Kate had a lot of homework to do. She pulled the books out of her backpack, spread them out on her bed and stared at the covers, trying to decide where to start. She dug into math, then chemistry. Finally, she tore into Jane Eyre again. The story was picking up, thank goodness. After a while, she flipped over on her bed and closed her book. Her mind drifted to Jacob, as it always did. She gazed at his picture, the stiff smile posed in front of the rows of books. She closed her eyes. She could almost feel him.
She tossed her books back into her bag and grabbed her notebook and purple pen. She lay down on her stomach, the pad of paper on her pillow, and began to write.
Dear Jacob,
I miss you so, so, so much. I wish I was back in Nebraska. I know you would be away at school,
but at least we could see each other on weekends. We could be having so much fun! And I could
come visit you at school and we could go to football games together.
Kate stopped and lay her head down on her arm. She imagined herself sitting next to Jacob at the game, maybe all snuggled up together in a blanket, sipping cocoa. Afterward, he could take her back to his dorms and she could meet his friends. She sleepily wondered if his friends would think she was pretty.
When Kate was startled awake, she wasn’t sure how long she had been sleeping. Her lamp was still on, and Kate saw that she had been sleeping on her notepad, the purple pen still grasped in her hand, paper stuck to her face. Ace was whining a strange, scared sound.
“What’s the matter, boy?” she croaked, her voice still thick with sleep. The dog’s eyes were wide open, his jaw clenched shut. He appeared to be shaking slightly. Fear gripped her heart. She quickly glanced up at the pewter chandelier, but the little dogs there were motionless and quiet.
She glanced at her clock, showing a red 12:47. She pushed herself up, listening intently, her heart beating fast now. Suddenly, a terrified scream pierced the silence. Kate, so startled by the sound that her teeth knocked together, quickly found her feet and raced down the stairs to her sisters’ rooms, followed closely by Ace.
Kate flew across the landing, nearly colliding with her mother who was making her way toward Lucy’s room. Mom turned on the light revealing a wide-eyed Lucy, trembling and pale. Her bed looked askew, and the quilt and pillows were bunched up and half spilled onto the floor.
“What’s wrong, honey?” Mom asked, walking to Lucy’s bedside.
“There were dogs under my bed!” Lucy screamed as she whipped her head back and forth, checking the floor. Marie wandered in from her bedroom, also startled by the noise. Ace scurried into the room and began sniffing around Lucy’s bed, still whining.
“Dogs?” their mother repeated. “Honey, you must have had a nightmare. I don’t think there are dogs under your bed.”
“They were there. They were snarling and barking and scratching their claws across the floor. I heard it!” she said excitedly, her voice shaking with fear. “My whole bed was shaking and moving!”
Ace’s whining and sniffing became more excited and frantic. He began to pace back and forth, his toenails clicking on the hardwood floor. Unable to contain himself any longer, Ace began to bark.
Mom looked at Lucy with disbelief on her face. “Lucy, it was just a bad dream. You probably...Ace, be quiet!” Mom tried to grab the dog’s snout, but Ace jumped away from her, still barking at whatever he smelled under Lucy’s bed. Moments later, Dad appeared at the doorway looking confused. Kate watched Ace with dread. She looked at Lucy and knew it was true.
“Kate, please control your dog before he wakes up everybody in the house.” Mom did a double take at Kate, then stared at her. “Kate, why are you still wearing your clothes?”
Kate looked down at her wrinkled school clothes. “Uh, I was doing my homework and I guess I fell asleep.”
Mom shook her head, as if in disbelief of the lunacy of her own house. “Lucy, will it help if I look under your bed?”
Lucy looked only slightly optimistic. “Yes.”
Kate grabbed onto Ace’s collar, but the dog continued to bark incessantly. She watched as Mom knelt on the floor and leaned over so that her head nearly touched the floor. She lifted the bed skirt and peered under the bed.
“There’s nothing there, sweetie,” Mom said, standing up. Lucy only looked slightly relieved. “It was a bad dream, Lucy. That’s all it was. I hope you’re not going to start having nighttime events like Kate.”
“Mom, don’t call it that,” Kate said, embarrassed by the term again. “It’s just ‘sleepwalking.’ That’s all. Can we just call it ‘sleepwalking?’” Ace had finally ceased his barking and resumed his shaking, which was no less comforting, but at least it was quiet.
“Don’t be dramatic, Kate. It’s too late for that. Or rather, too early,” Mom said, rubbing her forehead. “You okay, Lucy?”
“I’ll stay with her a few minutes,” Kate said, wanting to hear the whole story.
Mom kissed Lucy on top of her head and whispered something to her, then she turned and left the room followed by Dad and Marie.
Kate sat on Lucy’s bed. “They were really here, Kate. Like, three, four dogs. At first they were just kind of sniffing around. I couldn’t see them, but I could hear them. Then, it’s like they smelled me and they started growling. Then, they were trying to get me and that’s when the whole bed was shaking. That’s why I screamed. It was so scary. I thought they were going to jump on the bed and tear me apart.”
“That’s so weird.”
“I know.”
Kate stood up. “Luce, get up for a second.” Lucy got off the bed. Kate leaned over and pushed against the little twin bed. It glided easily over the hardwood floor until it was up against Lucy’s closet. Kate then walked over to where the bed had been. She and Lucy both crouched over the floor. Both girls suddenly gasped. There were deep scratch marks ingrained in the smooth, shiny wood.
11.
At school the next day, the principal announced that Mrs. Cauthen had given birth early that morning. A boy named Nathaniel Peter, six pounds, nine ounces. Kate smiled. It made her a bit sad, though. Kate only had one adult friend, one who actually believed her, and now she was unavailable.
Before class started, Kate explained the near dog attack to Patrick and Chris.
“Well, this has taken an interesting turn,” said Patrick, rubbing a hand on his chin.
“Do you still want to come over on Friday? I mean, it’s starting to get scary,” Kate said.
“Do you want to continue to live in a house full of ticked-off ghosts?” Patrick asked. “Sounds like the can of worms is open. I mean, you can try to ignore them, but I don’t think it’s going to work.”
“No, I don’t either,” Kate said meekly. “Do you really think that using the Ouija Board is going to help?”
“It’s worth a shot. It’s a way for them to communicate with us. Maybe they just want to talk, get something off their chest. But then, we might just make them angry for disturbing them.”
“Oh, great,” Kate sighed.
“Hey, it’ll be fun. I love a good scare,” Chris said with a smile.
Kate wondered if anything ever ruffled his feathers. “Yeah, it’s fun when it’s not your house!” Chris looked really cute again, Kate thought as she looked him over. He wore a rust red collared shirt, open at the throat, khakis and scuffed loafers. His light hair was tousled, as usual, but always seemed to look just right. She suddenly pictured herself kissing Chris, running her hands through that impish hair. She quickly banished the thought.
“Hey, I talked to Mrs. Entwhistle. She says we can all come and see her during lunch.” Patrick said, slapping Kate out of her fantasy.
“Mrs. Entwhistle? That old bag? What do you need her for?” Chris said.
“Remember, her mother used to live in the house,” Patrick said. “She’s the one who told me the house was haunted. I think she can help us out.”
*
Mrs. Entwhistle rubbed her gnarled hands to
gether. She looked relatively young for her age. Her hair was still a raven black, with attractive streaks of white. She wore it short and curly. In fact, she looked no older than fifty, but her hands told the truth. They were an old woman’s hands, large knuckles veined with purple streaks and spotted with age. She saw Kate looking at her hands. Mrs. Entwhistle smiled and folded her hands tightly.
The teacher occupied the strangest office in the building, a tiny attic room over the main staircase. The doorway was so low, Patrick had to duck his head. Mrs. Entwhistle’s office was crammed with a thousand books, papers and notebooks. Kate and Patrick were both silent, waiting for the other to start. Chris had yet to appear.
“So, you are the young lady who’s living in my mother’s house,” Mrs. Entwhistle finally stated.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a beautiful house.”
“Do you have a large family?”
“Seven of us.”
“Oh, my! Well, that’s perfect for the old place.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve never had my own room before. We’ve never had a house big enough.”
“I bet you have empty rooms now.” She nodded as if she already knew the answer.
“We have a guest bedroom, which is something we’ve never had before. And my mother turned the nursery into a sewing room.”
“That sounds excellent.” She changed the subject. “Patrick tells me you would like to hear about the history of the house,” she said. Kate nodded. “Well, I’ll tell you what I know. The house was built sometime in the 1890’s by my great-grandfather. He built it for my….”
“I’m sorry for interrupting, but I understood that the house was built in the 1920’s, during Prohibition,” Patrick asked.
“Oh, no. You’re talking about when they added the third floor. Yes, the original house was only two floors. My grandparents added the third floor.” She stopped and leaned toward Kate. “They were a little wild for their day. They loved to throw huge parties and, to my grandparents, a party was not a party without hooch.” She leaned back into her chair, smiling, her secret out. “So, they added the third floor ballroom, and the adjoining rooms, so they could throw a party without being heard from the street. It worked out quite well, as I understand. I don’t think anyone ever suspected a thing.
“Really?” Kate said, impressed.
“Yes. You see, another good way to keep the neighbors from turning you in, well, is to invite the neighbors to the party. My grandparents were very popular in the neighborhood, if you know what I mean.” Ms. Entwhistle chuckled delicately.
“So, as I was saying, my great-grandfather, Jeremiah Blacker, built it for his young wife. The story goes that the poor girl died in childbirth, taking the baby with her. Very sad. But evidently, he didn’t waste any time finding a new wife. A single, wealthy man with his own home was quite a catch in those days. He married a woman immediately after his first wife’s death, wanting a big family to fill his house, but he had only one son. That was my grandfather, John Blacker. When Great-Grandfather passed away around 1920, the house was left to my grandfather and grandmother.
“My grandparents had four girls, Pansy, Rose (that’s my mother), Lily and Grace.” She stopped and smiled. “Apparently, my grandparents had a thing about flowers, but they ran out of pretty flower names by the time Gracie was born. She’s probably lucky. She could have ended up being named ‘Forsythia’ or ‘Morning Glory’ or something like that.” Mrs. Entwhistle paused to giggle at her own joke, placing a wrinkled hand over her mouth. Kate and Patrick politely laughed along with her. She’s probably told that joke a hundred times before, Kate thought in passing. “Pansy must have been about eight years old when they moved into that house, which would have made my mother six at the time.”
“And where are they all at now?” Patrick asked, still scratching away in his notebook.
“Let’s see. My mother, Rose, lives in Jupiter, Florida. Lily died a few years ago. Gracie still lives here in Huntington. Still mows her own lawn, in fact.
“Like I said, my grandparents built the third floor for their parties. The girls were brought up in a rather odd fashion for the time, seeing their parents bringing in bathtub gin through the back door,” she laughed.
“Mrs. Entwhistle,” Patrick interrupted, “you didn’t tell us what happened to Pansy.”
“Pansy, well, she’s a tragic story,” Mrs. Entwhistle said, her face suddenly darkening. She paused for a moment and Kate could see this was a sore subject. “Pansy was lost in the flood of 1931. She was in town when the river burst her banks. Her body was never found. She was just sixteen.”
“How sad,” Kate said.
She shrugged slightly. “I never knew her. I was born after she died. But my mother never quite got over losing her big sister. There was a great wound in her heart that never healed.” Mrs. Entwhistle’s mouth tightened up into a tense grimace. The two teenagers sat quietly for a moment, neither sure of what to say. Finally, Patrick changed the subject.
“Uh, Mrs. Entwhistle, you told our American Literature class last year that the Blacker place was haunted.”
Mrs. Entwhistle brightened. “That’s right, we were studying Edgar Allen Poe. Yes, supposedly the house was haunted. My mother and her sisters claimed to hear voices. They said items would just disappear without a trace and things would drop off the shelves without being touched by a human hand. Pretty harmless stuff. They always believed that it was the first wife of their grandfather, the one who had died in childbirth. Angry, perhaps, that the house built for her was now home to the second wife’s family.”
“Did you ever see any of these phenomena?” Patrick asked.
She paused, then said, “Old houses do strange things. You know, I never actually lived in the house. My mother married young, moved out and started her own family.”
Kate asked, “Did you ever visit?”
“Yes, a hundred times. My Aunt Lily stayed on in the house after my grandfather died in the sixties. Lily took care of my grandmother until she died a few years later. Lily stayed on. She had three boys and then divorced her husband, quite a scandal for the whole family in that day.” She leaned in to whisper again. “He enjoyed the drink a little too much.”
She continued. “Lily’s kids grew up and moved out. And Aunt Lily lived in that big house all alone until her death. That’s when it went up for sale.”
“Are Lily’s sons still around?” Kate asked.
“Oh, no. Those boys couldn’t wait to get out of Huntington. They all moved away years ago. In fact, they barely visited their poor mother when she was still alive. They came back for the funeral, and then, poof, they were gone again.” She snapped her fingers with the word “poof.”
“That’s so sad. Why didn’t they visit their mother?” Kate asked.
“Well, Lily had quite a temper. She was an old nag by every definition. She never remarried, and eventually, she started to lose her faculties. During the last years of her life, she never left that house. After her kids moved away, I would bring my family to the house to visit her every Sunday. I felt bad for the old girl, abandoned like that by her own boys. After a while, my kids begged me not to bring them there anymore. Lily didn’t seem to like children and she griped at them a lot. So, I visited her by myself, brought her soup, did her laundry, you know. I helped her keep the place up.”
“And you never saw anything strange there?” Kate asked.
“Well,” Mrs. Entwhistle thought for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “Lily thought that there was something in the house. You know, trying to get to her.” Mrs. Entwhistle looked slightly embarrassed.
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.
“She said that there was a spirit in the house that was...how do I put this...trying to seduce her.” She paused, as if trying to determine how to continue. “That’s not quite the right word, but she thought that something in the house talked to her.”
Patrick and Kate looked at Mrs. Entwhistle, waiting for a further e
xplanation, but none came. Just then, the bell rang. Kate glanced at Patrick, unsure of what to say next.
“Your Aunt Grace still lives here, correct?” Patrick asked quickly.
“Yes.”
“Could you give us her phone number. We’d love to talk to her too.”
“I think that would be fine. She’d probably enjoy the company.”
Patrick looked like he wanted to ask another question, but instead said, “Thank you for all the information, Mrs. Entwhistle.” He rose to his feet. “If you think of anything else, please let us know.”
The Blacker House Page 12