by Jamie Ott
Right as Jack dropped to the ground, flashing lights glared down the alley.
“Hide!” Jack said.
Tatia and Bruce jumped to the right side of the bushes while Jack jumped to the left.
They stood real still as the police car drove, slowly, by.
When it’d passed, they went up to the tall, dark and creepy house, and looked through the windows.
“I can’t see anything,” said Bruce.
“Let’s go in,” said Tatia.
The lock was rusty, for Jack only had to ram the door with his shoulder once. It swung back, wildly, hitting the wall.
Inside was dark and dusty. The only thing they could see was the cobwebs that were highlighted by the moon.
Bruce pulled his backpack off and pulled out his little battery operated fluorescent lamp.
Holding it at arms-length in front of him, he, slowly, stepped over the threshold and into the entrance hall. Jack and Tatia stayed right behind him.
They stopped in front of a large staircase that lined the wall to their right.
Tatia sneezed half a dozen times.
“Ugh!” she cried, trying to swallow. “I think I’m allergic to dust!”
To their left was a large filthy parlor room.
In the center, covering a plastic wrapped couch was the largest spider web they’d ever seen. Next to it was a plastic wrapped chair.
“I’m not going in there until someone finds the spider and kills it!” said Tatia. “I hate spiders.”
Ignoring her, Bruce and Jack continued further into the living room.
“Hey, did you guys hear me?”
“It’s just a spider, Tatia,” said Bruce.
Despite her protest, she followed, closely, behind them.
Facing the couch was a sooty fireplace with old knick knacks scattered on its mantle. All along the walls were books, magazines and newspapers piled high. In the right corner, half a dozen wood chairs were piled on top of one another.
“A fireplace; thank goodness,” said Tatia.
She made to go and grab a chair to start breaking down for a fire.
“Wait,” said Jack. “Let’s inspect the rest of the house, first.”
Although the house had many rooms, it only took a few minutes to check them out.
Past the parlor was a dusty old den. In the corner, stood a glass display case with an old record player, and some photographs.
The front room was completely emptied, except for dusty cobwebs that hung everywhere.
Sticking close to one another, they went back, past the parlor, into the kitchen.
There were still dishes in their cupboards, and pots and pans hung from the ceiling. A microwave that was completely covered in spider web sat on a counter.
“AAAAAGGHHH!!!” screamed Tatia.
She grabbed Bruce’s arm.
“AAAGH!!” followed Bruce.
He jumped back, stepping on Tatia’s foot and nearly knocking her over.
“Will you shut it!?” said Jack.
With bulging eyes, Bruce pointed to the kitchen window.
It was missing a curtain. Perfectly outlined by the light of the moon that shone through was an enormous tarantula spider.
“Relax, guys, they’re harmless,” said Jack, as if it were nothing.
“Wrong!” Tatia Blurted. “The females are bad!”
“That’s not a female,” said Jack, who picked up a large pot and placed it on the glass, over the spider.
“Quick, give me something flat to keep it inside the pot.”
Bruce handed him a plate from the cupboard.
Carefully, Jack slid the plate between the glass and the pot. A little black leg stuck out as he did this, making Tatia scream again.
“Open the kitchen door for me.”
Bruce did as he asked, and they watched him carefully carry the spider outside.
Gently, he squatted in the three foot high grass. He set the plate on the ground, and jumped back as he lifted the pot.
They watched the softball sized spider scurry away, and then he said, “I advise being careful. There may still be other spiders in the house.”
Upstairs, they found half a dozen emptied, but dusty, rooms, except one that had an old, moldy mattress.
A door at the end of the upstairs hall opened up to a set of attic stairs.
When they opened the door, there were many scurrying and scraping sounds. They made it to the top of the stairs in time to see a family of raccoons waddling to escape through the broken window.
One turned around and, barring its fangs, lifted its paws and hissed.
“WAAaah!” Jack yelped.
“Are you seriously scared of a coon?” asked Bruce incredulously.
“Yeah, did you see the size of its teeth?”
“It’s just the light, Jack.”
There were boxes everywhere, piled in stacks of 5 feet and higher. In the center were more plastic wrapped couches and chairs.
“More spider webs!” cried Tatia, taking in the voluminous string that covered the furniture, boxes and ceilings. “I’ll see you at the bottom of the stairs.”
A moment later, Bruce and Jack reappeared in the hallway.
“Probably best to check out the attic during the day,” said Bruce.
They followed Jack to the room with the moldy mattress, which they dragged downstairs into the living room.
Half an hour later, they sat on the couch, eating baked chicken and rolls in front of a fire.
Since Tatia had allergies, they turned the plastic inside out and laid it on the mattress, creating a nice clean film for them to put their sleeping bags on.
One thing they never did, until they were sure of their surroundings, was split up. So they pushed the furniture back against the books that lined the wall. That night, Bruce climbed in between Tatia and Jack, on the mattress in front of the fire.
But Tatia couldn’t fall asleep. For some reason, there was something about the house that made her uncomfortable. She didn’t want to say anything, but several times since they’d arrived, she’d thought she’d heard moaning.
When a particularly foul scent singed her nose hairs, Tatia said, “Gosh, you suck.”
Bruce tried to pull her back, as he laughed.
She wrenched her shoulders out of his hands, went to the couch, and watched the fire for a bit.
Tatia reached into her backpack, and pulled out the picture of her mother. Sometimes, she liked to imagine what it would have been like, if she’d stayed.
Her father liked to tell her over and over that her mother couldn’t stand her; that without warning, she’d picked up and ran, one day. She didn’t believe it, though. Even if her mother did do what her father said, she would’ve never left Tatia behind.
In many fantasies that she’d had, Tatia imagined that one day her mother would return. She’d grab Tatia, and they’d run for it; it wouldn’t matter where they went, either, just as long as they were together. Every day, she would go to school and, when she’d come home, her mother would be waiting for her. They’d do homework together, and then she’d make her dinner. When she was sick, she’d make her chicken soup. They’d be so happy because, together, they’d have escaped the ogre that was her father.
Tatia was distracted from her thoughts when a rush of cool air blew all over her, making the hair follicles on her arm stand. The fire flickered ferociously, leaving her in complete darkness for a moment.
She got up from the couch, walked to the staircase, and looked into the darkness, wondering if a window had blown open in the den or the front room.
A creeping sound, like the whining of a failing brake echoed through the hall.
At first, she didn’t think much of it, but then the sound seemed to get closer. The whining traveled through the air and blew directly into her ear.
Tatia screamed and jumped back.
“Shut up!” said Jack annoyed.
Ignoring hi
m, Tatia slowly backed into the wall. Wind blew through the room, blowing up the dusty curtains, making the rods rattle.
Jack sat up and looked around the room.
The whining brake sound turned into a high pitched steam whistle that blasted through the air.
Bruce jumped out of his sleeping bag.
“What was that?” he asked.
The draft and the whistle continued to blow louder and louder.
They raised their hands to their ears.
Bruce and Jack backed against the wall, next to Tatia.
Suddenly, a loud CRUNCH noise rent the air.
The noise came from a hole that’d been punched into the wall on the other side of the room.
Wood splinters and dust sprayed across the room.
Holes continued to appear in a straight row, across the wall.
Tatia covered her eyes to protect them from wood shards.
CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!
PSSSSH, sprayed more wood.
Tatia was too scared to scream. Bruce’s eyes were bugged out, and Jack jumped each time a new hole appeared.
Bruce and Jack watched the trail of magically appearing holes, all the way to the brick fireplace, where it hit iron behind the wall, and made a high DING!
The holes stopped appearing.
The waves of the fire flickered again. Bruce shrieked and yanked at Tatia’s arm.
Tatia uncovered her eyes and asked, “What?”
“Look!” said Bruce, pointing at the hall.
Floating toward the living room was a whited out ghost of a man. It had round eyes and an oblong opened mouth that made it look like a lost soul.
The steam whistle blasted through the air again; they grabbed their ears.
“What’s in its mouth?” asked Tatia. “Ewww!”
A black, shiny substance was turning over its tongue; it leaked over his lips and bled all the way down his shirt.
Slowly, it levitated closer and closer to them, as more sludge goo-ed out.
Jack looked about the room for a quick solution. His eyes settled on the fire poker.
He grabbed it, raised it skyward, and slashed it down through the ghost.
Instantly, it disappeared, leaving a wisp of white in the air that slowly dissolved.
“How did you know to do that?” asked Bruce.
“I watch T.V.”
Tatia ran to her sleeping bag and began rolling it up.
“What are you doing?” asked Bruce.
“I’m getting out of here.”
“You can’t leave! This is a great place! No one’s been here in forever. We can probably spend the winter here.”
“What if it comes back?”
Jack handed her the fire poker.
“If you get scared, swipe the ghost with the poker,” he said.
“I think he’s right,” said Bruce. “You know how it is. We could search for weeks, and never find a place like this. We just have to learn how to live with a ghost.”
Get Comfortable
Chapter 2
The next morning, they made it a priority to bathe. Most of the time, they were forced to wash with the ice cold water of Pickley Hills Park bathrooms.
Jack and Tatia heated pots of water by setting them on the fireplace while Bruce snuck out to find breakfast.
When he returned, he had Captain Crunch and a carton of orange juice.
“Did the neighbors’ see you?” asked Tatia.
“No, I was real careful going out and coming in.”
“No milk?” asked Jack, whose hair was still wet.
He walked over and set the large pot of water on the fireplace.
“I didn’t realize it was juice until I was halfway down the block. The clerk was onto me, and the only way I got away with these was because a couple of Joey’s kids came in and pepper sprayed him in the eyes.”
“That’s terrible!” said Tatia.
She was sitting with her back to the fireplace, hoping her wet hair would dry quickly, as the house was still very cold.
Joey was the city’s bully.
In his father’s warehouse on the other side of town, he resided as an unofficial magistrate to a host of about a hundred kids.
In exchange for letting them stay there, the kids provided public services, such as window washing, pick pocketing, shop lifting, and sometimes burglary.
The kids would give him all their earnings, in exchange for his ‘protection’ and his silence.
“Well, you want to eat, don’t you?” asked Bruce sarcastically.
Tatia walked to the kitchen and brought back a couple bowls and spoons.
“Yeah, well, just don’t let them do us any more favors,” said Jack. “As it is, I don’t know how I’m gonna get my guitar back.”
When Tatia got her nose broken, Jack and Bruce went to Joey for help. The hospital wouldn’t admit her without health insurance or an up front payment.
Jack gave Joey his father’s 1952 Roy Buchanan Fender Telecaster, in exchange for the $1,000 they needed to get Tatia’s nose fixed.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” Tatia said. She grabbed the cereal and juice, poured them into the bowls, together.
“You don’t have to apologize, Tatia. I don’t blame you, but I’ve got to get it back. It’s the only thing my father ever gave to me, and it’s worth a lot more than $1,000.”
“Like how much?” asked Bruce sounding excited.
“I don’t know. It’s just what my father told me before he died, but I won’t sell it – not for a million dollars.”
“Well, today’s Tuesday,” said Bruce. “I’m gonna mow Mrs. Henderson’s lawn, so that’s $20; tomorrow, I’ve got Mr. Bracket, so that’s another. I’ll go through the neighborhood, today, and try to drum up some more business, too.”
“Right,” Tatia chimed in. “Today I’m going to school. I’ll raid the kitchen and get food supplies; hopefully enough for the week, so that’s one less expense. Then I’ll give blood, that’s $20, and Mister Crane on Milton Street said he’d pay me for my newspapers today, so that should be another $20.”
Sounding downtrodden, Jack said. “I don’t have anything lined up today. What am I gonna do?”
“Wash windows, of course,” said Tatia.
“Great. Maybe I’ll make five bucks, if I’m lucky.”
“Jack, five is five; you can’t give up,” Tatia said sympathetically.
“Maybe we should go and work for Joey?” Bruce suggested, taking a bite of his cereal.
“No,” said Jack. “We shouldn’t get any more mixed up, with him, than we already are. If there’s one thing I know about Joey, it’s that he doesn’t like to let go of his debtors. He’ll always come up with an excuse to pull you back in, and make you his slave.”
“I’ve got an idea” Tatia said as she munched. “You should scavenge this house today. We don’t know what’s upstairs in the attic. For all we know, there could be valuables.”
“Great idea,” he said. “I’ll go through all the boxes, and even the kitchen. We’ll sell what we can.”
They flinched as a sudden noise blasted.
Waaaaaahhh!
The sound was like the far away, prolonged horn of a train.
“Aah!” Tatia jumped in her seat, nearly spilling juice over the side of her bowl.
The wind around the room blew again, rattling the curtains.
The ghost appeared again. This time, he looked angrier than before. A copious amount of sludge issued from his mouth as he made the floorboards rattle, and the couch levitate.
Jack ran for the poker. The ghost, seeing him with it, backed away and around the room.
WAAAAHHH! the ghost wailed louder.
Jack chased him around the couch several times before he gave up and disappeared, leaving behind another wisp of white.
Roy Buchanan
Chapter 3
After breakfast, they went their separate ways: Tatia to school, and Bruce to mow lawns.
&nbs
p; With a trash basket, a bucket of hot water and towels, Jack went up to the attic.
The air was thick with dust. He choked on the scent of recent animal urine.
“Achoo! Ugh…” he heaved.
He walked to the broken window, stuck his head out and breathed in deeply. Then, he opened the two other windows, allowing a breeze of fresh air to sweep the room.
When Jack was a kid, his father told him all about Roy Buchanan and the Potato Peeler, Bobby Gregg.
