A Double Haunted Date
I’m spontaneous, but a quick thinker, and usually formulate something of a plan. My pal Roger asked a girl for a date. The girl, Jan, worked at the soda fountain in rear of Reed’s Drugstore in Whitebear Lake. Jan told Roger she’d only go out with him if she and Roger double dated with me, and taking out Phyllis, wo worked with Jan. Roger was into favors and said I owed him one. So I asked Phyllis and we were set for that weekend. We saw a movie down at the Avalon theater. All went well so we asked the girls out for the next weekend. We dropped the girls off, then Roger took me home.
“We need a plan,” Roger said as we sat in my driveway.
“How about that haunted house out at old orchard. We can take them there after dark. We’ll do everything all spooky and stuff. They’ll get scared. We’ll be brave and nacho. Then we’ll probably be good for s snuggle or two and a couple kisses. How’s that sound.? I said.
“I like it. But what do we do for the spooky part?”
“I don’t know. We’ve got all week to come up with something. Oh, and my debt’s paid. I don’t owe you anymore favors. I should claim you owe me.”
“Meet up after school Monday?” Roger asked as I got out of his car.
“Ya, we should probably check out the haunted house in the daylight. I hope it’s still there.” I said. I think they’re going to tear it down. See ya Monday,” I aid and headed in the house.
Roger and I were on the school swimming team, and with homework, and swimming practice, we weren’t able to check out the orchard. A couple kids on the swimming team said the old farmhouse hadn’t been torn down, but was boarded up. They said we probably couldn’t get inside. Roger tried to get a couple of the guys to play ghosts for us. He didn’t have any luck or favors owed to him.
That Saturday we went up to Reed’s, ordered a couple of orange-phosphates to sip while we waited for Jan and Phyllis to get off work. When their shift ended, both girls changed out of their candy stripe outfits and into jeans and sweaters.
We played in the park, playing on the swings, merry-go-round and slide, killing time until dark. It was a good night for ghost hunting. Roger started talking about swimming. I cut in as soon as I could and told a couple ghost stories I’d learned as a Boy Scout. The October night air was chill. Leaves had already changed color and lots had fallen. The wind blew them around and even spun up a couple dust devils that added to the atmosphere.
It was full darkness so we climbed into Roger’s car and headed for the orchard. There were two parallel tar roads spaced about three miles apart. The old orchard and dilapidated farmhouse was located between them. There were enough mature trees and brush to make it look like a forest surrounding all the apple trees. A spiderweb of gravel roads from both the north and south gravel roads let to the long driveway to the house. When we got to the driveway, Roger slowed his car to slower than a walking pace and turned off the headlights. We stopped, halfway down the driveway. I told two more ghost stories as we waited for out eyes to adjust.
After about five minutes, I figured the girls were nervous enough and any longer a wait could let the tension start to fade.
“Lets go,” I said. Both Roger and I opened our car doors and stood. The girls didn’t get out. “Come on,” I said and held my hand out to Phyllis. She took my hand, wiggled across the seat and let me help her up. She dropped my hand and slid in next to Jan.
“We’re staying in the car” Phyllis said.
Jan leaned across Phyllis and stuck her arm out the window. “Keys please,” she said to Roger.
He gave her his car keys. We both leaned against his front fender and studied the house. There were no yard or street lights but luckily a full moon cast some eerie shadows.
The house was three stories. There were two main floors and a third that was like a small tower. It was hexagonal and had a round peaked roof that looked like a witches hat. Four of the six sides had windows; two square and two round, like portholes.
The second floor had windows and two sections of balcony. The main floor had windows and a double door for an entrance. Everything on the bottom floor was covered with boards. Some of the second floor windows also had boards. Two weren’t covered and had dirt stained glass.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, Roger. Let’s do this.”
Roger turned his flashlight on. A put my hand on his wrist and shook my head. “Not yet,” I said. No lights until we get inside.”
Roger nodded and flicked off his light. I moved off the driveway. The grass was only knee high. Walking would have been easier on the driveway, but the grass let us be almost silent.
Up at the house the longer grass hid what was probably once a front lawn. Before we crossed it, I did my best in the moonlight check for any signs of anyone or anything having been this way before.
At the house we tried to see though the small spaces between the boards. Roger checked to see if any were loose enough to pull off. There weren’t.
Roger whispered, “flashlights now?”
I shook my head, ‘no’ and we moved around the west side of the house and then to the back.
Roger pulled on another board and it moved. He gave he a big grin and pulled again. After more pulling and twisting, rusty nails groaned and the board pulled loose. It didn’t take Roger long to pull off another. We stood on our tiptoes, shoulder to shoulder and looked inside. It was very dark, but we could tell it was a kitchen.
“Now,” Roger asked and held up his flashlight.
“No. Wait. Just a second,” I said. I backed away from the window and moved to the corner of the house. I leaned out, pointed my flashlight at the dark form of Roger’s car. I turned my light one, then off. On, then off.
“Cool,” Roger said a bit too loud. Softer he said, “I wish I knew what they’re thinking right now. Hey, do you thing they’d get scared, start my car and leave us here?”
“I’m thinking cuddle, not hitchhiking,” I said and smiled. “Come on. Let’s check it out. It’s time for flashlights.”
Inside the kitchen we turned on or flashlights. Roger saw a wall switch and flipped It up and down a few times. With each flip, it clicked but nothing we could see or hear changed. He just shrugged and headed to the next room. We both swept our lights around for a quick look. I held my bright light on the boarded windows, hoping the girls tell we were inside.
The room was empty except for dust, some dead leaves and lots of peeling paint. Based on the faded and unfaded patterns in the wood flooring we guest there must have been carpet at some time.
We headed for the staircase nearly on the first, a loud thump sounded from up above. We both froze, turned off our lights, and squatted, as if somehow we’d be harder to see that way. After lots of shallow breathing, Roger slowly moved next to me. He gave me a puzzling look. He pointed up the steps, then at the kitchen and then gave an exaggerated shrug.
I figured he was asking for an answer. I shrugged my own shoulders and softly whispered,
raccoon?” I didn’t really know but hoped the noise was just a critter or maybe something the wind had blown over.
raccoon?” I didn’t really know but hoped the noise was just a critter or maybe something the wind had blown over.
It seemed like we crouched in silence for a long time before grabbed the banister and pulled myself up. I turned on my lite. When Roger flicked his on, I moved slowly up the stairs. With each step I slowly put my full weight on the wood, ready to stop if I heard a sound.
Behind me, Roger tapped me on the back. He leaned close to me and pointed his light on a step. “No dust,” he said softly.
I shrugged again, made a motion with my head toward the landing and took another step. Finally at the top, we both breathed a bit more natural. My pulse slowed after a quick sweep of my flashlight didn’t reveal anything but a hallway of doors, some open, some closed and some missing.
We stood still, and finally moved after a long stretch of silence. When we explored again, we found one bathroom and a couple bedrooms. What we didn’t find was another staircase leading to the tower. We didn’t see any signs of an animal and the wind that was starting to blow harder outside, wasn’t getting inside.
“Probable a branch,” Roger said. “I bet the wind made a branch blow against the roof.”
“Remember seeing any trees when we walked around the house?” I asked. Another silent shrug was my answer. “Look,” I said and pointed the circle of light from my flashlight at a framed and covered opening in the high ceiling. About three feet square, bords covered what looked like an opening. Wood framed it like some blank painting. “That must be access to the tower. It’s probably just some kind of attic.”
“Okay,” Roger said. “I’ve seen enough. It’s just an old house waiting to be torn down. Let’s go.”
“No. I want to see what’s up there,” I said and pointed my light again.”
Roger turned toward the stairs. “I’ll just run down to me car and get the ladder out of my glove compartment.”
“Ha. Funny.” Balanced my flashlight on the remnants of an end table. “Get up on my shoulders and open that trap door.” I knelt down so Roger could climb onto my shoulders. I wobbled a bit as I got back up. Roger put a hand on top of my head to steady himself. He kicked off both shoes and got one foot up on my shoulder. He could just reach the ceiling and used it instead of my head. He almost made me loose my balance when he made a quick move to stand. When we were both steady, he shoved on the boards. “They aren’t moving,” he said. He gave a harder shove that almost made my knees buckle. I reached up. Roger grabbed my hand, squatted and jumped to the floor.”
“That’s a bummer.” I said, my voice at a normal volume.
“It was still a cool night,” Roger said. “I bet you’ll spin some kind of a story out of it. Let’s go.”
Back outside, we walked the driveway with both flashlights on. The girls had the doors locked so we tapped on the widows. They must not have been watching because they both let out small screams when we tapped. When they saw it was us, they rolled down a window.
“Boo!” I said and laughed.
Jan was in the driver seat. She started the engine and unlocked the door. Phyllis shoved the door open. “Get in! We’re getting out of here.”
“What’s the rush?” Roger asked. “Do you two want to go and explore. There’s not much to see.”
“So you can have your friend or friends try to scare us? We’re going.”
“What friends?” I asked and looked where Jan pointed.
A light flashed from the tower. It moved quickly from window to window. Roger and I looked at each other.
“Slide over,” Roger shouted.
“Come on, Roger! I yelled and started running toward the house. “Lock the car doors,” I hollered back over my shoulder.
Roger caught up with me just before I got to the kitchen window.
“You’re insane,” he said as we helped each other inside. We ran to the stairs and bounded up two steps at a time. I was in front. I skidded to a stop and Roger slammed into me, almost nocking me over. The tower hatch gaped open.
It didn’t take a discussion or a vote. We scrambled down the stairs almost side by side. We ran to the car. Jan had it running and Phyllis was beside her in the front. Roger and I practically dove into the back seat. Jan didn’t slow until we reached the north tar road. She parked on the shoulder and we all traded seats.
We didn’t cuddle. We didn’t kiss. We has pizza. We all jabbered, and laughed. I told the girls we had set up a spare flashlight hanging from a string that let it twist. That’s what they saw. Roger shook his head and agreed with me. I was glad he didn’t tell them the truth.
After we tool the girls home. Roger and I tried to come up with some believable or at least plausible explanation for the events that night. We couldn’t so I hatched a new plan.
The next Saturday we waited for dusk, the with a station wagon full of buddies, drove to the orchard. We took the south tar road. We had to stop when we reached gravel. A police car blocked the road. When they saw us, they turned on their bubble light, and sounded a short burst of siren. Roger rolled down his window when an officer approached.
“License please,” he asked Roger. “The rest of you get your ID’s out.”
I spoke up first. “Sorry sir. We’re all on the swimming team and were doing a little hazing. Well, they’re doing some hazing. I just got elected co-captain. These guys bet me I wouldn’t go near that old house up at the orchard. It’s haunted you know.”
“It’s not haunted,” the officer said and handed Roger’s driver license back. “I was a swimmer back in high school. What do you swim?”
We chatted a little more. The officer told us to keep out of trouble, stay in sports and go home. He told us he wouldn’t say anything to our parents unless he “encountered” one of us in the future. He walked back to his partner and his car.
We carefully turned around an drove back to the highway. We filled the car with wild speculation as we all talked at once.
“Let’s go to the south road,” I told Roger.
When we got there, we parked about half mile from the start of the gravel road. Cutting across country, through a field of apple trees, we reach a knoll that overlooked the road and house. There, blocking the road was another police cruiser. We hiked back to Roger’s car and finished the night and conversations over soft drinks and chicken wings. We unanimously agreed to try again next week. When the weekend came, Roger and I, in the daylight, drove to the orchard. When we got there, there was no police and no house. Where the haunted had been was only a foundation made of field stones and spot where someone had a bonfire. Even the tall grass lawn was gone, now just dirt with tracks from some heavy equipment.
We headed over to the Soda fountain at Reed’s. Jan and Phyllis both gave us a cold shoulder. We skipped our order finished our day and night, watching a Western at the drive-in movie theater.
#
Non-Fiction Fiction? Only in College
Okay that little hashtag up there ^ signals a scene break. Actually it’s called an octothorpe. That doesn’t matter, but this was about a writing class. I turned my story in and waited more than a week for a grade. When I got the story back, the professor had written notes across the front page.
“Nice work. I liked your writer’s voice. Descriptions were goo. Nice balance between dialog and narrative.”
At the bottom of the sheet was my grade. “D.”
D? I couldn’t believe it. After the good notes and everything, why a D? I stopped in at his office. He was meeting with someone so I waited, pacing back and forth in the hall. When his visitor left, I gave a nock on his door frame. “Got a minute.” I asked. “I just have a quick question about my grade.”
“Sure,” said. Have a seat.
I handed him my paper and sat. “I don’t understand. Why so low?”
He leaned forward and put my paper where I could reach it. “You did a great job. While I was reading, I forgot I was grading. That’s a good sign. I was into the story. I really wondered what was going on in that house.”
“Okay. Now I’m even more confused.”
“You didn’t follow instructions. You were supposed to write about a TRUE Life experience. Not a story like it was fresh out of a Hardy Boys adventure. You turned in fiction, not non-fiction. You didn’t follow the assignment so I should have given you and. But your writing wasn’t F material so I gave you a D. Next time, ask if you have any questions.”
“That was a TRUE life experience. The Roger in the story is my friend and he goes her to the University. He’ll come here and you can question him. He’ll vouch for me.”
“No doubt your friend will stick up for you, even if he has to stretch the truth a bit. The grade stands. I hope you’ve learned something.”
“I have. I learned I should drop this class. I’d like to become a writer. No, I’d like to become a better writer. After listening to you and looking for anything published with your name on it I’ve learned you have nothing to offer. Thanks.” I stood, grabbed my story and left.
