by Peter Sacco
The Miller family had owned a farm in the Midwest and moved to California following the war to get their lives back in order. The husband’s brother had owned the house and had offered to take the family in. Even more shocking was the fact Sarah Miller moved back into the house following her mother’s murder. From what the coroner’s report stated, the mother was beheaded. There was much speculation about the murder but the killer was never caught. There were no fingerprints nor any leads to go on. Sarah chose to live in her mother’s house like a hermit.
She never really mingled with the neighbors. Some of them claimed that mentally, Sarah was a tree short of a trunk. On one occasion, Sarah had talked about how she would prepare meals for her father and take them to him. She also claimed her deceased father had killed her mother for not remaining faithful to him. No one really knew the story for sure, nor for that matter, what had really happened. As far as Jean was concerned, this was home for her and her children now. No old wives’ tale was going to scare them away from living in this house. Besides, she had her own horror story living back east. Hopefully, he would stay there.
The Thomas clan pretty well had all their belongings moved into the house. Most of the furniture had been placed in their desired locations. Billy was the happiest of the two children. He had gotten the room his sister had wanted. It was the largest room in the house. It was a bedroom attached to a step-up attic. The attic was converted into a loft for the bedroom. His bed rested in the tiny loft and the dressers and computer were situated in the bedroom. Billy called his bedroom “a real pad.” Clair had made several waves about wanting the room, but surrendered her hostilities when she noticed the two of them were wearing down their mother’s already thin patience. Case closed. Billy got the room. Clair’s room was much smaller, but she had the sun to wake her every morning through the small bay window. Being an avid lover of the sun, this compensated her somewhat. Jean was very happy with the everyday, run of the mill, master bedroom.
The family had been living in the unfurnished house for just about a week. The last two nights in the house had been less than restful for Billy. Around two in the morning, he had been awakened from his sleep by sounds like loud dripping. Whenever he turned his light on, however, the dripping disappeared. He thought it might be Clair trying to frighten him out of the bedroom. That theory was quickly dispelled when he spied on her in her bedroom and watched her sleeping soundly. Billy investigated the room for leaks but was unable to find any. The faucets in the bathroom down the hall were turned off. It was not raining outside. Where the hell was the noise coming from?
Billy thought maybe, an old pipe of some sort was leaking in the roof, but where would the water be coming from at that time of night? No one was using water this late. Actually, the sound first appeared to becoming from the closet in the corner of his loft. When Billy opened the closet door, he expected water to be all over the small floor. There wasn’t even a drop. The floor was dry and the walls were dry. There was not even a drop of perspiration on the brick wall at the end of the closet.
Billy unscrewed the light bulb at the top of the closet and shut the door perplexed. As soon as he went back to bed the dripping sound started again. Damn closet, he thought. Billy did not like closets anyway and this one gave him the creeps whenever it was opened. Perhaps it was the old red brick wall staring at him which made him uneasy. It reminded him of a movie he watched with his father when he was younger. In that movie, St. Valentine’s Day Massacre, there had been a large brick wall. The blood on the wall had really scared the shit out of him. Now whenever the closet door was opened and the red brick wall was staring at him, he could swear he saw blood crying from the cracks in the bricks. He vowed to himself he would never again watch that movie for as long as he lived. The closet was useless and why did it have to be in his pad? There were no shelves or hooks to store anything, so why have it? Jean told Billy she was going to store her china and silverware in there. She could have all she wanted of that closet, thought Billy. He had his own closet in the room below.
The next morning, Billy told his mother of the dripping noise coming from the closet the last two nights. Jean and Clair both claimed they had heard nothing. Jean checked all of the faucets and ceilings for leaks but found nothing. Clair teased Billy about the noise and told him she would be more than happy to change bedrooms with him. That was all he had to hear. He would discuss the dripping noise no more. Clair placed the plates down on the table and Jean tossed omelets into each of them. Jean swiped the comic book from Billy’s hands and tossed it onto the counter. Before they began to eat, Jean said grace. Billy dove into his omelet.
“For someone who was sick of eggs, you’re sure doing all right there,” smiled Jean.
Clair got a soda from the refrigerator. “Do we really have to start school next month?” she asked less than enthusiastic.
“You are children and children do attend school,” Jean smiled.
“I wonder what the schools are going to be like out here?” asked Billy.
“I’m sure they are no different from what they were like in Boston,” answered Jean.
“I was afraid of that,” quipped Clair.
“Oh, I’m sure you’ll both make a lot of friends at school in Santa Barbara.”
“That’s real comforting,” snorted Clair, through a full mouth of food.
“Don’t worry, Sis, I’m sure you’ll have a boyfriend soon,” smirked Billy.
“Why don’t you keep your mouth shut when you are eating?” asked Clair raising her voice impatiently.
Billy opened his mouth to expose the food. Clair winced at him and offered him a provocative finger.
“Now cut it out, both of you and act your ages. I’m sure you will make plenty of friends out here, and you’ll both survive. If I’m going to, so will you,” sighed Jean.
Billy glanced at Clair and she shrugged. Silently, they finished eating.
***
Jerry Webb, the dark-haired boy who had been playing in the tall grass at the end of Thomas’ driveway, now sat on the curb lacing up his in-line skates. Billy came out of the house and stood on the porch watching him. Jerry struggled to keep his balance as he climbed to his feet. As he tried to skate away from the curb, he stumbled comically from one foot to the other over a manhole cover. Still wavering back and forth, his legs were thrown up forward like a rag doll, and he landed on his butt in the middle of the street. Billy burst out laughing. Jerry looked back over his shoulder and saw Billy standing there laughing at him. He walked over to where Jerry was lying on the street and helped him to his feet. As Jerry climbed to his feet, he nearly fell once more, pulling Billy down with him. Billy tentatively dragged Jerry over to the side of the road and placed him down on the grass, and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Skate much?” Billy asked sarcastically.
“Nah”, sniffled Jerry as he rubs his elbow, “just got the dumb things yesterday for my birthday.”
“I see,” Billy smiled.
“Do you know how to skate?” Jerry asked.
“Most certainly! Hey, I’m from Boston. Everyone up there knows how to skate.”
“You’re from Boston?” Jerry asked surprised.
“Yeah!”
“What’s your name?” Jerry asked.
“Billy. What’s yours?”
“Jerry.”
“Glad to meet you, Jerry,” Billy smiled, extending his hand.
“So, you just moved into the old Miller house?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty old,” Billy chuckled.
Jerry leaned toward Billy, as if he was going to tell him a secret. “Have you seen anything strange in there?”
“In where?” Billy asked.
“In your house.”
“In my house?”
“Yeah, in your house.”
“Like what?�
� Billy asked tentatively.
Jerry shrugged his shoulders, trying to be as discreet as possible. “I don’t know. Ghosts?”
“Ghosts? Ghosts!” chuckled Billy.
Jerry appeared somewhat embarrassed by Billy’s exclamation to his question. Billy continued to giggle until he regained enough composure to continue his dialogue. Jerry’s face turned a plum red shade and he regretted very much having asked the question. “Ah, just forget it. I was only kidding,” barked Jerry.
“Are there a lot of ghosts in California?” Billy asked sarcastically.
Jerry shrugged his shoulders and offered a shallow smile to mask his embarrassment.
“Is that your sister?” Jerry asked, trying to change the subject.
“Yeah.”
“How old is she?”
Billy looked at him and then looked away shaking his head. “Too old for you.”
He did not answer but stared into Billy’s baby blues for a moment. Billy could tell Jerry had been hurt by his sarcasm. He wished he hadn’t been so rough on him. He attributed his confidence and assertiveness to being a Bostonian all of his life. The four seasons, the local sports teams, and the East Coast heritage all contributed to Bostonians being as tough, and maybe sometimes hostile as they were. Jerry, on the other hand, had probably had summer all of his life and down here they were supposed to be laid back and mellow. Was this not the pot capitol of America? Billy offered Jerry a warm smile and shook his head. Jerry would probably become a close friend, if not his best friend, so why not get off on the right foot? Jerry began to take off his skates.
“Leave your skates on.”
“Why?” Jerry asked puzzled.
“Because this Bruin is going to teach you how to skate.”
Jerry silently stared off down the road.
“Relax.” smiled a confident Billy. “I’ll be back in a sec. I’ll get mine and show you how it’s done.”
Moments later the two boys were standing in the middle of the street. Billy was standing behind Jerry with his two hands firmly planted around Jerry’s waist. He appeared anxious, as he was deathly afraid of falling again. His little butt was still smarting from his first introduction to the pavement.
“Okay, let’s go for it,” cried Billy, as he began to push Jerry.
“Not too fast!” Jerry pleaded.
“Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
“If I fall again...”
Before Jerry could object, they were moving down the street. Billy held onto Jerry’s hips as they were picking up speed. “It’s too fast!” Jerry cried.
“You have to move one foot in front of the other as if you were walking fast,” Billy ordered.
“I can’t with you pushing me,” Jerry cried.
“I’ll fix that!” laughed Billy. With that Billy took his hands away from Jerry’s hips and gave Jerry one last push. He was now coasting down the street independently. Jerry started to panic and his voice quivered loudly as he yelled for Billy. To his surprise, Billy smoothly drifted past and did a three-sixty in front of him. He gulped in fear as he thought they would collide at any moment. They didn’t. Billy resumed his skating alongside Jerry. After following Billy’s orders for putting one foot in front of the other, Jerry was actually skating half decently. He, however, began to waver backward as he did when he fell the first time. Billy placed his hand behind Jerry’s back for added support.
“Lean forward,” Billy ordered.
“Why?” asked Jerry tentatively.
“So you won’t fall. Your center of gravity will be forward. See!”
Jerry looked at Billy as he demonstrated the lean. He did likewise and realized he had more control of his feet and body. Billy swung his arms along his side and told Jerry to do the same. “Why?” Jerry asked.
“For balance.”
Jerry began to swing his arms gingerly feeling more and more comfortable. Billy skated toward him and turned to skate backward, so he was facing Jerry. Billy saw the big smile on his red face. He wondered to himself if the smile was from fear, or from the sun. “I’m skating!” shouted Jerry.
“You are,” smiled Billy.
“Darn right! I know how to skate!” he laughed.
Billy wiped the beads of sweat, which dripped from the ends of his curly blonde hair above his ears. The heat on the streets of California was much different from Boston. If the weather remained like this all year, perhaps he wouldn’t miss the four seasons in Boston as he thought he might. Billy thought maybe he was really going to like it here after all. Perhaps California was really the place to be. Let’s face it, who wouldn’t want to live out here in the winter, Billy thought. Give me one northerner who hadn’t dreamed about being here while he was digging out his driveway during a blizzard.
Boston was a city built around the pride it had for sports teams. Billy thought this was definitely right up his alley. It would take a little getting used to, but now he was here, it was a different ballgame. He would like it more than he thought and soon the buddies he left behind would be nothing more than memories of a young childhood. Billy was more than sure the guys back home were wishing they were out here. Everything they had seen on television portrayed California, Billy was now a part of. Once he went to a couple of the beaches, he was sure he would have no regrets. He might even send the guys back home a postcard or two to get their young hormones firing on all cylinders. Billy was also quite sure Clair would love this place, given time. Perhaps their mom was right. The change was exactly what they needed. It would be good for them all. California wasn’t bad at all. Except at night, when Billy was trying to sleep!
Three-twelve Tuesday morning and all was quiet in both Clair’s and Jean’s bedrooms. They were both sound asleep. Billy, on the other hand was not sound asleep. That damn, blasted dripping noise had awakened him once more. Billy gazed up at the ceiling and listened. Billy thought at any moment, the dripping noise would suddenly turn into a waterfall and come gushing through the ceiling and drown him. He giggled at this thought, but laughed more so at the thought of having his sleep disturbed by the damn dripping noise which apparently no one else in the house could hear. He giggled to himself once more after he recalled one of the comic books that featured stories on vampires, creatures of the night. “If this keeps up, I’m going to apply for vampire status. What the hell, I’m becoming a creature of the night. Even they probably get more sleep than I’m getting,” he whispered aloud.
As he set one foot on the floor, a piercing, scary thought raced through his mind. It was the conversation he had with Jerry yesterday. He had asked me if I saw anything strange. If I had seen any ghosts. “What an idiot! Have I seen any ghosts?” he said shaking his head.
Billy slowly pulled his foot back into the bed. His body did not seem in agreement with his will to go and investigate the noise. “What the heck am I doing? I’m not afraid,” he scoffed to the darkness.
For some reason, Billy felt paralyzed. For the first time in his life, he was afraid of something he did not believe in, nor had even considered worth considering. He was afraid of ghosts. “What the hell is my problem?” he whispered under his breath.
As a young child at summer camp, he was the only one not afraid of ghost stories. Actually, Billy had found them quite amusing. What really tickled his fancy was the expression on the faces of the other kids. He could not wait for the ghost stories to reach their climax so he could watch the other kids jump and run like chickens with their heads cut off. And the ghoulish pranks at Halloween! They never bothered him either. He never saw a horror flick which caused him to lose any sleep. Billy had always kept his feet on the ground and inherited the cocky, analytical mind of his father.
He believed ghosts, horror flicks, and anything to do with the occult scared people only because people wanted to be scared; because what they really saw were themselv
es and what they were really afraid of. For his young age, Billy was perhaps too mature and analytical at times to enjoy the fun-scares normal kids his age experienced.
When it came to Halloween, he was the death of the party. He stopped going out for Halloween when he turned ten. He thought kids running around with pillowcases in their hands begging for candy were nothing but losers. He was even tossed out of a movie theater which was showing a box office smash horror flick. While others were glued to their seats in fear, Billy was laughing uncontrollably. He was asked to leave the theater because he was spoiling the moment for other kids. He thought to himself the usher had done him a large favor. It wasn’t his idea to see this movie anyway.
“Have I seen any ghosts?” he whispered under his breath. This thought was really starting to disturb him. He was growing both angry and afraid. Perhaps it was his unfamiliarity with the new house and all. What the heck, he was living in California, and this was the earthquake center of the world. If the thought of being swallowed up by an earthquake didn’t scare him, nothing would. Unfortunately, the thought of being swallowed up by an earthquake didn’t scare Billy the slightest. Actually, Billy more than welcomed the experience of being in an earthquake because he was curious.
Billy could feel his sweaty feet sticking to the sheets. He could also feel the heat coming from his sweaty palms. The dripping noise was now ringing in his ears. It was like the sound of the metronome Clair used when she played the piano. It was too perfect. Each drip seemed to be the same length apart. At any moment, Billy expected to hear the piano start playing. If it were daytime, he might really be hearing it, but it wasn’t. It was night and he had a job to do. After one last hesitation, Billy threw one foot out of the bed like a jockey mounting a horse. He was now standing at the side of his bed. And wouldn’t you know it, it stopped. The dripping noise coming from his closet had now ceased. Or had it really?