The Delaware Detectives

by Dana Rongione

  Chapter Three:

  The Creepy House

  When I awoke the next morning, I was groggy. After a few yawns and stretches, I remembered the discovery Jamie and I had made. I couldn't wait to show Pop-Pop what we had found. I glanced over at the bed across from mine. As I suspected, Jamie was still sound asleep and buried under his covers, head and all.

  Throwing back my own covers, I jumped out of bed and opened the dresser drawers. I dressed in my favorite blue jeans and tie-dyed shirt. After slipping on my tennis shoes, I crept from the room and headed for the downstairs bathroom. I tried to avoid looking at the creepy owl as I walked through Jamie's room toward the stairs. Why did Pop-Pop have that nasty thing anyway? After reaching the bottom step, I walked across the hallway and stopped dead in my tracks.

  “No, I don’t like it at all. Of course I’m angry. What do you expect? Fine. Whatever!”

  SLAM!!!

  At first, I thought Pop-Pop was talking to me, but after peeking around the corner, I realized that he was on the phone. With whom, I didn’t know, but whoever it was, they sure did get Pop-Pop upset. After hearing my grandfather slam the phone into the receiver, I questioned whether I should go talk to him or creep back upstairs. I chose the first.

  “Good morning,” I said as I entered the living room, savoring the smell of bacon.

  Pop-Pop looked up from the round table that divided the living room from the kitchen area. “Good morning, Abby. Did you sleep well?”

  Uh, oh! Now was probably not a good time to mention the stamp collection. “Um, yeah. Sure! Who was that on the phone?”

  Pop-Pop rose from the table and walked over to the stove. He grabbed a plate from the cabinet and filled it with bacon, eggs, and buttered toast. As he set it down in front of me, he eased back into his chair. “That was my Uncle Harold. He lives in Miami.”

  “Your uncle? Boy, he must be old.” Realizing what I had just said and how it must have sounded to Pop-Pop, I focused my attention on my breakfast and mumbled. “Um, I don’t think I’ve ever met him.”

  “No, You probably haven’t. He hasn’t been here for many years. It’s probably for the best. He’s not such a great person to be around.”

  Popping a piece of bacon into my mouth, I replied, “Is that why you’re so mad at him—because he doesn’t visit?”

  Pop-Pop laughed. “No, Abby. I wish it were that simple.”

  At that moment, Jamie, still dressed in his pajamas, eased around the corner.

  “Good morning, Sleepyhead,” Pop-Pop grinned. “Are you ready for some breakfast?”

  Jamie nodded and scuffed toward the table. As Pop-Pop fixed Jamie’s plate, he continued his story. “Uncle Harold used to live just a couple of blocks from here. He inherited my grandmother’s house when she died. Why she left the house to him, I’ll never understand. But that doesn’t matter now because Uncle Harold is selling the house.”

  “Why didn’t he sell it before he moved?” I asked.

  “Well,” Pop-Pop answered, “you have to understand. That house has been in our family for over a hundred years.”

  “Whoa!” Jamie exclaimed.

  “Exactly,” said Pop-Pop. “And it was understood that the house would always remain in the family—until now.”

  “So, if this house is so important to the family, why is your uncle selling it?”

  Pop-Pop rose from his seat and began pacing the room. “Uncle Harold has a bad gambling problem. He has always been on the lookout for a quick buck. Now, all that gambling has gotten him into trouble. He owes a lot of people money. If he doesn’t pay them back soon, he’ll wind up in jail—or worse. The only thing he has left that’s worth any money is that old house. So, he really has no choice. It’s not like he can go out and get a job at his age. After all, he is 85 years old.”

  “Why don’t you buy the house, Pop-Pop?” asked Jamie, pushing his empty plate to the center of the table.

  “Oh, Jamie. You don’t know how much I would love to, but I just don’t have that much money.”

  In that moment, Pop-Pop looked so small and so sad. That house must really mean something to him. I wished there were a way I could help. In fact, I was so lost in my own thoughts that I almost missed Pop-Pop’s question.

  “How soon will you be ready to go?”

  “Go where?” Jamie asked.

  “To my grandmother’s old house. Uncle Harold asked me to get it ready to be put up for sale.”

  “Why doesn’t he come get it ready himself?” I grumbled, disliking Uncle Harold more and more.

  “Abby,” Pop-Pop chided. “God does not like that kind of attitude. Uncle Harold is all the way in Miami, and I’m right here. It makes perfect sense for him to ask me to get the house ready. Besides, it’ll be nice to see the old house again. I already called work and told them that I’d be taking the day off. What do you say?”

  “Will we have to clean?” Jamie asked as he jumped from stair to stair.

  Pop-Pop chuckled. “I’m sure we’ll have to tidy up a bit, and maybe even wipe out a few spider webs, but nothing major. Okay?”

  “Sure!” Jamie and I answered. True, cleaning was not anywhere on our list of fun things to do, but since it was pouring down rain again, what else was there?

  Because of the weather and the number of mops, brooms, and other cleaning supplies we ended up with, Pop-Pop decided to drive the two blocks to Uncle Harold’s house. I thought we had explored all the streets nearby, but obviously we had missed this one.

  When we pulled up in front of the house, all I could do was stare. I thought Pop-Pop’s house was huge, but this place was enormous—and creepy. A rusted black iron fence with a fancy gate surrounded the house and yard. The house itself was rectangular, standing twice as tall as it did wide. A tall, rounded tower with a narrow window jutted out of the right side of the black rooftop. Two rows of dark windows, indicating two stories, circled the house. The angled awning and large front porch shadowed the front of the house, but not enough to hide the peeling gray paint and rusted porch swing. Vines and bushes grew all around the house and even climbed up the walls in several places. A large weeping willow tree stood in the yard to the left of the house—its long, draping branches nearly concealing the four tombstones that rested beneath it. Good grief! Tombstones?

  Pop-Pop stopped the truck and turned off the ignition. “Here she is! What do you think?”

  A flash of lightning lit up the house and completed the haunting scene before me. “I think it’s terrifying, and I’m not afraid of anything!” I replied.

  “What’s that little house in the back?” Jamie asked, pointing to a small building in the back yard.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I groaned.

  Pop-Pop’s eyes followed Jamie’s outstretched finger. “Yep! That’s an outhouse!”

  “You mean there’s no bathroom in this house?”

  “Oh, yes, Abby. My grandmother had running water installed a long time ago.”

  Jamie looked at Pop-Pop and then back to the little building. “Then why is that outhouse still here?”

  Pop-Pop smiled and stared at some point in the distance. “That was just one of her little oddities. She said that it added character to the house. So, there it stands. The rain seems to be slacking off a little. Let’s make a run for the porch. Shall we?”

  The three of us jumped out of the truck and ran as fast as we could toward the house. When we got to the porch, we were soaking wet and shivering from the chilly rain.

  “Don’t just stand there, Abby,” Jamie said through chattering teeth. “Open the door.”

  I folded my arms across my chest and turned to look at him. “I don’t have the key, you chowderhead.”

  “The key!” Pop-Pop exclaimed. “Oh, I left it in the truck. You children stand here out of the rain, and I’ll go back and get it.”

  As Pop-Pop ran back out into the storm, Jamie turned to me with an angry glare. “Who are you calling a chowderhead?” He reached out and g
ave me a not-so-gentle shove.

  “Don’t touch me!” I shouted and pushed him back into the door. When he hit the door, it swung open, and Jamie landed flat on the floor with an “Oof!”

  “Hmph,” I said, stepping over him. “I guess it wasn’t locked after all. I don’t even think it was closed.” I heard Jamie fussing and scrambling to get up behind me, but I couldn’t turn to look at him. My attention was focused inside the house.

  “Oh no!” Jamie hollered as he walked up beside me. “Uncle Harold’s been robbed!”