Rattled

by Lisa Harrington

“Stop calling me that, you know I hate it,” I hissed.

  “Well it’s better than Jarhead. Get it? Lid, Jarhead, a lid’s a top for a jar. I just thought that up! I kill me.”

  “Yeah, you’re a comic genius. Now get out.”

  She flicked her hair and left my room.

  Thank God.

  I smiled to myself as I flapped my arms through the air, trying to get rid of Jilly’s strawberry shampoo smell. So…the date was off. I should have known better than to let myself get so worked up about it. Deep down I knew there was no way Mrs. Swicker would have ever let it happen. She wouldn’t let them do anything that took them out of her sight.

  Look at all the hassle over the trip to the waterfront. Talk about brutal. And then there was the scene in the gift shop. Still hadn’t come up with an explanation for that one. There seemed to be no end to this woman’s weirdness.

  I went to my desk, checking to see where I had scribbled it on my notepad. There it was, Reenie Barretto. That was the name the woman had called her. I had written it down as soon as I’d gotten home that day. I don’t know why, I just did.

  Chapter 11

  “Peter! Here, Peter, Peter, Peter!” I shook the little bell on the key chain just like Megan had told me to. The cat immediately appeared from between the bushes and did a figure eight in and around my ankles. He meowed loudly while I fumbled with the keys.

  As I swung open the door, Peter leapt inside ahead of me. I reached for the light switch. Even though it was still daytime, the house was kind of dark. It was cold inside. I hugged my arms around myself. I sniffed. The house smelled…disinfected.

  I thought I’d take my time today. Last night when I’d fed Peter, I was in a rush. Mom had offered to take me to a movie at the last minute so I was in and out pretty quickly. Peter was probably lonely and wanting some company. I felt nervous being alone in the house and I wasn’t sure why. It sort of felt like I’d just broken in or something. I knew I should just feed the cat and leave, but I couldn’t do it. The opportunity to do a little light snooping was way too good to pass up.

  Standing in the middle of the family room, I turned slowly, taking in the details, looking for something…but what? There was not one thing out of place, no sofa cushion un-fluffed, not one speck of dust on the furniture.

  I moved into the kitchen. It was spotless just like I knew it would be. The house looked as though no one lived in it. I shivered and rubbed my arms again.

  My destination was Mrs. Swicker’s room. I used to babysit for the Henleys, so I knew the layout of the house. I tiptoed down the hall to the master bedroom. I felt it was necessary to tiptoe for some reason. The room was pretty much how I remembered, which was disappointing. I think I was expecting to see a coffin or something instead of a bed, though I suppose she could have slept hanging upside down in the closet. There were no personal items anywhere, not even a photo. Come to think of it, there didn’t seem to be anything like that anywhere in the house. Maybe that’s why it felt so cold and…creepy. I had an overwhelming urge to go through her dresser drawers, but I stopped myself and backed out of the room without touching a thing.

  I peeked in Sam’s room. It was neat as a pin. I sat on his bed, looked around to soak things up a bit, see if I could actually learn anything about him. The books he’d bought at the gift shop were on his nightstand. The paperback covers were curled upwards, so he must have been reading them. I stood up, smoothed the bedspread, and went over to scope out his desk. There was a huge stack of sheet music. I flicked through the papers hoping maybe I’d find “Sam + Lydia” doodled in the margins. No such luck. The music and the books were the only things that really told me this room was Sam’s. I did a final check to make sure everything was the way I had found it.

  It was the same in Megan’s room, the neatness. I smiled at the giant lobster on her bed. For some reason I’d thought her room would be messier. I think that was because I considered her to be the most normal of the bunch. Sam was the unattainable beautiful boy, and Mrs. Swicker…well…I wasn’t quite sure what she was.

  I took another quick tour of the main floor. There wasn’t even any mail piled on the hall table. If they had to, they could easily be packed up and gone in about five minutes.

  Peter found me. He stood at my feet and purred, but I could see the accusation in his eyes.

  “You’re right, I should be feeding you. Let’s do this,” I said.

  I thought about Mrs. Swicker as I crushed up Peter’s pill and stirred it into his Meow Mix. Thought about how she’d react if she could see me nosing around her house. I pictured her head slowly blowing up like a balloon until it exploded and sent bits of brain matter flying and splat, dripping down the walls.

  There was a jug by the sink. I filled it and carried it over to top up Peter’s water bowl. My mouth suddenly went dry. What if Mrs. Swicker had some kind of camera thing set up in here? It would totally be like something she’d do. My eyes raced around the room, along the edges of the ceiling. Nothing. I gave myself a mental slap in the head.

  Unfortunately, during my little panic attack, I forgot to stop pouring the water into Peter’s bowl.

  Crap! I ran to the counter looking for something to soak up the mess. I returned to the scene of the accident dragging about fifty sheets of Bounty behind me.

  Double crap! It was worse than I’d thought. The spilled water had basically disappeared. This was not a good thing. The water had leaked down between the boards of the hardwood floor.

  Last summer, I overwatered Mom’s palm tree in our dining room. The water leaked through the hardwood floor and stained the ceiling tiles downstairs in our family room. Apparently those tiles had been discontinued a thousand years ago. Dad was all for replacing the damaged ones with ones that were close enough, but Mom almost went into cardiac arrest over that idea. They fought for almost a week. I began to wonder who was going to get stuck with Jilly in the divorce. In the end some kind of compromise was reached. Mom got her new ceiling. I can’t remember what Dad got, but I think it involved golf.

  There was barely enough water to mop up. Sitting back on my heels, I contemplated my next move. I knew I had to go downstairs and check out whether or not I’d done any damage. I took the sheets of paper towel with me.

  Downstairs, I figured it had to be the furnace room or garage that was directly under Peter’s water bowl. And if they were like ours, there would be no real ceiling to stain.

  I held my breath, opened the door, and flicked on the light. It was the furnace room. I looked up—just the wooden floorboards. I almost fainted with relief. The room was pretty much empty except for the furnace and a tower of boxes in the far corner. And then I heard it. The ping, ping of dripping water. Of course the water was leaking onto the boxes, where else? Just my luck.

  Sighing, I made my way over to the pile. Lifting down the top box, I could tell by the dark colour of the cardboard that it was soaked. I carefully peeled back the packing tape, hoping to maintain some stickiness so I could re-tape the box and no one would be able to tell. I opened the soggy flaps, praying that I hadn’t ruined anything important.

  “Phew, just blankets.”

  I grabbed a stool from the hall and stood on top to wipe up the drips clinging to the ceiling. I tried to absorb the extra moisture by pressing some paper towels against the wood.

  Kneeling down beside the box, I waved the flaps back and forth, in an attempt to dry them out. I touched the blankets. There were two, rolled up like cylinders, and they felt pretty damp.

  I thought maybe I’d just shake them a bit, air-dry them. As I lifted the first one out, I could feel something hard in the middle. I unrolled the blanket, which was a solid blue on the outside with tiny blue bunnies on the other side. What I found inside was a silver rattle, one of those ones that look like a miniature dumbbell. I took out the other blanket. Pink on the outside, same pink bunnies on the inside, same silver rattle.

  I sat there on the floor for a minute, arms crossed. I was ki
nd of surprised. Mrs. Swicker didn’t strike me as the sentimental type. Baby stuff was the last thing I expected to find.

  A blanket in each hand, I twirled around the furnace room doing my best impression of a rhythmic gymnast performing an Olympic gold medal ribbon routine. Satisfied they were dry enough, I knelt to re-roll them and pack them away in the exact way I had found them. I picked up the rattle that had been inside the pink blanket. I could feel engraving under my fingers. Holding it up close to my face I read, Amy Elizabeth, July 1, 1994.

  I frowned. Amy Elizabeth? Who the heck was that? It was at that moment I heard a noise. The furnace room was next to the garage. I could hear a car engine in the driveway. My heart jumped into my throat and I felt the air being sucked out of my lungs. They must be back early! They weren’t supposed to be back until later! Frantically I bundled everything up as best I could, pressed down the tape, put the box back, jammed the wet paper towel in my pocket, and tore back up the stairs. I slid across the floor, as if I were sliding into home base, and came to a stop by Peter and his bowl of Meow Mix just as the Swickers walked in the door.

  “Hi!” I blurted. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. My heart was beating so loudly, I could swear they must have been able to hear it.

  Mrs. Swicker stood in the doorway looking down at me, a startled expression on her face.

  “I just got here,” I explained, my voice unnaturally loud. “Peter seemed lonely, I thought I should stay with him for a few minutes, pet him, talk to him, that kind of thing.” I knew I was rambling.

  Suspicion was written all over Mrs. Swicker’s face. “I couldn’t figure out why the door was unlocked,” she said slowly.

  “Just little ol’ me.” I swallowed nervously and stood up. “Everything’s fine here, just fine.”

  Megan stepped around Mrs. Swicker and scooped up Peter. “Did you miss us, boy? Thanks again, Lydia.”

  “Oh it was fine, everything’s just fine,” I squeaked. I had to get out of there. “Okay, well…see ya tomorrow.” I squeezed between Mrs. Swicker and Sam and rushed out the door. I was in such a hurry, I almost didn’t notice how cute Sam looked with his new haircut.

  Chapter 12

  My heart was still racing when I got back home. I went directly to the bathroom and closed the door behind me. Sitting on the edge of the tub, I nervously rocked back and forth waiting for my breathing to return to normal. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to remember if I had turned off the light in the furnace room. Mom had us trained so well, I was hoping I’d done it instinctively. I just couldn’t remember.

  Mrs. Swicker was barely civil to me now. I couldn’t imagine how she’d treat me if she suspected me of going through her stuff. If she noticed the light was on, if she saw the box, she’d be able to tell right away. Ohmygod! Then she’d tell Mom, and take it from there…the possibilities were endless, and none of them good.

  If this whole thing blew up, I had to have a plan, a reason why I had been down there. The truth? Always an option, I suppose. Think. I just needed a couple minutes to think, and I did some of my best thinking in the bathroom. It was a result of Mom’s unconventional (I prefer the word twisted) approach to parenting. Whenever Jilly or I would get in trouble, the kind of trouble when most parents would send their kid to their room, Mom sent us to the bathroom. “It’s no punishment being sent to your room these days,” she would say, “iPods, TVs, a bed!…that’s no hardship. Wish someone would send me to my room and make me stay there for an hour.” So, it was off to the bathroom for us, and let me just say, sitting in the bathroom for an hour? Pretty boring, not much else to do but…think.

  Okay, so the truth may have been the way to go. I mean, I hadn’t done anything wrong. My issue was that I knew no matter how I explained it, Mrs. Swicker wasn’t going to believe me. She’d be convinced I was up to something. I wanted to shake myself and say, “What do I care what she thinks? I can’t stand the woman.” And that was true. I really did feel that way. But there was something else: Mrs. Swicker kind of scared me. I think I was actually afraid of her.

  And what about that rattle? The name—Amy Elizabeth. Who was that? And the date—July 1, 1994. I was pretty sure Megan had mentioned once her birthday was around Christmas. Did Sam and Megan have a sister? Where was she? And the other blanket and rattle. Who did those belong to? It all kind of weirded me out. I massaged my temples. I was starting to get a headache. Lucky for me, I was in the bathroom. I popped a couple Advil and leaned against the vanity.

  There was an impatient knock on the bathroom door. “Yo! Did you fall in or what?”

  Jilly. I decided not to answer her. It seemed to work. I heard her footsteps leaving.

  I wondered what my odds were of ever getting back to that furnace room and that box, checking out the other rattle, seeing what else was in there. As I sat back down on the edge of the tub, I heard the tinkle of a bell. It was Megan’s key chain in my pocket. A smile spread across my face. I wondered how long it would take for someone to realize I still had it. Could I hang on to it long enough to get back in their house? Would I have the guts to actually go? If they asked for it back, I could say I misplaced it or something. Yeah, that could work. Of course I would have to wait for the right opportunity. Obviously the house would have to be empty. Unfortunately that didn’t seem to be very often.

  There was a brief moment when I contemplated just asking Sam and Megan, asking them about the rattles and this Amy Elizabeth. I talked myself out of it. I couldn’t picture myself bringing it up. It would totally look like I’d been snooping.

  There was another knock at the door.

  “Lid! Get out! I wanna use the bathroom.”

  “Just use the downstairs one, would ya?”

  “No! I have to do my eyebrows and I need Mom’s tweezers. God, I’m starting to look like I’ve been raised by wolves.”

  “Come back in five minutes. Is that too much to ask?”

  “Holy crap, Lid! I’m not asking for a friggin’ kidney. Get out of the bathroom!”

  I knew I’d never get any peace now. “Fine!” I huffed, and stormed out. “And you’re right! You do look like you’ve been raised by wolves!” I hollered just before I slammed my bedroom door.

  Chapter 13

  We were sitting at Megan’s kitchen table. It was one of the few times I had actually been allowed in the house. Mrs. Swicker had to be home. That was the rule. Counting in my head, not including the cake delivery and feeding Peter, this was only the third time I’d been in their house since they’d moved in. Mrs. Swicker was downstairs doing God knows what. Megan said laundry. My guess was trying to make contact with her home planet.

  I’d just finished telling Megan about the big scandal at Dad’s office. Kelley, the girl I was filling in for, had taken her vacation with some guy she’d met on an online dating site, and after just two days, they’d bolted to Vegas and got married.

  She didn’t seem to find the story as fascinating as I did. Actually, I wasn’t even sure she’d been listening. “You okay?” I asked, noticing the dark circles under her eyes.

  “Yeah. Just tired. Mom must have been having bad dreams or something. She talked in her sleep all night,” Megan said, avoiding eye contact. “Once I was awake, I couldn’t seem to drift off again.”

  I stopped what I was doing, my Oreo-filled hand poised mid-dunk over a glass of milk. “Really?” I rolled this around in my head for a second. “So…like…could you make out what she was saying?”

  Megan looked up. She was doing that thing with her ring again, sliding it up and down her finger. I could tell she was struggling with something, like she was wondering whether or not to confide in me. After a worried glance around the room, she leaned in real close and whispered, “Stuff like, ‘You deserve it. You made me do it.’”

  “Wow,” I gasped. “Freaky.”

  “I know, and it’s not the first time,” she continued. “Sam’s heard her too.”

  “I wonder what she was talking about,”
I said, mostly to myself.

  “Not a clue. But Sam says she’s had that same dream for ages. I only noticed it since we moved here. Guess my room is closer to hers in this house.”

  “What do you think it means?”

  “It sounds like something bad, doesn’t it?”

  “Hmm…because it doesn’t seem like just a dream, it seems like more of a nightmare.”

  “Yes, definitely a nightmare,” Megan nodded. “Sometimes she yells.”

  I knew the answer to this question already, but, “I don’t suppose you asked her about it?”

  “No.”

  I took a sip of my milk. With this new development, and the box in the furnace room, my brain was definitely nearing overload. “What if…” I began, thinking out loud. But then good sense kicked in.

  “What if what? Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “Forget it, I’m probably way off.”

  “Lydia!”

  “Okay…What if it has something to do with your dad? Like maybe the person she’s talking about in her dream is him.” I said it in a really tentative, “feeling out the topic” sort of way.

  “You mean like she did something to him?”

  “I dunno…Maybe?”

  “Something bad, you mean,” Megan said, narrowing her eyes.

  I shrugged my shoulders. I had a sinking feeling I was going to regret ever opening my big mouth…again.

  “You mean something really bad. Like she killed him or something,” Megan accused. Her tone had definitely changed.

  “No, no,” I lied. “You’re blowing it out of proportion, that’s the extreme version.” My voice was light, but she didn’t buy it. I was back-pedalling, knowing I had gone one step too far.

  “You’re not a very good liar,” she said in a tight voice.

  I could feel my face turning red. My brain was screaming at me to shut up. Do you think for once I could just listen? No sir-ee. “But if you think about it, it could really explain a lot of things. The strange way she acts, those dreams. And, like, what’s the deal with your dad anyways? She won’t let you even ask a question about him? You have to admit, that’s kind of weird.”