Let’s say I wasn’t that surprised when the floor caved in. I had been expecting as much for a while. I could hear my uncle, thankfully, shouting from what was probably the first floor of the basement, “Hey, Eric?”
“Yes, Uncle?”
“Could you get me a ladder?” he sounded like he hadn’t just crashed through the boards that were supposed to be sturdy. He almost always found a way to be good-natured about anything. He might still sound happy even though he had broken every bone in his body.
“Sure thing.”
I dropped the hammer I had just been dealing with and climbed off the step stool. “Will the step stool work?”
“Unlikely.”
I peered down into the shadowy hole. It was nine to ten feet deep and carpeted with burlap sacks full of potatoes, if we are to believe the labels.
I grabbed the larger ladder we sometimes used in high-roofed rooms and lowered it to him. It was a bit big for the job, but it worked. My uncle climbed out, coughing a bit and dusting his hands off. “I should have realized this floor was weak.”
I nodded, not saying, “I told you so,” but opting for: “Yeah, what is it down there? A potato storage facility?”
He shrugged. “Maybe the past owner of this house wanted to make sure that no one took his potatoes.”
I didn’t think much of the theory. I didn’t believe my uncle did either. I went back to patching the walls while my uncle asked what to do about this new dilemma. Specifically, we now had a moat between us and the kitchen.
My uncle was an eccentric scientist who was self-employed in trying to build new machines and inventions to ease labor, “ease!” He had exclaimed to me on multiple occasions. “That is what people want! Why buy a nicer chair when you could buy a chair that makes coffee with whipped cream?”
The house he had recently bought from a nervous man (who wanted desperately to get rid of it, if you ask me) fit him perfectly. It was an old mansion, with two floors following a near-square composition, with two towers on the back corners. A third floor was up on top of the middle, but it was domed, made of glass, and had minimal space. My uncle had told me it used to be a greenhouse. He had grandiose plans for it, even though we couldn’t find out how to get up to it other than crossing the roof and climbing through an open window.
My uncle hadn’t been able to sell any of his inventions, so he decided he needed more room and fewer people. After gathering and selling almost all his assets, he scraped together the money to buy this house at an insanely low price, probably because no one wanted it. It was supposed to be a ‘fixer-upper,’ but instead, it was more like a DIY, with floors and walls barely intact. Yet it was fully furnished, which was nice.
I was here with my uncle for the next eighteen months. My parents finally got permission to do an archeological dig in Saudi Arabia and decided I couldn’t come for numerous reasons. It was mostly for me, they said, but I couldn’t help feeling like I had been abandoned. And so I was with an uncle I hadn’t seen in nine years and a cousin no one in my family had met.
The cousin was probably the weirdest part about the whole situation, well, would be, if it weren’t for the fact that the house was haunted by a blind ghost. That might have been why the seller wanted to get rid of the place, though I found the ghost to be a companionable fellow in a weird, nitpicky way.
Even as I began to work on repairing the wall again, I felt the signature prickle behind my eyes, signifying the ghost was using my eyes to survey the damage.
“That is an issue,” she remarked ironically, “did he hurt himself?”
The voice sounded like someone was speaking nearby, but it was echoey. I was the only one who could hear it, making me think it was in my head. I responded by thinking hard about what I wanted to say, and she usually picked up on what I meant.
“He never does. I think he’s impervious to practically everything,” I thought back.
She responded with something like a mental snort—it didn’t transmit into noise, so I wasn’t sure. “He’d better be careful,” she added afterward, “I’m betting the man is less impenetrable than he thinks.”
My uncle grabbed a long board of extra lumber and laid it across the gap. “Well, I’m hungry. You?”
I nodded, “Sure.”
We crossed the small bridge, hoping the boards behind us would hold fast. I glanced down at one point and noticed no door in the room below. “That would explain why we didn’t find this room while exploring the basement.”
He followed where I was pointing, “Yeah… that would explain that, although I wouldn’t be surprised to find a few more rooms hidden down there.”
We entered the kitchen and pulled out the leftover ‘sandwich buffet’ we had made for lunch. I grabbed a pitcher and poured myself a glass of water. I glanced reflectively out at the rolling hills of this isolated area until Tom repelled rapidly to the ground and unclipped his harness, dropping to his feet.
I jumped backward, spitting the water out accidentally. “Tom!”
He chuckled to himself, then saw the sandwiches. “Dinner? Cool!”
My uncle looked over, “Ah, Tom! How’s the last of the roof leaks?”
Tom saluted dramatically, “All sealed up, Mr. Philips, sir.”
My uncle nodded, “Good! If you take this platter and pitcher to the patio, Eric and I will join you after crossing potato hades.”
Tom stuck his head in through the window and saw the gap in the floorboards. “Whoa, that’s gonna be a pain to fix.”
Tom was our neighbor, if you could call him that. He lived a nearly twenty-minute drive away, but he could cut across the forest behind his house and hike over here in a half hour, which he did most days to help us. Tom was probably the best friend I’d ever had, even though I’d only known him for a few weeks. I accidentally visited their house one day and ran into him and his older brother, Kirk. Kirk was pretty cool as far as older brothers go. He was an actual explorer and had plenty of stories about searching caves in Bengal and other stuff.
Tom was a big help with fixing anything on walls or roofs because he could rappel like a pro. He was also a bit of a math wiz, though he didn’t like to use his skills. To my uncle, Tom was invaluable. He had helped us to go twice as fast as we thought we could go. My uncle repeatedly offered to pay him, but Tom insisted he had ‘nothing to do this summer.’
We met up with Tom on the patio and broke out the sandwiches. The ghost commented that they looked good. I told her she was a ghost and couldn’t eat them. She complained that I had a narrow mind, whatever that meant.
I sat down eagerly on one of the lounging chairs on our patio; I had worked up quite an appetite. I reached for a sandwich when my uncle called out my name, “Eric,” he said, holding up his phone, which showed an incoming call.
“Can you take some sandwiches to Maria?” he asked.
I nodded, foregoing my dinner for now, grabbing a plate my uncle had set aside for my cousin, and starting the long trek to the tower she was in. I had yet to see her. She was around eleven or twelve, maybe five or six years younger than me. She was born right after my uncle moved to the opposite side of the country from us and right before my aunt died. My uncle once told me she was ‘different’. I didn‘t know how to take this. If she was crazy, why wasn‘t she at a mental institute? Overall, it was weird. The tower gave me Rapunzel vibes, and if I wasn’t allowed to see her, then why? I could come up with millions more questions, yet none have answers.
I made my way through the regal dining room, past the door that led to the bridge to the kitchen, and up into the long, complicated hallway that was an artery for the house, with almost all the lower-floor rooms connecting to it. From that, I went through a three-by-three grid of rooms. They were identical, with walls of mostly empty bookshelves. I kept meaning to read them, but never did. I managed to make it through there in record time. I almost always got lost because they were so similar. The only thing that differed was the stains and the number of books. Yet even those seemed to change when I wasn’t looking. After that, it was only a matter of a flight of stairs, around a hallway through an empty and useless room with no doors, and down a short corridor to the tower.
When I was nearly there, the ghost returned, “Did your uncle leave with your cousin’s dinner yet?”
“No, I’m taking it up. I thought you saw me leaving.”
“Huh? Where are you?”
My eyes began to prickle as I pushed open the tower door. The ghost sounded alarmed, “Wait, you are already…”
There was a loud clatter of metal as I finally managed to get the heavy oak door open. I looked around, puzzling over the sounds of rattling metal and quick footsteps up the spiraled staircase. The bottom of the tower was a medium-sized circular room open and echoey because it extended to the roof, with stairs running up in a spiral up its walls. Up at the top was a door that led into Maria’s room, supposedly.
I walked towards the stairs, looking up and noticing someone running, but soon, they were out of sight. Then, there was a loud slam of a door, and it rebounded open. Still looking up curiously, I stepped on something slippery and small that shot from under my foot with a loud metallic clatter and nearly knocked me and the sandwiches over. I glanced around but didn’t see what had caused my fall, so I began my ascent. When I finally reached the top and knocked, there was no answer. I expected as much, but I was still curious.
I left the plate on the floor before her door, which was partially open, and headed back down. When I was leaving the tower, I heard a door creak open and quickly shut, and in the doorway of the large oak exit was a small metal bracelet of intricately woven metal fibers designed to look like leaves and stems. I took it to Tom, who was waiting for me on the patio. The sun was setting slowly, but it was nearly dark outside.
“It’s getting dark,” I said, “do you have to head back?”
He shook his head, “I told my parents I decided to stay the night so we can try to get the kitchen floor done before too long.”
My uncle had offered to let Tom stay anytime he wanted. Tom took him up on the offer whenever he wanted to finish some project that night. He even had a guest room we called his, because he would stay with us once or twice a week.
I nodded and gestured with my hand for the plate of sandwiches. Tom obliged, handing me a lettuce, peanut butter, and mayo. I chucked it back at him, “Eat your own creations. Do we have any lunch meat?”
He gave me one, “It was your uncle that dared me to make them!” he complained, glancing in disgust at the slightly soggy and brown combination.
I showed Tom the bracelet. I told him how I had found it, and he examined it, trying to fit it over his hand, “Man, that is small!”
I ran my fingers along the side of the intricate leaves. “Who made this?”
Tom tapped his chin, “Maybe your uncle did.”
I finally bit down on my sandwich, chewing thoughtfully, “Where is my uncle at, speaking of the man?”
Tom looked down the side of the sloping grass hill, “he’s still on the phone.”
Just then, my uncle did come up over the hill and back to the patio. He looked worn and tired. He stopped in front of us and looked down. “I have to go into town,” he said wearily, “some business just cropped up. I might not be back until early tomorrow morning. Will you two be okay?”
We assured him we were fine and said we should try to finish the floor tonight.
I wanted to ask more, but he turned away before I had time. And I didn’t even get to show him the bracelet before he left, and I could hear the broken-down car starting to life.
The wind blew across me, leaving shivers on my skin. The sky rumbled in the distance. The long grass let out soft whispers, and the trees moaned in protest. Overall, it seemed like the weather was depressed, too. I got up slowly, grabbing the plate of food. It was a depressing night. We didn’t really feel like talking.
We started to work on the floor at around seven in the evening and went until eleven. A short squall whipped up during that time but settled quickly. It didn’t take long for us to brighten up despite that. Though I was still concerned for my uncle, he didn’t return that night. We got almost a third of the floor done. Tom dusted off his pants upon getting to his feet. “That should hold for a few years. Or else.”
I got up and moved the supplies and tools to the side of the room, trying to hold back a yawn.
He walked away. I began to follow him, but stopped when I remembered the small bracelet in my pocket. I walked back over the pit of potatoes and deposited it on the kitchen counter. The soft buzzing in my vision alerted me that the ghost had returned.
“Where did you find that?” she snapped. She sounded edgy and in pain.
“Where have you been?”
“Where did you find that?” Now she was trying to be calm, but I could tell something was up.
I started to get a headache, and the buzzing behind my eyes that was typically barely noticeable was killing me. “You keep disappearing and showing up at the oddest moments.”
“Let’s just say I don’t live in your head. I have things I need to do.”
“What could you do? You’re a ghost!”
“I’m not a ghost! I never said once I was a ghost!”
The pain intensified, and I crouched over, “Whoa! Are you… (grunt) …doing this?”
“No! You need to return the…” her voice cut out in static, “…you just (buzz) can you (buzz) why aren’t (buzz) help me out here!”
“I don’t know what you want!”
“Replace the….” A shriek cut out into the night so loud and long it reverberated in my head. Then I remembered it was in my head.
Tom ran down the hall back into the dining room, clutching his head, “Did you hear that?”
I crossed the bridge quickly. “Yes!”
He glanced warily at me, “You heard the static noise and the buzzing?”
“Oh, yeah, that too.”
“What did you hear?”
I shrugged, “I thought I heard a scream.”
He shook his head. “Maybe. I couldn’t tell, I was busy with this headache.”
Mine was leaving quickly. I shook my head, “Yeah, it gave me one too, but it’s gone now.”
“Same here.”
I left the bracelet on the counter and followed Tom through the treacherously long hall, into the treacherously confusing rooms, and up the treacherously creaky steps. This whole house seemed treacherous.
• • • • •
I barely slept for half an hour. I must have been partially awake still because I heard the footsteps: A long creak rang out in the silence. I opened my bleary eyes and sat up. Soft footsteps moved away from the door. Tom’s guest room was further down this hall than mine. Maria was up in her tower, and my uncle was gone.
Intruder? I thought the ghost picked up on this and responded, “No.”
I suddenly felt exhausted, and a voice told me to lie down, and there was no intruder. I started to before coming out of the stupor with a jolt and a headache.
What the heck! I thought, being careful to keep it to myself. Did that ghost hypnotize me?
I looked at my watch, pressing the light-up button: eleven thirty-two. I had spent two minutes lying down at her direction, which was spooky. I got up and crossed the room. Opening the door, I hurried down to Tom’s door and knocked hard.
He opened the door. “What is it, Eric?”
“Was that you going down this hall?”
He shook his head, “I was asleep!”
“Someone broke into the house!”
“Are you sure it isn’t just your cousin?”
Just then, the ghost threw a message at me. It appeared Tom heard it too, for when the ghost proclaimed, “There is no intruder… go back to bed,” he turned around with a dazed look and walked towards his door. I yanked on his arm, fighting against an almost physical force in my head. Finally, it stopped, leaving us both with headaches.
“What… was… that?” Tom gasped.
I moved down the hall towards the stairs, where I saw a small figure disappear into the three-by-three rooms below. They must have been waiting to see if it would work.
“Tom!” I said, “I don’t think you’ll believe me, but I may or may not have been communicating with what I thought was a good ghost for the past four weeks, and now that ghost is using mind control to help an intruder steal… that bracelet thing! I bet that is what they want.”
Tom blinked a few times, “Okay. Let’s hurry.” And with that, he headed at a sharp clip down the steps.
“Wait! You believe me?”
“Of course!” we entered the nine identical rooms below, making our way to the exit, “you aren’t a liar. The experience back there shows you aren’t crazy, and I may or may not have had experience with the slightly crazy.”
“How crazy?” I asked as we rounded a corner and saw the small figure crossing the space ahead of us.
“Can we not talk about this right now?” He griped, then, looking closer, he shook his head, “It looks like it could be your cousin. Maybe she is working with this ghost.”
She hurried a bit as the ghost shot back a wave of headaches.
We hurried after her, “If it is her, she’d better have a good explanation.”
We came out into the dining room, and there she was, illuminated by soft moonlight, a small girl wearing a slightly frilly purple sleeveless shirt and jeans with a ton of curly brown hair. She was scowling at us while standing on the bridge across to the kitchen. It was undoubtedly Maria: she looked just like my uncle. The one thing that creeped me out was her eyes, one bright green, the other bright yellow.
“That is…” Tom said, giving out a little gasp.
“Unsettling?” she finished for him, walking backward across the bridge. The buzzing intensified as if someone were scrubbing a brush back and forth in my skull. She glared at Tom, who clutched at his head and fell to his knees in pain.
“I was going to say… interesting!”
She turned around and entered the kitchen, calling back over her shoulder, “Liar!”
Tom let out another groan.
I shook my head in confusion, “Maria? Why are you working with the ghost?”
Maria slipped the bracelet onto her hand. A chill, eerie silence enveloped the house. Slowly, she turned around, facing me with those two multicolored orbs. “There is no ghost, Eric; I’m the ghost.”
Tom sat up; the pain written all over his face was gone. I finally realized the silence came from the annoying static ceasing. I scratched my chin, “isn’t that a contradiction? How can you be a ghost and have the ghost not exist?!”
Tom got to his feet. “She is a telepath, obviously!” he cried. I should have realized it; it should have been apparent.”
“That was… not… apparent to me…” I said slowly, confused, “But is it true?”
She nodded. It seemed a bit regal, “Yes, I am a telepath.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
She frowned, thinking about it briefly, “Like my eyes, I was born with the ability. I got so used to plucking thoughts from people’s heads when I could speak that it seemed natural to me. It took me until I was four to realize that I was different, and my father realized it, too. People didn’t like me being able to see their most secret thoughts. They were scared of me; they thought I was ‘unsettling’.
Tom flinched at her stare.
Her stare alone without the eyes was unsettling. I looked down at my feet. “Why did you communicate with me?”
She frowned. “My father does not want me to use my gift. He calls it a curse. He forbids me from speaking with him telepathically. He made me this bracelet to control my powers. That buzzing static you felt is like a roaring pain to me. This also allows me to communicate over longer distances, which was not his intention. I first noticed your presence when you arrived. I reached out to find out who you were. And then well…”
She came to a stop and looked down at her feet. I hadn’t known her for long, but from what I learned of the ghost and what I saw now, I could tell she had an extremely fierce personality. Was it possible that she had been… lonely?
Tom glanced around, standing up, “Well, I’m glad we got that sorted out… right?”
Maria let out a ridiculous-sounding scoff and ‘stormed’ away, or started to, that is. She had only crossed half the bridge when midnight sounded. Every grandfather clock in the house sounded at once in an eerie chime. It was almost unnaturally loud, or maybe the previous silence made it seem to echo so.
The moon came out of a bank of clouds as they rang. A beam of moonlight dropped into the room below Maria. We all three stared in stunned horror, for, as the clocks stopped ringing, the bags began to shake and shiver, and from each bag rolled the potatoes across the floor, twitching and shaking, convulsing in rhythmic, sporadic ways.
Transfixed in horror, we continued to look as the potatoes morphed, slowly gaining some sparse hair at random parts of their ‘heads’ and then cracking open small mouths full of teeth as thin as wires all around the circumference. Tiny milky white eyes opened, and two scrabbly feet burst from warts on their lower halves. In moments, a veritable army of villainous vegetables glared up with seemingly sightless eyes.
No one knew what to say, no one but Tom, who expressed it quite adequately, “holy Nibblerflutzers.”
One extremely hairy and big potato climbed onto the crate ahead of him. Glancing at the moon, he gave a vegetational screech-ish howl like a wolf on a cliff or a bat in a cave.
“Were-potatoes!” I said breathlessly.