Sylvie and the Christmas Ghost

by Foxglove Lee

  Amy answered this time. “The integrity of the town’s architecture is important to them.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Dad said, “It means they don’t want to see anything too modern.”

  “How is it any of their business? It’s your house, not theirs.”

  “But it’s their town.”

  “It’s yours too,” I said. “You were born here.”

  “So was I,” Amy said. “I only left long enough to earn a degree and get a little work experience, and they still call me City Girl.”

  I shook my head. “Small towns are weird.”

  “That they are,” Amy agreed. Then she pointed to the gift bag and said, “Don’t forget your socks, Sylvie. It was very nice meeting you. I’m sure we’ll get to see a lot of each other while you’re staying with your dad.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I slipped out of her car wondering why I would be seeing a lot of my father’s architect. I didn’t know architects were so hands-on with their clients. But when she popped the trunk and I walked around the gravelly driveway to grab my suitcase, I forgot all about Amy.

  I forgot about her because there were two dozen pairs of eyes on me.

  Was I supposed to wave? Why were the townspeople staring like that? Even the bearded man by the barbeque stopped turning hot dogs long enough to gawk. It made me really self-conscious to have so many men and women, young and old, all looking at me. There were children running around, from toddlers to kids my age. A few dogs on leashes. And—was I seeing that right? One young boy had a ferret peeking out the sleeve of his coat. Even the ferret was looking at me.

  “Let me grab that for you.” My dad took my suitcase even though I was still holding the handle. “Come on, Sylvie.” He tugged me toward the house, but I wasn’t ready for it. My bad foot caught in the gravel and I did a face-plant in front of all those people.

  Amy the Architect rushed to my side, saying, “Sylvie! Are you okay? Let me help you.”

  “I don’t need your help,” I growled, pushing myself up with one hand.

  “Sylvie!” Dad said. “You should be thanking Amy for her concern, not acting like a toddler having a temper tantrum.”

  At least he didn’t ask if I was wearing my brace.

  “Oh, you’ve got dirt all down the front of your jacket,” Amy said, brushing it off with her hand.

  I hollered, “Don’t touch me!” and pushed her hand away from my chest.

  She jumped back and said, “I’m so sorry, Sylvie. You’re right. I’ll see you both later.”

  There were tears in Amy’s eyes as she turned away, and I noticed she didn’t start up her car the second she got in. First she pulled a folded tissue from her pocket and dabbed her eyes.

  I made Amy the Architect cry!

  Good. I felt like she deserved it, even if I didn’t know why.

  When my father led me to the front steps, I took a good look at his new house. The three wooden stairs leading up to the porch were cracked in the middle. The handrails weren’t straight up and down like they were supposed to be. They were both diagonal, so they looked like a V. The porch wasn’t in a much better state. The blue paint had peeled off almost completely, and the lumber underneath was grey with cracks throughout.

  “Careful going up,” my dad said. “Don’t want you falling through.”

  I laughed even though I was pretty sure he wasn’t joking. As I swung my right foot onto the porch, I noticed the crumbling bricks and rotting windowsills. I couldn’t look at my father. I was too disappointed. This would be my first Christmas away from my mom and my siblings, and I had to spend it in a house that probably had mice in the walls?

  Great. Just great.

  I could only hope that when he opened the front door, the inside would be a whole lot nicer than the outside…

  Chapter Three

  The inside of my dad’s new house wasn’t nicer than the outside. If anything, it was worse. Half the floorboards had been ripped up, and the other half looked like they needed to be ripped up. There were thin sheets of wood down in some places, which Dad said were totally safe to walk on, but all I could think of was that episode of Growing Pains where Carol Seaver fell through the ceiling. I could pretty much see the same thing happening to me. Maybe I’d fall through the floor and land on a pile of dead rats in the basement. Yuck.

  My father set my luggage in the front hall and led me into the room on the right. “Would you look at this mantle? Isn’t it amazing? And the cornice mouldings! You won’t find a builder putting up stuff like that anymore.”

  “Yeah, it’s great,” I said, even though I wasn’t sure what he was talking about.

  “And come into the dining room—oh, watch the floor. There are some nails in those boards.”

  Were there ever! Boy, was I glad I’d left my shoes on.

  “Look at that ceiling medallion. That’s plaster and it’s in perfect condition. The house came with a gorgeous old chandelier too, but Amy’s contractor took it down so it doesn’t get broken during renovations.”

  “That’s super, Dad, but don’t you think something’s missing?” I turned back to look at what must have been the living room. “There’s no furniture.”

  “Not yet,” he said. “Can’t buy furniture until you’ve got floors.”

  “What do you do at night?” I asked. “There’s no TV.”

  “No sense buying a TV until the knob and tube is updated.”

  I had no idea what that meant, but my main concern was the fact that there was no TV.

  “Want to see your bedroom?” my dad asked.

  “Only if it’s got a bed in it,” I said, only half-joking.

  When my dad didn’t laugh, I got a little nervous. He led me back to the front entrance, grabbed my luggage, and carried it up the stairs. The staircase was extremely straight and narrow. The railing looked like it had been painted a thousand times over the past hundred years, but at least it seemed sturdy.

  “How’s your leg, Sylvie? I know you don’t like me asking, but…”

  “It’s okay,” I told him. “It’s fine.”

  That wasn’t strictly true. The stairs were hard to climb, for some reason. They felt wobbly, like one was tilting one way and the next was tilting another way. My dad stood at the top of the stairs, looking down at me, but it was so dark up there I could hardly see him.

  Turned out my bedroom did have a bed. Sort of. It was made of squeaky black iron, but the mattress felt like it was full of hay. The wall was covered with peeling paper, just like every room I’d seen, but the floors were nicer than the ones downstairs. They were honey-coloured and they looked waxy and solid.

  The room didn’t have a closet. It had an ornate wooden cupboard instead, like in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, except this one was probably full of bats. The best thing about my bedroom was the fireplace. I pointed to it and asked my dad, “I get my own?”

  He laughed and said, “You’ll need it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it gets cold at night.”

  I felt my eyes widen. “You mean I actually get to use it?”

  “Of course,” my dad said. “There’s firewood out back. I’ll bring it in after we visit your great-aunt Esther.”

  I watched my reflection turn ashen in the antique mirror over the dressing table. All I could think about were the creepy bed-ridden and wheelchair-bound people at the old age home. They were disgusting, with their see-through skin and no teeth and drool leaking out of their mouths.

  “Do I hafta go?” I asked my dad.

  His smile fell. “Your great-aunt’s been looking forward to seeing you.”

  I wrinkled my nose and said, “I don’t want to go. Old people are gross.”

  “Are you saying you won’t visit me when I’m old and gross?”

  “That’s different,” I said. I didn’t want to think about my dad being old.

  My father stood in the doorway, shaking his head. “Need I remind you Aunt E
sther raised me when my own mother took off? I owe her everything.”

  “Yeah, you do,” I said. “But what’s that got to do with me?”

  His eyes blazed, but he didn’t raise his voice. “Esther took me in as an infant. I didn’t have parents, Sylvie. All I had was your great-aunt.”

  “Yeah, but Grandma said sorry for abandoning you before she died. She came back eventually.”

  “When I was an adult, sure.” My father stared across my room, right out the window. “Look, Sylvie, I realize Grandma was always there for you. I don’t want to sour the happy memories you have. All I’m saying is that Esther raised me just the way your mother and I raised you.”

  “I know, I know…”

  “No, you don’t know, Sylvie.” His tone surprised me so much I fell onto my million-year-old bed. Dad hardly ever snapped like that.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  He sighed and then sat beside me on the lumpy mattress. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you. I’m sorry for that. But I think you’re old enough to consider what it must have been like for your great-aunt to raise a child born out of wedlock.”

  I bit my bottom lip. I’d never thought about my father like that and it made me feel kind of weird.

  “Small-town folk really know how to get the rumour mill running. Your grandmother was young when she had me. Her sister was a proper young woman, but the family name was dragged through the mud.”

  “Yeah, but that wasn’t your fault,” I said, because I could tell my dad felt guilty for something out of his control. “All you did was get born. It wasn’t your decision to be abandoned.”

  When he looked me in the eye, I felt like we understood each other in a new way. I felt like he saw me not just as his little girl, but as someone he could actually talk to. And then a shadow crossed his face, and he said, “Your grandmother was only a few years older than you when she had me.”

  My whole body turned to stone. I hoped and I prayed he wouldn’t say more.

  And he didn’t, luckily. Except he did ask, “Are you sure you won’t come visit your great-aunt? She was really looking forward to seeing you.”

  “Maybe another time.” Not if I can help it! “Can we go to that Christmas store instead? You don’t have any decorations up.”

  “No sense putting them up when the workers will just take them down tomorrow. Anyway, I’m going to see Aunt Esther whether you come or not.”

  A sudden burst of anger shot through me, and I said, “What? You’re going to leave me alone when I just got here? But I’m your daughter!”

  “And family is the most important thing in the world.” My father stood up from my lumpy little bed. “That’s why I visit my aunt every day, rain or shine.”

  I stood too, like a shot. “If family’s so important, why have you hardly visited us since you moved here? We’re your kids, Graham and Douglas and Naomi and Alexandria and me. We’re your kids and you don’t even care about us!”

  “Sylvie!” My father reached for my shoulder, but I sped past him and down the stairs.

  When I got to the bottom, I realized I didn’t have anywhere to go. Not just that, but I was getting really hot. I’d unravelled my scarf, but I hadn’t taken off my coat.

  My father walked slowly down the stairs and stood silently at the bottom. I knew he was looking at me, but I didn’t look back. “You honestly believe I don’t care about you?”

  I sighed and crossed my arms.

  “Sylvie?”

  “I know you care about us, okay? Are you satisfied?”

  “No.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “But I’m not satisfied with anything, these days. Ever since your mom and I split I’ve felt like a piece of me was missing. And ever since you stepped off that bus, I’ve felt like a part of that piece came back.”

  I blinked back tears and looked up at my dad. “You’re happy I’m here?”

  “Happy?” He laughed. “I’ve been looking forward to this week ever since you wrote to say you were coming.”

  I could feel myself smiling like an idiot, and I couldn’t stop it.

  “You know who else would be happy to see you?”

  “Who?” Stupid question.

  “Your great-aunt Esther.”

  I shouldn’t have asked.

  When I didn’t say anything, my dad waited for a moment and then opened the front door. “I’ll bring dinner when I get back.”

  “Dinner?” I asked, sounding even more shocked than I felt. “You’re gonna be gone that long?”

  He shrugged. “Feel free to come along.”

  I looked away because I couldn’t stand how guilty he was making me feel. When he headed down those rickety front steps, I said, “Wait! What if I want to go out? I don’t have a key.”

  Pointing to the door, my dad said, “I don’t have a lock. See ya later, alligator.”

  I tried not to smile, but I couldn’t help it. How right I’d been about small town living! Not only did nobody lock the doors, but my dad didn’t even have a lock on his. Although, who would be stupid enough to break in with that crowd sitting in front of the house?

  When I realized all those curious eyes were staring at me, I closed the door and leaned back against it. I hadn’t noticed the long narrow hallway before. It had the same peeling patterned paper as the wall going upstairs. I’d already seen the front room and dining room. This hall must lead to the kitchen.

  The floorboards squeaked underfoot as I made my way toward the white door. I don’t know why I knocked. Obviously there was nobody else in the house. I just wanted to be absolutely sure I wasn’t walking in on some construction worker on the toilet. Yikes!

  Nobody answered, so I turned the decorative brass handle and inched the door open. I don’t know why I’d been so frightened about what I might find behind it. It was just a kitchen. A kitchen with the oldest-looking oven I’d seen in my life.

  Obviously the renovation people hadn’t started on it yet. The ceiling buckled in multiple places, and bits of plaster had randomly fallen off. I was no expert, but I knew what those brown stains were: water damage. And, come to think of it, this kitchen didn’t have a fridge. Did my dad eat take-out every night? You’d think, in a town as small as Erinville, he’d run out of places to grab and go.

  At least there was a round wooden table and four chairs. I sat. What else was there to do? Good thing I’d kept my coat on, because the air was chilly. Instead of glass in the door leading outside from the kitchen, there was just a sheet of plastic.

  What a dump.

  My poor dad, staying here all alone. I couldn’t decide if I was mad at him for not living with us or if I felt bad for him because he was so far away from us. Mostly, I just wanted him to come back. Eventually my parents would realize they were happier together. My older sister Naomi kept telling me I had to grow up and see the writing on the wall. This was the first step toward divorce. But she only thought that because so many of her friends’ parents were getting divorced. Our family was different.

  The kitchen suddenly grew cold. Very cold. I tightened my scarf around my neck, but it didn’t help. Was there a window wide open somewhere? That’s what it felt like. Even under a bulky sweater and winter jacket, my skin felt naked. I could feel my arms go all goosebumpy and the hair at the back of my neck stand up.

  How had it gotten so cold so fast?

  But it wasn’t just cold. There was something else going on. I felt like a rabbit on high alert. Suddenly my ears were attuned to everything. At first, I heard nothing but a strange high-pitched buzz. And then another noise, like tiny footsteps right beside me.

  I was too scared to move. There was nobody in the kitchen but me. Where was the noise coming from?

  The cupboard! I grabbed the knob and swung it open, fully expecting to find a very small person crouching in there.

  Nope, not a person. A raccoon. A chubby raccoon holding a take-out container in one little black hand and leftover rice in the other. It looked up at me and cocked its head
and it was just so cute that I said, “Awww! Are you eating my dad’s garbage?”

  I guess it didn’t appreciate being called out, because its eyes got beady and mean. Without letting go of the take-out container, it dropped down on all fours, stuck its big butt in the air and let out a wild growl. I’d never heard anything like it. It was a cross between a swarm of bees and a dog getting ready to bark.

  Normally I wouldn’t have been afraid of a raccoon, but normally when I saw them they were rifling through our neighbour’s trash cans, not trapped in a kitchen cupboard. When the raccoon’s growl grew deeper, I flew out of the kitchen, knocking over a chair as I stumbled toward the long hall. When I got to the front door, I swung it open, slipped out onto the porch, and slammed it behind me.

  I’d forgotten half of Erinville was sitting outside. They all looked like they were watching TV, and I was the show. They stared at me expectantly, letting their hotdogs hover close to their mouths and their popcorn cool in their hands.

  Where did that popcorn machine come from?

  One lady stood up from her lawn chair. She wasn’t young and she wasn’t old, but she did have a dachshund on a leash. Taking a few steps closer, she called out, “Did you see one, dearie?”

  I nodded, still feeling afraid even though the raccoon obviously couldn’t get me. Unless it came up through the cracks in the porch boards…

  Letting out a little shriek, I rushed down the front steps.

  “Oh, my poor dear! Come here. You’re safe now.” The not-young-not-old woman wrapped her arms around me and I let her, even though she was a total stranger. “Tell Marcie all about it.”

  I guessed her name was Marcie.

  “It was in the kitchen,” I said. “In the cupboard.”

  “In the kitchen,” the townspeople whispered, passing word down the line of lawn chairs.

  This was so silly. I was acting like an idiot. Pulling out of Marcie’s arms, I dusted myself off and said, “It’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t know why I was so scared in the first place.”

  Marcie looked around and said, “I’m sure it woulda scared the bejesus out of any one of us.”