One Big Bat

by Risner, Fay

  “Not exactly, but Renee wondered if she did,” Diane shared.

  Paul's recliner came up straight. “Do tell me more, ladies.”

  Diane looked at me.

  I said, “Go on, you tell him.”

  “Well, it's just that strange things happened in this house all last week. You have to admit that,” Diane said, looking at her hands in her lap.

  “Like what?” Paul asked.

  “Those noises in the attic sometimes in the night sound like footsteps. In the middle of the night, more than once I swear I heard the stool flush. It wasn't any of us in the bathroom. Renee heard the footsteps and the stool flush, too,” Diane said.

  I knew I'd better rush to Diane's aid before her husband could interrupt her. He was giving us a how much had they been drinking before I got home look. I'd swear he still thought we were his beer thieves.

  “Last night, I thought a large shadow the size of a man passed by the bedroom door. It's not the first time. The first time I thought maybe you were sleepwalking. Last night, I got up to look, but I couldn’t see anyone in the hall. I looked in the other bedroom, and it was empty. I hadn't been back in bed no time when the picture of you two fell off the wall and broke.”

  “I get it. The ghost vanished into thin air before you got him cornered to arrest him,” Paul quipped. “And he broke the picture for spite.”

  I slumped back on the couch. “You should talk to Mrs. Johansen a block over. She says George Hubka hung himself in this house just before you bought it. He haunted the house until you moved in. He might have come back.”

  “Really, you believe that poor old woman. She must be as senile as they come,” Paul scoffed.

  “She told me some of the neighbors saw the dead man roaming around over here, and they thought for sure it was George Hubka,” I declared.

  “Uh huh, did Mrs. Johansen say which neighbors told her that?”

  “No, but I didn't ask, either,” I shot back.

  Paul snorted. “Uh huh.”

  “Wait a minute, Paul. There’s the matter of that missing orange juice and beer. You said you didn’t drink it, and I know I didn’t,” Diane said.

  “You trying to tell me a ghost drank the orange juice and beer. I’ve never heard of a ghost that likes orange juice and beer. You two are letting your imagination run away with you,” Paul scoffed.

  “He must, because Diane says a whole box of orange juice disappeared last night. That's not all. Food came up missing. A loaf of bread and a package of ham left with the juice,” I added.

  “Yes, and our cool whip bowl with loose change is missing from your desk,” Diane said.

  “Really?” Paul asked, looking at me.

  “Hey, don't look at me like that. I've got my own cool whip bowl at my apartment. I don't need yours,” I sputtered. “Besides, I'm one of Wedgewood's finest. Remember. Honest and true blue.”

  Paul grinned. “I know that.”

  “This isn't a joking matter. The more I think about this the more frightened I feel.” Diane's eyes widened. “Maybe we really do have a ghost in our house. Do you think we should get a hold of the priest and have him do an exorcism on the house?”

  Now I was staring at Diane. “What for?”

  Paul accused me. “See what you started?” He centered on his wife. “Diane, don't get so haywire.”

  I had to side with Paul on this one. “Diane, he has a point. When was the last time you've heard of a priest doing a house exorcism?”

  Diane's lips pouted. “I haven't, but maybe that's because Father O'Ryan hasn't been asked lately.”

  “Diane, no one asks a priest to perform an exorcism on a house these days. Besides, I don't think it's necessary. We've lived here eight years, and this is the first time we've had a problem.

  There must be a sensible explanation for what has happened.” Paul studied the two of us. “Say, this isn’t a ploy by you women to make sure I get rid of those bats in the attic is it? I told you I’d do it this next weekend.”

  “Are you sure it’s just bats up there?” Diane asked.

  “Yeah, old George might be trying to run you out of his house,” I teased.

  “I'm very sure what we've been hearing is bats. I think we're all tired out from sleeping in this heat. Nightmares can seem real enough sometimes, but add the heat and that makes things worse,” Paul reasoned.

  Chapter 9

  “I don't usually dream let alone have a nightmare,” I defended myself.

  “I don't either,” Diane retorted.

  “Fine, I haven't any other exclamations for the Brown sisters' hallucinations. If you can just hang in there until morning, I'll clean the attic out. Maybe that will take care of our spooky noises problem and your bad dreams.

  As for tonight, it's hot in here, and I hate to turn the air on for such a short time. Where did you store the box fans, Diane? I think we’ll need them if we're going to get any sleep at all. At least, I intend to sleep through the night.

  According to the weather report, in a day or two, a cool spell is coming in off the lake. Maybe then we won't be so restless if it's cooler in the house,” Paul said.

  Diane huffed, “How we sleep has nothing to do with what we saw.” Paul looked down his nose at his wife. He'd rather be watching television then continue this discussion about what he thought was our nonsense. “All right! There are two fans in the closet in the guest bedroom. I’ll go get them.” Diane gave up, glad to have an excuse to get out of the room.

  “I'll go with you so I can carry mine,” I offered. As we walked down the hall, I hissed, “That little talk with Paul didn't go too well.”

  Diane said softly, “I not really surprised Paul didn’t believe us. I'm having trouble believing us myself.”

  “I know what you mean,” I agreed.

  Diane flipped the light switch on. She couldn't help herself. She looked around for signs of an unnatural spook in the corners.

  I knew exactly what she was doing, because I was doing the same thing. I didn't know what we were looking for. For one thing, I'd rather not come face to face with the previous house owner's ghost anymore than I wanted to have a bat fly at me.

  The room was empty. So like the brave person I act like I am I chided both of us for being so jumpy.

  With a shrug, Diane walked over to the closet door and slid it open. “Hey, you can't blame me for being cautious.”

  “No, nothing wrong with that. I'm always cautious. Part of my cop training,” I assured her.

  While Diane bent over to pull the fan out from under the clothes, I leaned against the dresser and put my hand on it. Something on the surface of the dresser felt gritty. I looked at my palm and rubbed my thumb against my finger tips. Tiny pieces of gray matter balled up. What on earth was on that dresser? “What's this gritty stuff?”

  Diane straightened up and set a square box fan behind her. “I don't know. Couldn't be much? I just dusted in here a couple of days ago.” She came to look, forgetting about the other fan.

  With a disgusted expression, she stared at my dirty hand then ran a finger over the dresser top. Gray beads of insulation mingled with white dust and blanketed the Pledge polished wood. Her finger left a trail across the surface.

  Diane hissed, “That's insulation from the attic.” She looked above her and pointed at the ceiling.

  A chill ran through me. There was a trap door to the attic in the ceiling above the dresser. How had I missed that trap door all this time?

  The sliding door was slightly ajar. We stared up at it. No way could we see beyond the tiny dark crack.

  “How do you suppose the door got opened?” I whispered.

  Diane backed toward the bedroom door. “I'm going after Paul,” she whispered frantically. “Don't do anything until we get back.”

  I wasn't going to wait until Diane got Paul motivated enough to come check out the trap door. There was a flashlight on the dresser. Diane kept one in each bedroom in case the electricity went out during a storm
.

  If I stood up on the dresser, I could slide the trap door over and shine the flashlight in the attic. I kicked my shoes off and wished I hadn't when I felt the gritty insulation on the dresser bite into the bottom of my feet. Until I got my balance, I held onto the frame of the mirror.

  With the flashlight on, I slid the trap door the rest of the way open. The opening wasn't very big. My arm with the flashlight went in first then my head. I was pretty much wedged when my shoulders were in the open space. The rest of me would follow if I wanted to go all the way up into the attic, but I didn't intend to do that. I was afraid I'd upset the bats. I didn't want those animal vampires landing on me.

  Wavering the flashlight around the area in front of me, I didn't see any small black blurs swooping at me like I had expected. Later what I remembered seeing when I was alert enough to recall was my flashlight shone on a dirty cowboy boot sole coming at me.

  It happened so fast. No way could I duck quickly enough to avoid what was about to happen, stuck in that opening like I was. The boot's sole connected with my face at about the same time I threw the flashlight with what force I could muster into the darkness above the foot.

  Wham! I yelled as the force of that boot smacked me in the face. The blow dislodged me from the attic opening. I felt myself falling like a ton of bricks. Good thing the soft bed was right by the dresser. That's where I landed.

  Diane heard my yell just as she reached the living room. She knew I was in trouble. “Paul,” she whispered as she shook her dozing husband on the shoulder. “Paul, please wake up,” she pleaded quietly.

  “What’s the matter?” He mumbled.

  “There’s something wrong in the bedroom. Come quick. I just heard Renee yell like she's hurt. I told her to wait until I came back with you, but she didn't listen to me.” She grabbed his arm as Paul started to turn the wrong direction. “No, not our bedroom. The guest room at the end of the hall where the fans were stored.”

  “Calm down. If you need help carrying the fans, why don’t you just say so?” Paul groused.

  “This doesn't have anything to do with the fans.” Diane stopped just inside the bedroom door. “Oh no, Renee's hurt.”

  She rushed over to me and lifted my head. “Easy! I think my nose is broken.” I wiped my hand gently under my nose and came away with blood all over it.

  Diane was frantic when she saw how puffy my face was getting.

  “How bad is it?” I asked.

  Diane's face scrunched up. “Well, your eyes are black and blue. They may be swelled shut by morning. Your nose is listing toward your right cheek like its broken, and your lips are swelling, especially the lower one where its split open.”

  “Is that all?” I lisped dryly.

  “That's about all I can tell with so much blood all over you.” She paused to get her breath and pointed to the dresser. “Look, Paul. Insulation is all over the dresser, and the attic trap door is open.”She said in a hushed tone, pointing upward.

  Paul shook his head no as he checked out the attic door.

  When Diane looked up, she found the trap door shut.“Well, it was slightly open when I left.”

  “Bats can slide through tiny cracks. A bat may be down here with us this very minute,” said Paul, calmly. “Renee, didn't your mother ever tell you not to climb up to high places? You must have taken a heck of a fall to smash your nose like that. How bad are you hurt?”

  “I feel like I've went ten rounds with a boxer, and he smashed my face but good. No way can a bat open or close that heavy trap door, and I had it all the way open,” I whispered. “Diane, call the police station and send Officer Briceson over here now!”

  Diane said, “I'm going to make that call and ask for an ambulance, You need to go to the emergency room. Paul will you please look in the attic.”

  “I suppose I should, or you won’t let me get a wink of sleep tonight, will you?”

  “No,” she squeaked.

  “Paul, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Wait for the police to get here,” I ordered, talking through the side of my mouth that wasn't as painful.

  “Get me a flashlight, Diane,” Paul ordered, ignoring me.

  “There’s one right beside you.” Diane pointed a trembling finger to the dresser.

  “No there isn't,” Paul said.

  “It's in the attic,” I said softly.

  “How did it get there?” Paul demanded.

  Now I was getting irritated. “I threw it at one heck of a large bat wearing a number eleven cowboy boot with a pile of turkey poop and feathers stuck on the bottom. That boot meant business when it kicked me hard in the face. I'm telling you call the police. If that's Longfellow up there, and I think it is, he's a dangerous killer.”

  “Paul, I'll get the flashlight in our room for you before I make the call.” Diane disappeared just long enough to retrieve the flashlight.

  She handed it to Paul and left. He stepped up on the bed by me, then over onto the dresser top. In a stooped shouldered stance, he slid the door open. Sticking the flashlight through the opening first, he stood up straight, his head disappearing into the attic.

  With dread, I watched his body twist one way than the other, thinking I should get off the bed. When that boot smacked Paul in the face, he'd do me a lot more bodily harm when he fell on me. I didn't need any more injuries. I was hurting bad enough already.

  Paul let out a loud gasp. His body tensed and then shuddered as he got whacked on the back of the head, probably with my flashlight. I rolled off the bed onto the floor as Paul sank to his knees on the dresser. I wanted to give him plenty of room to land on the bed.

  He collapsed backward, disappearing between the dresser and the bed. The thud was loud when his body met the floor. The flashlight he'd held flew beyond the foot of the bed, rolled and clattered to a stop against the closet door.

  I raised up and bellied back on the bed. Forcing myself to crawl down to the foot of the bed, I looked beside the dresser. Movement made my pain worse. Blood spurted from my nose all over what used to be Diane's new bedspread.

  “Paul! Are you all right?” I hissed.

  Flat on the floor, Paul rubbed the back of his head and stared up at me blankly.

  “What happened to you?” I rasped.

  “There’s something in the attic all right,” he gasped, trying to catch his breath as he focused somewhere above my head.

  “I tried to tell you that, but you wouldn't listen to me. Not something but someone,” I corrected, hating to repeat myself. Talking hurt when I moved my puffy lips.

  “Might be. I know whatever it is is way bigger than a bat. I just got a look out of the corner of my eye at a large black object before I got hit in the head.”

  Diane rushed in and saw her husband on the floor. “Oh no! Paul, you're hurt too.”

  Chapter 10

  Paul said, “Quick, get me something to hit him with if he comes to the opening and tries to get away. Then call the police.”

  “Paul, I just did call the police. Who are you going to hit?” she whispered.

  “The guy in the attic,” Paul hissed.

  Diane's eyes rolled. “Well ... well, what should I get?”

  “I don’t know. Find something and be quick about it,” he hissed at her as menacingly as a snake.

  Hurrying down the hall again, Diane’s muddled mind went blank. All she could do was look about her and try to imagine what might make a weapon as she hurried through the house.

  She grabbed the poker by the fireplace and the broom in the kitchen closet. She pulled the tennis racket out of the living room coat closet, but she hesitated. She had used it more than once on bats, but maybe it wouldn’t work on the man Paul saw. No time to be choosy. She better take it anyway.

  Wait! A baseball bat gleamed at her at the back of the coat closet. She’d take it, too. She started down the hall with her arms full of weapons. The bat slipped off the pile and fell on her right big toe. She swore when she heard the bone snap and cried out
in pain with each step she took.

  “What's going on out there?” Paul called.

  Diane appeared with a grimace of pain on her face and limped across the room. “Watch out, Renee.” I doubled up on the bed, and she opened her arms, letting go of her arsenal onto the foot of the bed. Wood and metal clinked together, rolling over the spread. “Take your pick. I’ll go back and pick up the ball bat from the hall floor. It fell on my foot. I think my big toe is broken,” she said as she limped across the room.

  “Diane, bring me my gun from my bag,” I hissed as my sister disappeared.

  Paul grimaced at his wife's choice of weapons, picking up one at a time to take inventory until Diane came back. She handed me my gun and laid the ball bat in the arsenal pile. I was trying very hard not to laugh at our situation. I knew that would hurt me.

  Paul looked ridiculous, standing in a combative stance with the handle of Diane's broom pointed upward toward the attic door. He waved it back and forth threateningly.

  “We will look awful silly when the police comes if there’s nothing up there,” Diane suggested to Paul. “Maybe you saw your own shadow in the flashlight’s glow, got excited and fell trying to get down. Paul, maybe you should look in the attic again just to make sure.”

  “You’re crazy. Look at your sister. She wasn't kicked in the face by a shadow, and I didn't get this lump on the back of my head from falling. I tell you I was hit and then fell. I’m not letting that guy get out of the attic before the cops come,” growled Paul.

  Sirens wailed faintly in the distance then became louder. Flashing red and blue strobe lights squeezed between the blind slats and flooded the bedroom.

  Fists hammered on the front door. Diane rushed to open it while a thumping, just as loud as the knocking, pounded in my head. I figured my blood pressure was going up.

  “Where do I go?” I heard Jeff Briceson's voice as he rushed past her.

  Diane said desperately, “Is there only one of you?”

  As he rushed down the hall, Briceson said over his shoulder, “I thought you said Detective Brown was already here. Where is she?”