Melbourne felt her time of eternal rest was nearing, and so she built her nest of twigs under a towering oak, one that had been planted by her late husband Ivan. She touched the bark of the oak and mouthed her final words. She lay down on her nest and closed her lids.
The following day, her family gathered around Melbourne and said their goodbyes. They buried her within the roots and added an extra padlock on her cottage door. The family often passed by her window to take a glance inside, for they had never entered her sanctuary. No one had. They admired the perfectly clean white rug from afar.
The will had clearly stated that the property was always to stay in the family, and it did for a few weeks, until Slater the boy uncle wagged his finger at his man uncle Glumm. This all occurred at the final fun fair of the year, none other than the Blue Hill fair! The two of them held each other’s rubbery hands and shimmied up to the ticket booth. This fun fair stimulated their senses, yet Slater The Boy Uncle had one thing on his mind that perturbed him, that being the festering family cottage compound. He felt that he and Man Uncle Glumm deserved their cut; they wanted to dump the place. They deserved a taste of Melbourne’s estate. Uncle Glumm petted his beard mane and gazed into Boy Uncle's waxy eyes, whilst licking a vanilla cone.
“I want what I want, and I ‘ll get everything I want,” Said Boy Uncle.
“You will get something, big man. You will get my total and unwavering support, as I too hate the property, and let’s not forget who mowed that ugly strip of lawn "oasis”."
Boy Uncle climbed into the arms of his man uncle, who matched his excitement.
The pair finished their confections and rode straight to the grave of Melbourne, who Boy uncle was convinced faked her own death only to watch from her secret tree fort.
“She has a fuckin’ tree fort around here, cuz I seen it. I seen it when she took me up there once and made me make that disgusting concoction she always ran her mouth about. She had that vile bottle of liquor with her that she claimed was from the turn of the century! Brother stucco has been trying to get his paws on since the fifties,” said boy uncle.
Boy uncle licked his nails and flared his nostrils as he took in the scent of man uncle’s musk.
“Either they sell and give us our cut, or we break into Melbourne’s cottage, soil her carpet, and steal her recipes to unload. Either way, we win. Either way, we get our cut…” said Boy uncle.
The symphony of the forest grew in volume. The uncles explored their options at the foot of Melbourne’s nest.
For as long as they’d known each other, the two uncles have pooled their loot, having not worked a job that didn’t adhere to their philosophy. They began their journey in the thicket of the nature preserve, poaching animals and collecting spruce branches for wreaths. They soon became exhausted with the lifestyle, and so they broke into cars at night, taking whatever they could carry. They graduated to breaking into seasonal camps and even the occasional pop-up camper and tent. They reached such a level that they couldn’t spend all of their earnings, owing to the fact that neither had habits other than the thrill they received during burglaries. Neither had ever been caught, nor had they come close. In all of their years of crime, they had achieved what few career criminals had, a squeaky clean record. Boy Uncle was what many described as a mistake on every metric. He was related to the family, no doubt, but the timeline didn’t make sense. It was as if He had always been around. Man Uncle married into the family between the years of 1950 and 1965. Only Melbourne knew for sure. It was through her charity that the two men had remained in the family. After seven decades, the two uncles had long set their roots.
They decided to make damn sure that Melbourne was totally dead. So, they headed for Melbourne’s notorious tree fort. Boy Uncle climbed the rope ladder to the top of the massive maple tree overlooking the property. The old tree fort was, at one time, the primary residence of Melbourne, and was built many years before her husband raised the two structures overlooking Lake Harcourt. Boy Uncle finally reached the fort deck, where he rested from his strenuous climb. The deck wrapped around the trunk, with its thick treated lumber as strong as it had been when it was first constructed over 90 years ago. This fort was an architectural marvel. He went to turn the door handle, which, to his shock and dismay, was locked! He peered inside the dark room, where stood a cot, sink, and folding stove, an oven and a refrigerator. Boy uncle shook the door and kicked… It didn’t budge. Man Uncle Glumm hollered from below.
“Is the hag up there?”
Boy Uncle was about to address him when he saw something move inside the fort. As soon as he could utter a word, he was pulled inside, where he collapsed on the thick, treated floor. It was too dark to see their face. The boy took out his Bic and flicked the wheel… “ The bitch is here and there’s no question about it!” said Sister Barb. I had a feeling you two would be snooping around here. Well, you like what you see. Brenda slapped boy uncle slater across his face and once more for "good measure", as she’d like to say. “Speak, won’t you,” she cawed.
Slater, the Boy Uncle, without a second to lose, hurled himself onto the deck, gripped the rope ladder and slid down to the bottom, burning the tender flesh of his hands.
Man Uncle Glumm raced to Slater, helping him up off the ground.
“Who the heck is up there?”
Boy uncle brushed himself off and looked as though he was going to cry—— "It’s fuckin Brenda…"
“Oh gawd, we have to go. She’s going to call the cops, if I know her well enough,” said Man Uncle.
Brenda the hunter: 5’10 270 lbs, skin like worn purse leather, had a way with her mallet.
The uncles hurried away from the camp as if they were being chased by a wild animal.
Bundled in his multicolored windbreaker, Boy Uncle Slater depended on Man Uncle to carry him to great distances. They moved with the air current, gliding through the dense puckerbrush where they called home. Upon reaching their tent, Glumm went off to look for kindling for tonight’s fire. Slater, tired from the journey, exerted his final energy slowly unzipping the door to the tent. As he did so, what appeared inside knocked him backwards onto the worn forest floor. As he hit the ground, he let out a scream that rendered all deaf.
Glumm dropped his wood and went to the scene. Exciting the tent was none other than Melbourne. Back from the dead? Or had she even died? She held a Glock firmly in her left hand, her bag in the other.
“You two cheaters ought to be hanged from my treefort.… You thought you could screw me, didn’t you, but everyone is fooled this time… “
Slater covered his eyes.
Glumm…. If it’s not the most despicable excuse for a gentleman.. said Melbourne
“And Slater, the twig!”
“ I’m not leaving here without the two of you chained together, marching in front! I had to fake my death to know who’s loyal— you two are out. I heard you talk about your plan to enter my cabin and soil the fine white carpet and take my things…."
She then, faster than they could blink, fired a shot above Slater’s head.
******
Melbourne walked behind the two men chained together through the forest.
She had a funny way of dealing punishments. She refused to call the sheriff on account of hating the justice system. Melbourne felt she could hold court better than any corrupt judge. In all of her years, she had tried and punished the family “disappointments” as she called them. While curiously enough, never catching Man Uncle or Boy Uncle in the act up until this point. In fact, she defended them as any grandmother would. They arrived at the property compound in chains, covered in leaves.
Melbourne commanded the two men to listen to her lung rattle, a condition she attributed to the stresses of being the head of the family.
She rattled in the ear of Man Uncle first, who winced at the wet crackling sound. Boy uncle didn’t take it so well and collapsed, weeping into the “oasis” strip of grass.
“Haven’t we gone through enough heck tonight, Melbourne?— what are you going to tell the others once they see that you’re alive?” said Man Uncle.
Melbourne puffed her cotton hair and raised her hands in the air,
“We all shall die by my hand tonight!”
The uncles looked at each other and closed their eyes.
“You boys have lived as long as I have, enjoying the riches of nature’s bounty. It’s time I end this curse of immortality by shooting the three of us.”
Boy Uncle looked down at the oasis and then back at Melbourne.
“But grandmother, are you sure that were going to like being dead?”
“Everyone likes being dead, silly. They like it just fine.”
“ But why’s everyone afraid of dying?” asked Man Uncle. “If it’s so good than why aren’t everyone in a rush to die?”
“Man Uncle, you’ve died before and you will soon again— you just don’t remember it.”
“Why are you behaving this way, Grammy? Not long ago, you were pleased to be among the breathing; now you’re in a rush to leave.” Boy uncle Slater asked.
“God, you guys are as dumb as ever,” Said Melbourne.
