Maybelle's Affair

by Terri Reid

  “Mary, are you okay?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I’m not okay. I’m used to fighting my own fights. And I’m not used to running away. Today I ran away. Today I was frightened. Today I walked away from a challenge. That’s not me. That’s not who I want to be.”

  She looked at him with tears of frustration in her eyes. “I was afraid once before,” she said, “after I experienced what Jeannine had gone through, it took me a long time to come back from that, and I don’t want to be afraid ever again.”

  Mike sighed and reached out to her. She could feel the whisper of his touch on her arm.

  “I understand,” he said softly with kindness in his voice. “I’ll go talk to Him right now. I agree with you, Mary. And I’m going to do everything I can to get your abilities back.”

  “Thanks, Mike,” she replied, wiping a tear from her cheek.

  “No problem, sweetheart,” he said in his best Humphrey Bogart impression. “I’ll be seeing you.”

  As soon as he faded away, Mary looked down at Mikey who was happily swinging away and smiling up at her. “Sure, you can smile,” she said, gnawing on her bottom lip. “You just have to jump up and down and look adorable. I have to figure out some way to tell your daddy that I asked for my abilities back.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?” Mary asked Bradley later that evening, as he came down the stairs. “We could have Rosie and Stanley come over and babysit. Mikey’s asleep and Clarissa is at the Brennan’s house, so it wouldn’t be a problem.”

  He shook his head. “No, I can handle it,” he said. “You don’t get enough sleep as it is. Give yourself a chance to relax.”

  He had worked late, grabbed a quick meal and had just changed into painting clothes. He’d been so focused on starting the painting; she hadn’t had a chance to tell him about the conversation she’d had with Mike. Which meant she also hadn’t told him about what had happened in the new house that afternoon.

  He walked across the room to where she was sitting on the couch and bent over to kiss her cheek. “Relax, you look like you’re carrying the weight of the world,” he said.

  She studied him for a moment. He was dressed in a pair of worn and paint-spattered jeans, and a tight tee-shirt that looked like it had been used as a drop cloth. With a white painting cap, the rim in the back, protecting his hair, in Mary’s opinion, he was the sexiest painter she’d ever seen. Her thoughts about the afternoon were suddenly replaced with a whole new train of thought that had nothing to do with new houses or ghosts.

  She smiled, and he cocked his head to the side. “What?” he asked.

  “I don’t know if it’s my hormones or what, but I have to say that you. Chief Alden, look incredibly sexy.”

  A self-conscious smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “Really?”

  She leaned against the back of the couch, looked up at him and nodded. “Oh, yeah, really,” she said. “Amazingly sexy. Chippendale dancer sexy.”

  The smile widened, and he reached up, took off his hat, twirled it on his finger and then tossed it, so it landed next to her on the couch. She bubbled with laughter. “Okay, that was a professional move,” she teased.

  He smiled at her, a glint in his eyes and nodded. “Oh, you haven’t seen anything yet,” he warned in a low voice as began to untuck his shirt. Then he stopped and looked around.

  “What?” Mary asked, eager for the show to start.

  “I need music,” he replied with a grin. “I mean, what self-respecting Chippendale would strip without music?”

  “You’re going to strip?” Mary asked, wide-eyed with delight.

  Bradley smiled slowly and nodded. “That’s what painters do, right?”

  “Oh,” she said, clapping her hands together. “That was good. That was so good.”

  He bowed slightly and then looked around. “I still need music…” He paused, smiled and walked across the room. “Here we go.”

  She watched him saunter across the room and stifled a giggle when he stopped and picked up an object. “That’s Mikey’s lullaby lamb,” she said.

  Bradley turned on the hidden switch in the belly of the lamb, and tinny strains of “Mary Had A Little Lamb” started to play.

  “You know this song has a hidden message,” he teased, grabbing the hem of his tee-shirt and slowly lifting it, his taut stomach exposed.

  She stood up and walked over to him, slipping her arms around his waist. “And everywhere that Mary went,” she whispered, her voice low and seductive.

  Bradley bent and nibbled on her neck. “The lamb was sure to go,” he murmured back.

  She moaned as he kissed the underside of her jaw. “You’re going to ruin this song for me,” she sighed. “Mom’s aren’t supposed to get turned on when they hear nursery rhymes.”

  He continued to nibble. “Just wait until you hear my rendition of Jack Be Nimble.”

  “Bradley,” she chastised, as she swallowed her laughter.

  He chuckled softly and then slipped his hands under the back of her shirt. “How about Rock-a-bye, Baby?”

  “I think the painting can wait,” Mary whispered, leaning up and brushing her lips across his. “I have this great desire to learn much more about nursery rhymes.”

  “Jack Be Nimble,” he murmured against her lips. “Jack Be Quick.”

  He bent and lifted her into his arms. “Jack skipped the candlestick and went straight to the bedroom.”

  Turning, he started to carry her towards the staircase when the doorbell rang. He stopped, and they looked at each other.

  “I’m not expecting anyone,” she said.

  “Maybe they’ll go away,” he replied softly.

  The doorbell rang again, and Mary sighed. “At this rate, whoever it is, is going to wake up Mikey.”

  Bradley put Mary down, pulled his shirt back into place, walked over to the door and opened it.

  “Well, it looks like I arrived just in the nick of time,” Stanley said, pushing his way into the house. “I heerd you was gonna be painting, and I figured you could use my help.”

  Stanley was dressed in a white painter’s overall and paint splattered boots.

  Bradley looked over at Mary, regret in his eyes. “Yes,” he said, turning back to Stanley. “I was just heading over there.”

  Mary sighed. “Perhaps when you get back, we can look over those nursery rhymes you were mentioning,” she said hopefully.

  He smiled at her, and the promise in his eyes made her shiver with anticipation. “Oh, yes, you can count on it.”

  Stanley shrugged. “Nursery rhymes,” he scoffed. “Don’t know why two full-growned people would have any use for nursery rhymes.”

  Bradley walked over to the couch, picked up his discarded cap and placed it on his head. “You would be surprised at some of the hidden meanings,” he replied, winking at Mary. “Probably very surprised.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bradley fished the house key out of his pocket as they walked up the stairs, but before he had the opportunity to slide the key into the lock, the door opened in front of him. “Hmmm,” he said, examining the door and the latch carefully. “We might have to replace this lock. Can’t have the door popping open like that.”

  Stanley stared at the door and then back at him, his mouth open. “You don’t think something weird just happened here?” he asked.

  Bradley shrugged. “Yeah, I do,” he replied.

  Stanley nodded in relief.

  “Usually these old locks hold-up pretty well,” Bradley continued. “This is odd.”

  He walked into the house leaving Stanley to follow in his wake.

  Flipping on the hall light, Bradley placed his hands on his hips and nodded with satisfaction as he looked around the old house. “I always wanted a place like this,” he said. “A place that says family.”

  He looked over his shoulder at Stanley, who was hovering near the open door. “Come on in,” Bradley
encouraged. “And close the door to keep in the heat.”

  Stanley shuffled forward, gazing nervously around, and closed the door behind him.

  Bradley motioned with his head. “Mary said the paint was in the living room. Let’s go take a look.”

  He walked across the hall and entered the living room. As Stanley started to follow, he heard a door creak behind him. Turning, he watched as the door to the parlor slowly opened on its own. Rushing forward, he called out. “Bradley. Bradley, you gotta see this!”

  Bradley met Stanley at the doorway of the living room, a look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “What’s wrong?” Stanley exclaimed. “What’s wrong? Lookie over there. That dang-blasted door just opened up all by itself.”

  “Really?” Bradley asked, moving past Stanley and walking over to the door.

  “O’ course, really,” Stanley said. “You think I’d make stuff like this up?”

  Bradley knelt next to the door and tested the knob several times.

  “Whatcha doing?” Stanley asked.

  “Trying to figure out if the problem is in the knob mechanics or the latch plate,” he said, as he pulled out a flashlight to examine the lock again. “It looks pretty good. I wonder if the door just needs to be adjusted.”

  “What are you talking about, adjusted?” Stanley cried. “There ain’t nothing wrong with that doorknob what a priest and holy water can’t fix. This house is haunted.”

  Bradley looked up and nodded. “I know it’s haunted. Maybelle is here, and she’s a ghost, hence, haunted house.”

  Stanley shook his head. “This ain’t Maybelle,” he said. “This ain’t like the Maybelle stuff.”

  “So, you think this house has more ghosts than Maybelle?” Bradley asked.

  “Damn right I do,” Stanley said. “And I know about such stuff. I’ve been helping Mary for years now.”

  Bradley nodded slowly, considering Stanley’s comment. “And don’t you think if was haunted with more ghosts, Mary would have told us about it?”

  Stanley frowned. “Well, maybe she would and maybe she wouldn’t,” he said. “Maybe she don’t know herself, because her powers are gone.”

  Bradley stood up and closed the parlor door, then he turned, leaned against the wall and folded his arms over his chest. “Okay, you have a point,” he agreed. “Mary’s powers aren’t there anymore, so she can’t see ghosts. Unless they want her to see them, right?”

  Stanley nodded. “Right,” he agreed.

  “So, if a ghost didn’t want Mary to see them or know about them, why would they be opening doors and doing other scary things that would draw attention to themselves?” he asked.

  “Maybe they don’t want a conversation,” Stanley replied. “Maybe they just want to scare us outta their place.”

  “Well, they got to do a little better than opening a door for that to happen,” Bradley said with a shake of his head. “Come on, Stanley. We’re both full-grown men, are we going to let…”

  Hush little baby don’t say a word.

  Bradley stopped mid-sentence and looked around. “What was that?” he asked.

  Stanley looked around too and swallowed loudly. “It came from in there,” he whispered, nodding toward the living room.

  Papa’s going to buy you a mocking bird.

  “Are you sure?” Bradley asked, his voice low as he crept toward Stanley.

  “Damn sure,” Stanley replied.

  Bradley walked into the living room and looked around. “There’s no one in here,” he said.

  “No one we can see,” Stanley countered.

  Bradley turned and scowled at Stanley. “You’re not being helpful,” Bradley said.

  “That’s cause I’m skeert,” he replied.

  “If there’s nothing in here,” Bradley said, clearing his voice and resuming his normal tone. “Then we must have heard a radio or something like that, from outside.”

  And if that mocking bird don’t sing. Papa’s gonna buy you a diamond ring.

  “That didn’t come from no outside,” Stanley said, glancing all around the room. “And it don’t sound like no earthly voice either.”

  Bradley rolled his eyes and shook his head as he walked toward the fireplace at the end of the room. “Stanley, Stanley, Stanley,” he said, slightly patronizingly. He picked up the baby monitor and held it up. “It came from the baby monitor. I knew there was a perfectly logical explanation for the sound.”

  Stanley met Bradley’s eyes and folded his arms over his chest. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “And just where is the transmitter side of that monitor?”

  Bradley faltered for a moment. “Why it’s…I mean it’s…in the master bedroom.”

  “Oh, you mean in another empty room in this here haunted house?” Stanley asked.

  Bradley shook his head. “No, this is a trick,” he said. “This is a set-up. Mary did this. This is a practical joke.”

  Stanley shook his head. “Not that I can’t believe she wouldn’t do something like this,” he said. “But it’s a pretty fancy practical joke.”

  “Yeah, come with me,” Bradley said, pulling the flashlight out of his back pocket. “I’m sure there will be something very interesting in the master bedroom.”

  They walked down the hall together, Stanley turning on every light they passed. Bradley stopped and looked at him. “I got old eyes,” Stanley offered. “I need lots of light.”

  They continued to the back of the house where the remodeled master bedroom lay. Bradley had to admit that he missed the ability to touch Mary and see the ghosts for himself. He walked into the bedroom first and looked around. Mikey’s travel bassinette lay in the center of the king-sized bed. On the nightstand next to the bed was the other part of the baby monitor. Bradley picked it up and studied it. “Doesn’t look like anything’s been tampered with,” he said, looking at the different settings. “What do you think, Stanley? Stanley?”

  When Stanley didn’t answer, Bradley turned around and found the old man standing in the middle of the room with his arm raised, just pointing.

  “What?” Bradley asked.

  Then he saw what Stanley was staring at, the old wooden rocking chair in the corner of the room was rocking back and forth, but no one was in it.

  Bradley felt a chill run down his spine. He moved forward slowly, placed his hand on Stanley’s shoulder and pulled him backward out of the room.

  “Did you see that?” Stanley stammered as they hurried down the hallway.

  Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I did,” he replied.

  “You got one of those perfectly logical explanations of yours?” Stanley asked, his voice still shaking.

  “Yeah, I do,” Bradley said, pulling the front door open and ushering Stanley out onto the porch. “This house is haunted.”

  Chapter Nine

  The door opened, and Mary looked up from the paperwork she had been working on. “Back so soon?” she asked Bradley.

  He closed the door behind him and then turned to her. “I have a question for you,” he said. “Did anything weird happen when you were across the street this afternoon?”

  A quick flash of guilt ran across her face, and she sighed. “Well, yes, it did,” she admitted.

  He blew out a sigh of relief and smiled, as he took off his painter’s cap and tossed it on the table. “Well, that’s a relief,” he said. “So, Stanley and I aren’t the only ones to experience it?”

  She shook her head. “No, Katie and I ended up leaving the house pretty quickly,” she said. “And Katie mentioned that she might not visit us there, once we move in.”

  Bradley shrugged and shook his head. “Yeah, well after tonight, I don’t know if I’m going to visit us once we move in,” he admitted. “It’s so much creepier when you can’t see what’s there.”

  “Right?!?” Mary exclaimed. “I can’t believe I’m afraid, considering what I’ve been doing for all of these years. But I was spooked!”

  “I don’t bla
me you,” he said. “Especially the lullaby. That was creepy.”

  “Is Stanley okay?” she asked.

  “Yeah, he was pretty spooked too,” he said. “And he was the first one to catch on to the supernatural occurrences.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “When the doors started opening on their own, I just thought they were bad locks.”

  She grinned at him and walked over. “That’s because you are such a logically-minded person,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  “So, what are we going to do?” he asked. “We can’t sell it, and we don’t need two houses.”

  Mary saw that Bradley was beginning to follow her line of thinking, but she had to be sure. “We could move the money out,” Mary suggested. “And then, maybe, sell it.”

  “To some poor unsuspecting person who won’t understand what’s going on?” Bradley asked softly, raising his eyebrows in question.

  “The right people might not even notice. Not everyone is sensitive.”

  “But everyone can see doors opening and hear music playing,” Bradley argued.

  “You’re right. But the bottom line is, I don’t want to raise our family in a haunted house,” she said. “At least not when angry ghosts haunt it.”

  “How do you know they are angry?” he asked.

  “Well, that parlor door has slammed more than once when I’ve been over there,” Mary said. “And I just get the creeps when I’m in that front lobby.”

  He bent his head forward, so they were touching, forehead to forehead. “So, what would most people do when they encounter an issue like this?” he whispered.

  Mary sighed. “They would call me,” she admitted softly and then, after a moment, added quickly, “Which is why I talked to Mike this afternoon and told him I wanted my abilities back.”

  “What?” Bradley asked, stepped back. “You did what?”

  “I told him that I didn’t want to feel helpless,” she said, her voice a little stronger. “I didn’t want to be afraid, and I didn’t want to fear for my family. I told him that if they wanted me to help ghosts, I needed to have all the tools available to me. I can’t go into these kinds of situations unarmed.”