To get started, Nate hauled off the mirror, sink, and Hollywood light fixture. The sink was built into a large wooden cabinet straight out of 1955, so he had to use the claw hammer to smash everything up and get those pieces out. It took at least a dozen trips up and down the stairs to get all the pieces outside. Then Nate tackled the commode. He drained the water tank with one last flush, shut off the water lines, and then made two more trips down to the dining table where he had laid out his dad’s wrenches. With a little work, he loosened the two nuts that held the toilet to the floor. A few minutes later, Nate learned why a toilet had a “water trap” and how it was instrumental in “keeping the smell of the septic tank from entering your house.” He hadn’t planned on getting gassed. Luckily, it wasn’t anything that cling wrap and a rubber band couldn’t fix. Not elegant but it worked, at least for the time being.
Two days in and it dawned on Nate that he still had yet to lay out the overall plan of what to do with the house. The initial demo was easy. But the construction? That meant buying materials. And that meant keeping a budget.
Nate had one credit card with a $20,000 limit. He needed to draw up a list of what he would have to purchase. Paint, carpet, trim, fixtures, it would all add up. If necessary, Nate was prepared to open up additional credit cards to help finance the project. He just had to be careful, that’s all. It was really no big deal. A couple months from now, he told himself, Anna will have the finished product sold, and he will drive back to Texas with the credit cards paid off and a cool wad of cash in his bank account.
Today was a different story, though. His body was thoroughly fatigued. Louisiana was warm and the humidity way outdid Texas. Nate decided he would take a day off and do some planning. He fired up his laptop only to find to his horror that there was no Internet at the house. He realized with a start that of course, Aunt Edna was too old to be into all that stuff. Without the ability to perform online research, Nate dusted off an incredibly dirty wicker loveseat on the front porch and planted himself with his computer, playing with spreadsheet numbers and imagining the price of any given week’s special at Home Depot.
He was in the middle of letting day three drift by as he refined his materials list. Occasionally he would pause to look out across the acreage around the estate. A number of ancient, massive pecan trees grew from the flat grounds about a hundred feet from the house’s front porch. He thought he heard a creek somewhere off in the distance, hidden by more trees further off the property. The grass in the field directly in front of the house was a lush green. All around, the sounds of Louisiana wildlife chirped and sang.
The sun was starting to just settle behind the pecans when Nate saw two elderly men walking his way.
“Hello!” one of them called, and flapped a sort of flouncy wave.
Nate raised a hand in acknowledgment. He hadn’t seen a soul since Anna and Matt had dropped in. He wondered what these guys wanted. They were a bit old to be Mormon missionaries.
The men approached. Both were well dressed. The one on the left was wearing a short-sleeved checkered shirt, khaki slacks and had a straw hat that shaded his face. The other one was wearing Bermuda shorts, a pinkish-colored button-down, and had a small dog in the crook of his arm. In his right hand, he carried what looked like a picnic basket.
“Hi there!” the one in shorts said. “We were wondering if someone had finally moved in over here. This is Tobey, and my name is Shelby. We’re your neighbors!”
So much acreage surrounded his temporary home that Nate hadn’t really considered anyone actually living nearby. He put his laptop on the wicker bench next to him and stood up. His materials list could wait. “My name’s Nate.”
“Short for Nathaniel, I’m sure!” Shelby said with a chuckle. “A very good day to you, Nate.”
“Nice to meet you, too. Where exactly did you say you live?”
“Oh, we’re over yonder that way,” Shelby said, pointing with the dog. It looked like a Pekingese, and it was squirming in clear protest of being used as an illustrative device. “Oh, I’m sorry, Missus Biscuits, didn’t mean to scare you there, now-now.”
Nate’s gaze followed where Shelby had gestured. Open field stretched out until it reached a line of more pecans trees in the distance, with another house barely discernible behind them.
“You guys walked all the way over here?” Nate asked. The afternoon heat was not mild.
“Yes, we sure did! Tobey here hasn’t been feeling very well, and we thought some fresh air might perk him up a little. Isn’t that right, Tobey?”
The other man gave the bland smile of someone henpecked to death. It suddenly dawned on Nate that these two guys were together.
“Sorry to hear you’re not feeling well,” Nate replied, trying to be polite. He noticed Tobey had a sort of wan appearance, and he definitely looked under the weather. “Do you think the walk helped? I mean, it’s kind of warm out.”
Tobey perked up ever so slightly as if he were grateful someone had actually asked his opinion. But the slouch instantly came back as Shelby answered for him. “Oh, now-now, we’re used to the heat, and this sort of weather doesn’t bother us in the bit. Why, me and Tobey and Missus Biscuits used to go for walks all the time, it’s only been lately that we’ve gotten out of that habit. The farther, the better, now-now.”
“Well, it’s quite a ways,” Nate said. He gestured at the picnic basket. “Far enough to take your lunch with you, huh?”
“Oh, my LAWD, how forgetful of me. This isn’t for us, this is for you. We brought you a housewarming present!”
Nate was flattered at the thoughtfulness. “Wow, that’s really nice. What did you bring?”
Shelby handed the Pekingese over to his companion and pranced up the porch steps. “Now-now, we’ve got the good stuff for you, my friend. We got us some cheese and crackers, a bottle of wine here, a nice bottle, too.” As Shelby started digging through the basket to present each item, every word reminded Nate that he was in the Deep South: crayuh-kuhs, a bottle of WHY-nuh. “There’s some boudin in here, just over here. Why, we even included an opener and some silverware for you, since we didn’t know if you had unpacked anything yet.”
“Boy, this is great, guys. Thanks so much.” Nate stood silently for a moment as his brain fumbled through what he should do to properly reciprocate. “Can I get you something to drink? I have—uh—water. And beer.”
“Why that would be splendid! Tobey, come on up here and let’s have a seat with our new friend.”
Nate moved his laptop and went inside to get some drinks. He came back with a couple Coors Lights and some ice water on a hunch that Tobey wouldn’t want a beer. He couldn’t help but get the impression that there was something seriously wrong with Shelby’s silent companion. Tobey was very thin, with sunken facial features and a pallid complexion. He obviously didn’t feel very good. And it was so hot outside. Nate wondered if the long sleeves and pants were deliberate, to obscure a frail and gaunt skeleton underneath.
Shelby, on the other hand, had enough energy for both of them.
“Now-now, we loved Edna, she was just wonderful, and we were so sad to hear that she passed away. But it’s so nice to have someone back in the house again. You know about all of its history, of course?”
“Its history?”
“Of the house.”
“Oh. Actually—no. I don’t even know why it’s called the McAuliffe estate.”
“Oh, MERCY me, this home has a proud and historic heritage! Let me share!”
Tobey breathed a heavy sigh, as if this was some sort of significant commitment.
Over the next hour, Shelby explained all kinds of things Nate didn’t know about the mansion next to them. It started back into the early 1800s, when a wealthy family named McAuliffe emigrated from Great Britain to the United States and bought up a bunch of land in the surrounding area. Nate couldn’t follow Shelby’s elaborate explanation of the circumstances around the move—something about a corrupt politician and a pro
miscuous daughter—but once in the New World, the McAuliffes did pretty well for themselves running a sizeable cotton plantation. All of that was put in jeopardy in 1861, when the War of Northern Aggression descended upon the South like an unholy horde—or “hoe-ard,” in Shelby’s voice—and a certain Rufus Theodore Oliver McAuliffe, who at the time was the eldest able-bodied male and currently in charge of the plantation, was called up for duty to lead a division of soldiers against the enemy. Colonel McAuliffe became known as a dashing leader and had a string of victories against vastly superior Union foes, striking fear and terror into the hearts of his enemy. Everything was going swimmingly until one day when Colonel McAuliffe’s troops were crossing a river. One of the division’s privates didn’t know how to swim, and as he started to struggle against the current the private lost his footing and cried for help. Without hesitation, Colonel McAuliffe leaped from his horse to assist, but the river was too strong and both men were lost.
“So Colonel McAuliffe drowned trying to rescue his man?” Nate asked.
“Oh, no! The Colonel got eaten by a gator. But—he wouldn’t have been in that water if not trying to come to the aid of a poor common soldier. That’s just the type of man and leader that he was.”
“Oh. Kay.”
“Now-now, here’s the kicker,” Shelby continued. He leaned forward, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial tone. “You see, Colonel McAuliffe was a fighter. And some say that he just flat-out refused to leave this here Earth, gator or no. Some believe that his ghost still haunts these here parts, and that naturally he makes his roost right here in the mansion behind you that he used to call home.”
A cool breeze from out of nowhere blew across the front porch, temporarily dispelling the waning heat. Tobey grabbed at his straw hat to keep it from twirling off of his head.
Nate looked at Shelby incredulously. “You’re telling me that my house is haunted?”
“Oh, now-now, I’m just telling you ghost stories,” Shelby said with a dismissive wave. He chuckled heartily. “But you asked about the history of the estate. That’s all.”
Scratching his ear, Nate glanced over at Tobey. The gaunt man had an expression that seemed to say, yeah, he does this a lot.
“You need another beer?” Nate asked as Shelby polished off the rest of his bottle.
“Oh—bless you, but no, sir. I think we best be getting back home. Tobey needs his rest, and Missus Biscuits too. But thank you for the hospitality.” Shelby stood, and without hesitation went over to Tobey to help him out of his chair as if it was a frequent and practiced ritual. “If you need anything, though, we’re just over yonder. Don’t be a stranger, you hear?”
“Sure. Great to meet you guys. Thanks again for the basket.”
“Well, it was our pleasure. Come on, Missus Biscuits!”
The Pekingese jumped into his lowered arm, and then Shelby and Tobey were off.
Nate sat back down on the wicker couch and reflected on his new acquaintances. Then, on a whim, he grabbed his laptop and opened up his word processor. When he was ready to put the property on the market, he was going to need a marketing flyer, right? He banged out a quick draft of what the layout might be, then scrolled back to the top and read it over. A highlight of the second sentence was all it took to insert the words “famous and historical haunted house” to the top description.
He didn’t believe in ghost stories, but there were people out there who did. And maybe they’d pay a pretty penny to own a piece of one.
7
A week later, Nate decided to give Anna a visit. He pulled up to the real estate office and parked behind a gargantuan pickup, this one a dual-wheeled Dodge Ram splattered with mud. A gun rack was in the back window of the cab and the truck bed was littered with half-crushed beer cans.
Another pickup. The South was infested with them. Nate glanced at the backward CHEVROLET stamp on his hood and his eye twitched involuntarily.
He could hear the arguing through the closed door all the way from the sidewalk.
“I want my time with her. I’m the dang girl’s father.”
“Then act like it! Show some responsibility, for crying out loud.”
“You’re the one who ain’t responsible.”
“Rick, I feed her, clothe her, and get everything taken care of. All you need to do is show up once in a while. Be an adult.”
“You’re the one who ain’t an adult.”
“Those are the stupidest put-downs I’ve ever heard.”
“You’re the one who’s stupid.”
“Forget it.”
“I won’t forget it. It. Was. My. Weekend.”
“Then. Come. And. Get. Her.”
“All the way into town? Do you know how much gas that takes?”
“Rick, that’s not my problem.”
“It’s your problem if you don’t drive her out to me. I don’t have the time to cover for you.”
“What? Cover f—are you serious?”
“The Ricker is always serious. As a heart attack.”
“You’re the moron that decided to set up your trailer fifty miles outside of town.”
“You’re the one with that little Jap car.”
“So?”
“So, the way this works is, the one with the little car that uses the smallest amount of gas is supposed to drop off the child.”
“What? That’s not the way anything works. You don’t get to make up the rules.”
“The Ricker isn’t making up anything. It’s called common sense.”
“It’s called manipulation.”
“Well, ain’t it a woman who would know all about that.”
“You are such a sexist pig.”
“Anyway, I need to live out that way. Don’t be dissin’ my extra-curricular activities. A man’s got to be able to hunt.”
“And drink, and shoot pool at Lucky’s, and pick up whatever floozy is hanging her boobs all over your arm, just like the past five years.”
“The Ricker can’t help that he’s a sexy man. You think that comes easy?”
“Oooooooooh! You drive me crazy!”
Nate ended his loitering. He pushed the office door open and jingled the little bell announcing a new customer. “Hello?” he said innocently.
Inside he saw Anna—just as cute as all the other times he had seen her—and a tall, lanky man with a dirty John Deere cap. He had on a flannel shirt even though it was the middle of summer. At least he had made the effort to remove the sleeves at the shoulder. Both of them turned toward the door.
The relief washed over Anna’s face like an elementary school student being told they could stay home after pretending to be sick.
“I have a client. You need to leave.”
The tall man alternately glared at Anna and Nate in turn. Then he tugged his hat down and clomped back toward the door, adding to the trail of muddy footprints he had apparently left on the way in. He pushed past Nate without as much as a glance. But before leaving, he paused at the threshold and turned back to Anna.
“This ain’t over,” he said, his voice full of menace. “The Ricker’s got his rights.”
“Goodbye, Rick,” Anna said in a tired voice.
Rick stomped out to the big truck and climbed in. The heavy diesel engine produced a raspy idle for a moment before revving up. Then the truck lurched forward right into a sign post. An ear-splitting clatter filled the air as the post fought valiantly for survival against the heavy duty deer grille. But ultimately it crimped at its base and released Rick and his Truck of Destruction to rumble down the street.
Nate squinted through the glass of the office door.
“I think he killed your No Parking sign.”
“He’s an asshole,” Anna apologized. “Sorry you had to see that.”
“Not a problem,” Nate said. “Who was he?”
“My ex-husband.”
“Oh.” He thought for a moment. “Not exactly the type of guy I’d picture you with.”
Anna cl
eared her throat. “We met in high school. He wasn’t like that back then—well, not as bad, anyway. To make a long story short, we started dating, I got pregnant, and we tried to do the right thing and put together a stable family. Except to Rick, ‘stable’ ended up meaning ‘he can do whatever he wants while his wife and daughter stay at home.’ Not a sustainable arrangement.”
“So, it was a mistake?” Nate said dryly.
“Oh—big time. I mean, you saw a little bit of the way he is. It was a disaster of epic proportions.”
“I get that impression, for sure.” He thought some more. “Does your Ex always refer to himself in the third person?”
Anna smirked. “That’s kind of a recent thing. Yeah. ‘The Ricker.’ I suppose it’s part of his increasingly delusional and inflated opinion of himself.”
“You said your last name was James, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Was that your married name?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.” Nate rubbed his chin in bewildered appreciation. She had been married to Rick James.
Anna stood awkwardly in the middle of the front office, glaring distastefully at the muddy footprints, uncertainly shifting between placing her hands on her hips and folding her arms across her chest.
“What’s your daughter’s name?”
Anna’s expression softened. “Desiree. Des for short. She’s my whole world. Luckily, she seems to have taken after my side of the gene pool. Not her daddy’s.”
Nate admired how much a pleasant topic could transform someone who was already pretty into absolutely radiant. “How old is she?”
“Six. My mother watches her during the day so I can work.”
“Doesn’t she go to school?”
“Not yet—it’s still summer. First Grade starts this Fall.”
“Oh. Right.” Nate surprisingly found himself intrigued by this discussion. “Do you have any pictures of her?”
That was enough to push Anna into a full-blown smile. “Why, yes, I do. Come with me.”
The House That Jack Built: A Humorous Haunted House Fiasco Page 5
