CHAPTER 4

The living room was much warmer than my room. Good, I thought, maybe that meant there was no ghosts around. Was I really worrying about ghosts? That was ridiculous. There was no ghosts. The house wasn't haunted. And I wasn't scared.

The card game had ended quietly with no clear winner. Like most family games we usually played until Josh got bored with it. Sometimes that was minutes, other times it was hours. I had no idea how long it had been. With no clock hung on the wall, or a watch on my wrist, I had been lost in my own thoughts during half the game and lost all track of time. It was even darker outside. The rain had turned to a mere drizzle as the gray skies shifted to dark blue with the setting sun hidden behind the storm.

Mom and Dad had given up on the moving van showing up any time that day, and were unloading the Plymouth Voyager of the few boxes and things we had brought with us. If we were going to stay the night before the majority of our things arrived, we had better sort through what we had there.

Thankfully, among the boxes that hadn't been loaded onto the truck were a few boxes of blankets, and two boxes of dishes that had been carefully wrapped in towels to protect them. It looked like we would be camping out on the floor for the night, but at least we had towels, which meant I could at least take a shower.

With the last of the boxes from the van unloaded, Mom took her sedan into town to try and find us some dinner. We had Gran's fancy china, plates and saucers fit for the finest of feasts. We just had no food to put onto those plates. Dad had found a flashlight and his mini-tool kit that he kept in the van for emergencies and was busying himself with the little things he could already start on around the house.

"I hope Mom gets pizza," Josh said, I looked up at him, only catching half of his words. He was building a tower of cards on the floor that I was surprised PD hadn't tried to jump through. Five years ago that dog wouldn't have let us even start a game on the floor before he had run off with a mouthful of the pieces.

"Yeah," I replied half-heartedly. "Pizza would be pretty good." In all honesty, I felt like we had every form of take-out in the last week. With everyone so busy with the move, neither of my parents had any time to cook. What I wouldn't give for Mom's Sloppy-Joes, or one of Dad's often overcooked steaks.

"Either of you playing with the switches in here?" my Dad poked his head around the corner.

"Huh?" we both responded.

"The lights keep flashing back here, I was wondering if you two were messing with the switches."

"We haven't moved from this spot," I said, my mind immediately going to my strange encounter on the stairs.

"Hmm," he shrugged, disappearing once again down the hall leading to the study and master bedroom.

"Hey Dad," I called, getting up from the floor and following after him. He had stopped in the middle of the hall. "Need any help?"

"Sure, that would be great!" He sounded over enthusiastic and I instantly regretted offering my assistance. He was always trying to wrangle us into helping him with his little projects. But holding a screwdriver while my Dad kept himself busy beat sitting on the floor of the empty living room.

I followed him into the largest of the bedrooms. It would become my parents' bedroom, though it was little more than an empty square room with two bare windows looking out on the dark backyard. The lights on an old ceiling fan were on in the center of the room, while the attached bathroom and walk-in closet were both dark, undoubtedly with their own sets of switches.

"Here," he motioned me over, "you're much lighter than me, and not likely to break this." He set a plastic mop bucket upside-down in the center of the room. It was clearly all he could find to stand, but he knew it wouldn't hold his weight. I wasn't entirely positive it would hold mine. He held my hand to steady me as I stepped up onto the overturned bucket. So far so good, I thought.

"Take this," he instructed, handing me a screwdriver, "now, see those little brass screws? Undo those and you should be able to take that glass globe off of the light. Perhaps it is just loose bulb."

He walked me through step by step as we removed the frosted glass shell and checked the lightbulbs hidden within. They seemed tight and any wiggling didn't seem to reproduce the flickering either of us had experienced.

"Hmm, that's strange. Well, good to know the sockets are in decent shape and knock a few of the bugs out of that old globe. Hopefully it isn't a wiring issue deeper in the house. That could pose problems down the line."

"Having buyer's remorse, Dad?" I asked playfully, returning the glass globe to the light fixture.

"Not at all," he said confidently. "We knew what we were getting ourselves into with this old place. It will certainly be a lot of work, but we just really couldn't beat the price."

"You keep saying that. What did you and Mom get this place for pocket change?"

"It almost feels like it. The market seems to be much different here in Dark Falls. Low cost of living and affordable housing. But this place was practically a steal." He helped me down from the bucket.

"Maybe it's just too good to be true," I said.

"What makes you say that, hon?"

"Well," I thought for a moment about how much to reveal. "It's not like this house is warm and inviting. I mean I think the Addams' Family had cozier digs."

"Oh, it's not that bad," he smiled at me.

"You don't find something a little off about this place?"

He shook his head.

"You're sure this place isn't - " I really didn't want to finish that sentence.

"Isn't, what?" he prodded.

"Haunted," I finished, sheepishly. I looked away, embarrassed that I had even thought it.

He pulled me close, the way he always did, as if to show that whatever it was, he was being supportive.

"Is that something you believe, Mandy? That a house can be haunted by something, or someone?" The way he said it wasn't belittling. It was a genuine question about what I thought and felt. My father had always been good with that sort of thing. I was glad I was talking to him about it, and not my mother, who was usually more calculating and analytical. She could often come off as cold and uncaring, when she was just as much trying to show you the right path. She was just more likely to point out what she thought the correct direction was, rather than asking where you think you should go. That was my Dad's tactic. Don't give answers when you push for more questions that helped you arrive at your own answers. I could see why that would occasionally drive Mom up the wall.

"I don't know," was all I could answer. I licked my lips, my mouth suddenly dry. I finally managed, "I have been seeing weird things since we got here."

"Like what kind of things?" he encouraged.

I sat down on the overturned bucket. "I saw flickering lights. Something moving in the shadows."

"It's probably just the old wiring, or a few dusty bulbs. We'll get it all sorted out once - "

"That isn't all," I interrupted. He kneeled down beside me, trying hard not to groan as he lowered himself to the floor. I continued, "I keep seeing a little boy, with blond hair."

"Hmm," he hummed in response. "Well, now that is something. And you are sure it wasn't just your brother?"

"It certainly wasn't," I told him about my brief encounter that day and the glimpses of the boy I saw on our first visit to the house. I could see my father was trying to understand, trying to be supportive, but the look on his face gave away his skepticism. "There couldn't already be someone living here, right?"

"There's no one here but us," he assured me.

"Am I just going crazy then?"

"No, of course not, hon. It has been a long couple weeks. You are no doubt tired. I am sure you slept about as poorly last night as your mother and I. Things will look better once we have some supper, and some sleep, and once our things arrive. Every new house is strange at first, it just takes time."

I looked at him incredulously, was I just seeing things because I was tired and missing home? This house was strange, I would give him that.

"I remember when we first moved into our house on Holly Avenue when you were little. You had just moved up to a big kid bed, and that would have been an adjustment enough, but for that first week you couldn't be left alone anywhere in that place without crying your eyes out. But you know what? You got used to the new smells and the different sounds in the night, and you loved that house."

Maybe he was right. I just needed to adjust. The house was different. That was all. I was jumping at shadows, getting scared by lightning and a new world of sounds and smells, just like a little kid. I suddenly felt ridiculous having been so alarmed at nothing. "Thanks, Dad."

"Mandy's scared of ghosts!" Josh giggled from the open doorway. I spun around giving him a glare that could have knocked him dead. His eyes widened and he went silent.

"There's no such thing as ghosts, Am," my mother chimed in as she entered the room. "C'mon now, before the pizza gets cold."

Supper consisted of take-out pizza, at least Dark Falls had a Domino's, eaten on Gran's fine china. It was hilarious to see how nervous Mom was to hand the fragile dinnerware to Josh, but we had nothing else to eat off of unless we all huddled around the box. And we all could have, considering there was no table to even put the pizza on. Dad made a makeshift table out of a box to at least keep the pizza off the floor where PD could get into it. Conversation consisted of Mom clarifying her position on the supernatural, despite not being in on the rest of Dad and my conversation. Josh was always content to eat pizza, but he wouldn't let the ghost thing go.

"So ghosts aren't one of your one thousand reasons for not living in this house?" I said, trying hard to not stick my tongue out at him.

"No, my reasons are real!" he replied with a mouth full of cheese and crust.

"That's enough," my dad said calmly. "Who wants another slice?"

After dinner I showered in my very own bathroom. There was no bathmat, and the shower curtain had a terrible time keeping the water in the old fashion claw-foot tub. But I stood there, hair wet around my shoulders, towel wrapped around me, sitting on the edge of the tub, just soaking in that I was in my very own bathroom. When I had told Kathy about it after our first visit to the house, she practically wept with jealousy. She had it far worse than I did, having to share her bathroom with three brothers.

I thought about home. About Kathy. I blushed when the memory of that kiss came to me. It was probably just the steam I had trapped in the room. I normally wrapped a second towel around my hair to help it dry, but we only had the spare towels and it wouldn't be fair if I took two when it came time for everyone else to shower.

I stepped out of my bathroom, into my room, to see Josh sitting on the carpet with PD. He was all dressed in his Thundercats pajamas, the red and black logo emblazoned on the oversized t-shirt.

"What do you want, Josh?" I asked, peeved that he had come into my room unannounced. I held the towel a little closer to my body.

"Um," he stammered, watching his hand stroke the fur on PD's neck. "Mandy?"

"What?" I replied, the annoyance obvious in my tone.

"You don't really think there are ghosts in this house, do you?" He looked up at me with those big innocent brown eyes that continued to sucker my parents in over and over. But his question was genuine.

"No," I lied. Well, okay it wasn't a total lie. I just hadn't made my mind up about whether or not I believed in ghosts, or if the thing I saw was even a ghost. "There's no such things as ghosts, Josh. I just saw some things because I was tired. I didn't want to move here either, and my mind was just making up things. It happens. There's nothing wrong with the house." I assured him.

He just stared at me.

"Admit it, it's not so bad. Lots of room to play, places to explore. Once all our stuff gets here, you will see." I was aping Dad's sentiments, not sure if I was trying to comfort my little brother, or myself.

"Okay," he stood up and gave me a hug. He was sweet when he chose to be.

"Okay," I said with that enough-is-enough tone that Mom often got. "Now get outta here, and don't come in without my permission. You know the rules."

He called for PD to follow him and he exited the room, kind enough to forget to close the door behind him. I closed it, suddenly wishing it came with a lock. I did my best to dry my hair with the half-soaked towel. By the time I got to trying to clean up the water all over the bathroom floor, the cloth had reached its limit. I just left it on the floor, spread out to soak up what it could as both it and the tiles dried.

I had long outgrown the matching shirt and bottoms of kid's pajamas, preferring to just sleep in underwear and one of Dad's old XXL t-shirts. It was a boring heather gray with the logo of some corporate business I had never heard of, nor had any interest in. But the well broken in fabric was comfortable against my skin. A knock came at the door.

"Come in," I said once I checked that the shirt I had worn dozens of nights before still reached down to my thighs.

"Do you want to sleep in here? Or out in the living room with the rest of us?" my mother asked as she came in.

"I think I am okay in here," I honestly wasn't sure. But I had to take my dad's word that it was just fatigue and a new house. Nothing more. There was no reason I couldn't sleep in my own room.

She brought me up some of the sheets and blankets they had packed in the van, assuring me that they had enough for themselves, and Josh had his sleeping bag. Leave it to Mom to be prepared for something like this, I thought. Always having her ducks in a row, was probably what made her a good lawyer. I at least assumed she was a good lawyer.

Making sure I had all I needed, well settled in on the carpet, right where I planned for my bed to go, she gave me a hug good-night and turned to leave. "Do you want the lights on or off?" she asked, her finger on the switch. She had started asking me this every night around age fifteen, when it suddenly seemed like my decision as to whether I was going to bed or not. Josh still had a bedtime.

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a flashlight. "Off, I think," I said noncommittally, something at the back of my mind still niggling for my attention. I clicked on the flashlight defiantly, trying my best to tell my own fears to take a hike. Mom took that as a sign I was ready for lights-out, she clicked the switch, wished me another good-night, and closed the door.

The room looked different in the dark. And even stranger as I traced its outlines with the white beam of light. There were no strange shadows cast by the flashlight as there was nothing in the room to illuminate. Even the big bay window seemed to offer little in the way of light. Which I was rather thankful for, as sleep would have been made all the more difficult until I had some curtains up.

Assured that I was alone in the room, that all was well, and reassured by the fact that I had witnessed no strange phenomena since speaking with my Dad, I slipped my legs under the blankets, propping the single pillow I had brought in the car against the wall so I could still sit up. I wasn't ready to sleep, so as per my usual nightly routine, I chose to occupy my mind with a book.

I dug through my backpack, fishing out the latest book I was devouring. I loved books. While I admit there was a number of things I didn't read, what I did, I ate up voraciously. Since I was young I loved stories. It was probably what pushed me to write down my thoughts in my diary, or even tell you this tale.

My fingers wrapped around the thick paperback, pulling it free from the pack. The vibrant orange cover already filled me with excitement and anticipation. I had discovered Colleen McCullough's generational epic The Thorn Birds, when I saw the paperback sitting on one of my mother's bookshelves. My parents had never kept anything from me. They thought that if I didn't understand a book, I would ask them, or just lose interest. So there never seemed any barriers to my reading options. When I first picked up the novel, I thought it would be exciting to read about people long ago in far away Australia. But I had no idea how much the book would suck me in. Growing with Meggie as life and love seemed to just shit on her. Her unavoidable love for the beautiful Ralph, and his frustrating devotion to the Church. I opened the well worn book to dive back into Meggie's life, as she ended her marriage with Luke. I hated Luke.

An hour passed and my anticipations were answered as Meggie finally had her beloved Ralph. And did she have him! My parents gave me the talk not long before my first period arrived in one of the most embarrassing days of my junior high life. They told me what I needed to know, the uninteresting clinical biology of it all. I got a clearer lesson in the sexuality of the adolescent male from the few boys I had gone out with, most reminded me of Luke, oppressive, obnoxious, and desperately wanting to get laid, though most claimed they would be fine with just getting to feel under your bra. The relationships in books often seemed so much better, and yet they seemed cobbled together purely out of fantasy. The long spanning story of Meggie Cleary seemed different. Somehow real. And in that moment, as I read of Ralph giving in to his passion for Meggie, my mind clicked back to Kathy. Her mousy demeanor, and the sheer guts it took for her to kiss me. Something I couldn't have done if she hadn't done it first. As I read on, I found myself not thinking about the power and beauty of Ralph, but of the tenderness of Meggie. My hand sliding down between my legs. Fingertips pressing against my panties. I had only masturbated a few times in my life at that point, but I felt the desire build up inside me, flushing against my cheeks. For once, while reading that book, I wasn't looking at Meggie as some reflection of me, the female protagonist in my own story, she took on a life outside of my own viewpoint. For all I cared, Ralph could have still been in Rome, I was drawn to this woman enraptured in her own passion. The love she wanted and felt she actually deserved.

The house settled. The startling noise suddenly returning my hand to the book. I slid down into the blankets, not ashamed, but suddenly aware of my strange surroundings. It didn't go much further than that that night, but I almost felt dizzy with excitement for this new feeling. I didn't have romantic feelings for Kathy. Really it wasn't about Kathy at all. It was about that kiss, it was about how that kiss made me feel.

I set the book aside, clicking off the flashlight, falling asleep with lustful thoughts in my head.