The Scaredest I've Ever Been

This is what it feels like.  To live in a house that’s haunted.  Possessed.    I’ve never seen “Amityville Horror.”  I'm too chicken.  I think I remember the commercial though.  Didn’t it say the house was alive?

Mine’s like that.  My house.  I can feel it breathe.  The frame, underneath the brick skin and Pink Panther insulation flesh, expands and contracts when it takes a breath.  In a rounded way, like ribs.

The house has help.  Being bad.  I can’t see the winged, Notre Dame-like gargoyles, but I can hear ‘em.  Their loose jowls flap.  And slap.  I listen to the splash and slippery drip of their saliva.  No.  It’s drool.  They know supper’s soon.

Do you have any idea why creepy concrete critters, with forked tongues and eyes that bulge, cover God’s fortress?  I’m pretty sure I know.  They’re looking for a crack.  A way in.  Into the goodness.  Where the angels are.  See, they want to devour the cherubs.  Feast on ‘em.  Use their rough and slimy serpentine tongues to lap at the chubby baby bellies.  

They’re ready, can hardly wait, to snap the holy bones and slurp the marrow that leaks out.  Most of all, they wanna chow down on the scarlet, still throbbing angel hearts.  Make pigs of themselves on the sweet, golden goodness that lives on either side of heavenly sternums.  No way, no how, do they want that to ever shine again on God’s green earth.

I didn’t read about these guys in the World Book Encyclopedia.  Didn’t have to.  They tell me their hissy secrets almost every night.  Right before they say, “On your mark.  Get Set.  Go!” 

They whisper and whine, so I’ll worry and fret.  Then I can’t help it.  My fear pheromone.  It leaks out of me.  Like pee.  I’m pretty sure that’s how their slave finds me.  Shhh!  Don’t move.  I think I hear him.

I know!  I’ll think happy thoughts—Myrtle Beach in August, hot chocolate with extra marshmallows—the big ones.  Oh!  The time my cat, Ginger, had kittens in the laundry cabinet in the basement.  I swear.  It smelled like Campbell’s Chicken and Stars soup. 

Here.  I’ll smile.  Aren’t my teeth pretty?  Betcha can’t tell I sucked my thumb ‘til I was 12, and then some.  Maybe I can trick my fear gland, and it won’t spray.  Crap!  It’s too late.  I’ve already started to shake.

Did you hear that?  The squeak?  That’s the stairs.  The ones at the top always creak when he starts down.  And of course.  Here come those dang devil birds.  Every night they flock to my windowsills.  Wrestle for front row privileges.  ‘Cause they wanna . . . gape . . . gawk . . . at . . .

Hey!  Maybe if I pretend I’m asleep, he’ll go away.  Naw.  It won’t work.  It never has before.  Why would it now?

I’ve got it!  I’ll scream.  Really loud.  Inside my head.  “Mom!  Dad!  Somebody!  Help!”  If Kreskin can bend a spoon with his brain, surely I can wake someone with mine.

I sniff.  Smear my snot.  Naw.  That’s never stopped him either.

C’mon!  C’mon!  He’s not on the bottom step yet.  Think!  Think!  Okay!  Okay!  Here’s what I’ll do!  I’ll roll myself up in my sheet and quilt.  Super tight.  Like a Taco Bell enchilada.  Maybe that way, he won’t be able to penetrate.  My defenses.  Not this time.

Mystery in the House Across the Street

Some people swore the house was haunted.  Oh, all right.  It was me.  I said it.  I live across the street.  One morning I walked outside and saw a “SOLD” sign stuck over the one that said “FOR SALE.”  I was stoked.  Maybe someone cool would move in.  A thirteen year-old like me would be great.  Turned out to be a she, a twelve year-old girl.  Not a guy, but still.  

           

I heard her way before I saw her.

            “I won’t do it again!” she said.  “You can’t make me!”

            It was almost dark.  I stopped my bike when I heard her.   Looked up at the third floor window.  There was a light on, and the curtain, what was left of it, was all raggedy and see through   The window must’ve been open because I could hear everything.

            “Baby!  Don’t (sob)--  Make (gasp)-- Me (whimper)--  Shoot.”  It was a woman’s voice.  Her mom’s gonna kill her?  That’s sick.  

            I let my bike fall over so I could pull my backpack off.  Maybe I heard wrong.   I rooted through my pack.  I keep everything in there.  Two years of scouts had taught me to be prepared.  I dug out my binoculars case and snapped it open.  Stepped behind my neighbor’s bushes and pointed the binoculars at the window.

            Bang!  The gunshot made me jump.  It wasn’t real loud.  Sounded like a little kid’s pop gun.  Even so, the blast pushed the girl across the room.  Her back hit the wall, and she slid to the ground.  Holy crap!  She was petite, with loads of dark hair.  I winced as blood trickled down her chin.  I got my cell phone out.  To dial 9-1-1.  Dang it! It was dead.

            I sprinted to my house.  Opened the front door and yelled.
            “Mom!”

            “I’m in the shower, Shane.”

            I took the stairs two at a time and stood beside the bathroom door.

            “I think someone just got killed over at the new people’s house.”

            “You what?  Now why would you say something like that?”

            I leaned against the wall and rolled my eyes.  “I’m serious, Mom.  I heard a gun and—“

            “A gun?  No, you didn’t, Shane. Those people haven’t even moved in yet.  There's never been a moving truck or cars.  Besides--”

            “I know, but—“

            “It was probably fireworks," she said.  "Or maybe someone clapped.  I swear!  You’re so dramatic.”

            I snorted.  Clapped?  Seriously? 

            “I’m going back out,” I said.  “I bet the police’ll come.”

           

I waited for the cops.  They never came.  I got ready to go inside to call 'em, but then the whole thing started over.  Like instant replay.

            “I won’t--” 

            “Don’t make me--" 

            Bang!

            That’s when I got it.  The house is haunted.  The woman and girl are ghosts.  The whole scene probably runs over and over.  Forever.  Guess I'd held my breath 'cause all of a sudden, it came out in a rush. I stood there for a minute, then I grinned.  Ghosts?  Ghosts live across the street from me?  Cool.

           

The next day I was on my bike when I heard a car go up the alley behind the new people’s house. Then it came down the street.  Toward me.  Fast.  My mouth fell open when I saw the dark-haired girl in the front seat.  What the--?  I huffed.  The alley!  They keep their car ‘round back! 

            The killing mom slowed the car and yelled out the window.

            “Move it, kid.  We’ve got places to go.  People to see.”

            I stayed put.  “Where you going?”

            “For your information, Mr. Nibby, Mystery here has an audition in exactly one hour.  We want to be first in line.”

            My eyebrows went up. “Audition?”

            The girl leaned over.  “Yeah.  They wanna see if I can cry and die.  Now move!”

            She’s even prettier up close. 

            I tilted my head.  “You act?  For real?  Me too.”

            “Cool.  We’ll talk later.  Go, Mom.”

           

Me and Mystery?  The girl who wasn’t a ghost?  We became best friends.  Until she kissed me.  After that?  Nothing was ever the same again after that.