Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 36, No. 6, June, 1975

The Incessant Voice by Eleanor Robins

Lavinia couldn’t eat, or sleep, or even answer the phone without Hubert’s sly, insistent voice criticizing, advising…

Hubert talked constantly. His voice was the first one Lavinia heard when she was jolted awake in the morning and the last one she heard as she drifted off to sleep at night. Frequently Lavinia felt she’d scream if she heard Hubert utter another word.

She’d tried going into a distant room to get away from him, and once she’d even stuffed cotton in her ears, but all to no avail. As much as she hated Hubert’s chattering, she couldn’t bear the suspense of not knowing what he was saying. At times, though, she wished she had the strength to destroy him.

In retrospect Lavinia wondered why she’d been foolish enough to share her home with Hubert and why she’d ever referred to him affectionately as Dear Hubert. She’d been happy living alone, but she hadn’t realized it until after Hubert arrived.

Before Hubert dominated her life, Lavinia had enjoyed the companionship of devoted friends, few though they were. But her devotion to Hubert had driven them away. She’d doted on his every word and expression. She’d been so eager to ex-toll his virtues that she’d bored her friends with lavish praise of the new addition to her life.

When they visited in her home, Lavinia found it difficult to concentrate on what they were saying because her attention was torn between them and Hubert’s loud voice. If her friends tried to convey the latest community gossip to her, Hubert almost always butted in with news of a more shocking nature.

Finally Lavinia’s friends became disgusted with Hubert’s domineering intrusions into their conversations — their visits abruptly ceased.

Lavinia had been thrilled over the prospect of spending every afternoon alone with Hubert. She’d been enthralled both by his never-ending problems and his many inept attempts to solve them. Lavinia realized he never got one problem solved before he had another to agonize over. Eventually Lavinia had become both bored and irritated, and it was then that she realized how much the loss of her friends meant to her.

Gradually Hubert made Lavinia feel she was a very dull-witted person. Until he entered her life, Lavinia had considered herself an intelligent and knowledgeable person. She’d envisioned herself as a dedicated citizen who concerned herself with current events.

She’d enjoyed listening to the President because she pretended he was speaking only to her. But she could no longer relish even that small pleasure. Hubert had ruined it for her. He pounced on the President’s every inflection and expression, and he gave Lavinia an explanation and instant analysis of every word the President spoke as though she were too stupid to comprehend without his help.

Hubert delighted in telling Lavinia not only how to prepare her meals but also what items to cook. At Hubert’s insistence she’d bought the most expensive foods at the grocery store. Foods she’d never even thought of buying before. Hubert persisted in mentioning food until she felt compelled to go into the kitchen.

Sometimes she could prepare a meal in only a few minutes, but at other times Hubert’s suggested menus required an hour or more to cook. But no matter how much or how little time Lavinia spent preparing the meal, Hubert always spoiled it for her.

He waited until she had the first bite almost to her mouth, and then he ruined her appetite by describing a fiery accident on the interstate or an explosion at a chemical plant. She was certain Hubert deliberately saved the gory details until it was her mealtime. Finally Lavinia stopped preparing elaborate meals, and it wasn’t long before she quit noticing how loosely her frayed and dingy clothing hung on her shriveled body.

Lavinia was no longer the impeccable dresser and immaculate housekeeper she’d once been. That also was Hubert’s fault. Whenever she’d started to wash her clothes with her dependable detergent or to shine the furniture with her favorite polish or to scour the floors with her special cleanser, Hubert’s shrilly voice told her there was a better brand to use.

Hubert always knew a better method of doing everything, so soon Lavinia quit trying to do anything.

She just sat in her chair and rocked and rocked and rocked with her pale blue eyes fixed on Hubert as though mesmerized by his voice.

Unkempt wisps of gray hair fell over Lavinia’s wizened face, as an overpowering hatred for Hubert began to mount within her and demand satisfaction. Her glassy eyes darted from Hubert to the dusty furniture to the filthy floor and finally to the fireplace. Her eyes became riveted on the fire set.

The deadly poker seemed to beckon to her, and she had a compelling urge to seize it.

She struggled to raise herself out of the rocker, and she slowly dragged her weak legs to the fireplace. She reached out her scrawny arms, and her bony hands grasped the poker. The anticipation caused her heart to pound rapidly against her chest, and her breath came in raspy gasps as the strength surged into her skinny legs. She hastened to Hubert before she lost her nerve.

Ecstasy covered Lavinia’s face as she bashed Hubert repeatedly with the heavy poker. He offered no resistance, but the exertion was too much for Lavinia.

With the poker still clutched in her hands, she stumbled back to the rocker and collapsed into the security of its bosom while still gasping for breath.

Her chest heaved one final sigh, and then Lavinia was forever still.

Several days elapsed before Lavinia’s worried neighbors summoned the police to investigate the silence emanating from her house. The uniformed officers forced open the front door and then halted in puzzled amazement when they saw Lavinia slumped in her rocker with the poker still clutched in her hands.

There was a satisfied smile fixed on her withered face, and her lifeless eyes stared vacantly at the battered television set.