A Ghost in the Attic

  A Ghost in the Attic

  Solomon Petchers

  Contents

  Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  A Ghost in the Attic

  COPYRIGHT 2019 by Solomon Petchers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author.

  ISBN 9781090778727

  Foreword

  The year is 2019. I wrote A Ghost in the Attic twenty years ago never really thinking I would ever get it published. It was a story reserved for my students and my own children. I’ve always enjoyed the craft of storytelling. Whenever I return to the attic after not visiting for long periods of time, I realize that this story is so much more than originally anticipated. The attic allowed me to make sense of some feelings about my childhood. Most of those feelings were good, but there were some that I wrestled with. The death of my father. My mother’s reaction to his death. My own personal physical illness. On the outside, I learned to hide behind a sense of humor and surface encounters. On the inside, there was a struggle to make sense of things and the timing of those events. The attic, simple in its style and storytelling, is a special place where I learned to overcome the obstacles life put in my way and to use the lessons I’ve learned for some good in this crazy world. It’s my wish that the journey into the attic offers something for you.

  Chapter One

  New Beginnings

  When I reflect on everything that happened, I guess I can say that I knew from the very first night that something was different about my house. I don’t mean in appearance; it looked just like every other house I’ve ever seen or been in. Down the block, the community resembled other communities back in Ohio. When looking down the street, it was like most streets where most of the houses appeared the same. And, just like every neighborhood, there was that one house that was more unkempt than the other houses. The lawn was overgrown, as if it hadn’t been mowed in ages, and the bushes and ivy that crept up the side of the house had somehow molded into one indescribable mound of foliage that looked as if it could come alive at any moment. Now, I’m getting ahead of myself. Yes, my house was certainly different. No, it wasn’t overgrown ivy or an uncut lawn that made my house different from the cookie-cutter houses that lined the street. Rather, it’s what was living, or not really living at all, in the attic that separated my house from any other house I’ve ever been in. Of course, every ghost story has a beginning and here is mine.

  “Samson! Samson! Let’s go. You’re going to be late,” my mother’s voice called from the bottom of the stairs. As I tossed and turned, my aching muscles reminded me of the past few days I’d spent lifting and unpacking boxes. I quickly put that to the back of my mind as the rich aroma of bacon began to fill my room. I hopped out of bed and got ready for my first day at my new school. I couldn’t imagine anything more horrible than being the new kid. I was against the move from the beginning, but Mom’s boyfriend, Scott, had been asked to be the lead on his company’s expansion into the San Diego area. Mom and I drove out to our new home and met the moving truck four days later. Scott had to stay and tie up a few loose ends. Mom joked that it was “so convenient” that he stayed behind because he wouldn’t have to be part of unpacking all those boxes. So, here we were; uprooted from everything I’d known back in Ohio. I voiced my resistance but gave in to the fact that I was outnumbered, and this was how it was going to be. Anyway, I’d be lying if a part of me wasn’t a little curious about starting over in a new place after a few years of bad memories.

  When I was ready, I bounded down the stairs, pausing only long enough to look over the living room where there were still lots of boxes left to be unpacked. I knew what I was going to be doing over the next few days after school. Well, at least I would have something to do since I didn’t have any friends yet. I made my way into the kitchen to find Mom rummaging through her camera bag and portfolio. She had made a decent living as a photographer back in Ohio—where she shot everything from weddings to family portraits. She had an interesting way of even turning the ugliest of kids into cute ones.

  “Morning, Mom,” I said as I tore open the wrapping around the package of paper plates and grabbed one.

  “Hey there!” She spoke without looking up. “How’d ya sleep? I tell you what, this fresh west coast air helped me sleep like a newborn baby.”

  “Don’t babies wake up all night?” I snickered. Mom didn’t laugh. She was too busy organizing her work for the day. Finally, she clicked the snaps on her portfolio and turned her attention to me.

  “So, did you answer my question?”

  I stopped in the middle of pulling a few strips of bacon and some eggs out of the pan, “What was your question again?”

  “How’d ya sleep?” Mom repeated as she took a seat at the table pushing the smaller moving boxes to one side.

  “I guess I slept alright,” I said as I slid into the seat at the breakfast nook. “I woke up a few times because I thought I kept hearing howling or something.”

  “It was probably just the wind blowing through the cracks in the house. This house is a little older than most.” She pushed a tuft of hair from my face. “Don’t be scared. It isn’t that different than our house in Ohio. You’ll just have to get used to the noises.”

  “I’m not scared,” I answered in a mildly defensive tone. And the truth was that I wasn’t, not in the least. The funny thing was, I didn’t remember it being windy last night. Then again, it was a long, long day. Unless I was so delirious and tired from moving and unpacking that I was imagining it. But, even if I missed it, obviously my mother recalled it being windy. “So, you heard it too?”

  “Heard what?”

  “The howling.”

  She thought for a moment, “Well, yeah, I heard something. Like I said, it was probably the wind. You are just going through the new house jitters. Just relax, I’m right down the hall. I’m not going anywhere.” She pinched my cheeks like I was a toddler.

  “Mom. Stop. I’m not scared of anything,” I laughed, still offended at the notion.

  She smiled at me and changed the subject, “You ready for school?”

  “Yup. How different could things be in the 5th grade here than they were at my old school?” I put my hands in the air and rolled my eyes.

  “Probably not much different,” Mom responded, not catching my sarcasm, which was a surprise because she was always calling me out about being too sarcastic.

  I got up and put my plate in the trash. Things could be very different. At my old school, I knew pretty much everyone. That’s not to say I was the popular kid, but I was friendly to everyone and people seemed to want to hang out with me. What if Southern California kids were different than kids in Ohio? My mother must have sensed something was on my mind.

  “Hey, Sporto. Everything okay?”

  I took one last sip of orange juice. “I don’t know. It’s this whole starting a new school thing. At home, school was a place where I belonged. It was all familiar to me. The people there were really good to us, especially after Dad died. They really
helped us get through some tough times. And, now, well, it’s like starting completely over and the whole idea just – just stinks if I think about it long enough.”

  The expression on her face changed like it did when she was thinking back to when things weren’t so good. She tried to hide the tears filling her eyes. “Samson, new beginnings are exciting if you just give them a chance. I know we’ve been through a rough patch. But things have been looking up in the last year. Haven’t they? We’ve had little successes along the way that have led us here. The only thing I ask is that you give it a chance.”

  “But what if I don’t fit in here? What if I have no friends, especially like the ones back home?”

  She cupped my face with both hands. “Let me ask you this. Back in Ohio, did you just find your friends along the side of the road somewhere?”

  “No,” I laughed having a feeling where she was going with this.

  “Well, you didn’t find them on eBay either. So, to make friends you are going to have to be your fun self and just go out and make some.” She looked down at her watch as her eyes widened, “Oh my gosh, we are going to be late. You don’t want to miss your bus and I don’t want to miss my interview.”

  I watched her as she gathered her things. She tried to show me that things were going to work out for the best despite the struggles our family went through. While my dad was in the middle of his battle with cancer, she tried to be strong for him and me. It wasn’t until after he passed that she finally allowed herself to be sad. That sadness turned into something else. It was a rough time for us, and it took some time for her to recover. So, when she started dating Scott a little over a year ago, I was okay with it because he’s good to her. As long as she’s happy, I’m okay with him, even though we had to uproot from Ohio and move here. “Mom?”

  “Yeah, Sport?”

  “Thanks,” I smiled at her and she flashed a contented smile right back.

  “Thank me later. We gotta hustle!”

  Chapter Two

  Strange Things

  I stood outside our front door and gave my mom a wave as she drove off. I surveyed the neighborhood for a moment. Remember that one house I mentioned that didn’t look like it was very well taken care of? Well, that house happened to be right next to us. It looked like a jungle! The bushes that separated our two front yards were completely overgrown; they were creeping into our yard and had weeds that were breaking through the cracks in the driveway as if frozen mid-explosion. The leafless overhanging branches hung over into our yard and reminded me of the types of scratches a lion makes in the jungle to mark its territory. The tall grass flowed with the wind like the ocean.

  The only thing I could think was that I was glad that I didn’t have to mow it. In the last year that became my responsibility at home. If someone told me to mow that yard, they’d have to send a search party for me!

  I zipped up my hoodie against the chilly April morning and made the first steps toward my new life at my new school. I got to the bottom step of the porch and headed towards the bus stop. The foggy air added to the mystery of the day as the sun pierced little fingers of light through it. I was the first to arrive at the bus stop, of course. It wasn’t long before the other kids started to arrive.

  The first images that came through the mist were two girls, younger than me, walking side by side in perfect unison – left, right, left, right. They stopped about ten feet away from me and just stared— an uncomfortable stare that seemed to last forever. They were twins. The kind that insisted on matching everything from their red, knee-length coats to matching shoulder length hairstyles with a little curl at the ends. Then, just as quickly as they had stopped, they continued walking, brushing right past me. I gazed after them and watched as they parked on the sidewalk and leaned up against the chain link fence that bordered the house on the corner. I turned my back on them, but I could still feel them peering at me, pointing their judging fingers. I took a quick peek over my shoulder and yup, I was right.

  I looked down for a moment, noticing the new scuffs on my shoes. When I looked up, I saw a large figure cutting a path through the morning fog. It appeared to temporarily grow thicker around the figure. It was a boy, a big boy, probably the biggest kid I had ever seen. He lumbered with a walk that really had no purpose. The combination of his slow, awkward walk and way the fog parted around him reminded me of the zombie movies Scott had gotten me hooked on. I chuckled to myself while keeping an eye on this big kid in the red and black flannel with a baseball cap pulled down over his eyes. Long, coarse, shoulder-length hair fanned out on all sides of his face.

  Suddenly, the big kid’s pace began to quicken as he focused in on me. It looked like he had no intention of stopping. I could sense the girls, who had been busy pointing their fingers at me, stop and wait for the collision. The menacing figure closed in quickly. I closed my eyes waiting for the blow. Nothing. By now, I had expected my butt to be firmly planted on the ground, but instead, when I opened my eyes, I was staring into a black t-shirt which peeked through the open buttons of his flannel. Now, I’m not a big fan of daily showers, but even I could tell it was time for this kid to take one. I could feel his warm breath blowing down on me out of his nostrils.

  I looked up at him, trying to find his eyes, but only found a dark shadow. I tried to smile at him and quickly come up with something clever to say but nothing came out. Suddenly, his lips parted, “You the kid who moved into the old Henderson house?” His voice came out hoarsely.

  “Umm...what?” The only words I could manage as sweat started to form on my forehead in little beads.

  He gave an annoyed sigh and then repeated, “Are you the kid who moved into the old Henderson house?”

  “Well,” this time I managed more, “I’m not really sure what you are talking about.” I felt my body quiver in fear but didn’t want to show it.

  The big kid adjusted his footing to a more agitated stance which made me even more nervous. I looked back at the two girls and found them with their mouths wide open in utter shock. “Did you move into the green house near the end of the block or not?” he growled.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “Tsk,” his lips smacked like he was eating peanut butter. “That’s the old Henderson house,” he grumbled in annoyance. “You don’t know much about that house, do you?”

  At that very moment, my sarcastic side came out unexpectantly, “Well, I do know it’s a house. What’s more to know?” As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Why did I have a habit of doing things like that? My mouth always seemed to get me in trouble. Now, I was using it with this kid who could easily pummel me with one hand tied behind his back.

  “Well,” he paused. “Strange things happen there. Three families in four years. Wouldn’t you say that’s strange?” I wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer. Before I could speak, he grunted, “That’s what’s to know.” He brushed past me, nearly cork-screwing me into the ground.

  I stood there, speechless, half because I was dizzy and half because I was scared. What did he mean strange things happen there? I mean seriously!? And, what kind of kid introduces himself to a stranger like that? I felt my fear start to transform itself into bravery. I wanted answers and that’s what I planned on getting. I spun around quickly to confront this kid. He was crouched down next to a tree with a thick stick in his hands. He looked at me from the dark regions of his cap and snapped that stick in his hands while curling the sides of his lips. I froze for a moment — picturing my smaller body as that stick. I needed information, but I figured it could wait, for now. I slowly turned back around, probably not hiding the fear on my face very well.

  I didn’t have much time to think about how I was going to find out about the ‘strange things’ that happen in my house before a gray station wagon pulled up across the street. The rear passenger door opened, and a shoe stepped to the ground. As the other shoe made contact with the pavement, a head fashioned with large glasses peered out from behind the open door as he examine
d the bus stop. The boy stepped away from the car and pushed the door shut. He wore a blue ski jacket that was a bit much for April. He extended the arm of his rolling backpack, adjusted his glasses, and made his way to where we were all waiting. The others weren’t falling over themselves to make him feel welcome. They didn’t with me either, but I shouldn’t have expected anything else. I was the new kid.

  As the gray station wagon drove off, it gave a hearty beep of its horn at which the boy spun around quickly to wave enthusiastically and awkwardly. The boy in those thick eyeglasses started to walk towards me, surprised that there was someone new at the bus stop. Just as he was about to speak, a deep growl rose up behind him which caused the both of us to freeze up. I shifted my weight to look around the boy and there it stood. A black, short-haired dog growling, bearing his yellow tinted teeth. The hair on its back bristled and his head lowered as if he were going to attack.

  I looked behind me and the two girls were nestled up against the fence. I quickly scanned to find the big kid and he was nowhere to be seen. Just then, I noticed his red flannel poorly camouflaged in the bushes on the other side of the fence that lined the house. How did he get over there so quickly? I thought. He moved pretty fast for a clumsy looking fellow. I wish I was there with him. But, for this little kid and me, there was no quick escape. The dog was too close and appeared too angry to make any sudden moves.

  I grabbed the kid by his oversized ski coat and pulled him slowly, and cautiously, towards me. The dog did not like the movement whatsoever. His growl turned into a loud, ferocious bark. I had to act quickly, but not carelessly. With the boy close to me, I scooted him around my body with my right arm, so he ended up behind me.