the door frame looking into the room.
Connie came in to sit on one of the window seats, a wisp of dust
rose as she thumped down.
“I always forget she died in the house. How
old were you when it happened?” I asked, stretching my aching back.
I had never been very interested in our family history, but now it
felt like some of the history was coming to life for me. My mom and
her sister told their stories occasionally but they rarely
mentioned other family members. It had to be really difficult for
them, growing up without a mother. But they never dwelt on it. I
was always so worried about my own problems, I never thought what
that must have been like for them.
“I was about twelve, Shelly was ten. It was a
difficult age to lose your mother. Not that there is ever a good
age for it but that’s a particularly difficult period in a girl’s
life. What do they say? Just on the cusp of womanhood. Then, our
father was so shut down. Cold, unemotional. He always seemed like
such a bastard. I don’t know if it was because he no longer had
anything to give or if it was because he was just a bastard,” she
finished with a sad sort of laugh.
“He was just a bastard,” Aunt Shelly joined
in, laughing with my mother. I could tell this was a subject they
had shared before, albeit privately. They weren’t the type of women
to let their experiences cloud the opinions of others. They largely
kept their thoughts to themselves and let others form their own
views. “He was always harder on you than me. I always felt guilty
because of that.”
Connie broke in, “Do you think it might be
Grandma haunting here? She might have unresolved issues. After all,
she died young, leaving her children to fend for themselves.”
“No,” my mother answered assuredly. “Oddly
enough, the haunting started right when they moved in. Our mother
had a few stories even from before I was born. Items not being left
where the person had put them down, light knocking, doors opening
on their own, that sort of thing.”
“It was haunted when they first moved in?” I
felt like an idiot but asked the question anyway. “Don’t tell
me—was it built on ancient burial grounds?”
My mom laughed, walking to the window to look
out. “I don’t think so, at least I never heard of anything like
that around this area. There are some mounds over in Wisconsin on
the banks of the river, but I never heard of any here in town. But
who knows, there might have been something else built on the land
before this house.”
“It sure has been a long time since I’ve been
here,” Aunt Shelly said. Then she perked up and exclaimed
excitedly, “Hey, I’d forgotten all about this feature.” She reached
her fingers in the door jamb where she was leaning and pulled. A
hidden door glided out from inside the wall. “I loved this pocket
door.”
I moved over to take a look. “This is what I
love about older homes. They have such character. You don’t get
that in the new homes anymore unless you spend tons of money.”
“Well, enough of all this talk and
remembrances,” my mom said. “We’re leaving now. Call and tell us
all about your ghost hunting.” We all walked out on the front porch
and hugged. We never used to hug so much before. Surprisingly, I
found that I really liked that.
“Now, make sure someone helps you with those
boxes. I don’t want to hear you and Aunt Shelly lugged them all
into the store by yourselves.”
“Would you stop worrying?”
“Worrying is what I do,” I answered.
Chapter
Twelve
As evening neared, I found myself constantly
watching the clock. Emmett and his friends weren’t coming until
after dark, and I couldn’t seem to settle down. I paced through the
rooms, picking up an item from one room and depositing it in
another, yet not accomplishing anything. Probably we should just
call the whole thing off. What were they going to find anyway? My
mother had said the house had always been haunted, they just
Connie came in to sit on one of the window seats, a wisp of dust
rose as she thumped down.
“I always forget she died in the house. How
old were you when it happened?” I asked, stretching my aching back.
I had never been very interested in our family history, but now it
felt like some of the history was coming to life for me. My mom and
her sister told their stories occasionally but they rarely
mentioned other family members. It had to be really difficult for
them, growing up without a mother. But they never dwelt on it. I
was always so worried about my own problems, I never thought what
that must have been like for them.
“I was about twelve, Shelly was ten. It was a
difficult age to lose your mother. Not that there is ever a good
age for it but that’s a particularly difficult period in a girl’s
life. What do they say? Just on the cusp of womanhood. Then, our
father was so shut down. Cold, unemotional. He always seemed like
such a bastard. I don’t know if it was because he no longer had
anything to give or if it was because he was just a bastard,” she
finished with a sad sort of laugh.
“He was just a bastard,” Aunt Shelly joined
in, laughing with my mother. I could tell this was a subject they
had shared before, albeit privately. They weren’t the type of women
to let their experiences cloud the opinions of others. They largely
kept their thoughts to themselves and let others form their own
views. “He was always harder on you than me. I always felt guilty
because of that.”
Connie broke in, “Do you think it might be
Grandma haunting here? She might have unresolved issues. After all,
she died young, leaving her children to fend for themselves.”
“No,” my mother answered assuredly. “Oddly
enough, the haunting started right when they moved in. Our mother
had a few stories even from before I was born. Items not being left
where the person had put them down, light knocking, doors opening
on their own, that sort of thing.”
“It was haunted when they first moved in?” I
felt like an idiot but asked the question anyway. “Don’t tell
me—was it built on ancient burial grounds?”
My mom laughed, walking to the window to look
out. “I don’t think so, at least I never heard of anything like
that around this area. There are some mounds over in Wisconsin on
the banks of the river, but I never heard of any here in town. But
who knows, there might have been something else built on the land
before this house.”
“It sure has been a long time since I’ve been
here,” Aunt Shelly said. Then she perked up and exclaimed
excitedly, “Hey, I’d forgotten all about this feature.” She reached
her fingers in the door jamb where she was leaning and pulled. A
hidden door glided out from inside the wall. “I loved this pocket
door.”
I moved over to take a look. “This is what I
love about older homes. They have such character. You don’t get
that in the new homes anymore unless you spend tons of money.”
“Well, enough of all this talk and
remembrances,” my mom said. “We’re leaving now. Call and tell us
all about your ghost hunting.” We all walked out on the front porch
and hugged. We never used to hug so much before. Surprisingly, I
found that I really liked that.
“Now, make sure someone helps you with those
boxes. I don’t want to hear you and Aunt Shelly lugged them all
into the store by yourselves.”
“Would you stop worrying?”
“Worrying is what I do,” I answered.
Chapter
Twelve
As evening neared, I found myself constantly
watching the clock. Emmett and his friends weren’t coming until
after dark, and I couldn’t seem to settle down. I paced through the
rooms, picking up an item from one room and depositing it in
another, yet not accomplishing anything. Probably we should just
call the whole thing off. What were they going to find anyway? My
mother had said the house had always been haunted, they just
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