“What? Like, ten or twenty thousand bucks?”
Matt held out his hands. “What do want me to say? This is a big-ass house.”
“Can we cut some corners here?” Nate pleaded. “I don’t want to live here. I just want to get rid of it.”
“You don’t think that a buyer is going to have an inspector come first and look the place over before they shell out a bunch of money?”
“Well, sure, but can’t we just tell the buyer they need to pay to fix the place up?”
The redneck looked at him with pity. “You put a burden like that on a prospective home buyer, I guarantee you they’ll move on to the next house. You need to get it taken care of before you put it on the market.”
Nate wrestled with what he was being told and the spiraling costs associated with it all. Overwhelmed, he plopped down on the hardwood floor and sat cross-legged with his head in his hands.
“I don’t have that sort of money,” he whined to himself.
Matt squatted down next to him, which was no small feat for a husky man in tattered overalls. “Most people don’t. So let’s get you some home equity financing. Anna knows a guy who can help us out.”
Nate peeked over his fingers. “We can do that?”
“Sure, you just need some collateral. Do you have a primary residence somewhere else?”
“No.”
“Do you have an income?”
“No.”
Matt wrinkled his nose. “Do you have parents who have an income?”
“Well … yeah.”
“Then no problem. That’s the way to do it anyway, with interest rates the way they are. Otherwise, what are you going to do, put everything on a credit card? That would be pretty stupid.”
Nate felt sick to his stomach and remained silent.
“Nate.”
“What?”
“Nate.”
He looked over at Matt. Earnest blue eyes were staring back at him through the pair of glasses.
“Yeah?”
“We’ll get through this. I will help you.”
It was looking like it was going to be a long, tough road. Nate felt the queasiness in his stomach return. This was turning into so much more than he had bargained for. He felt trapped in a prison of his own making, surrounded by iron bars of ignorance and ego.
“Okay.”
Matt stood back up and adjusted his overalls. “By the way, I think it’s time to take your dog out to the yard. I saw a ginormous mound of dog crap in your living room.”
11
Nate sat on his front porch and tried to enjoy the coolness of the evening. The sun had begun to settle beyond the treetops and the only noise around him was the gentle sound of wind rustling the leaves. That, and the chickens in their coop, bok-boking in their chicken voices as they thought their chicken thoughts.
Suddenly lonely, Nate decided he needed human companionship. He looked at his contacts on his smartphone and picked one for a call.
“Hello?” said the voice after a couple rings.
“Brad, this is Nate.”
“Oh! Hey there.”
“Why do you sound surprised?” Nate asked.
“Huh?”
“You sound surprised it’s me, when you can see my number and name on your caller id.”
“I don’t—it’s just how I answer the phone, Nate.”
“It’s like I moved away and you never expected to hear from me again.”
Pause.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Good question. “I—oh, never mind,” Nate conceded. “I’m sorry, man. I guess I’m feeling a little disconnected, living by myself. It’s pretty remote out here.”
“So how is the ol’ flip going? Tell me about it.”
“Tougher than I thought.” Nate took a sip of Coors Light. “It started off well enough. I got through the demo okay. Thought I had the budget managed. But I guess there’s a lot more to it. I had a general contractor come out to look at everything, and there’s a lot of stuff he told me about that I hadn’t anticipated. It’s going to cost a lot more than I planned.”
“How do you know this contractor isn’t taking you for a ride? What sort of lines is he feeding you?”
“Stuff like, ‘Do you know how to replace lead pipes?’ ”
“Do you?”
“No.”
“What else?”
“‘Here’s some of the wood from your foundation that the termites are eating.’ ”
“You have termites?”
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
“And ‘Stop removing that load-bearing wall.’ ”
“Yeah, got it. Sounds like you need him. You know, before you accidentally kill yourself.”
“Yeah. I came to that conclusion too. But it could work out. He’s sort of using me as a sub to help control my costs. He’ll give me a job each day and show me how to do it. Then he’ll come by later and check on me, and make sure I didn’t screw it up. As long as it’s not something that takes a ton of experience, it helps keep the wheels of progress moving.” Nate sighed. “But it’s lonely.”
“You don’t see anyone during the day? It’s just you?”
“Yeah. And Gilligan. And Adolf, too, I guess.”
“Who’s Adolf?”
“My guard dog.”
“You have a dog?”
“And there’s this bird’s nest up on the upper porch of the house. It has two robin’s eggs in it. It’s awesome. I’ve named them. The bigger one is Oscar, the little one is Grover. They’ve sort of become my little friends. So, I have them, too.”
A long, silent interval extended through the phone.
“Nate?”
“Yeah?”
“Haven’t you met any people since you’ve been there?”
“Oh, yeah, there’s a few. My realtor, Anna—I like her. She’s really cute, too.”
“Then why are you talking about two fucking bird eggs? Do you ever hang out with her?”
“I’ve been making up excuses to drive into town and visit her at the office,” Nate continued. “But Lyon is a good drive from here, and, you know, doing that means I’m not here working on the house. Plus, I can’t just bother her all day while she’s working.”
“Maybe you should ask her out.”
“I’ve been thinking about that.”
“Anyone else?”
“Matt the contractor is over here a lot, but he splits time between my place and two other jobs.”
“Anyone live nearby?”
“A few. There are houses nearby but they’re acres away, with just dirt roads in between each place. There is this old couple that I see every now and then. They’re friendly. Typical neighbors, I guess, except that it’s a very genteel, very gay couple.”
“Huh.”
“But they’re living their lives, too, so I only see them every now and then.”
“Fair enough.”
“How are you and Sarah? Anything new with you guys?”
“We almost adopted a kid.”
“What? You’re not serious.”
“Not really. We were at the grocery store and some kid was freaking out, throwing a tantrum in the middle of the aisle about whatever. The dad started spanking him right there in the store. You know how Sarah feels about stuff like that, so she wades over there and tells the dad to stop, he’s committing child abuse.”
“So what happened then?”
“The dad gives her this steely gaze and says, ‘You think so?’ Sarah says, ‘Yeah.’ So the dad picks up the kid and puts him in our shopping cart and says, ‘Well, I’ll do you one better. This is child abandonment.’ And he walks away.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. The kid starts really freaking, and Sarah says you can’t leave him here with us, and so the dad comes back and says, ‘Then don’t tell me how to raise my kid, either.’ It was crazy, dude.”
“Wow. That must have been something.”
Another long silence extended across the phone.
Nate cleared his throat. “Okay. I guess I’ll let you get back to whatever you were doing,” he said finally. “Thanks for letting me have some human contact.”
“Sure thing, pal. And keep your chin up. Sarah and I talk a lot about you. You have a great opportunity with fixing up that place and selling it off. That could be an awesome nest egg for the rest of your life. Don’t get deterred. It always takes a little work to realize your hopes and dreams.”
Nate hadn’t realized how badly he needed encouragement until Brad was done speaking the words. “Thanks, Brad. That means a lot.”
“You bet. I gotta run, but call whenever you need to.”
“Thanks. I will. Oh, and Brad?”
“Yeah?”
“Shit doesn’t float. It sinks.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Before I left, we were talking about how Trevor Brandt backfilled me. I was asking how a dirtbag like that could get my job and you said shit floats. But it doesn’t.”
“Nate. While I’m sure you have the experimental evidence to support your assertion, it was just an expression.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Sarah’s calling me. See you, dude.”
“Bye, Brad.”
Nate hung up.
He already felt better after talking to Brad. A little pick-me-up was all he needed. And his friend was right. It was okay to have hopes and dreams. All it took was a little effort.
The sun had dipped past the treetops and Nate decided it was time to get out of his work clothes. He went up to his bedroom and stripped off a grimy shirt and shorts, then took a leaky shower in the one working bathroom to wash away the rest of the filth. As he was changing into a fresh t-shirt and sweats, he noticed his little bird nest out on the railing.
The nest looked different.
Nate walked to the window and saw to his dismay that one of the eggs had hatched. The empty shell sat in several pieces. No baby was in sight.
“Oscar? Where are you?”
Nate didn’t think little birds could fly. Wasn’t the mother supposed to come back and regurgitate worm paste or some shit into their mouths? Had the birdie fallen out? Where the hell was Oscar?
The loneliness hit him again as he watched the nest with sorrow. He felt like Megadeth had broken up again. The nest seemed barren and lost. His buddies. His friends. His hopes. His dreams. Only now his hopes had somehow fallen out of the nest, and his dreams were waiting to be eaten by a squirrel.
Nate sat on the bed and held his pillow like a teenage girl. “I want my cat. Where’s my cat?”
12
The ghost of Rufus was sitting up in the attic of the mansion. He was busy hating.
Ever since the big, burly fellow with the work overalls had shown up, the noise level in his once tranquil abode had risen dramatically. No more peace. No more quiet. The sawing and hammering rattled through the halls like a child playing with a tin can full of beans. Rufus watched with disgust as the fool carpenter pulled up with yet another truck bed full of lumber.
Rufus knew what the man was doing, of course. Something was wrong with the substructure of the house. But an effort to repair it could only mean one thing: more unwelcome visitors dropping by in the future. Or, God forbid, a new resident.
Ghosts didn’t need home repair. Ghosts didn’t need new light fixtures or microwave ovens. Ghosts needed quiet. How were they to contemplate their misery if they were surrounded by ruckus? Rufus frowned out the little attic window, starting at the cemetery and eyeing a large, chipped headstone in particular.
“I bet Sophie’s laughing her ass off. Even in death, I have to deal with her shit.”
The cat named Gilligan sat next to him on an old steamer trunk. Meow, meow.
“Oh, don’t give me that. I’m plenty nice. It just depends on the circumstances. Edna was a bat, but she was so quiet you’d think you were in a convent. She just sat around and made her little crochet sweaters. So I was nice to her, see? She did her thing, I did mine, peaceful coexistence. But this? This is a contest of disrespectful conceit, and that is something that I simply do not handle well. Sophie was the same way. A taunt here, a barb there, and pew—we was off to the races when it came to fighting. I’d see red like a gator chompin’ on a possum.”
Rufus inhaled deeply. If only he could still feel the calming effects of a good breath of air.
“I’m gonna have to intercede again. There’s just no other way.”
Meow.
“I don’t care if it’s well-meaning, Cat. This ruckus is wrecking my world. The noise. The disruption. It is not what I want. What does a person have to do to get some solitude around here? Die? A lot of good that did me!”
Gilligan started to wash his face with his paw.
“And I was certain hiding that bozo’s toolkit would do the trick. That’s a lot of work on my part, you understand?” Rufus tried to scratch his forehead, but of course, his hand went right through. “It is exceedingly difficult for an individual in my current state to interact with the physical world. Do you know how exhausting it is to rattle a door? Slam a window shut? Flap out a candle?”
Meow.
“Yes indeed. Simple things are hard enough. But to move a dad-gum claw hammer? Grueling. A pipe wrench?”
Gilligan stared thoughtfully.
“Punishing.”
Meow.
“And don’t get me started on that circular saw. That gave me a hangover.”
The cat stretched.
“Now, all that work’s been undone. Not only did your old boy replace those tools, he added a dang country boy to go to town with them. And now my peace is all but gone. It’s a cacophony of calamitous crashing, I tell you.”
Meow, meow.
Rufus’s face brightened. “Why, thank you for that. I do pride myself on being the thespian.”
A huge thud sounded from far below. The entire house shook, followed by hammering.
“Goddammit.”
Meow.
Rufus gazed again out the small window at the end of the attic. The little cemetery sat in a small, fenced off portion of the field. Edna was buried there now too, next to other graves far from fresh. He stared at the tombstones, thinking of a time long ago and the regrets accumulated in life.
“What was Edna thinking, anyway? Asking this boob to come move in here? This is clearly some punishment meant for me. I tell you, Cat, she had such a vindictive side to her, it’s amazing anyone in her family managed to get married. It’s a family trait. Here she is, reaching out in death, exacting her final vengeance on me for that last time I hid her dentures.”
Meow?
“Oh, hell yes, it was worth it. Heh, I giggle just thinking of her trying to gum down that roast beef.”
Hammering resumed from downstairs.
Meow, meow-meow.
“Really? Oh come now, that would never work. Just tell this nincompoop to leave?”
Meow.
“I must say, I’m a bit surprised to hear you suggest this course of action yourself. I thought you liked it here? In fact, I rather enjoy our company and might suggest that you could choose to stay behind.”
Meow, meow.
“Alright, I get it. You miss your cat bed and your Whiskas. Yes, I suppose I could send a direct message. And I certainly know how to give it some impact.”
Meow?
“Indeed. It is time for Retaliation: Level Two.”
☠ ☠ ☠
Nate was sitting on the front porch working on his assigned tasks. No longer was he to touch tools. He was forbidden from carpentry and plumbing. Instead, Matt had drawn up a list of things that were more cerebral, namely finding pictures of how he wanted the interior of the house to look. Since there was no Internet at the house, and using his phone to surf for
images involved both a tiny screen and a tiny download rate, Nate had driven into town earlier to Nelson’s Coffee Bar & Washateria so that he could get some free wifi and store up ideas. After lots of Google, a bit of Pinterest, and not an insignificant amount of time browsing through the websites of Lowes and Home Depot, the collection of images he had saved to his hard drive had become a National Archives of copyright violation.
The sun was shining and Nate was back in his element. He was surprised there was so much more to remodeling than just groping a sledgehammer. The budget worried him tremendously. Matt was thinking that Nate had probably cost himself an extra ten thousand by unnecessarily destroying certain aspects of the interior. But if Nate could convince his parents to help with this home equity loan, at least he would have the working capital he needed to survive until the end.
He was deep in thought, deciding between the pictures of travertine and glass kitchen backsplash, when a small red Honda appeared off in the distance. Not far behind was a big Dodge pickup truck.
“Is that Anna’s car?” Nate said to himself. He squinted out into the distance. “I think it is. Hey, Gilligan, Anna didn’t say anything about dropping by today, did she?”
Gilligan was sitting in the corner and staring off into space. Occasionally he would meow like he was talking to thin air. Very strange behavior, even for a cat, and it was becoming all the more frequent.
Anna’s car was actually coming in pretty fast, and when she stomped on the brakes it caused big clouds of dust to leap from the wheels. Nate watched as she jumped out and slammed the car door. Her body language screamed I’m pissed. But she wasn’t facing him. She turned and stood with her fists balled up, waiting for the pickup.
The Dodge rolled in much slower than Anna had, but with no less fanfare.
“I wasn’t done talking to you, girl,” her ex-husband Rick drawled from the driver’s window. He turned off the engine and had to step down about three feet from the cab. “Why you done gone and drove off like that?”
The House That Jack Built: A Humorous Haunted House Fiasco Page 8
