by Kim Bowman
Charlie’s mouth fell open. Jack had to be kidding. His eyes darted to the door leading downstairs. “You can’t be serious.”
Jack looked up, eyebrows drawn together. “Well, yeah. We have to make sure all the entryways are covered.”
Millie slid her hand in Charlie’s, her twirling forgotten. “I don’t want to go to the basement. It’s scary down there.”
Charlie gently squeezed her tiny fingers. “We’re not going downstairs.”
“But Char—”
He jerked his head up and locked eyes with his little brother. “No basement. Mother’s going to kill as it is when she sees salt all over the place.” Millie’s hand tightened on his, her nails digging into his palm.
Charlie pulled his hand away, wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and glanced down at her. “It’s ok, Silly Millie. Don’t listen—Millie, what’s wrong?”
The little girl’s eyes were bugged out and tears were spilling down her chubby cheeks. She raised her arm and pointed a shaky finger toward the door. “J-J-Jack!” Millie jerked her hand free and let out a high-pitched scream as she turned and ran through the swinging door leading to the main part of the house yelling, “Mommy!”
“Millie, wait.” Charlie winced. They were in trouble now. He furrowed his brows as he watched his sister disappear through the door. Whatever had frightened her was obviously scarier than being alone in the dark house. “What in the world got into her?”
“I’m not sure, but I told you we shouldn’t have let her know what we were doing. Now we’ll all be in trouble,” Jack grumbled.
He turned to see Jack standing with his arms crossed over his chest. His attention was drawn to movement just outside the back door. “Jack, close the door and let’s—” Charlie broke off as his gaze drifted past Jack’s shoulder to the two hooded figures coming up the porch stairs. “Jack, get away from the door,” Charlie whispered in a shaky voice.
“What? Why?”
“Just do as I say.” Charlie glanced around wildly. Part of him wanting to run, the rest of him unable to leave his little brother to whatever was coming through the door. His eyes landed on the utility sink standing to Jack’s right. “Bend down and roll under the curtain around the sink.”
“Ch-Ch-Charlie?”
Dread filled Charlie as the apparitions started through the open door. With the moonlight behind them casting them in shadow and the only thing remotely visible the white surrounding black eyes, they looked sinister, evil. The things were close enough now to be heard, and the whispery hissing sounds they made seemed to surround Charlie and prevented any other noises from entering his ears. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion, to almost halt, as the ghosts walked into the house, right through Jack who stood in the doorway.
Charlie’s heart leaped into his throat cutting off his air. Jack doubled over as the spirits passed through him. Panic gripped Charlie, squeezed his chest until he thought he’d die, instinct telling him to run but his feet frozen in place. His mind screamed at him that what he saw wasn’t real, but he couldn’t deny the sinister figures standing a few feet in front of him. Although very dark and black, the apparitions were transparent, almost like a foggy mist, and he could clearly make out his brother on the other side of them.
Jack started to whimper, prompting Charlie into action. He pulled the small satchel of black salt and the paper straw from his pants pocket. As quickly as he could with shaking hands, he poured some of the mixture into the tube. Just as he lifted the straw to his mouth, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a wisp of white floating toward him. It was stark against the pitch-dark of the stairwell. His heart went wild, beating an erratic rhythm that almost made him faint. Heat flowed through his body combining with the ice-cold chill that had set in deep inside his bones. He opened his mouth to scream, but it was too late. Long fingers clamped around his upper arm and jerked him, causing his paper straw to go flying from his fingers, then he disappeared into the darkness.
Chapter Three
Everybody in their own imagination decides what scary is.
~Yvonne Craig
“Honestly, what were you boys thinking? Playing such games with Millie. She’ll have nightmares for a month. And if you tell me anything else about ghosts and ghouls, so help me…” With Millie in her arms, their mother opened the basement door and retrieved the broom and dustpan. She thrust them at the boys. “Get the floor cleaned up. And first thing when you come home from school, you’re going to mop every inch of this floor. I ought to tan both your hides for making such a mess. Just look at your sister. I’ll be lucky if I ever get her to sleep in her own room again. You boys have scared her to death.”
“But, Mother, it wa—”
Charlie elbowed his little brother in the side, causing him to stumble sideways into the kitchen table.
“Boys, that’s quite enough. I don’t want to tell you again to sweep up that mess on the floor,” she ordered.
“Yes, Mother,” they said in unison. Charlie set the flashlight down and took the broom and dustpan, handing Jack the latter.
Charlie couldn’t stop shaking. He was trembling so bad he was scattering the salt more than sweeping it up. The image of those ghosts walking through Jack kept playing over and over again in his mind. And when their mother had grabbed him, he’d been sure he was a goner.
“Charles, are you even listening to me?”
He jerked his head up and looked at his mother. “I’m sorry, Mother. I’m still a little rattled from seeing that gho—”
“Charles Foster, I advise you not to finish that sentence. I’ve had enough of your wild stories for one night. How many times do I have to tell you there’s no such thing as ghosts?”
Jack stood up. “But, Mother, Charlie’s telling the truth. They passed right through me and—”
Their mom extended her arm palm up and made a sweeping motion around the room. “Well, then, where are they?” She cupped her hand around her mouth. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”
Charlie glanced at Jack, whose eyes were huge and darting around the room.
“I saw ‘em too, Mommy,” Millie whispered.
“Then where are these scary apparitions who have caused fear and despair in my children? I want to give them a piece of my mind.” She made a dramatic show of pulling out a couple of chairs, opening the cellar door and searching, peeking up the stairs. “I don’t see anything. Nor do I see one sign that anything other than you three have been in my kitchen.”
Charlie glimpsed behind her at the door leading out of the kitchen. It was still slightly swaying from the spirits going through it, but he bit his tongue and didn’t point it out.
“It’s because I don’t give you enough attention, isn’t it? You three are acting out as a way to get me to notice you, aren’t you? Deliberating causing mischief when you know I have to be up at the crack of dawn for my shift at the hospital. Do you think the patients want their nurse nodding off while she’s dispensing medication? I’ve failed you in some way.”
Having no clue what their mother was talking about, Charlie glanced at his brother. Jack just shrugged.
“Get back to sweeping, boys. We all need to return to our beds. For the next week, you will come straight home from school and do nothing but chores and homework. You will scrub this house from top to bottom inside and out. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” Charlie and Jack answered.
“Millie, I’ll have chores for you to do too.”
“Okay, Mommy. But can I sleep with you tonight? Please.”
“Yes.” Helen turned to start up the stairs then wheeled back around to face Charlie and Jack. “And another thing, hand over those foul-smelling concoctions you have hanging around your necks.”
Millie clutched the necklace between her chubby fingers. “No, Mommy, please. I need to keep it on so the boogies won’t get me. Jack said it’ll keep ‘em away.”
Chapter Four
We must travel in the dir
ection of our fear.
~John Berryman
Helen Foster was mad and fed up with her boys. “Did you learn nothing from your visit with Father Aaron last year? He made it perfectly clear that ghosts and spirits were the devil’s work. Apparently just one trip to see him didn’t do you boys a bit of good. Perhaps I need to call him and schedule a few more sessions.”
Millie lifted her head. “But, Mommy, I saw the spooks too.”
“You too, Missy?” Helen let out a loud sigh. “I guess you need to go see Father Aaron along with your brothers.” She was alarmed and angry that her children were so obsessed with such godless, unholy things. She wasn’t sure what had caused it. Well, maybe she was. Her worst fear was that Charles wouldn’t return, would be killed in combat. She missed him so much that at times she imagined he was sleeping beside her. Had even gotten carried away enough to think she’d heard him snore on a few occasions. This whole ghost thing was their way of not worrying that they might not see their father again, she was positive.
The little girl started to cry. “Does that mean me and Jack and Charlie are going to hell?”
“Millicent Foster, you most certainly are not. I don’t want to hear you say such a thing again. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Mommy. But are we?”
Helen rolled her eyes. “No, you aren’t going anywhere but heaven.” She looked at the boys. “When you’re done by the door, get this mess in front of the stairs cleaned up. What have you spilled all over my floor?”
The gritty substance now coated the bottom of her feet and the course texture was starting to irritate. She retrieved the flashlight from the table and panned the floor with the light. The area around her was covered with specks of a black and white material. Whatever the darker matter was, it had smeared and streaked her hardwood. She ground her teeth together as she scanned further out to assess the damage. By the steps there was a white tube of some sort. Helen sat Millie on the table and bent to retrieve it. It was a page from a book and someone had tied string around it to keep it from coming loose.
“That’s our ghost weapon,” Millie offered in a loud, excited voice.
Helen’s eyebrows shot up. “Ghost weapon?”
“Mother, I—”
She held her hand up. “Quiet, Charlie.”
The boys had stopped sweeping and were staring at the tube in her hand, eyes wide. Curiosity piqued, she started pushing the string down the cylinder.
“Go ahead, Millie. It’s your ghost weapon?”
The little girl nodded her head up and down. “Yep. We put the black salt,” she pointed at the floor, “in the straw,” she pointed at the paper Helen was unraveling, “and we blow it out at the boogies to scare them off.”
“What’s black salt?”
Millie shrugged. “I don’t know. What is it, Jack?”
Helen looked at her middle son expectantly.
He cleared his throat. “Um, it, um, is salt and ashes from the fireplace.”
That explained the black smudges on her floor. “Salt as in my table salt?”
The boys shook their heads.
“Is that what’s poured all over the place by the door.
“That’s just salt from your canister,” Millie said.
Helen’s eye started to twitch. Her head was spinning with so many things she didn’t even know where to start lecturing the children. She finished unfolding the paper and shined the light on it. Anger seeped through her pores and covered her skin in a boiling fire. The annoyance at having been awakened because of the boys’ tomfoolery quickly turned to rage. Her hand started to shake.
“This is from my favorite book. You ripped pages from my favorite book for your foolishness.”
“We’re sorry, Mom,” Charlie said.
“It was my fault, Mom. I did—”
“It was both of us. Jack was just—”
“Shut up!” Helen pointed her finger at the boys. “I don’t want to hear it. I can’t deal with you two right now. I’m way too angry and I’ll say things I don’t mean. Get to your room and stay there the rest of the night.”
Jack and Charlie just continued to stand and stare at her.
“Now!”
They both jumped and dropped the cleaning tools they’d been holding and scurried up the stairs.
“Are we in big trouble, Mommy.”
Helen shut and locked the back door then put the broom and dustpan away.
“Yes, Millicent, you three are in very big trouble.” She scooped the little girl into her arms and stomped up the stairs.
“You’ll still let me sleep with you, won’t you, Mommy?”
Helen knew she should relieve her daughter’s distress and tell her yes, but she couldn’t force the words out. Instead, she just continued to her room and settled Millie on the bed. “Go to sleep. Not another peep.”
Chapter Five
We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.
~Stephen King
Charlie was afraid to close his eyes. As much as he tried to convince himself the scratching, clinking, groaning, and thudding filling the night had always been there, he just didn’t believe it. Logic argued that the doors opening and closing along with the footsteps moving over the hardwood had nothing to do with, and didn’t sound like, the winds rustling through the old, drafty house. Just when it would get quiet and he’d let his eyes start to drift shut, there’d be a new rattle or thud that would startle him and leave him wide awake.
“Charlie?”
“What?” Still annoyed with his little brother—and himself, if he was being honest—he was really in no mood to talk.
“Why do you think the ghosts come to our house? I mean, why do they single us out?”
“I dunno. I guess because we’re the closest house to the graveyard. Not much else on this street except for the Thompsons and the Roberts and they’re way down the block.”
“But what do they want from us?”
Charlie sighed loudly. “I don’t know, Jack. Why didn’t you asked them while you were holding the door open for them?”
The room fell silent. He hadn’t meant to be so mean. Jack had only been trying to keep them safe. It wasn’t just his fault they were in trouble and grounded for a week. If anything, it was more Charlie’s fault. He was the oldest, after all.
He ran his hands over his face and through his hair then turned to face his brother. “Listen, Jack, I’m sorry. I’m just grumpy and tired and I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”
“It’s okay. I’m sorry we caused Millie to be so scared. Mom was pretty mad.”
That’s an understatement, Charlie thought. “Let’s get some sleep. It’ll be time for school before long. We have a lot of chores to start when we get home tomorrow.”
The room fell silent except for the leaves rustling as the breeze whipped the branches of the large oak outside their room around. The strong, blustery wind made a high-pitched whistling sound as it thrashed the limbs about.
“I bet they want to inhabit our bodies so they don’t go back to being dead,” Jack whispered.
Charlie growled and pulled the pillow over his head and yelled into it. Then he ordered in a muffled voice, “Shut up and go to sleep, Jack,” before he rolled onto his side facing away from his little brother.
“Charlie?”
“What now?” He snapped.
“Those thinks kinda looked like Father Aaron, didn’t they? The long faces, yellowish eyes, dark clothes with hoods of some sort like the robe the priest wears.”
Charlie bit his lip to keep from laughing. “Only you would think of something like that.”
“They sorta moved like him too. Slow and stiff.”
“You better not tell Mother you think Father Aaron looks like a ghost,” Charlie said, and then he did chuckle.
There was a whimper from behind him. “I-I’m scared, Charlie. What if one of those things is still in me.” Jack started to sob.
Charlie turned around and
stared at Jack, ready to lecture him on his crazy imagination, but he clamped his mouth shut. Jack had been visibly shaken by the events tonight. More so than even Charlie had realized. When their mother had clamped her hand on his arm, he’d nearly passed out with fear. Poor Jack had to be sick. Under the same circumstances, Charlie would be freaking out too. Those spirits had traveled right through Jack and into the house. No wonder he was crying.
“They aren’t in you.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re worried about it.”
“It was the worst feeling in the world having the spooks walk through me. The closest thing I can compare it to is like when we were on that fire ant hill at the park and found out when they went up our legs and started biting. They burned and stung so bad we scratched ’til blood ran down our legs. Even after Mom washed the ants off, we kept itching cuz it felt like they were still on us. Remember, Charlie?”
