Whispers

by Lynn Moon

  My heart pounded so hard it was hard to breathe. The man trying to open the doors was none other than my father.

  Instead of a suit, he wore a pair of faded jeans, dirty and shabby. A dark sweatshirt with a hood, covered in dried leaves, clung to his filthy body. His hair, longer than I remembered and caked with mud, drooped over his eyes. What did he just do? Crawled out of his grave?

  I gasped, slapping my hand over my mouth. Straining to remember what he was wearing in the casket, my mind went blank. I couldn’t seem to think of anything but running away. I knew that my mother would not have allowed him to be buried in anything other than his most expensive suit. Why is he wearing that nasty outfit?

  Panting, I feared I’d pass out before I could escape. If this is a ghost, why doesn’t it just walk through the door? What’s stopping it?

  As I held my breath, my father’s ghost peered through the living room window. I lay on the floor and prayed, my fear boiling out of control. If he broke through the glass now, I would be trapped. What happens when a ghost grabs a person? Does that person die and become a wisp of vapor? What would it feel like to simply float away?

  Trying not to touch the curtains, I pressed myself harder against the hardwood and started counting. The numbers drifted through my mind, one at a time. In a strange way, concentrating calmed me. When I reached thirty-two, his hand scratched the window a few times. Checking to see if he can open it? Thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five . . . What is that? Footsteps! Are his feet moving away from me now? Then the echo of his feet hitting the arched stairway filled me with hope. Slowly, I sat up. Resting against my heels, I glanced out the window as his head disappeared down the front porch stairs.

  I darted up the stairs for my room. Throwing open my balcony doors, I searched the lawn. Nothing was there. Where did he go? Checking the side lawn, only dark shadows filled the void. He had to be in the back yard. Mother? Is my mother safe from this evil spirit? Hitting the hallway at a full run, the old rug slid out from under me. I landed on my hip and yelped as pain ricocheted up my back. However, I couldn’t allow anything to stop me, not now. I had to know where he or it was going.

  Pushing myself off the floor, I limped to my father’s study. The door was closed. I could have sworn I left it open earlier. Staggering to the window, I yanked open the curtains. A full moon lit up the field that separated our house from my grandparents’. In the middle of that field stood a man—the same man who only moments before tried to get into my house. I watched as he turned toward me, and waved and . . . Is he blowing me a kiss? Am I losing my mind? Has my father come back from the grave? Can ghosts be real enough to open a door?

  So many questions ran through my mind. Terrified of being alone, I limped down the hall, avoiding the crumpled rug that I’d tripped over earlier, and grabbed my phone. I rang Quinton. Between sobs, I tried to explain what I had just seen. But it wasn’t working. My words garbled together.

  “I’ll be right over.” Quinton’s porch lit up the street. Two people ran from his house and headed straight for my front gate.

  We reached the kitchen door at about the same time. Flipping on the lights, I could barely work the lock. As soon as the door opened, Quinton’s arms embraced me. I cried into his chest.

  “He was here!” I screamed. “My dad’s ghost was here!”

  “What’s going on?” It was Quinton’s father.

  “Can you check on her mom?” Quinton asked.

  “Certainly.” I listened as my mother’s bedroom door opened. After a few moments, his father’s voice filled the kitchen. “She’s sleeping.”

  “That’s all she does anymore,” I said, wiping my eyes with the back of my hands.

  Quinton loosened his grip. Walking to the kitchen counter, he yanked on the paper towels. “Here.”

  “Thanks,” I said, blowing my nose.

  “It can’t be your dad,” Quinton replied. “It’s gotta be somebody else.”

  “I’m going to check the rest of the house,” Quinton’s father said, leaving us alone.

  “You should call your aunt,” Quinton suggested. “Have her come spend the night.”

  “Good idea.”

  Quinton’s father searched the whole house and found nothing out of place. Nothing except for the rug that I tripped over. As we waited for my aunt to arrive, we nibbled on Katrina’s cookies. After giving them details of what happened, Quinton’s father shook his head.

  “When your aunt gets here, we’ll walk over to your grandparents’ house. I’ll feel better knowing they’re safe.”

  “Thanks.” I kept staring at Quinton. He looked so worried.

  “I don’t get it,” Quinton said. “Who keeps coming over here?”

  “I told you. It’s my dad’s ghost.”

  Before they could object, Auntie Delphie burst through the kitchen door. “I got here as fast as I could. A sheriff deputy is heading over to the Weavers’ now.” As I stared at her, she added, “Just making sure they’re okay.”

  I nodded.

  “I believe you’re in good hands now, Musetta,” Quinton’s father said. “Get some sleep.”

  After kissing me on the forehead, Quinton followed his father out the kitchen door.

  “That was very thoughtful of them,” Auntie Delphie said, sitting down at the table. “Coming over here like that. I wish I had such great neighbors.”

  “I’ve known them my whole life,” I replied.

  Nibbling on an M&M cookie, she lowered her eyes. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

  “No.”

  “Something happened,” she said.

  Not wanting to argue, I blurted, “My dad’s ghost tried to break into the house.”

  As a loud rap boomed through the kitchen, my heart almost lurched into my hands.

  “The deputy,” she said, standing up and staring down at me.

  A cool breeze hit my flushed face. Someone had a fireplace burning. I could smell it. The odor comforted me.

  “The Weavers are fine. Just finished a late dinner. They allowed me in and I walked through the downstairs.” Deputy Ryan played with his hat as he talked. “I asked if any strangers had been by, which was a no. They asked what was going on over here, and I told them you probably had a bad dream. You go see them tomorrow. Give them some comfort knowing you’re okay.”

  “I will. Thank you,” I said.

  Auntie Delphie walked the deputy to his car as I straightened up the kitchen. Placing the dirty glasses into the dishwasher, I thought about my father. How can he be dead and alive at the same time? I remembered the strange feeling I got when my fist hit his cold, hard face. It felt more like hitting a bag of flour than a human head. Then I had to remind myself that it was a dead, human head.

  Locking the kitchen door, Auntie Delphie said, “I’m going to check the doors and windows again. Then I’m setting the alarm. I’ll also check on my sister. I want you to take a shower and get into bed. You’ve had enough excitement for one night.”

  I nodded as I hung up the dishtowel. Climbing the stairs to the main-floor landing, the muffled echoes of a man laughing sent chills down my neck. Placing my ear against the wall, the voice said something I couldn’t make out and then laughed. Not understanding, I strained, trying to make out what he was saying.

  “Musetta? What in the world are you doing?”

  Jumping away from the wall, I almost fell into Auntie Delphie. “Don’t do that. You scared me.”

  “I thought I told you to get into the shower? Not play with the wall.”

  “If you put your ear next to it, you can hear the ghost laughing,” I said, leaning against the wall again.

  “Musetta Weavers! I’ve had just about enough of this ghost stuff. I know you’re hurting and I’m going to help you get through this. But really? A ghost?”

  “Shhhh,” I said, pressing harder against the wall.

  “Shower!” she yelled. “Now!”

  “Fine,” I replied. I slammed my feet against the last fe
w stairs. “I’m going.”

  “I mean it,” she whispered as she entered my mother’s room. “No more talk about ghosts.”

  ***

  The following morning, Katrina treated me to a hot breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast. It felt so good to have her back in the kitchen. The house seemed warmer and safer when she was here. After gulping down my food, I went to the bench by the door where we kept our jackets and shoes.

  “Katrina?” I asked. “Where’s my backpack?”

  “Didn’t you take it to your room last night?”

  “No,” I said, running up the stairs.

  “Better hurry. You’ll miss your bus.”

  My book bag wasn’t in my room. Standing on the stairs, I distinctly remembered seeing it on the kitchen bench. When I got home yesterday, Katrina picked it off the floor for me. Last night I pulled out some paper and a pencil so I could sketch out the floor plan for Hunter.

  Running into the living room, I searched for my paper. Where did I leave that stuff last night?

  “Musetta!” Katrina yelled from the kitchen. “You’ve gotta go.”

  Not wanting to miss my bus, I darted from the house. Quinton waved at me from the corner.

  “How did you sleep?” he asked.

  “Not bad and you?”

  “Not bad.”

  Worrying about my things, I barely heard Quinton’s words as we rode the bus to school. Throughout the morning, it seemed like I was living in a cloud. I felt irresponsible because I didn’t have my books or supplies. A couple of my instructors gave me one of theirs to use. Borrowing paper from everyone I knew didn’t help to give me warm fuzzies either.

  My food didn’t look inviting at lunch. Poking my finger into my hamburger, I sighed.

  “Got a grudge against your burger?” Hunter asked, sitting beside me.

  I smiled and shook my head. “Just not hungry.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” he said.

  “Like what?”

  “I still want to draw out your house. If you’re not busy this afternoon, I could come by.”

  “I started working on that last night,” I said, but Hunter ignored me.

  “For my birthday last year, my dad bought me a computer program. At first, I thought it was stupid. But when I played with it a few months ago, I realized how great it was. I can create house plans and all kinds of stuff with it.”

  “You want to put my house into your computer?”

  “Yes.” Hunter’s whole face lit up.

  Not wanting to break his spirit, I agreed. “Sure, why not.”

  As I suspected, my day didn’t get any better. I received a C on my math test. I’d never scored less than a B before. When the final bell rang, my nerves started to relax, a little. Our bus was late picking us up. So when we were finally dropped off, Quinton and I immediately spotted Hunter sitting on my steps, with a large canvas bag draped over one shoulder.

  “What’s he got?” Quinton asked.

  “I think it’s his computer.”

  “What for?”

  “He wants to draw out the floor plan of my house.”

  “Too cool. He told me he’s going to be an architect someday. Design buildings like his dad.” Quinton ran the rest of the way to meet up with Hunter. I walked.

  Katrina again greeted us with a fresh batch of cookies.

  “Are you trying to fatten me up or something?” I asked as I bit into a warm one.

  “Just trying to make it nice and homey around here,” she said, offering some to the boys. “Your mom’s up today. She’s on the back patio.”

  “Oh?” I said. I darted to her bedroom door.

  “She’s been up all day,” Katrina yelled. “And talking.”

  “Eat up,” I told the boys. “I’ll be just a minute.”

  As I stepped into my mother’s room, sweet lavender filled the air. With the French doors open, the billowing curtains allowed me to see her sitting out back.

  “Mom?” I yelled as I ran to her.

  “Hi, sweetheart,” she said, holding out her arms.

  Falling onto my mother’s lap, I realized she’d also changed out of her sleeping gown. I smiled. With a little makeup and her hair brushed, she almost looked normal.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked.

  “Much better. I don’t understand what was wrong with me. I just didn’t have any strength. And I was so sleepy.”

  “You were out for the longest time,” I said, snuggling deeper into her arms. As her hand brushed across my head, I relaxed into her loving embrace. “I love you, Mom.”

  “Ah, sweetheart. I love you, too.”

  “Are we going to be okay?” I asked.

  “I think so,” she said, kissing the top of my head. “I’m still a little weak. But I’m getting there. Delphie said I needed to drink this special vitamin water. She started me on it yesterday. When I woke up this morning, I almost felt like my old self. Strange what a couple of vitamins can do for a person.”

  “I’m just glad you’re feeling better. Will you have dinner with us later?”

  “Of course,” she said, letting me go. “My hunger’s starting to come back, too. I don’t feel as nauseated anymore.”

  “My friends are here. I’ll see you later.”

  She nodded and picked up the novel she’d been reading. “Okay, sweetheart.”

  I glanced at her nightstand as I left. All the medications were gone and only the lamp remained. All of the water glasses were gone, too. I hoped Auntie Delphie was the one to take away the pills.

  “Ready?” I asked the boys.

  “Delphie said she’d be back later,” Katrina added. “Something about running a few errands.”

  “Thanks,” I replied, but turned to Hunter. “I started drawing out the downstairs last night. I just can’t find my paper.”

  “Where’d you have it last?” Quinton asked.

  “On the second floor by the front stairs,” I replied.

  We searched the whole house but could not find my book bag or my pad of paper. Frustrated, I decided to concentrate on helping Hunter. We worked on the floor plans until Katrina called us for dinner. Having mother at the table gave me warm feelings, as if it were Christmas or something. Uncle Frank, my aunt’s husband, drove over to join us. My house was again full of laughter and love. It was the best night ever.

  Quinton ran home right after we ate to finish a report. I waited outside with Hunter for his mother to pick him up. Standing by the iron gate, I kept scratching my arms and glancing up at the house.

  “Stop it, will yah?” Hunter ordered, grabbing my hands.

  “What?”

  “What? You’re scratching yourself almost to the point of bleeding, and you keep staring up at those windows. That was your father’s study, right?”

  I nodded.

  “Light’s off, just like it’s supposed to be. All’s dark except for the kitchen. So why are you so afraid of this house?”

  “Who says I’m afraid of my house?”

  “I say,” he replied. Hunter seemed to be studying me. I could see it in his eyes. With a large sigh, he whispered, “Come, sit down in my office for a minute.” Hunter sat on the top step, pulling me down with him.

  “Are you my shrink now?”

  “Something like that.”

  Looking at the front gate, I noticed some of the paint had chipped off. Wondering who would paint it now that my father was gone actually bothered me.

  “You said something the other day at Charlie’s that’s been bugging me.” Hunter rested back on his hands.

  “Which was?”

  “You said that your father’s ghost was still raping you.”

  “I didn’t exactly say that.” I glanced away.

  “Yes, you did. So if your father’s dead, who’s attacking you?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, looking over at him. Apparently my dead father wanted to torture me for some reason. It all seemed pretty clear to me. Why can’t he see it? />
  “What I mean is . . . there’s no such thing as a ghost.”

  “Then who keeps going into my dad’s study and closing the curtains and the door? Who’s laughing in our stairways? And who keeps visiting me at night?”

  “When does all this usually happen?”

  “On Fridays, mostly. After my father’s funeral, it happened on a Sunday.”

  “On weekends, then. That helps to narrow it down.”

  “What are you thinking?” I asked.

  “That we capture this ghost of yours.”

  “Capture a ghost? How?”

  “Not sure yet.”

  “But if it is my dad, and he’s dead—”

  “Exactly,” he replied. “If it is your dad, and he’s dead, then we have a problem.”

  Before I could say anything else, headlights flashed from down the street.

  “My mom’s here to pick me up.”

  CHAPTER 7

  THE WEEK SPED BY AS if I’d skipped several days of being alive. Friday afternoon arrived with ripples of fear and confusion. Frightened by what happened to me on Friday nights, I desired to be any place else but in my room.

  Isn’t a person’s bedroom supposed to be their place of safety, a hiding place away from everything that’s bad in the world? Why am I not given the same privilege as every other person my age? . . . the honor of sleeping safely at night, instead of being abused by a person I once adored. My bed, draped with a tan afghan made by my grandma’s own hands, brought only anguish to my frayed nerves. My pillows and blankets represented violation and contempt—not security and warmth. In some ways, I was numb inside. In other ways, my inner-self whirled like a summer tornado.

  I must have stood there for a long time, because I didn’t notice Charlie come in. Her soft voice startled me. Holding back my fears, I cringed.

  “It’ll be okay.” Charlie dropped her backpack near my closet. “I’ll be here with you all night. Nothing will happen as long as I’m here.”