“Peanut seems to like you. Do you have a dog, too?”
I shook my head. “No, never … my mom’s allergic to them.”
“Huh!” She was looking at me like I was a puzzle she was trying to sort out. “So, how do you know so much about dogs, then?
“Well, my friend Lisa had one. We were, um … close.”
Her left eyebrow shot up. “You and Lisa … or you and the dog?” she asked, although I sensed from her tone that she didn’t really want to know the answer. So I just shut up and admired the view. Now that I saw her face up close, I realized that she was a lot younger than I’d first thought. And even prettier, too. More intrigued than ever, I fished around for more details … being careful not to sound too much like an obsessive stalker-type dude.
“So, what about you? Why aren’t you in school?”
She laughed at that. “Me? I graduated last June. I’m taking the year off to work here with my grandmother, earn a bit of money, and decide what the hell I’m going to do with my life.”
Honesty … I like that!
I cleared my throat. “So you’re … what, eighteen?”
She nodded and my heart sank.
Two years older. I don’t stand a chance.
“And what about you, Max?”
“I’m … uh, seventeen,” I replied, lowering my voice just a little to make it sound more believable. It was my second lie of the morning. Well, third, if you count ditching school as a lie. So much for honesty. “And I just started my senior year.” Sophomore year actually. And there goes another one. Wow, they just keep rolling out of me today!
I stopped patting the dog and started cracking my knuckles. It was a bad nervous habit, but I was desperately trying to think of a way to change the subject before she could call me out for being so dishonest. “So, are you going to tell me about the ghost now?”
“Ghost, yes … or maybe ghosts,” Caroline replied, her voice practically singing with secrets. “There’s been so much paranormal activity in this place that some people think there might be more than one.”
I tried to keep myself from laughing again. “Okay … let’s hear some stories. I’m all ears.”
“Well, one of the first strange noises my nana ever heard here was the sound of footsteps upstairs on the second level. They were light and fast, like a couple of kids running across the floor over her head. And then she heard the shutters slamming open and shut.”
I shrugged, trying not to look too disappointed. This was her ghost story? Kind of lame. “So, maybe a couple of kids snuck up there when she wasn’t looking and started fooling around?”
Caroline shook her head. “No, Nana was alone in the library at the time. And the weirdest part is that she described the footsteps as hammering and loud, like shoes knocking against hardwood. But the upstairs had just been recently carpeted so those noises didn’t make sense at all. And nobody’s been able to explain the shutter thing because those shutters had been bolted down for decades.”
Hmm.
She leaned closer. “It’s happened more than once over the years,” she whispered softly; as if someone might accidently overhear us, even though we were the only ones in the garden. “I actually heard those running footsteps myself one morning back in June.”
Caroline’s face was only a couple of inches away from mine. Having her so close was making this awful heat ignite in the pit of my stomach … like there was a rash spreading across my insides. Suddenly, I found myself almost wishing I could go back to being invisible again. I took a deep breath and searched for my voice. Her skin smelled like ripe peaches. Man! I had to fight back the sudden urge to run my fingers over her cheek.
“So, do you believe in ghosts, Max?”
“I-I-I don’t know …” I stammered, relieved to get something semi-coherent past my lips. “I guess I’ve never thought much about it before.”
“Well, that might be about to change.” Then she leaned back, taking her delicious peachy smell with her.
No … I need more …
She tilted her head to the side and frowned. “More what?”
Crap. Had I said that out loud?
“More ghost stories … w-will you tell me another one?”
Dude, no wonder you haven’t made any friends in this place, my humiliated brain moaned. Would you stop acting like a lunatic?
But thankfully, Caroline didn’t seem to notice the slip.
“So you’re beginning to believe, eh?” she said, flashing the gap-toothed grin again. “Sure, I’ll tell you more … next time you come around for a visit.”
I must have looked disappointed because she quickly added: “Hey, it’s pretty quiet around this library. I have to bring people in somehow, right? And we’re open every Wednesday morning so you can feel free to come, apply for a library card, and visit as often as you want. You can fill out the forms today, if you’d like.”
I could feel an angry heat start to make its way up my neck. So that was that it? She was just making up stories to keep people coming back to the library? Was she getting a commission for signing people up? And here I thought she genuinely wanted to see me again. Wow, I’m such an idiot!
She started to rise from the bench. “Now, let’s go get your sub. I’ve got to get back to work or Nana will have my head.”
I stood up faster and hoisted my backpack up onto my shoulders with such force that the books inside slammed against my ribcage. But I was too mad to notice the pain.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll pick up something when I get to school. See you around.”
And then I charged out of the garden before she had a chance to stop me.
5 - John
The summer of 1882 marked the first occasion of my cousin William’s annual visits. For the next seven years, my cousin would arrive upon my doorstep like an uninvited pest to torment my days and nights. Looking back through the clarifying lens of time, I can see how those visits utterly defined my childhood and shaped the budding life that, tragically, never came to full fruition.
But I’m getting ahead of myself again.
The year of William’s first visit I was eight years old, skinny, short-panted, and eager to please. William was ten, tall, full of potential, and brimming with resentment. Life had just dealt him a cruel blow. We’d received a letter in the spring informing us that he’d lost his father, my uncle, to typhus over the winter. His family was preparing for rough years ahead as my Aunt Annie would be struggling to support them on her own. While she took on extra work in the summer, she’d arranged to send William to live with us for the months of July and August every year. Of course, Father grumbled about having another mouth to feed. But when Mother suggested that William would one day soon be able to help in the forge, Father relented. I secretly rejoiced at the news that I was finally to have a companion.
Lonely child that I was at the time, I was looking forward to having my cousin stay with us. I had high hopes that he would fill several voids in my life and become a playmate, a confidant, and perhaps most importantly, a distraction from my father’s endless criticism.
Up until that point, the only memories I had of my cousin were from the time my family travelled to Kingston for a visit. I was five years old that summer, and William was seven. I remembered him as a fun, light-hearted fellow who enjoyed playing jacks with me in the back garden and using his mother’s dinner bell to round up the neighbouring children for long afternoon games of hide-and-seek. I also remember how that visit made me yearn for a brother of my own. Now, for two months out of every year I would have something akin to a sibling.
Of course, being an only child, how could I possibly have known what the downside of that kind of relationship would be?
That afternoon, Father brought me along in the stagecoach to deliver William home from the Thornhill train st
ation. With eager eyes, I scanned the crowds of people as they poured from the train onto the platform, looking for the boy with the toothy smile from my memories. But the young man who approached my father and extended his hand in greeting was a different person entirely. I gaped at the changes I saw in him. William had grown tall and thick in the years since our last visit and the scowl on his face betrayed the heavy state of his heart. His shoulders were hunched as if they were supporting some kind of weight. I soon discovered what it was — not difficult to figure out, for the chip on William’s shoulder was a large one. As soon as we got back to Colborne Street, he began griping about being packed off to Thornhill and how the city of Kingston was superior in size and quality to our little village. I couldn’t blame him for his rudeness. If I were in his shoes, I’d be resentful, too. Although only ten years of age, William was the eldest of his mother’s sons. But instead of letting him take his rightful role as the new head of their household, she had treated him as a burden to be packed off and sent away. It was a humiliating blow.
My sympathy for William, however, was short-lived because, within a mere week of his arrival, he discovered an innovative way to relieve his frustrations.
By tormenting me.
As I recall, it was raining the afternoon of the first major incident. The house was ours alone as Mother was out visiting a neighbour’s new baby and Father was working in the shop, finishing up an order of horseshoes for the Morgan family farm. Although the day started out in an ordinary fashion, it became memorable as the result of one impulsive decision — as all memorable days inevitably do. William had convinced me to play a game of indoor tag. When he’d first suggested it, I’d refused, of course. Tag in the house was against the rules. Although I had the sense that Mother didn’t mind the playfulness of young boys, Father had strictly forbidden anything of that sort in his home.
“The barn out back is the only place for that kind of nonsense,” he’d scolded whenever my young inclinations turned silly and loud. To Father, play of any kind was indulgent.
But my cousin William could be very convincing when he wanted to be.
“Nobody’s here,” he said, grabbing my hand and pulling me to my feet. “We can’t play outside in the rain. One quick little game — come on, I’ll go first. See if you can outrun me. I’ll even give you a ten-second head start. One, two, three …”
Caught up in the frenzy of his excitement, I bolted into the kitchen.
That was my first mistake.
Growling like a monster, William chased me up and down the stairs, through the parlour and around the kitchen until my heart was pounding with the thrill of the game and my head was dizzy with speed. When he finally caught up with me, he thumped me on the back, yelled “Tag!” and scrambled up the stairwell. I turned to take chase. When I reached the top of the stairs, I saw William flying across the floor of my parent’s room. William’s legs were longer than mine and his arms were twice as strong. No matter what game we’d played since his arrival, he always managed to beat me. And how he enjoyed lording his victories over me! But this time I was determined to win. Sensing my resolve, William ran faster than ever. He dashed to the window and pushed open the shutters with a bang. A rush of damp summer air met my face as I ran to catch him. But before I knew what was happening, he was climbing up the ledge and out on the roof of the veranda. Fast as a monkey up a tree. “Can’t catch me out here!” he sang from outside. “I’m still the winner! Come on and try!”
Panting from the effort of running, I leaned my head out the window and glanced down toward the dirt road below. Vertigo seized my chest, causing me to choke on my own breath. There was no question how bad a fall I would take if my feet slipped on the smooth, wet shingles. Crushed bones would be the least of my worries.
“Oh, I see … little cousin John is afraid of heights,” William taunted.
“You dirty dog!” I yelled back, anger snaking down the length of my limbs like a lit fuse. I wanted to catch him so badly that I could hardly see straight. That should have been a clear sign for me to back down. But of course, I took William’s bait like the stupid fish I was back then.
It was my second mistake.
With one foot balancing on the sill and two hands clutching on to the upper part of the frame, I pulled my body out the window. I could hear my pulse throbbing in my ears as the wind whipped my hair into my eyes. Remembering it now, over a hundred years later, I can still feel that awful bitter taste rise in my mouth and the sensation that I was about to vomit from fright. But the overwhelming urge to follow William and shut him up transcended all my fears. I hesitated as the rain spat against my face. Sensing my indecision, William rose to his feet and swung his arms wildly in the air, like a turkey trying to take flight.
“Come on and catch me, chicken! Catch me now or give up the game and declare me the champion.”
I lifted my other foot off the ground and was about to swing it over the window ledge when I heard the terrible growl of Father’s voice from below.
“What in blazes are you two jackasses doing up there?”
I looked down and saw him standing by the front gate, hands punching his hips, and anger slashed across his face like an open wound. Petrified, I climbed down from the window with lightning speed, as if I might still have the chance to undo the damage. But, of course, it was too late. By that point, I could hear Father’s steps pounding up the stairwell, coming to get me. Shutting my eyes, I cowered against the wall and waited for my punishment to come crashing down. It didn’t matter that it was William’s idea. It didn’t matter that I hadn’t followed him out onto the roof. All that mattered was that I’d disobeyed a rule and disappointed Father … again. The price for that would be paid by my bare backside.
“William made me do it,” I sobbed as he raised his arm to strike. That turned out to be the third and worst mistake of all. Through my tears, I watched as William slipped silently back inside the house to witness me take the beating of my life.
Afterward, my skin burned like someone had set it on fire. At least my cousin had the decency to bring me a glass of cool water when the beating was over. But I couldn’t bring myself to thank him for it, for the look of smug satisfaction on his face had sealed up my throat with bile.
6 - Max
I wasn’t planning on going back to the library. Honestly, I wasn’t. But something about the place brought me there the very next Wednesday morning. Believe me when I tell you that I left my house with every intention of going to school that day. I couldn’t help the fact that my feet kind of changed direction after a few minutes and started taking me toward 10 Colborne Street. It was almost like there was a giant magnet pulling me there. I’d never felt anything like it before.
Was it the house that kept me coming back?
Or the ghost stories?
Or was it Caroline?
Don’t get me wrong, I was still feeling angry, and humiliated, and well … just plain stupid about our last conversation. But I guess all of those feelings were a hundred times better than the way I felt when I was at school: as invisible as air. And I guess maybe after all these weeks of feeling alone, it was nice to know that someone in this crappy suburb wanted my company … even if she did seem to have ulterior motives.
When I got there, I stood outside the house for a few minutes and stared up at the green shuttered windows on the second floor, remembering the story Caroline had told me the previous Wednesday. She’d sworn that those shutters were bolted down, but I knew from my experience working with Papa that fastenings came loose all the time. Especially with older buildings. A strong wind might easily have made the shutters crash open and shut in the way she’d described last week. Yeah, it was probably something as simple as that. Why was it that some people always searched for crazy theories to explain simple events?
Shaking my head, I walked up the garden path toward the side door o
f the library. The doubt I was feeling in the pit of my stomach was getting stronger with every step. Was I doing the right thing? Should I have come back here after what Caroline said last week? Damn! Why haven’t I been able to think straight since the moment her stupid dog ran out in front of me? I’d never let a girl play around with my head like this before. Never!
I took a deep breath and stared at the tarnished door handle. One thing I did know for sure was that I’d been spending way too much time around libraries this past month. Since the start of the term, I’d passed all of my lunch hours in the school library, pretending to study even though it was too early in the year for exams or essays. Trust me, it was a better alternative to sitting alone day after day in the cafeteria like a loser. Now here I was at another library. What was wrong with me? My old friends in Vancouver would probably never recognize the kind of guy I’d become here — some kind of a bookish, girl-obsessed, social leper. Hell, I barely recognized myself.
I took a deep breath. Okay, here goes nothing!
My chest tightened with nerves as I pushed open the door. The rusted hinges shrieked like an old alley cat, announcing my arrival. Cringing, I let the door fall shut behind me.
Great! So much for making a subtle entrance.
I glanced around quickly to see if anybody had noticed. But the only person in sight was an old white haired lady bent over a desk. Okay, so far so good. I could still change my mind and leave if I wanted. I hesitated in the entryway for a few seconds, trying to decide what to do. My eyes jumped around, looking for Caroline, but I couldn’t see her anywhere. Before I could decide if I was going to stay or not, something pushed me onward … curiosity, stupidity, or just a case of plain old teenage hormones? Maybe all of the above.
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