May. 15, 2008 - THE OLD HOUSE

Here's a story I am writing for a school assignment. It might leave you sort of hanging, but I'm not sure if I'm gonna write a sequel to it. I guess it depends on if anyone wants to hear the other half lol. Anyways, enjoy!!:-)

I had only been in the town a month. My Pa had brought me and Ma out here after my twin sisters had died and the doctor had ordered Ma to have a change of climate. But life wasn’t any easier out here than it had been back east. For instance, there was no place to live. The town was packed to the brim. Well, I take that back – there was one place to live. There was one decent house down on South Street that was good enough for the three of us. Pa had tried to buy it from it’s landowner, but he was a mean man, that Peter Flotsam. He would only rent it for a price far above any we could dream to pay. He said he didn’t care about sick women with poor constitutions. We knew it was just his money he cared about.

Meanwhile, we were forced to camp out in our old pickup, where poor Ma couldn’t even stretch her sick legs, let alone get better. I enrolled in the local school, but it was no easier there. I didn’t fit in with these Westerners. They all called me a greenhorn. I was very anxious to prove myself and earn their respect. But there was no way that I could see. Little did I know that a chance was around the corner, and I didn’t know how that Ma’s comfort and health, our reputation, and our comfort would hang on what I would do with that chance.

Here’s how it happened.

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The house was old. Real old. 150 years old. Maybe more. No one had lived in it since Old Smit died, Grandma Baker said, and THAT was long before even she had been thought of. Many of the folks believed his old ghost still hung around the old place. With many of it’s boards missing and an over-all collapsible look to it, I could see why. I wasn’t too sure whether ghosts were real or not, but every time I had to walk in that direction, I got the willies. The old two-story remains of what used to be a 19^thcentury gold miner’s shanty stood on the edge of town, lonely and foreboding, causing every child’s eyes to widen as he passed and inspiring many a youth to challenge his boastful companion to a night alone in the empty house.

Then Peter Flotsam’s boy George decided to take the dare and prove them all wrong by camping out inside the remains of Smit’s bedroom for a night. George was quite a fellow (at least, if you asked him about it), so everyone was pretty sure he could stick it out. But everyone heard him pelting down the road at 2 o’clock the next morning, screaming loud enough to wake any dead, let alone Smit’s ghost.

“So the old place was too much for you, was it Jim?” my pa chuckled as a crowd gathered around George the next morning inside Peter Flotsam’s local store.

Jim’s face colored as the boys all tittered.

“What caused ye to yell so, Jim?” asked Billy. “I’d a thought you were a-dyin’, you screamin’ like a gal all the way down Main Aveenoo!”

“Did ye give my regards to ole’ Smit?” chuckled an old-timer.

“If ye’d give me as much as a chance to speak, I could set yer mind at ease!” Jim shouted, much flustered.

“Shut up, and listen to him!” bellowed old Mr. Flotsam, glaring threateningly at the crown surrounding his son.

“Alright, Jim, tell on.”

“The place was fine enough, but the noise around the place! I couldn’t even close my eyes a second for all the moanin’ and groanin’!”

“Yep, the wind was pretty rough last night, Jim, sorry ye couldn’t handle it!” Billy whispered under his breath.

“Why, and would ye believe! Every five minutes or so, I’d hear the tread of heavy feet stomping past my door. Is that not enough to set a fella crazy?”

“Sure, sure, but what set ya screamin’, chuck?

Jim turned pale. “Would ye believe?” he almost whispered. “Those feet walked down that there hall and stopped at me door. I knowed I hear someone grab that doorhandle and turn it, and that door creaked open! I rolled over and I saw the hugest and ugliest ghostey I’ve ever seen in all me born days!”

Pa raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Well, Jim, how many others have you seen?”

“Aw, pshaw, Flotsam! Yer just makin’ that up to scare the tykes a little, as sure as I’m a standin’ here!”

“No Suh! Upon me word! One look at the monstey thing,  and I high-tailed it outta there as fast as me legs could carry me! I took out the door and headed down that road, and would ye believe, I took one look behind me and that creepin’ monstey thing was right there!” Jim was actually trembling and his eyes seemed to grow every minute. Jim - the invincible, who had always taken a dare without flinching. “With all the moanin’ and creakin’ and things, it’s a wonder I didn’t lose me mind!”

We were all thinking he had when Pa’s voice cut through our thoughts.

“Now George, you know old Smit has been buried and dead these eighty years now. What would he have to keep him on the earth on windy nights like these? No, Jim, I think it’s safe to say your imagination gave way last night.”

Jim’s face darkened.

“Suh, upon me word, I’m sure not meanin’ to be of disrespect, but I SAW ‘im!”

“Oh, I’m sure you saw SOMETHING, Jim, but I’m quite sure it wasn’t Smit.” A distant twinkle came into Pa’s eye.

Then Peter Flotsam stepped forward. He spoke, his face bursting with anger  as he rolled up his sleeves and walked around the corner towards Pa. “Mister, it WAS Smit – my son seen his photography before, and he’d know him anywheres! It was Smit, I tell ye! My son is no coward and he knows what he’s ‘bout!” he raised his voice.

He stood threateningly directly in front of my gentle Pa with his hands on his hips.

Pa gazed calmly at Jim’s red, angry face for a few moments. Then he searched the face of Peter Flotsam. I could see an idea slowly forming in his head. Finally he spoke.

“Peter, how about a plan. Say if I can prove you wrong about Smit’s ghost, you give us that home you’re renting on South street for the reasonable price I asked you for. You know how ill my wife is, and how badly she needs a roof over her head. What do you say?”

“How ye gonna prove me wrong?” Jim’s face turned ugly.

Pa slowly rubbed his chin, then tilted his head sideways and gave me a hard stare or two. I began to feel uneasy.

“I’ll do it like this. I’ll bet even my Fred here could handle a night in that old house better that you could. How about I’ll have him spend the night in the old place? If he sees anything, then we’ll believe you, Jim. If not, you give us that house. How about it, Fred?” he finished, glancing sympathetically in my direction.

“It sounds like a plan to me!” Peter Flotsam cut in. “He’ll never do it!”

I felt an icy fear come over me. Spend a night in that haunted shack when Jim had seen a ghost? Had my father gone mad? My face was deadly pale and I couldn’t help shivering at the thought.

I turned to Pa in desperation, ready to declare I couldn’t do it. But just at that moment, I happened to notice the look on Jim’s face. He must have realized my terror, for his eyes had an evil look of mischief and ill-will in them, and a sly smile played around the corner of his lips. “He’ll never do it!” The words echoed in my head. I saw the angry, sour face of Peter Flotsam glaring at me. He didn’t expect me to accept either.

I thought about the fame and honor I would crown myself with. No schoolchildren would again call me greenhorn, if I came out of that old place alive. IF! That was the question! Could I possibly risk it? No, it was too much to ask of anyone, let alone a lad like me.

“Will you, Fred?” Pa asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him that I wouldn’t do it to save my life.  But the look on his face set me thinking. I thought about Ma and how desperately she needed that home.  What if Ma’s life depended on me? What if she died, because her only child wouldn’t spend a night in a dark house alone?

That was enough for me. I would sleep a week in that house alone for Ma’s sake – I would l, even if I DID die in the attempt.

“When?” I asked softly.

Jim looked at Pa. Pa looked at Peter. The crowd held their breath in excitement.

“Tomorrow night.” Peter leered.

Tomorrow night? Only a day away. That meant that I would have very little time to prepare for defense against ghosts, using pistols, classifying scary sounds, the list went on and on. Only one day? The whole town hung on my answer.

I took a deep breath. I squared my shoulders. I opened my mouth. Somehow, I forced the words out, nodding in the affirmative.

“Tomorrow night.”

TO BE CONTINUED, MAYBE..........

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Comments

May. 16, 2008 - Awesome!

Posted by Shane

Can't wait for the rest..... you sound like you've been writting all your life. lol Awesome job!


thanks lol you really think I should write a sequel then?

Edited by nastyaandreyovna on May. 16, 2008 at 12:28 PM

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May. 16, 2008 - good job! :D

Posted by Felecia

great job chels! i think you should continue. you are a great writer! you sound like an old pro. lol. :D

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May. 16, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by Shane

Of course you should write a sequel. In fact, you could write a whole book! I wouldn't mind that either! I'm already anxious to hear the rest!

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May. 22, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by luvdogs07

Oooh! Exciting and well written! =)

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May. 22, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by luvdogs07

I don't mind if you don't mind me adding you! =)

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May. 22, 2008 - Untitled Comment

Posted by luvdogs07

Yay! I added you! =)

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May. 24, 2008 - Hey!

Posted by Sister Joy M.

This is pretty good...not all the way through yet, but you threw me off...it started out that Peter Flostsam's boy was named "George"...then he was referred to as "Jim"....hmmmm...something fishier than this tale of Ol' Smit's Ghost is going on around here.....

I'm going back to the story...my interest is peaked....



In many old books you read, you'll find that a boy "George" is often referred to by "Jim", I guess I just took it for granted that you all would get the connection......lol sorry about that.

Edited by nastyaandreyovna on May. 24, 2008 at 2:25 PM

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May. 24, 2008 - Great! JUST great!

Posted by Sister Joy M.

Now I'm going to be coming back here looking for part 2! Thanks a LOT, Chels! This is not a story that will end in part 2...it's a whole book! Are you trying to make me read?! I'll start talkin' like dem dare caracturs in da story yur writin' and people may git to thinkin' sum'thin' quite strange has happened to me.

*SIGH*


lol glad you liked it:-) I guess I'm obliged to write a part 2 then, but I don't know when I'll get around to it lol. We'll see.



Edited by nastyaandreyovna on May. 24, 2008 at 2:26 PM

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