Chapter 41 – Come Into My Parlor
By Nancybe
Voiceover (Thayer David): The inhabitants of Collinwood are like so many tiny
flies this fateful day at the Great Estate, and unknown to them, a greedy
spider lays in wait for each of them in turn…
"Will you walk into my parlor?" said the Spider to the Fly, " 'Tis the
prettiest little parlor that ever you did spy; The way into my parlor is up a
winding stair, And I have many curious things to show you when you are there."
"Oh no, no," said the Fly, "to ask me is in vain; For who goes up your winding
stair can ne'er come down again." (Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary
Howitt, 1804)
"If you’ll wait in here, Sheriff, I’ll see if I can find Mrs. Stoddard." Julia
Hoffman wearily led the town clown (a moniker unfairly bestowed upon him by
some of the locals) into the drawing room.
"Thank you, Dr. Hoffman. It’s never easy to deliver this kind of news…." His
voice trailed off as his face creased into a confused frown. He took a step
forward from where he stood by the massive fireplace. "Did you hear something,
doctor?"
Oh yes, Julia had heard something all right. Something that had sounded like
screaming. Like *Vicki* screaming. What in hell was happening now? And why
did it have to happen while the local law enforcement was ensconced in the drawing
room?
Julia fought to keep her thoughts from crossing her face. "Yes, I thought I
did, Sheriff. It was probably just the young governess discovering that mice
like to live with the rich as well as with the poor." She managed a short
chuckle and was relieved to see him answer with a slight grin. "I had better
check on her while I look for Mrs. Stoddard. Please make yourself comfortable
while you wait."
She hurried out of the room stopping only to shut the thick drawing room doors
firmly behind her. Vicki’s caterwauling had momentarily stopped, but Julia was
taking no chances on the lawman hearing more.
*****
"I'm sure you must be weary, dear, with soaring up so high; Will you rest upon
my little bed?" said the Spider to the Fly. "There are pretty curtains drawn
around, the sheets are fine and thin; And if you like to rest awhile, I'll
snugly tuck you in!" "Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "for I've often heard it
said They never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed!" (Excerpt from "The
Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)
Barnabas’ face wore a "deer in the headlights" look as he gazed up at Vicki
from where he sat huddled on the floor. At that moment, he desperately wished
that he could use those I-Ching wands, the ones that Eliot had shown him once,
to disappear into another time. Crouched on the floor of Elizabeth’s bedroom
holding her already cooling body, her neck grossly swollen and bearing dark
purple bruises that matched the shape of hands, *his* hands – how was he going
to explain this?
Vicki’s scream was piercing but surprisingly brief. Her wide eyes surveyed the
scene she had stumbled upon as her mind tired to make sense of it. Barnabas’
tortured face, Mrs. Stoddard’s limp body splayed out in his arms….
Her mind instantly rewound to a different but similar scene: Roger and Julia
crumpled like discarded puppets before the fireplace downstairs, the putrid
scent of burned flesh overpowering the natural mustiness of the room, the feel
of Julia’s horribly mangled skin beneath her fingers. The faded memory leapt
with full-force into her mind bringing with it all the sights, sounds and
smells that she had experienced that day.
Without a glance at Barnabas, Victoria knelt beside her fallen employer and
gently but firmly placed pale and trembling hands around the woman’s darkened
neck. The young woman had not uttered one sound since her initial scream, and
Barnabas watched in amazement as she went about her task with the
single-mindedness he had seen Julia exhibit so many times as she tended to the
sick and injured.
Vicki waited for the now remembered sensations to course through her hands and
arms – the heat and pins and needles that had previously accompanied her
"healings." She forced herself to concentrate on nothing but Elizabeth’s life
force, on her heart pumping blood through her veins again, on her lungs
breathing in air, on the skin of her bruised, black neck becoming pink and
smooth again. She closed her eyes tightly and envisioned a living, breathing,
vital Elizabeth Collins Stoddard standing before her, ready to issue her next
order to the staff of Collinwood. Nothing existed in Vicki’s world but
Elizabeth and the power in Vicki’s own hands.
Elizabeth did not move.
Her heart did not beat; her lungs did not breathe air. She remained as still
and lifeless as when Victoria had entered the death room. Vicki opened her
eyes and desperately looked at Elizabeth, searching, praying for some
infinitesimal sign of life.
There was nothing.
The governess was unwilling to give up; it had taken more than one try with
Julia, too. She closed her eyes and redoubled her efforts, failing to hear the
startled gasp from the new arrival who stood in the doorway.
Julia Hoffman took in the scene before her: a miserable looking Barnabas held
his dead cousin in his arms, and Julia immediately surmised that Elizabeth must
have caught him reading her diaries and something had happened between them.
Barnabas looked into his friend’s narrowed eyes, and she could read the myriad
of emotions that swam in them – fear, pain, guilt, and for some reason, a small
dash of hope. For a moment, her heart went out to him, and the doctor wanted
to hold him, to comfort him, to bear his hurt for him. But then she realized
that those emotions belonged to the *old* Julia Hoffman. The *new* Julia’s
sympathetic face abruptly hardened into a cold mask, and the only emotion left
inside of her for Barnabas Collins was disgust.
She turned her attention to Vicki. What *was* the silly girl doing? Why, she
was performing her little parlor trick on Elizabeth, the same one she had used
on Julia and Roger that horrible morning that they had escaped from Cassandra’s
control. Only it didn’t seem to be working this time; Liz was turning grayer
by the moment.
Julia jumped when the motionless governess started a little. Vicki had finally
begun to feel some kind of sensation. A puzzled frown distorted her pretty
face. She *was* feeling something, but it didn’t seem to be Mrs. Stoddard’s
life force. It felt like *someone else’s*, and it…was…horrible. It emanated
evil and death and rot, and if she could see it, she knew it would resemble a
mass of maggots and other damp, squirmy things that she might find if she
turned over a rock in the woods. And if she could smell it, she knew it would
smell coppery like the scent of blood. She had unconsciously begun to moan low
in her throat, and then its horror hit her full-force. She gasped as her eyes
flew open, and she let go of Elizabeth as if the woman’s body had burst into
flame.
"No! Noooo!" she screamed as she scrabbled backward away from the matriarch’s
body. She opened her mouth wide, let out one bloodcurdling scream and collapsed
in a heap in the corner of the room.
It took Julia but a moment to recover from her astonishment at Vicki’s actions,
and she rushed to the unconscious girl. Barnabas quickly divested himself of
the body he was holding and hovered over Julia as she checked Vicki’s thready
pulse.
"Julia, help her please," he pleaded, and Julia could tell from his voice that
he was descending into near panic. Waves of loathing for both Barnabas and
Vicki crashed over Julia, but her doctor’s training took over as she evaluated
the governess’ condition. But as she worked, she could not contain the
thoughts that flooded her brain.
*He loves her. Not *me*. *Her*. I wish she’d die.*
But as soon as she had formulated that thought, a foreign voice boomed in her
head. *No! You *must* help her. She is my daughter.*
Julia instinctively knew that she had no choice but to obey the being who
commanded her. His voice, his *will* buzzed in her head like thousands of
angry bees, stinging her brain and making it swell and throb. And then she
heard another voice, one that was softer, sweeter… and familiar to her.
*Do as he says, Jules.*
Julia stood up abruptly and tried to keep from wobbling on her feet. "Help me
get her to her room, Barnabas," she managed to utter with authority in her
voice.
*****
Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, "Dear friend, what can I do To prove that
warm affection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry, good store of
all that's nice; I'm sure you're very welcome - will you please take a slice?"
"Oh no, no," said the little Fly, "kind sir, that cannot be, I've heard what's
in your pantry, and I do not wish to see!" (Excerpt from "The Spider and the
Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)
Once Julia had Victoria situated in her own bed, she withdrew a hypodermic from
her bag and plunged a strong sedative into the girl’s pale arm.
"Is she going to be all right?" Barnabas asked from the end of the bed. He was
wringing his hands in the peculiar way that he had, and Julia wanted to slap
him to get him to stop it.
"I don’t know, Barnabas," she answered in a flat voice.
"I love her, Julia," he said pathetically.
It was too much. It was just too damn much for her to bear any longer. He was
such a muttonhead. She turned to give him a piece of her mind when she
remembered what – whom – she had left in the drawing room.
"Barnabas! The sheriff is here! He’s waiting in the drawing room to tell
Elizabeth that they’ve found Roger’s body-"
"They’ve found Roger?"
"Yes, but that doesn’t matter right now. Go send him away! I’ll stay here
with Vicki. He heard her scream, and I concocted some story that she must have
seen a mouse or something. Now hurry!"
Barnabas cast a doubtful glance at Vicki’s almost lifeless body and then
hurried from the room.
*****
"Sweet creature," said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise; How handsome
are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes! I have a little
looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; If you step in one moment, dear, you shall
behold yourself." "I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased
to say; And bidding good morning now, I'll call another day." (Excerpt from
"The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)
Julia turned back to her patient. She had no idea what had caused Vicki to
become distraught and then lose consciousness. Without a cause, she could do
no more than treat the symptoms. But treat them she would; she had her orders.
She sat on the edge of the bed and took hold of Vicki’s cool wrist. The
sweet-sour scent of lemon drops enveloped her before she could concentrate on
the girl’s pulse, and a shiver shimmied down her spine as she heard the
sibilant tones behind her.
"Kill him, Jules. It’s what *he* wants."
She turned slowly, unsure of whether she wanted him to be there or not.
"Kill who?" came out in a tiny squeak, a sound completely out of character for
her.
"You know who, Jules. Barnabas Collins." His smile was sweet, but his eyes
were as hard as diamonds.
She rose shakily from the bed and turned to fully face him. "Ray, I can’t!
I’m a doctor! And yes, my feelings for Barnabas have changed, but I *have*
cared for him-"
"You’ve *loved* him, Jules, and he’s done nothing but use it to his own
advantage. After all you’ve done for that bastard, and he still treats you
like the hired help! ‘Help her, Julia,’" he mocked. "He knows how you feel,
Jules, and still her rubs his love for Victoria Winters right in your face. He
loves *her*, not *you*. He deserves to DIE."
Julia felt her brother’s stinging words prying open the black hole that existed
in her heart, and in that black hole lived the knowledge that the man she had
loved with her very essence did not love her, would never love her. But how
could she kill him?
"Ray, I’m not a murderer! I-"
"And then there’s what he did to Tom…."
Her jade eyes blinked rapidly at the mention of her dead lover’s name. A
little more persuasion, and he knew he would have her.
*****
The Spider turned him round about, and went into his den, For well he knew the
silly Fly would soon come back again; So he wove a subtle web in a little
corner sly, And set his table ready to dine upon the Fly. Then he came out to
his door again, and merrily did sing, "Come hither, hither, pretty Fly, with
the pearl and silver wing; Your robes are green and purple, there's a crest
upon your head; Your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are as dull as
lead." (Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)
Barnabas had little trouble convincing the sheriff that David’s governess had
indeed come across nothing more important than a mouse. He also told the man
that Elizabeth Collins Stoddard was not at home but assured him that he would
give her the sad news about Roger and have her contact him as soon as possible.
"Perhaps Mrs. Stoddard should hire a heartier governess, Mr. Collins," the
lawman commented as he headed out the door.
"Perhaps she should, Sheriff," Barnabas answered sadly. Once the door had
shut, he started back up the stairs, anxious to check on Vicki. He heard the
door whoosh open below him, and looked down quickly, afraid that the Sheriff
had not been so easily fooled.
"Barnabas, what is it?" Quentin called from the foot of the stairs. "You’re
even paler than usual."
His cousin’s humor unwelcome at such a time, Barnabas snapped, "You’ve no idea
what has happened here, Quentin. Among other things," he paused searching for
control of his voice, "Vicki has collapsed."
Quentin was immediately paralyzed with concern. "Vicki collapsed? What
happened? How is she?"
"I can’t answer your questions, Quentin." The rivalry for Vicki’s affections
was suddenly in the open again; the air fairly crackled with the tension
between the two men. "Vicki’s resting in her room. Julia is with her."
Barnabas continued up the stairs, Quentin close on his heels.
*****
Alas, alas! how very soon this silly little Fly, Hearing his wily, flattering
words, came slowly flitting by; With buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near
and nearer drew, - Thinking only of her brilliant eyes, and green and purple
hue; Thinking only of her crested head - poor foolish thing! At last, Up
jumped the cunning Spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his
winding stair, into his dismal den Within his little parlor - but she ne'er
came out again! (Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)
That which had made up Julia Hoffman had all but disappeared. The shell that
was her body remained, but the essence of her - the love, the compassion, the
humanity - had oozed out of her like so much jelly. All that was left was the
anger and hurt that Barnabas Collins had caused her.
Barnabas quietly opened the door to Vicki’s room and softly closed it behind
him. It took him a moment to adjust to the atmosphere of the room. Something
was different – the air was heavy and thick with an oppression that hung like a
smoky haze throughout the room. And beneath the fog, an underlying sweet-sour
scent lingered.
Julia stood with her back to the room, her arms crossed tightly across her
chest. She did not acknowledge Barnabas’ presence in any way.
"Julia, how is Vicki?"
"Your sweet governess is going to be fine, Barnabas." Her tone rained down on
him like acid, and she did not turn to face him. "*He* assured me of that; he
wants her to live."
"Who are you talking about, Julia?" Her tone frightened him - it was as sharp
as broken glass, and he winced at the sound of it.
When she finally turned around and met his eyes, he was shocked by the open
hatred etched upon her face. "Never mind, Barnabas. It doesn’t matter
anymore."
Overcome with concern for her, Barnabas took a step toward her. "Julia-"
"Stay where you are. I don’t want you anywhere near me. I can barely stand to
be in the same room with you, to breathe the same air you breathe." Her voice
was a low growl now, the shards of glass within it grating against each other.
"Julia!"
"What’s the matter, Barnabas? Did you think I would remain your loyal friend
forever? How much of a fool do you think I am?"
"Julia, I have never thought you a fool. And we have been friends, *are*
friends, close friends…." He was at a loss with this stranger before him.
"Well, not anymore! How long did you think I would put up with your bullshit?
Or did you never even bother to think about it? Trustworthy Julia Hoffman,
loyal as a puppy dog. Good old Julia, safe because she was just an old maid.
Well, I’ll tell you something, mister. Tom Jennings didn’t just want me for my
mind and my scintillating conversation. I showed him some pretty hot times!"
Barnabas Collins blushed down to the roots of his thick, dark hair. This
didn’t sound at all like Julia. Julia was a lady, and ladies did not speak
this way. She had never spoken this way, especially not to *him*. And her
face was so twisted and reddened by rage that he hardly recognized her.
"Julia, whatever is wrong, I’m sure we can work this out-"
"Whatever is wrong!" she interrupted him with a shriek of icy laughter that
instantly turned venomous. "What is wrong is that I had the extreme misfortune
of meeting you and the further bad taste to fall in love with you. What is
wrong is that I was good enough when you needed protection, good enough when
you needed to be cured, but never good enough to be anything more than a
friend. What is wrong is that despite knowing how I felt about you, you
continually reminded me of your feelings for Vicki, a simpering fool of a girl
who is young enough to be your great, great, great, great, great granddaughter!
Do you have any idea how ridiculous you have looked, Barnabas?"
The man who stood before Julia Hoffman was rendered completely and utterly
speechless. In thirty seconds, his closest friend in the world had told him
she loved him, had insulted the woman he loved and had painted he himself as a
fool. He didn’t know whether to be angry, concerned, frightened - or a
combination of all three emotions. How could Julia be acting this way,
speaking this way?
"Julia, I-"
"Barnabas, do you have any idea what my life was like before you came into it?
I was in a relationship with a man who adored me, who wanted to marry me. And
I was foolish enough to let him go because of you. And then with your help,
that witch of a wife of yours made him…" she swallowed a ragged sob, "made him
into a monster, and he almost succeeded into making me one of the damned as
well!"
Collins hung his head as her words struck an emotional blow. His voice was low
and mournful as he answered her. " I never intended to cause Tom to become
what I was, Julia. I will always regret it."
She drew her head up, and her wild eyes glittered like prisms in the low light
of the room. At one time, she had accepted his remorse for what had happened
to Tom. That seemed like eons ago now, and she blamed him for Tom’s death as
well as her own near-death at Tom’s hands.
"Well, sometimes being sorry is just not good enough, Barnabas. Your reckless
actions almost cost me my soul. Which I might add almost happened to me again
at the hands of that harpy you married. Do you have any idea how that bitch
raped my mind and body over and over again just because I was your friend?"
She looked at him, really looked at him for perhaps the first time and wanted
him dead, dead at her hands. Hadn’t she suffered enough on his account? Yes,
she would kill him *now* in front of his precious Vicki. What a shame that the
dear thing wasn’t awake to witness it. Kill him, murder him once and for all.
Ray was right. All she needed was the means with which to do it. As she
screamed at him, she desperately scanned the room for something she could use
as a weapon - a deadly weapon.
Barnabas Collins was a man given to feelings of acute guilt for his many
mistakes, and Julia’s words and accusations nearly caused him to drown under
the waves of guilt that washed over him. The only thing keeping him afloat was
the growing suspicion that something was wrong with Julia, terribly, horribly
wrong. His embattled mind tried to sort the pieces of the puzzle, to make
sense of what was happening in this room. It had been a strange day even for
Collinwood – Elizabeth dying, Vicki’s collapse and now Julia’s unexplained
rage. He watched perplexed as Julia’s eyes darted around the room. And then
suddenly, he inexplicably caught a scent that smelled very much like the
furniture polish used throughout the house by Mrs. Johnson. The scent rapidly
grew in intensity until he was sure that he was smelling the very strong odor
of …lemons.
It was then that Barnabas noticed that Julia had stopped her frantic visual
search of the room. Now she stood rigidly before him, her attention focused
raptly behind him. He turned slowly, afraid of what he might see, but the
corner of the room behind him was as empty as when he had entered several
minutes ago.
Julia Hoffman’s eyes, however, did not see an empty corner. She saw a scene
from her own distant past, a scene that she had fought to rid her mind of for
years. A thick, braided rope now hung from the ceiling of Victoria Winter’s
room, and the loop in the rope was not empty. It was knotted tightly around a
once handsome face, a boyish face that had teased her and made her laugh until
her sides had ached. That face was now bloated, its eyes bulging grotesquely
from its sockets, its flesh a ghoulish purple hue. As Barnabas watched his
friend's face, Julia gasped and shoved a tight fist into her gaping mouth.
"No…." she whispered hoarsely. "Ray…."
The terror inside Barnabas Collins grew until tentacles of fear gripped his
insides in a vice. What in God’s name was going on with Julia?
He reached out and grabbed her firmly by the shoulders. "What *is* it, Julia?"
he demanded.
His actions broke the spell she was under, and she shook him off with a quick
jerk. "I told you to stay away from me," she spit through clenched teeth.
He stepped back from her, wounded and still alarmed. But the doctor quickly
lost interest in him as she once again concentrated on something over his
shoulder.
A relieved smile spread like warm sunshine over her tortured features. It was
Ray again, but this time, he looked warm and alive. He was no longer a victim
of the rope but was instead standing *next* to the ominous noose, gesturing
to it with a nod of his head. He was smiling too, smiling and gesturing toward
the rope.
As she watched Raymond, a gravelly voice filled her brain: *He’s here to help
you, doctor. To provide you with the deadly weapon you were seeking."
Understanding dawned on Julia like the sun emerging from a thundercloud. Of
course – she should have know the moment she had seen Ray.
*Use it, Jules. You know you want to. Need to. *Have to*. Not just for HIM.
For *you*.*
It was then that Julia Hoffman knew that she wasn’t going to have to do this
alone.
*****
And now, dear little children, who may this story read, To idle, silly,
flattering words, I pray you ne'er heed; Unto an evil counsellor close heart,
and ear, and eye, And take a lesson from this tale of the Spider and the Fly.
(Excerpt from "The Spider and the Fly", Mary Howitt, 1804)
Quentin Collins raced down the hallway to Vicki’s room. Only when he finally
stopped running, he realized that he was nowhere *near* Vicki’s room or even
the section of the house where her room was located. Instead, he found himself
in the West Wing, heading down one of the forgotten corridors, its splendor
tarnished by age, neglect and something else he could not put his finger on.
He halted abruptly wondering how he had gotten here, why he had hurried here
instead of to his intended destination. After Barnabas’ enigmatic announcement
that Vicki was ill (damn the man and his territorialism anyway), he had been
desperate to see her for himself. But now he was here, and he was filled with
a queer anticipation of what lay ahead of him. He turned his head back the way
he had come, telling himself he had to get back to Vicki, but his feet refused
to move in any direction but forward. His head snapped back to the dark angled
hallway that stretched before him and felt an almost magnetic pull toward a
secret and alluring place. It was too strong and too delightful to resist, and
he started forward with a silly little smile painted on his face.
He stumbled when he suddenly felt something - *someone*? – determinedly push
him backward. Something (someone?) didn’t want him going any further. Why? He
belonged here; he could feel the rightness of it. He stepped forward and was
shoved back again, but he could sense that the force in his way was weak, and
pushing back, he felt the barrier crumple under his strength and
single-mindedness. It was his destiny to follow this path; he could feel it.
He was *called.*
He looked behind him (*Lot’s wife, Lot’s wife*, a voice in his head warned him)
and thought he saw the faint image of a tall, blonde woman standing there. She
held her pretty head in her hands, and she was weeping.
"Beth?" he called out in confusion.
Yes, it *was* Beth. He took a step toward her, and she held out her arms to
him, entreating him to come away with her.
But before he could react, a wave of evil coursed down the corridor, shattering
his beloved’s image into thousands of fragments until the air was translucent
once more.
The corrupt force advanced upon Quentin Collins, seeming to ruffle his hair
almost affectionately, and for an absurd moment, he though he might giggle with
pleasure. It called to him, it wanted him, and he was going to belong to it.
He followed it with an excited spring in his step, thoughts of his lovely Beth
long forgotten.
*****
Nicholas Blair did not hate very many creatures. Oh, he certainly felt disdain
toward the vast majority of living creatures, but not hatred. Hatred wasted
too much energy and was reserved for those of whom one was afraid. And
Nicholas had little reason to be afraid of almost anyone or anything, and so he
hated little.
But Nicholas Blair *hated* the being who spoke to him now from the inner depths
of the West Wing of Collinwood.
"Who are you?" Nicholas demanded, forced to call out into the nothingness
before him. Oh, how he hated facing an unseen enemy.
A raspy chuckle resonated in his head. *I am your superior, Nicholas. Oh yes,
I know who you are. Silly of me to mistake you for Evan earlier, but I was
…weaker then. I am *much* stronger now.*
The voice's smugness infuriated Nicholas. Smug was afterall *his* bailiwick,
and he had become quite adept at it over the years.
"*My* superior?" Nicholas sneered. "I hardly think so, sir. I have only one
superior, the Prince of Darkness, and I warn you that I serve him well."
A raucous laugh rang between his ears until Blair was forced to squeeze his
eyes shut and clutch at his head in order to bear the force of it.
*You, Mr. Blair, are nothing but a puling minion! Your powers are that of a
newborn babe in comparison to the ancientness of my evil. Nevertheless, what
little power you do possess can be of nothing but help to me.*
"Help to you? Once again, I hardly think so. I-"
Nicholas’ words abruptly dissolved into nothingness as he struggled to catch
his breath. Something had descended upon him, a noxious cloud that pulsated
around him with an emerald phosphorescence. It swirled around him from head to
toe, licking at him, forcing entry though his ears, nose and mouth. And once
inside of him, he could feel tendrils of it seeping into every bone, every
organ, until it had a stranglehold upon him inside and out.
Nicholas mustered all of his considerable strength and will to escape from the
body he had been utilizing. He had escaped from this form before, from many
different forms in fact; this body was merely a convenience that he used when
he walked among humans. He was quite fond of the darkly handsome features of
Mr. Nicholas Blair, but at this moment, he knew he must leave it behind -
immediately.
*Your efforts are useless, Mr. Blair. You cannot escape me.* The voice seemed
to issue from the vilest pits of Hell, a place that Nicholas knew very well.
The warlock continued to struggle but HE was right - *he could not get out.* He
was trapped in this accursed human form.
And by the time Nicholas tried to scream, he no longer had a mouth with which
to make the sound.
TO BE CONTINUED ...
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