The Terrifying & Tragic Last Days of Betty Laverne Carter

By Kris Kosach Wellen

All rights reserved | copyright 2015

Listen to my story, for it has never been told before now. Many years ago, when I was just a child, I discovered an ancient secret; the source of all great power, but also of inexplicable horror.

It was early spring, 1944. War was raging in Europe, and the Pacific Theater; families were torn apart. Goods and services were at a minimum here at home to aid in the war effort. And yet, given this strife, things were far bleaker for me.

I was not yet twelve when my mother was dying of cancer. My father, one of the most respected doctors in Savannah, was unable to do much to help her. I believe a part of him died the day she took her last breath.

After her passing, Daddy threw himself into his work to get his mind off of his broken heart. At the same time, he simply didn't know what to do with a young girl entering puberty who was in dire need of a female role model. So Daddy set up an arrangement with the family who lived in the townhouse next door.

To look at them, the Carters were your average American family. Mr. Carter was a successful salesman, even during war-time, and that's saying something. His business kept him on the road much of the time, leaving his wife, and twin daughters at home. I recall Mrs. Carter as a kind, if not fragile lady; meek is the word I would use today. Given everything I learned about her side of the family, I suspect she was as much a pawn in the grandmother's sinister game as she was a reluctant participant.

The Carter twins were seventeen at the time. They looked exactly the same, as identical twins will do. Each had beautiful red hair that was always fashioned in the latest style, and sparkling green eyes. It was next to impossible for most folks to tell the difference between the two girls, and even their parents were often fooled, but not me. I had a trick no one else seemed to notice.

Nancy Carter had a small brown birthmark on the left side of her otherwise emerald iris. Mind you, it was faint to the naked eye, but once you saw it, there was no doubt that you were looking at. And in her case, that was a good thing. You see, once you got past their physical attributes, the Carter girls were as different as day and night; white and black; good and evil.

Betty Laverne, whom we all called Betty, was a gem of a gal. She was the younger of the twins by about fifteen minutes. She dreamed of going to Hollywood and mingling with movie stars. Kind, and considerate, I always enjoyed my time with Betty, who treated me like a little sister, and gave me the affection I so needed at the time.

Nancy, on the other hand, was the wickedest person I've ever known.

The month after Mama died, the Carters had their nephew come stay with them. Jackie was his name. That boy was so lonely, his Daddy having died in the war, and his Mama in a sanitarium for some ailment. So Jackie got himself a little guinea pig as a pet. Kept him in a cage in the garden. Day in and day out, I'd watch over the fence, as he's go check on his pet. Turned out, I wasn't the only one watching him.

One afternoon, after Jackie had put his pet safely away, and ran down the alley to play with a neighborhood boy, Nancy went to the cage. Plain as day I saw her take that guinea pig out and squeeze that poor critter so tight, I saw its eyes bulging.

It bit her of course, and rightfully so. A few days later, Nancy starts screaming out in the garden. Everyone came running from her house. I came running too. From the little fence between our yards, I saw Nancy standing on a bench, raving about a sewer rat she had killed. A maintenance man inspected, and sure enough, it turned out to be Jackie's pet, flattened with a garden shovel.

When he discovered his beloved pet was dead, that poor kid's eyes swelled with tears.

"Now Jackie," said the grandmother. "I told you to keep that thing in its cage, else something could happen. Now look what you've done."

That's when I looked over at Nancy. No one else saw it, but me. That girl was smiling; grinning in fact. She glanced over and spotted me at the fence. A few days later, I spoke my last words for the rest of my childhood.

"Afternoon, Mary Belle," she said to me. "Mama made an extra pecan pie for y'all. Come on over here, and fetch it, will you?"

"OK," I said, thinking nothing of it, and like a damn fool, I went next door.

We were barely past the back door when she flattened me against the wall.