A Ghost in the Attic Page 2

  Now there was nothing between the dog and me, and the kid was safe. The dog stopped barking but continued a deep, menacing growl. Carefully, I stepped back to the edge of the curb, keeping the kid behind me, and squatted down to pick up the sticks that big kid had been snapping in his hands. The dog’s eyes traced my every move — never letting up his growl. Slowly, regaining my stance, I never took my eyes off the dog, but careful not to lock eyes. Instead, I kept my stare just below his, showing that I wasn’t a threat to him. With one of the sticks above my head, I prayed that he wouldn’t think I was raising it against him. He must have though, because his growls once again turned into barks. My next move would be a critical one. If I just threw the stick, he may think I was going to whack him with it. Some type of distraction was needed. My lips pursed in an attempt to whistle the type of whistle a dog would think is friendly. Nothing really came out on the first try because my mouth was as dry as a desert. On the second try, a dull whistle barely made its way from my lips. At first it had no effect, but upon the third try, he shifted his head from right to left but was still growling. I whistled again which silenced the dog. This was my chance, I launched the stick. The dog, confused, watched it sail over his shoulder and land on the street. Turning his attention back to me, he growled again a little less ferociously. I whistled again while raising the second stick over my head calling to the dog, “Here boy. C’mon. You wanna play?” Nervously, I called to the beast, causing him to tilt his head back and forth again. When I threw it, he ran after it, sniffed and then picked it up in between his teeth, and trotted over to me. He, with the same caution I had about him, dropped the stick at my feet. After a couple of rounds, the hair on the dog’s neck wasn’t standing up any longer, his expression had softened, and he appeared like a puppy that didn’t want our game to end. I reached into my backpack to retrieve my roast beef sandwich I had hastily made the night before. He watched me slightly more cautiously than he did a second ago. I asked, “Hey boy, you want some?” The dog moved closer as I tore off a piece. He sniffed and took the offering from me. With my palm up, I reached out to the dog. He gave my hand a lick. I moved my hand slowly to the top of his head and gave him a scratch, which he really enjoyed, as he moved closer to me. The two girls and the boy with the glasses looked on with amazement.

  Just then, the bus pulled up. The other kids were nailed down with fear. Recognizing their caution, I coaxed the dog out of the way. He was like a completely different beast as he trotted at my heels and sat down next to me. The two girls filed their way toward the bus with their mouths hanging open. Next, the boy with the thick-lensed glasses walked on the bus with the same look. Finally, that big kid, who I couldn’t recall jumping back over the fence, lumbered his way onto the bus, all while carefully watching the dog. Suddenly, the dog started to growl and ferociously bark again, and so the big kid hustled on as quickly as possible. Weird, I thought. I knelt down to eye level with the dog, now knowing that I was out of danger, “I’d bark at that kid too, if I could.” I chuckled to myself as I started to board the bus. The dog stared at me sad and confused. “I’ll be back.” He jumped up on hind legs and showered my face with kisses. After getting him to stop, I patted him again on the head and entered the bus. As it started to drive away, the dog chased us but gave up shortly afterwards putting his head down as if he was missing someone.

  Chapter Three

  The Boy with the Thick Glasses

  On the bus, the pickings were slim. Sure, there were some seats available, but no one was going out of their way to let the new kid have a seat. There were two options from what I could see. The first was to sit next to that big kid and try to find out what the heck he was talking about at the bus stop; the second was to sit next the other boy from the bus stop and find out what his story was. With the opportunity presenting itself, I decided, nervously, to reach out to that big kid. As I approached him, he clamped his hat over his eyes with his enormous paws, practically on top of his nose, and curled up his lip like the dog did at the bus stop. His look halted my steps. This was one beast I’d have to try to tame another day.

  Before I even resolved to go with option two, a nasally voice pierced the air, “Hey you, new kid. This seat is open.”

  I looked up and pointed to myself as if to say are you talking to me?

  “Phyllis won’t let you stand the whole way and it looks like you don’t have much of a choice,” his voice sounded as if air was slowly being released from an inflated balloon. The boy in the thick classes peered over a comic book.

  As I walked past where the two girls from the bus stop were seated, I noticed they were still judging me. I surveyed my options one last time before I sat down with the boy and his thick glasses. This was not exactly how my first day had played out in my head.

  The nasally voice greeted me, “Hi, I’m Nathaniel. Nathaniel Fargo. I’m in the 3rd grade. What’s your name?”

  “Umm...I’m Samson. Samson O’Keefe. 5th grade. Nice to meet you.” I looked over my shoulder to keep track of that big kid, not really paying much attention to Nathaniel.

  “Nice to meet ya. It was pretty amazing the way you handled Spike this morning.”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “Hello?” Nathaniel threw his hands up in disbelief. “Spike? The savage beast of a dog at the bus stop this morning?” He made his best angry dog-face and let out a grrr. “I think you saved my life.”

  “Oh him? He seemed like a nice dog once I got him to trust me. He was definitely spooked by something.”

  Nathaniel smacked himself on his forehead in astonishment, “Umm...I don’t think you understand. That dog has been terrorizing our bus stop for years. I heard he made off with one of the kids a few years back, and they never found him again.”

  I rolled my eyes knowing that his story couldn’t possibly be true. It was then that I noticed one of the two girls from the bus stop looking back at me. “What’s up with those girls? They are totally weird,” I asked Nathaniel, pointing at them.

  “Oh, that would be Jan and Pam. They are never apart. Twins. They don’t really talk to anybody, but they are always pointing their fingers and whispering like they are judging people. Don’t let them bother you.”

  That explains a lot, I thought to myself as I shrugged my shoulders like it was no big deal. My mind shifted to the other kid at the bus stop, and I looked over my shoulder again for some reason expecting him to sneak up on me.

  “So, where did you move from?”

  “We moved from Ohio. A town outside of Akron.” His piercing tone was really starting to get to me. Just then, my mother’s conversation with me this morning came into focus. So, to make friends you are going to have to be your fun-self and just go out and make some. This was proving to be harder than I originally thought.

  “So, which house is yours?” Nathaniel asked.

  “The green and white one down towards the end of the block.” The whole bus grew quiet for a moment as if everyone was eavesdropping into our conversation. I looked around half-expecting everyone to be peering at me. They weren’t, but when I looked at Nathaniel, he was looking at me through those thick glasses that made his eyes look like alien eyes. His face, already pale, took on an inexplicable shade of white that I was sure no one had ever laid eyes on. His mouth, hanging open like a ventriloquist’s dummy, exposed a mouthful of braces I hadn’t noticed until now. “Hello?” I waved my hands in front of his eyes trying to break him out of this trance. “Hello? Nathaniel? Everything okay?”

  He closed his mouth and swallowed hard. He blinked as if seeing me for the first time. His nasally voice came out raspy and slow as if each word was important, “Do you mean you moved into the old Henderson house?”

  Now, he had my complete attention. “I guess so. I don’t see what the big deal is. It’s just a house.”

  He gulped, “It’s not just a house.”

  “What do you mean it’s not just a house?” My eyes pierced through Nathaniel’s glasses into
his hazel eyes.

  “Well, of course it’s a house,” he patted his jeans, “but, it’s not just any house.”

  “So, tell me what you know.”

  Nathaniel sat up straight as if struck by something. He assessed his knowledge quietly. He looked as if he were about to speak and then decided against it. Scratching his chin, he squeaked, “Actually, not too much. It has a bad history. I was just told that strange things happen there.”

  I felt my face redden a bit in frustration, but I contained myself, “I figured out that much at the bus stop from that big kid in the red and black flannel.” I threw a thumb over my shoulder and whispered, “What’s his story?”

  Nathaniel adjusted his glasses and matched my whisper, “Oh, you would be referring to Moose. He’s been here as long as I can remember. He’s the biggest kid in the entire school. No one talks to him, and he doesn’t talk to anyone.” Then, he paused as if hearing me for the first time. “Do you mean he spoke to you? I didn’t think he could talk. One time I think I heard him grunt but that’s it.”

  I whispered a little louder, “Uh, yeah. After he nearly knocked me over.”

  “What did he say?”

  I glanced behind me to make sure he wasn’t standing over me. “Like I said, he said strange things happen at my house and something about three families in four years. I don’t even know what that means, do you? Who are the Hendersons?”

  “Well, I can’t really say who they are. Everything that happened, happened before I even realized something was happening. Got me?” Nathaniel’s voice rose to its familiar nasally-piercing tone. Then, he brought it down again, “The person you should be asking is-,” he gulped. “is Moose. He was here before everybody.”

  “Moose?”

  “Yes, but good luck with that. One time I saw someone try to make conversation with him, and he just stared at him from the cave under his cap. Later on, that kid was found stuffed into a locker. It’s a good thing he wasn’t hurt. But his parents pulled him out of the school lickity split.” He snapped his finger as if performing a magic trick.

  I sat mostly silent for the remainder of the ride to school while I thought of a way I could get information about the old Henderson house – my home. It was my right to know. Wasn’t I the one who had to live there? I turned to look back at Moose for moment. How was I going to get the information I needed without getting stuffed into a locker? As the new kid at school, it may take hours, perhaps days, before anyone even knew I was missing. The thought sent shivers down my spine.

  Chapter Four

  Music Class

  The morning fog parted as we pulled into Shadow Rock Elementary. I peered out of the window at my new surroundings, wondering how different things could be here. Honestly, I wasn’t in a rush to get off the bus. My first day hadn’t started off too awesomely. While I said goodbye to Nathaniel, I fished out the schedule from my pocket to find out where my classroom was. As I approached the room, I took a few deep breaths before peeking in. Inside the class, there were kids packed in groups of threes and fours talking and laughing. My first step in hit some type of pause button – nearly every kid in the room focused on me which caused my throat to go completely dry. The teacher must have noticed the silence and lifted her head to see what was going on. “Ahh, you must be our new student.” She shuffled papers on her desk, “Let’s see. Where is my list?”

  “O’Keefe,” I choked out.

  “Excuse me?” she looked confused.

  “My name is O’Keefe. Samson O’Keefe.”

  “Ahh, yes, here it is. You’re right. That’s your name,” she replied with a smile. “I’m Mrs. Westphal.” She turned her attention to the rest of the class as the morning bell chimed the official start of the day, “All right class. Please find your seats. C’mon, quickly now. We have a lot to take care of today.” The class finally filed into their seats, which were organized into rows, and gave Mrs. Westphal their attention – well at least most of them. “Please help me welcome Samson O’Keebler.” A few of the kids chuckled.

  “O’Keefe. Samson O’Keefe,” I corrected her trying my best not to make a big deal that she just completely butchered my name.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. Samson O’Keefe.”

  It was then that I noticed out of the corner of my eye a familiar black and red flannel. Moose. He looked pretty disinterested in what was happening. I couldn’t tell whether this was a good omen or a bad one.

  The class’s greeting was lukewarm at best. Mrs. Westphal changed her focus to her desk once again, “Ahh, this is nearly perfect. You can have a seat right in front of Norman. There’s been a vacant seat there since January.”

  I nodded. Norman? Really? Sounds like another Nathaniel. This day definitely wasn’t getting any better. The only thing was that there were a few empty seats, so I didn’t know which one to take. So, I waited.

  “Norman,” Mrs. Westphal called out as she adjusted her glasses, “Norman, please raise your hand so we can get Samson settled in.” The classroom grew awkward and coldly quiet. I looked around waiting. Mrs. Westphal spoke more firmly, “Norman Oleadertag. Please raise your hand so we can get Samson a seat. Let’s not have a continuation of last week.”

  Finally, a hand lazily rose into the air. My eyes opened wide and my stomach grew sick. The raised hand was attached to Moose’s arm. Shakily, I walked towards my new desk, I searched for Moose’s eyes, but they remained buried under his cap. When I sat down, something funny hit my thoughts. Moose’s real name was Norman? Norman Oleadertag? That was like one of those oxymoron things where two opposite words make up a word like jumbo shrimp. Moose sounded so intimidating and Norman Oleadertag seemed so, well, geeky.

  Have you ever said something that you wished you could take back as soon as it spilled out of your mouth? Well, what happened next was one of those moments. I was so deep in thought at Moose’s real name that I turned around, looked squarely at him and asked, “Norman? How did you go from being Norman to being named Moose?” His lips tightened as he pulled the brim of his cap, with a skateboarding skeleton on it, closer over his nose. I wanted to take the words back, but it was too late. I wanted to say that I was just kidding, but the damage was done. Slowly, I turned around, my face red. As I did, it looked as if every kid in class had witnessed what just happened. Oh boy, oh boy.

  I sat with the heavy weight of what I did for the first thirty minutes. It wasn’t until Mrs. Westphal arranged the class into groups of four and five kids to work on a project that I felt my sense of dread lighten. Thank goodness, Moose and I weren’t assigned the same group, but throughout the course of time, I glanced over to where his group was working. He just sat there while all the other kids cautiously worked around him. It must be hard for him to make any friends being like that. I’m sure there was not a kid in the entire school that would even think of approaching him.

  When my focus shifted back to my group and the poster project on states and capitals, the kids showed genuine interest in getting to know me. That helped, but I couldn’t understand why or how I put myself in such a bad spot with Moose. I’ll probably never learn about the strange things that happened in my house now because my new, new home would be in the comforts of a locker.

  Just then, the bell rang, and Mrs. Westphal reminded the class that today was chorus and the ensuing collective groan led me to believe that everyone had the same feelings I did about it. I thought to myself, do they really want to hear me sing?

  I waited until everyone moved to the door and found my place at the end of one of the two lines. Mrs. Westphal asked me to switch the lights and off we went. Our walk down the hallway was surprisingly quiet. My old school was never like this. On the opposite side of the hallway, walking toward us, were Jan and Pam walking in perfect unison. They met my eyes for a moment and didn’t even crack a smile.

  Finally, we arrived at the band/chorus room. I waited until everyone filed in and found my place at the end of the middle row. Ms. Rodda, the choir teacher, remained
in the hallway talking with Mrs. Westphal. She popped her head in the classroom because she could hear us getting loud. “Hello, cherubs. I need to talk with your teacher for a moment. Sara, please come to the front and run us through our scales. I’ll be just a minute. Thank you,” she finished with a sing-songy voice.

  What happened next happened so fast that I didn’t have time to even react. The class went through their scales. I didn’t even know what scales were, so I just stood there quietly examining the classroom. I swear the air chilled as the scales came to an eerie halt. And as I glanced to my right, the kids parted, tripping and falling forwards and backwards, and coming through the middle of it all was Moose, as if he were crashing through bowling pins. He came right up to me again and grabbed a fistful of my shirt. He snarled, and in a raspy, agitated voice he growled, “You’ve got guts, but definitely no brains.” He pulled me closer like I was a ragdoll causing my limbs to flail. “I’ll see you at lunch where we can—” he gave a pause, which I’m convinced was for dramatic effect, “be alone and discuss the matter further.”

  I swallowed hard and peered to my left and right to see all the other kids helplessly watching. Searching for his eyes, I looked up towards the darkness under his cap. He was definitely staring at me, I couldn’t see it, but I could feel it. I felt as if I should at least say something, so I managed in the most sheepish, meek sounding voice, “I – I look forward to it?” He jerked me closer even though I thought it was physically impossible to do so. Then, just as suddenly, he shoved me back with one huge paw that sent me slamming into the kid behind me and knocking him off the risers.