“Revenge, then.” The lady sniffed, reconsidering his offer. Herb wasn’t sure why revenge made the difference to her, but he was going to go with it. “And this food is all you offer me?” The woman crossed her arms and turned up her nose at him.
“It’s enough to last you a season, at least! Months of fine dining, and if you ration it, it could last all year.” He caught a glimmer in her eye and simmered down a little. She was just fishing for more payment. He would make it plain that he nothing else to give. “Madame, I have been more than generous, but if you require more, I shall get it. My sole purpose is to return the humiliation and heap failure back upon the woman who so heartlessly ruined my life.” He put a softness into his eyes hoping to win her favor even more.
The woman stared at his face, unblinking. “You have brushed with death, I smell it upon you, see it in your eyes.”
“I had a heart attack, yes. It made me see things clearly. All I could think about was what she stole from me,” he paused for effect, “My future.”
He knew he had won her over even before she took the canister of hairs. He also knew he’d never find her again; she’d move her hut for sure. He was the kind of customer she liked, a one-time deal.
Phase Two of his plan now complete, he tucked the voodoo doll safely inside his shirt and began walking. The truck was out of gas. No matter, he called it in as stolen and wiped off his prints from every surface. As long as he headed North, he’d come to something eventually.
Hitchhiking to the nearest city, he bought a bus ticket and rode almost all the way home. He was nearly free. His heart felt lighter, even as his thoughts turned dark. The doll scratched his ribs. The witch said it would be even stronger the longer he held it to his skin and imbued it with his thoughts.
A sensitive hospital receptionist took his line about needing closure hook line and sinker. She gave him the address where the woman was staying, along with condolences over his ‘stolen’ truck. Proud of himself, he picked up a rental after filing his claim with the insurance.
He knew the old bag was smart; she was an ex-math teacher, after all. He watched the patrol car drive a loop around the block for the 5th time. She’d put the arsons together, picked up on the subtle clues, and was nervous. This was going to make things a little more difficult, but the doll would still work from a distance. It was just that he wanted to see her face. The moment had to be perfect. The ideal was for her to be alone and she wouldn’t be alone again until things had cooled down. 
Herb drove to his storage facility and flopped on the cot he’d left there just for times when he needed complete solitude to think. It wasn’t yet time for Phase Three, he had 4 hours until he was due to pickup his special order at the jewelers. This cat and mouse game was about over. Though he should give his target days, maybe weeks, to feel at ease in her surroundings, he just wanted to cut the phone and power lines to the house and get it all over with. Years of planning and toiling and fire setting and research all boiled down to one glorious moment of voodoo doll bliss. No blood on his hands, he’d be free.
Herb nodded off, letting himself relax with old thoughts, memories really.
Ms. DuPrau stood at the front of the room, chalk in hand, pre-cal problems scrawled down the board behind her. “You’re never going to get this, Herbert! Even if you join a study group! It’s a parabola, not a line!” Her face contorted in anger and grew closer and closer to him. He stirred, the dream changed. She sat at her desk now, grading papers. “Herbert!” He looked at her stern eyes and at the paper in her outstretched hand. The box marked Not Recommended was checked. An overwhelming sense of defeat washed over him, followed by anger. His dream self raged and choked her neck, shaking her until her eyes rolled back in her head. He startled awake.
It was already evening. Panicked, he jumped from the cot and drove to the jewelers. He was supposed to be there hours ago!
“Pickup for Deep Pockets,” he wheezed at the counter as if he’d jogged the whole way. He’d forgotten to take his meds. He was sweating.
“You’re late.” The old man scowled, his wrinkles deepened.
“I have more than enough payment, here, take it all.” The jeweler kept his frown, but handed over the tiny velvet box. Herb swiped it, left the envelope of cash, and made for the street without looking back.
Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush, or perhaps the fact that he had overslept and been late to the jewelers, but Herb knew he felt off. He decided, rather rashly, to push forward. Phase Three had to happen tonight.
The weather agreed with him. A huge lightning storm had rolled in. Herb waited until many of the neighbors had gone to bed, and the police gave up their evening patrol, before he slid around to the back of the house and found the phone connection. He disconnected the wires and shut the box. Then he found the power supply and shut it off at the disconnect terminal in between lightning bursts and thunderclaps.
Now came the tricky part, finding his old math teacher’s room without waking anyone else in the house. Ms. DuPrau snored loudly. He crept to her door, and silently opened it during a thunderclap. He made sure it was the right woman before pulling out the doll from its place in his waistband. It felt weird to not have it against him, almost like a part of him was removed.
He held it out.
The doll cast a large shadow on the wall for a microsecond with the next flash of lightening. Herb hardly noticed as he reached in his pocket for the velvet box from the jeweler. It held a small dagger crafted of pure silver: silver for her vampiric heart, silver for the cross she wore every day, silver for the gray hair that filled the voodoo doll’s breast.
He steadied his hands over her, the dagger held threateningly at the doll’s heart while softly calling her name.
“Ms. DuPrau.. Do you know who I am? I’m Herbert Tulliver, the boy you refused to recommend for the maths program that he needed to get into med school.”
“Mmmff?” Ms. DuPrau’s dreams had turned ugly, but her eyes did not flutter open.
“Herbert Tulliver, the last name you will ever need to know.” Her head tossed on the pillow and she rubbed at her eyes. As she blinked them open and saw his face, the silver dagger jabbed into the heart of the doll.
Herbert felt a sharp pain as they both screamed. He grasped his own chest and felt a dampness under his hand, as his chest felt like his stitches had reopened. His eyes sought those of his ex-math teacher. She had paled, a red stain forming on her nightgown, her breath coming in gasps.
Herb should have known not to trust the voodoo witch. As he fell to the floor, his own blood gushed out with each beat of his bypassed heart. His eyes went wide and he tried to figure out how this had happened.
He had made no mistakes. The phone, the power, the dagger, the rental car, the truck, it all flashed through his mind. It had to be her.
The witch had come up behind him in the bayou. She must have taken some of his own hair, put them both into the doll, thus craftily resigning his own fate to be the same as that which he so desired for his enemy.
The silver devil dagger pierced both their hearts, and a second piercing scream rent the air as Ms. DuPrau’s sister found them both bleeding in her house. Pressing her guest room bed sheets to her sister’s chest, she whipped out her cell phone to dial 911.
“Tulliver, it was Tulliver,” gasped the teacher before she passed out.
“Hang in there, Margy!” was the last thing Herb heard.