A Ghost in the Attic Read online

  “I’m up here.” Moose’s voice called finally, silencing the chaos.

  I spun my head up so quickly I nearly gave myself whiplash. There looking over the edge of the tree house was Moose’s head looking down at me. “How the heck did you get up there so fast?”

  “I climbed,” he said.

  “Yeah, but how?” This I had to know. How had such a big kid climbed the tree so quickly and quietly. I didn’t hear a single thing.

  “Around the back of the tree are wooden planks nailed into the trunk. Climb that like you would climb a ladder. It’s easy.”

  Walking around the back of the tree, I found the planks. They looked old and not very secure. It’s easy, he says. I put one shaky foot on the first plank and started the climb. I got up fairly easily just by slowly putting one foot on a plank at a time, after checking if it was stable.

  When I was nearing the top, Moose called out, “You’re doing great. Just a few more feet. Whatever you do, don’t look down.”

  I hate it when people tell me not to do something. The only thing I want to do is do what I’m told not to do. And, that’s just what I did. After I secured my footing on the next plank, I looked down. My head started to spin as my grip on the planks started to weaken. Suddenly, my left foot slipped. I found myself holding onto one plank with two hands and barely balancing on one foot. My other foot frantically searched to find something, anything that would help me to find balance. “Arrgh. Moose help me!” I yelled, fear dripping on every word.

  “I told you not to look down.”

  “Not a good time for a lecture.”

  “Give me your hand.”

  “If I do, I’ll fall.”

  “If you don’t, you’ll fall. Trust me. When I count to three, give me your hand. One! Two! Three!” I loosened my left hand and popped it securely into Moose’s hand. With both of his hands gripped around my hand and arm, he hoisted me into the tree house.

  We both laid on our backs trying to catch our breaths. “Why,” I asked between gasps, “would someone put a treehouse so high?”

  Moose laughed, “It wasn’t always this way. As the tree grew, it just got higher. You okay?”

  “I’ll live.”

  Moose regrouped himself. He got to his feet and prowled around the floor of the tree house. I dusted myself off and caught my breath and did a quick study of Moose. He began to pace the floor as if he had something weighing on his mind, and he just had to get it out. Two of the plywood walls had large windows cut out. One faced Moose’s house and the other faced mine. It was the window facing my house that Moose kept returning to each time taking a good, long look. Finally, he turned to me and said, “Are you ready to learn about the Hendersons?”

  I swallowed hard. I got up and looked around. The window where Moose stood had a nearly perfect view of the back of my home, as if by design. Both backyards painted an interesting contrast. “Well, I waited all day to hear this story. So, if you’re ready, let me have it.” I settled into the corner of the treehouse and waited for Moose to share.

  He took a deep breath and began. “Walter Henderson moved into your house several years back. His daughter and her family owned the home and moved Mr. Henderson in after Mrs. Henderson passed away. Mr. Henderson’s daughter only lived in the next town, so it was a great way for Mr. Henderson to be on his own without family being too far away.

  “So, the day Mr. Henderson moved in, he was greeted by his neighbors. He directed a group of movers to where each piece of furniture was to go and what rooms to put the carefully labeled boxes in. A very large dog was glued by Mr. Henderson’s side. He was so big that if he was to stand on his hind legs, he’d be about the height of an average man and easily match his weight. Mr. Henderson introduced himself to his new neighbors and their son. The son could not take his eyes off the large beast that never left the new neighbor’s side. He noticed the boy’s curiosity. ‘This here is Nanuk,’ Mr. Henderson explained. ‘He’s an Akita. Akitas are Japanese hunting dogs. Did you know that two Akitas can take down Japan’s largest bear, the Yezo? Yes, they are great hunters, but more importantly, old Nanuk here is a great companion.’ He scratched Nanuk behind his ear.

  “Suddenly, the boy was so caught up in the story that he quickly reached out his hand to pet Nanuk. The quick movement set Nanuk into protection mode. He growled and barked at the boy sending him sprawling hard onto the ground with a thud. Mr. Henderson gave a tug of the leash as the boy’s parents attended to their son. Mr. Henderson apologized and explained the Nanuk was plenty friendly and that you just have to approach him more slowly until he gets to know you. ‘He’s very protective of me,’ Mr. Henderson said.

  “Fighting off the tears that started to fill his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt, the boy stood up and screamed, ‘I hate that dog. He’s stupid.’ Then he looked at Mr. Henderson and yelled, ‘I hate that you moved in.’ He took off running and slammed the door of his house.”

  I had to interrupt, “It wasn’t the dog’s fault or Mr. Henderson’s.” Moose said nothing but continued with his story.

  “Over the next several weeks, the boy’s family and Mr. Henderson’s relationship began to strengthen. Mr. Henderson began to call them his ‘extended family.’ The boy’s father would help Mr. Henderson with some of the bigger chores. His mother would bring over meals or desserts. All was good between the adults, but with the boy – that was a different story. Ever since the incident that first day, the boy would sneakily go to the fence that separated the two yards and torment Nanuk. Sometimes, he’d just stare and say all sorts of mean stuff right to the dog. Other times, he would kick dirt at Nanuk or rattle a stick along the chain links, setting him off.

  “Well, one day after sitting at the fence line watching Nanuk, the boy devised a plan that would surely get back at the dog. He ran into the house and grabbed a package of ground beef and mixed all sorts of things into it: a capful of shampoo, some of his dad’s talc powder, half a bottle of his parents’ antacid, anything else he could get his hands onto. The boy laughed as he mixed the concoction together, picturing Nanuk eating it, getting sick, and throwing up all over the place.”

  “Who would do such a thing? A monster?” I questioned more rhetorically.

  Moose continued, “When the boy came to the fence line, he called for Nanuk. ‘Here boy. Let’s be friends. I have a peace offering.’ Nanuk, cautious at first, moved towards the fence. ‘Here ya go, ya big dummy.’ The boy chuckled to himself as he dropped the mixture over the fence.

  “Nanuk looked at the mixture and sniffed it. Finally, he took the offering into his mouth and swallowed it in two bites. The boy smiled, pleased with himself. Nanuk looked at the boy as if to say thank you, kicked dirt with his back legs, and trotted off.

  “Expecting immediate results, the boy was left disappointed. He hoped Nanuk would get sick right then and there.

  “At dinner that evening, the boy got more than he expected. There was a knock at the door. It was Mr. Henderson. He looked confused and sad. The boy’s mother asked him to come in and what was wrong. He replied, ‘It’s Nanuk. He’s really sick. He’s been vomiting non-stop for the last several hours. He needs to go to the vet hospital.’

  “The boy was eavesdropping and could barely contain his excitement. The boy’s father offered to drive Mr. Henderson and Nanuk to the 24-hour clinic and insisted the boy come with them. It took all three of them to lift Nanuk’s massive body into the car. The drive to the hospital was a brutal one. Nanuk lay in the back of the car with his head on Mr. Henderson’s lap. He was dry heaving and hacking the whole ride. The boy began to regret his actions and he could swear at one-point that Nanuk lifted his head long enough to look into the boy’s eyes. His eyes asked why? The boy couldn’t meet his gaze and forced himself to look away. By the time the car rolled into the parking lot, Nanuk’s suffering had not subsided. Mr. Henderson’s lap was a mess of saliva and blood.

  “They spent the greater part of the evening at the hospital only to
have Nanuk succumb to the boy’s evil deed. Nanuk was dead.” Moose paused a moment before continuing, “Mr. Henderson? He was inconsolable.”

  I sat there listening to the tale, angry and frustrated. Could this really be true? I saved my questions and waited for Moose to continue. He paused for a while gazing out of the cutout window before moving on.

  “Two days later the veterinarian, Dr. Talbot, called Mr. Henderson and explained that Nanuk may have been poisoned or had simply gotten into something that ate away at the walls of his stomach preventing any digestive acids from working. The boy’s mother asked, ‘Who would do such a thing and why?” His parents and Mr. Henderson searched for answers. They asked the boy if he knew what happened, or perhaps, if he’d seen anything. The boy stood in denial, insisting he didn’t know anything, but at the same time he could not meet Mr. Henderson’s inquisitive stare.

  “Three days later, the loss of Nanuk took its toll on Mr. Henderson. He was so heartbroken that he suffered a heart attack. He stayed in the hospital for twelve days before finally being released. The boy’s parents and Mr. Henderson’s daughter helped take care of him until he regained his strength. He never did.

  “Several days after Mr. Henderson had come home, he asked for the boy to come over and see him. Of course, he didn’t want to.”

  “Of course not!” I yelled. “He’s a complete coward!”

  Moose just kept going, “The boy’s mother insisted that he go, explaining that maybe Mr. Henderson just needs some good company. So, reluctantly, the boy went. He walked in and called for Mr. Henderson. A weak voice summoned him from upstairs. When he reached the door, he peered into the room. Mr. Henderson waved him in. As he entered, he noticed on the wall were several hand-drawn, black and white framed sketches. Each picture was of dogs and cats. There was one with a dog at the base of a tree presumably barking at a cat that just stared down at him — satisfied with getting away. Another one, had a cat racing along the top of a fence with a dog chasing it along. A third drawing showed a much larger dog cornering a cat in an alley. Each of the six pictures depicted a different scene.

  “Mr. Henderson kept a watchful eye on the boy as he looked at them. The boy was truly interested in the artistry of the pictures. However, it was also a good way to prolong having to talk with Mr. Henderson. When he was finished, he turned to look at the ailing man. The boy found it difficult to meet his sickly gaze. Mr. Henderson looked older and nearly lifeless.

  “In a hoarse voice, Mr. Henderson asked, ‘Do you like my drawings?’

  “‘You drew those? They’re amazing!’ He was being honest.

  “Mr. Henderson spoke, ‘The battle between the feline and canine is as old as time. It is a challenge for both of them, you know. For the canine, the challenge is to try to catch the feline despite its quickness and agility. For the feline, the challenge lies in the escape. One false move and the canine’s powerful jaws will win. Often, the canine is left feeling humbled.’

  “The boy never thought about this struggle, but somehow, it made sense.

  “‘You, my boy, have played the role of the canine, haven’t you? The Alpha Dog’s struggle for power. But, you, my boy, have cheated. You’ve erased the line between what is right and wrong,’ Mr. Henderson coughed weakly covering his mouth with a handkerchief.

  “‘I don’t understand’ the boy asked, searching his own mind for meaning.

  “‘You see. The feline nor the canine resort to blurring those lines. They rely on instinct to see them through. Not trickery to tip the scales in one’s favor either way.’

  “Mr. Henderson coughed and as he struggled to breathe, the boy was reminded of how badly Nanuk had suffered because of his actions. It was then that he realized what Mr. Henderson was talking about.

  “Mr. Henderson continued, ‘You’ve tipped the scales, haven’t you? You have spent much of your young life chasing and hurting others because you simply didn’t get your way.’ The boy tried to explain, but Mr. Henderson waved his hand, cutting him off. ‘Like I said, the struggle between canine and feline is one that is played on even ground. A game of wits. No cheating. No advantages. Each playing to its own strengths. Instinct versus instinct. Do you understand?’

  “The boy nodded his head, searching for answers, for explanations but found himself speechless. For a moment he thought of defending himself, but there was no argument that would make any sense. Instead, he dropped his head as a tear fell from his eye and he whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’

  “The old man didn’t respond to his apology. He reached over to his night table drawer and pulled out a folded sheet of faded stationary paper. ‘This is a letter that you are to read when you get home.’ The boy took it from Mr. Henderson’s pale, cool hand and put it into his jacket pocket. ‘Boy, leave me. But, on your way out, look at the pictures once again. Study them and understand the delicate balance between canine and feline. The feline has to rely on sharpened instincts as you too must be sharp.’

  “The boy did as he was told. As he examined each picture, the drawings moved, playing out each scene like a movie. The dog running along the fence line chasing the cat, and the cat narrowly escaping by leaping to the next fence. A dog stalking a curious cat who found itself in the wrong yard, and the cat escaping by using its instinctual ability to climb. The final picture showed how the dog had chased the cat into the corner of an alley. This time the dog would have its way with the cat. He rubbed his eyes, not believing, as each framed sketch became living art. Upon opening his eyes again, Mr. Henderson’s cough worsened and now echoed throughout the room and reverberated off the walls. It was as if Nanuk’s painful death was being replayed. Then, a howl filled the room sending a chill into the boy’s body. He bolted down the stairs and out of the Henderson house.

  “He didn’t stop until he was safely inside his bedroom. Taking a deep breath, he pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket and settled onto his bed. Slowly, he unfolded it and took to reading the shaky handwriting.

  Dear Boy,

  You know that I am sick and don’t have much time left. When I pass from this world, a great spell will be cast upon you because of your actions. You have been so ill-natured towards Nanuk and me, and it is time for you to make amends. You stole my only friend.

  Since you have played the canine, the Alpha dog, the tables will be turned. You see, dear boy, you will be changed into a feline. You will not age. Your senses will sharpen so that your instincts are that of a cat. Train them well, because no one will be left to help you. Your parents will be swept away. You will be forced to face your natural enemy – the canine.

  This will not be a life sentence for you to endure. All can be restored. The spell can be broken at any time. To do this, you must retrieve a magical golden vial of milk that will be tucked away in my attic. Once you have retrieved it, you must use it for a kind act. However, there is one catch. It will be protected by the very thing you have taken away from me, the ghost of Nanuk. You must use your new cunning feline ways to outwit him. Anyone may help you, but please understand that their failure will mean that they too will be swept away.

  My hope is that you will have learned a lesson from all this.

  Good Luck,

  Mr. Henderson

  “The boy read the note several times before finally crumpling it up and tossing it into the trash. Well, the next day, the boy’s mother woke him up and let him know that Mr. Henderson was taken to the hospital. Over the course of the day, the boy could feel drastic, physical changes happening to him. He could hear distant noises from downstairs. Despite the windows being closed, he could smell the odors and fragrances from the flower beds outside He could see even the smallest objects with clarity. He felt every little shift in the air. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening until finally it dawned on him. Mr. Henderson’s letter. Flipping over the small overfilled wastepaper basket in the corner of the room, he fished through the papers finding Mr. Henderson’s stationary. Was it coming true? Was it at all possible?
The boy’s head echoed with the sounds around him. It must be happening. He was being transformed into a cat. A human cat. If he was feeling this way, then several things had to have happened. Mr. Henderson was dead, and his parents were swept away.

  “A sick feeling came over his stomach as he pulled his bedroom door open and started for the stairs. Without realizing there were a pair of shoes at the top, he tripped over them and went tumbling down. Instead of breaking his neck, he managed to land on his feet in a crouched position. He stretched his arms forward, feeling the high-strung muscles in his shoulders and chest. For a moment, he admired the way he felt, temporarily forgetting about his parents. Then, the curse jolted into his mind again. ‘Mom? Dad?’

  “Of course, there was no answer. Frantically, he searched the house, though he knew he wouldn’t find them. He looked at Mr. Henderson’s letter again. Tears filled his eyes. ‘What have I done?!’ he shouted out into the emptiness.

  “Rain started to fall outside. The boy ran outside, leaped over the bushes that separated the two yards, and dashed to the front door of Mr. Henderson’s house. He put his shoulder to the locked door and with his new-found strength was able to knock it open. Standing in the doorway, he glared up the stairs. His only chance was to face Nanuk. As he ascended the stairs, a howling shook the house as if struck by an earthquake. The boy slowly backed out of the house, his feline senses alive and at high alert.