Mrs. Beecher has been sick for a while now but turned for the worst. The news around town was that she was diagnosed with cancer. It was a pity she was alone in that old house. She had no children, and she became a widow four years ago after her husband died mysteriously. She started to exhibit some strange behavior. Like the cats she adopted. They lingered around the house with the hope she’d come out to feed them. I watched from my bedroom window as they patrolled the parameters of the house like soldiers on duty.
Come to think of it, the last time I saw any activity in the house was last Sunday five days ago when I took, Milo my dog, outside. Milo saw his nemeses on the other side and decided to give chase. He pulled so hard that the leash burned my palm. I dropped it, and he dashed after the cats. Milo barked, the cats meowed, and Mrs. Beecher yelled, “Go away! Leave them alone!” And there I was calling, Milo! It sounded like a confused melody. Imagine – Woof! Woof! Meow! Meow! Get Away! Milo! Or was it Milo! Get Away! Meow! Meow! Woof! Woof!
I felt devastated at the time because my mother warned me to keep Milo on the leash. But technically, I shouldn’t get into any trouble because Milo was on his leash. What was I thinking? It was my fault Milo was on a rampage. He didn’t catch any cats, but he got doused with cold water. He yelped when he got wet and ran towards me when he realized I called his name. Mrs. Beecher got her revenge on Milo. She slammed her door shut, and I heard her cursing in her kitchen. I took Milo into the backyard and bathed him. Now, the house seemed desolate.
I went downstairs to talk to mom about my observation. Mom listened to me while she prepared dinner. The smell of the broccoli was disgusting.
“Mrs. Beecher is in the hospital,” she said with a concerned look on her face. “The mail lady noticed that the letters she had delivered days before were still in her mailbox. She knocked on Mrs. Beecher’s front door, and her banging startled me. “I went outside to see what the commotion was about and realized the emergency. The police and the ambulance EMS workers came and pried the front door open.”
Suddenly I was not hungry anymore. My thoughts drifted to poor Mrs. Beecher. I prayed she’d get better and return home. I missed Mrs. Beecher a little bit. I missed observing her actions from my bedroom window. No, I was not a creep. Mrs. Beecher was the creepy one. Her activities at night intrigued me, like the time I saw her lights flickering on and off in her kitchen and thought that she was sending me some morse codes, just kidding. Probably it was her way of communicating with her husband. Another time she came outside wearing her husband’s clothes, even his cufflinks. I shivered at the thought.
I woke up the next day, happy it was the weekend. I pulled my curtain to let in the morning sun and stood by the window. The Beecher’s house looked like a haunted watercolor painting. The house needed a fresh coat of paint, preferably yellow, my favorite color. The exposed wood was distress and gray or silver. Dad maintained the hedges on our side of the fence, but her yard was overgrown with bushes, and the shadows from the low branches of the Copper Beech tree invited creepy animals. The storm door hung on one hinge, which she tied to a nail for stability. Last month a storm came through, and the winds damaged the gutter. So, it hung there like a long tentacle reaching out to get me.
I inhaled deeply, sighed, and stepped away from the window. Downstairs my mother sat at the kitchen table and on her phone. I prepared my breakfast. Yes, on Saturdays, I made breakfast for myself.
Mom gasped, “She died!?” There was a pause. I turned to look at her to find out who died. “No!” she continued.
I waved my hands in front of her to get her attention. When she looked up, I whispered, “Who died?” Mom refused to say. Instead, she got up from the kitchen table and walked out of the room.
Dad came down, and we ate breakfast together. “Where is your Mom?” he asked.
“Somewhere on her phone,” I responded without looking at him. “She heard that someone died.”
“Oh, yes. Mrs. Beecher passed away last night,” he responded.
“OMG! That is horrible news.” I turned my body to face him. “Did she have any relative?”
“Not that I know of, Princess.” He shrugged and continued eating. I sat quietly eating and thinking about how I could find out if she did. I had a plan.
After breakfast, I washed the dishes and accompanied Dad to Loving Pets; Milo had an appointment for his grooming. Although we had a scheduled time, we still had to wait. I got restless and told Dad I would take a walk and be back. Politicians were out and about at the Plaza, campaigning for reelection and handing out flyers. Then I saw Jenny, a classmate, walking with her mother. We chatted for a while, and I told her about Mrs. Beecher.
“That creepy old lady next door to you?” she asked.
“Yes,” I answered. See! I wasn’t the only one who thought that Mrs. Beecher was creepy.
“Aren’t you afraid there?”
“No! Not at all!” I responded. But truthfully, I was afraid. Now there were two ghosts in that house. I have to find out who their relatives were. They had to come and do something with that house. It could not stay like that unoccupied next to me. Jenny said goodbye when her mother called and walked away. I stood there in my thoughts, more determined to get my answers.
After we got home, I told Dad that I would take Milo for a walk. Milo looked so macho. The Boxer traits stood out; he was ready to run. I held the leash firmly and started our walk opposite the Beecher’s House. I gave Milo extra length to the leash for some freedom. He stopped ever so often to pee, snift around, investigated, and peed again. Soon I would do some investigation of my own.
We finally got to the Beecher’s house. I walked to the side where my parents could not see me. I had limited time to get in and out before Dad started to wonder what took us so on our walk. With Milo by my side, I approached the rear of the house. It was more private; no one would see me enter the house. The cats were nowhere in sight, which was strange. Probably they sensed that Mrs. Beecher was now in the spirit world. People said that animals could see ghosts. Did the the law of relativity tied the two together? I hope Milo could see them and alerted me if and when he did.
The knob on the backdoor turned, and the door opened without resistance. Milo stood erect and snifted the air. Probably he was wary of the time Mrs. Beecher doused him with the water. I tugged on his leash to assure him that it was okay. The door squeaked as it swung open. The air was musty, like the smell of wet cat fur, stale food, and cat poop. The odor did not compliment the environment of the kitchen; it was clean. Everything seemed to be in its place. It would be easy to find the information I needed if the same was true for the other parts of the house.
I was in for a surprise. What I saw in the Livingroom was the source of the smell. Milo started to bark. Did he see the ghosts of the Beechers? Was it his nemeses? I tried to calm his barking so my parents would not be alerted of an intruder there, but Milo went wild. Cats appeared from everywhere, and Milo went on the attack. I froze in my tracks because it looked like the cats were in a circus act, “The Frisky Cats.” They screeched, jumped, flipped, climbed, clawed, and meowed as if communicating with each other. The sight was mesmerizing as Milo barked, drooled, and whimpered when the cats released their sharp arsenals in his face. Boxes and books toppled from their stacks. I became a part of the act, too. I dodged fleeing cats as if I was doing step dancing or playing dodgeball. I screamed and screamed, and Milo barked and barked. The cats cried out for help. And the ghosts of the Beecher’s laughed at us – well, that’s what I thought.
I felt something grabbed me, and I cried out, “No, Mrs. Beecher!” and everything went black. A bright white light floated towards me. Mrs. Beecher was going to get me and take me away. I screamed again, “No! Mrs. Beecher!” The light engulfed my vision, and my eyes fluttered open. Where was I? Did Mrs. Beecher get me? No, the light was of the noon sun on my face and my mother and father’s arms embracing me.
Dad had to take Milo to the vet for his many scratches and to get the rabies vaccine. I did not get any scratches. Instead, I got punished and grounded for two weeks for trespassing on the Beecher’s property. I did not get the information I went searching for in that house. Last week, I came home to see a moving truck parked in the Beecher’s driveway. From the advantage point of my bedroom window, I watched their removal process. I was happy; the concern no longer affected me. They did have relatives because someone was taking care of the house. They will need to fix the light in the kitchen, though, because it flickered on and off again.
Story prompt, courtsey of “Write The Story – Picadilly”