Trying to find a bright side, Nate stood by his open car door and searched for the positive attributes of the mansion. All he managed was, “They made them big back then.”
Meow, Gilligan said. He was going nuts inside his cat carrier.
“Hang in there, buddy. I know you’ve been cooped up all day.”
Gilligan continued to make a racket and was clawing at the wire door, so Nate decided it couldn’t hurt to let him stretch his legs a little.
“You want out of there for a moment?”
Meow.
Nate reached over and popped open the carrier. Belatedly he realized the car door was wide open. Gilligan launched like a bullet into the night.
“Gilligan! Wait!”
The only sounds Nate heard were the chirping of the nighttime insects.
Leaving his headlights on, Nate shut the car door and walked closer to the mansion. It didn’t get any better by getting nearer. The paint was chipping and there was dirt everywhere. As he walked up the front steps, the wood creaked under his weight in an ominous warning.
“Aunt Edna, how did you live here, you crazy bat?” Nate wondered.
The front door was closed but unlocked. Nate crept inside. He switched on the flashlight function of his phone and scanned the interior entry to find a sort of sitting parlor filled with antique furniture. Two sofas with floral print fabric were at right angles to each other in the center of the room. An old tube-TV and a curio cabinet sat in two of the corners. Out of date wallpaper extended up to a ceiling lost in the gloom above. Smallish doorways led off to other rooms deeper in the house.
“Okay, this isn’t so bad. Kind of dusty, and way the hell out of date. But not bad.”
Nate stepped carefully over to a pair of double doors and pushed them open to reveal a dining room. A large table with a candelabra filled most of the space in conjunction with a china hutch against the interior wall. The remnants of daylight struggled past old, dusty curtains.
“A place for my cornflakes. Check.”
Moving deeper into the house revealed a kitchen. An old refrigerator, 1960’s style, hummed quietly next to a crappy Formica counter that ran around the outside wall. Nate popped open the fridge and saw a lone bottle of beer, a tin can full of bacon grease, and a head of lettuce that had turned black except for the puffy white fungus growing on it. Edna apparently did everything she could to not eat.
“A place for my beer. Check.” Nate grabbed the bottle and twisted the cap off. Gertrude’s Ale. It wasn’t a brand that he had ever heard of, but it was cold.
More exploring with the phone light. He found other rooms on the first floor furnished for various purposes. A bedroom. A library. A study. Another sitting room. Nate imagined how many times each had been repurposed since the mansion was built back in the 1800s. Where had the maids done the cleaning? Were butler quarters located somewhere? Did the master of the plantation retire to a billiards room, sip his bourbon and smoke his cigar while he quietly contemplated the finer things in life? The rooms he found now were decidedly twentieth century, but Nate knew that had not always been the case.
He rounded back to the front room and started up the grand staircase. Every step along the graceful curve caused the wood to groan in protest. Halfway up, Nate saw three portraits with ornate frames on the wall across from the banister. The first demonstrated some ornate Civil War battle scene full of stiff soldiers dying stiffly. The last one had been slashed beyond recognition. But the middle one proved quite interesting: an elderly Southern gentleman with a Colonel Sanders beard, peering a stately gaze off toward the distance in all kinds of oil-painted glory. He wore a white suit with a black tie straight out of Gone with the Wind. One boot was propped up on a chair, and a fluffy gray and white cat was sitting regally near his other foot.
A cat.
“Shit.” Nate had forgotten about Gilligan.
Nate knew Gilligan would turn up. Gilligan knew his human was good for providing chow. However, the timetable for that event was known only to the feline, and Nate wasn’t about to leave his little buddy here alone while he checked into some hotel.
“Dang it. Guess I’ll be staying the night after all.” He would just have to get his attitude in order.
Nate peered up at the gentleman in the portrait.
“And that’s just as well. There’s a lot of work to do in this place. Isn’t there?” He stood a little taller. “And I’ve got just the sledgehammer to do it.”
Perhaps it was the dim light playing tricks on his eyes, but for a moment—just a moment—it seemed as if the eyes of the man in the portrait narrowed into the faintest of glares.
Act 2
Demolition
5
The morning sun was shining through the open front door when Nate heard a car pull up outside. It was already humid and getting hotter. He wiped his brow with his forearm, put down the crowbar, and stepped onto the porch.
Anna was getting out of red Honda, looking great in an orange blouse and white skirt. But what caught Nate’s attention was the battered pickup truck next to her car. It was a full-size Ford F-250, one of the big diesel-types, and a heavy-set dude wearing blue overalls was climbing out.
“Hi Anna,” Nate called out.
“Hello!” she replied. As she got closer, Nate confirmed that she looked awesome and wondered how many houses her looks helped her sell.
“Who’s your friend?”
“This is Matt. He’s a general contractor. I wanted to make an introduction, figuring you would need some help.”
“Hi there,” Matt said with a redneck twang.
Matt had brown hair, a goatee, and wore glasses. He was a bit overweight and filled out the checkered shirt he wore behind his overalls. His sleeves were rolled up past the elbows. Nate considered him warily as they shook hands.
“So, you’re a contractor?”
“That’s right. Worked on a lot of house renovations in my time.”
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, but I’m not sure I’m going to need any help. I’ve got it all under control. In fact,” Nate said, beaming, “I’ve already knocked out a whole bunch of stuff last night.”
“You did?” asked Matt.
“You did?” worried Anna.
“Yep.”
Matt’s face was unreadable, but he spent a moment to study the outside of the house. “Would it be alright if you showed me what you’ve done?”
“Yeah, glad to,” Nate said, puffing out his chest. “Follow me.”
They started toward the front door. Anna dashed ahead to catch up to Nate. “Nate, did you say you started all this last night?”
“Yeah, I decided I couldn’t wait to see the place, so I just drove out here for a quick peek. But my stupid cat ran off and I didn’t want to leave him, so I just ended up starting some of the work.”
“And you spent the night here?” Anna asked in an incredulous tone.
“Yeah. No big deal.”
They entered the front parlor. Nate rested his hands on his hips with pride. “See?”
Matt walked slowly around the perimeter. He examined the broken plaster smashed all over the floor and peered through the holes in the wall between the entry and the dining room.
“You’ve been busy,” Matt said.
“Yes. Yes, I have.”
Matt stroked his goatee. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”
“Go ahead,” Nate said, ready to display his architectural brilliance.
“Well, first, could I see the plans of how you want this place to look when you’re done?”
Nate tapped his forehead. “The plans are all up here.”
Matt stole a glance at Anna. “You mean, you ain’t got no drawings? No blueprints?”
“Don’t need ‘em,” Nate said.
The redneck turned around and strode into the doorway leading to the dining room. He was still studying the wall between the rooms. “What’s your intention with the demo on this wall?”
“Oh, simple. Everyone’s going for open concept these days. I want to be able to see the living room from the kitchen. That way, when you’re preparing dinner, you can still visit with friends and family.”
Anna nervously cleared her throat. “Um, Nate? This is a historic plantation estate. I don’t know that an open concept really fits with the style of—”
“So, you’re intent is to take this whole thing out?” Matt interrupted.
“Yes.”
“You know this is a load-bearing wall, right?”
“What’s a load-bearing wall?”
Matt’s face was still impassive, but his entire body froze like a deer spooked by a loud noise. “It’s something that keeps your upstairs from becoming your downstairs.”
“Oh. Huh. Didn’t know that. I guess I’ll have to brace it.”
“What else did you get started last night?”
“Oh,” Nate shrugged, “just some demo in the kitchen.”
“Can you show me that?”
“Yeah. Come on.” The trio walked through the dining room, passing the large, antique table with all of his dad’s tools spread out until finally entering the kitchen. The previous night’s effort lay in a large pile in the center of the floor.
“Huh,” Matt said. “These the kitchen cabinets?”
“Yeah. Had to take them out. They didn’t fit with where I’m going.”
“And where is it you’re going?”
Nate shrugged again. “You know. More modern. These were old-looking.”
“You know, you could have just refinished the hardware and the cabinet doors. Would have been a lot cheaper.”
Nate hadn’t considered that. He thought for a moment before glancing over at Anna. For some inexplicable reason, she was dead white.
“Anything else?” Matt asked.
“Yeah! Come with me,” invited Nate.
“Oh God,” Anna winced.
Nate took them out the other side of the kitchen and down the hall toward the lone bathroom he had found on the first floor. He stood against the wall next to an ornate painting of some Civil War battle so that Matt could check out his work.
Matt surveyed the surroundings, then took off his cap and scratched the top of his head. “So what’s this room’s story?”
“You know, outside of the master bath, every bathroom these days has a shower, not a tub. I gotta put in a shower.”
The burly redneck stooped over, looking underneath the big, claw-foot tub at all the smashed tile and plaster.
“Oh,” Nate added, “let me tell you—that tub was a bear to move.”
Matt looked over his shoulder. “Probably because it ain’t really supposed to be moved.”
“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do,” Nate said in a sage voice.
“Why’s everything all wet?”
“So, that’s the one thing that went wrong,” Nate answered. “I was taking out those walls with my sledgehammer and accidentally hit one of the water pipes. It took me a bit to figure out where the cutoff was.”
Matt stood up and wiped his hands on the front of his overalls. “Got it. Would you mind if we stepped back outside?”
“Sure, okay.”
Back in the front yard, the sun was shining a little higher, the air was a little hotter, and the breeze was a little lessened. Matt took off his cap once again and wiped his brow with a bandana.
“Look, Nate,” he said in a careful voice. “I think this is a big project for you. A really big project. You sure you aren’t going to accept some help to get this done the right way?”
Nate folded his arms across his chest. He knew what was going on here.
“Matt, I appreciate your offer. I have this under control. And honestly, I don’t want to have to pay a gentleman such as you to do all the work that I can do myself. It just isn’t budget smart. You understand, right?”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what is your budget?”
“Like I said, it doesn’t include a line item for you.”
“Do you have each of those little projects in there costed out? How much money for a new shower enclosure, new tile, cement board, your own labor cost since I assume you’re not working a day job while you do this?”
“Yes,” Nate lied.
“How much do you think that little bathroom project is going to cost?”
Nate frantically struggled with some impromptu made-up math. “Two grand.”
Anna was fidgeting like crazy and staring at Matt. The contractor simply plowed on in his impassive way. “Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“That bathroom alone is going to cost you five times that amount. And that’s if you don’t have to do it twice.”
“Why would I have to do it twice?”
“Because that’s what you have to do when the first time is done wrong!” Anna blurted out.
Matt just motioned toward Anna with his open hand and declined to repeat.
“Look guys—Anna—I appreciate you all coming out here. I do. But I got this. Really. And I need to get back to getting this, because it’s getting hotter and this old shack doesn’t have air conditioning.”
Anna and Matt shared a silent stare. Matt reached into his pocket.
“Here,” he said. He handed Nate a business card.
“What’s this for?”
“In case you run into trouble. And just a piece of advice. The earlier you call, the better. And the cheaper.”
Nate frowned as he slipped the card into his pocket. “Okay. But I doubt you’ll hear from me.”
“Best of luck to you, Nate,” Matt said.
They shook hands again. Matt turned around and started to walk back to his truck as calm as ever. Anna, on the other hand, seemed like she was barely holding it together. Nate couldn’t hear the frantic words she seemed to be exchanging with her friend, but there were wafts of disaster and no commission before she was out of earshot. They started the engines of their respective vehicles and drove off.
Nate wiped the sweat off his forehead again and checked his watch. He was behind schedule now and he still meant to get through the second floor before dinner time. What was all the fuss about from those two? He wasn’t doing anything that hadn’t been done before. He had seen it on TV a million times. It was plenty easy.
A big yawn. Nate stepped back into the entry, beat the plaster dust off the uncovered sofa, and picked up his sledgehammer. The only regret he had was that he hadn’t yet seen Gilligan. That stupid cat must be chomping on a rat somewhere out in the yard.
6
Nate continued to work through the day, but his effort slowed down once the initial enthusiasm wore off. The aches in his body reminded him that this project was going to take weeks—maybe months—to finish. So that evening he focused on setting up camp. A quick run to the grocery store in town loaded up the refrigerator with supplies, and he had enough foresight to leave one of the kitchen countertops alone so that it could hold Aunt Edna’s microwave, which was state of the art (circa 1980). Then he had to figure out where he was going to sleep.
The house had quite a number of bedrooms. None were on the first floor. Nate deduced that people just didn’t sleep downstairs back in the nineteenth century, so he picked one on the second story that faced the front of the house and was over the porch so he could see if anyone drove up. There was even a door that allowed access to the balcony. Nate imagined himself sitting up here with a glass of iced tea after a long day’s work renovating, which in his opinion was not a bad visual.
Inspired, he tried to open the door and gave it a tug. No luck. It had been painted shut by Aunt Edna. But looking out the window revealed a true treasure: a little robin’s nest, snugged in the corner of a railing and a post, with two tiny eggs in it. Nate smiled. A nest on his balcony. He would get to watch a brother and sister bird be born, be his buddies, his friends, his allies in this little project. It was intimate and reassuring.
After two days, Nate had also found that demoing
a house produced a lot of trash, so he quickly cordoned off a section of the yard behind the house to be the dumpster zone.
Plaster fragments, scraps of wood, and old fixtures all went outside.
Crappy furniture that would get shunned by Sanford and Son—outside.
Nasty old knick-knacks and decrepit cabinets—out.
Things so nasty he was afraid to touch them—stayed where they were.
He also learned to pace himself. Demo was hard work. His back ached constantly and he had a minor accident with a claw hammer and his finger when he used it to rip out some plaster. The sledgehammer he had taken from his parents would have been even more dangerous. The handle was supposed to be wedged into the heavy metal head, but it was splintered, and Nate had visions of getting conked on the head mid-swing.
What was really scary was the reciprocating saw. Apparently, esoteric and foreign concepts like “safety” and “protection” were not in vogue back when Dad had done his carpentry. The loose screws jiggled while he ran the saw, only to be outdone by the frayed wiring out the back.
About a week into the project, Nate was feeling pretty good. It was amazing how decluttering a house—and removing a few interior walls—made it feel bigger. He had left a few essentials in place for living purposes, of course. The giant, four-poster bed in the master bedroom had a terrible mattress but was too big to move by himself. The floral-print couch remained in the front parlor so Nate would have a place to sit. The formal dining room table was going to be his workbench. And of course, except for some of the cabinetry, he had left pieces of the kitchen intact since he needed to be able to cook food and keep the beer cold.
But the bathrooms? Ah, they were a different story.
Edna’s house had three bathrooms, one on the first floor and two on the second. Nate had already demolished the one downstairs and, for better or worse, made it unusable. Furthermore, he wanted to put a shower in there but the big claw foot tub was still in the way. He wasn’t yet sure what he wanted to do with the master bath upstairs, which he figured was pretty important to get right. That left the other upstairs bathroom. Nate was dying for the confidence of a little project to be complete and out of the way. So he decided to tackle that little upstairs guest bath first, as his personal pet project.
The House That Jack Built: A Humorous Haunted House Fiasco Page 4
