A Cape Cod ghost story novella
"Where's the door key?'' says
Manny. "Oh, I forgot -- there's no key,'' I tell
him. We go up on the porch, and I push up
the third window. "This is how we get in for now.'
' He climbs through the window just like we
did the day before. "You comin'?'' he says.
"I'll stay here on the porch. I'm allergic to dust. I
went through yesterday. Here take this.'' And I
hand him the flashlight. "You may need it for some
o' the dark corners.'' Well, I see him look
around the front room, jot somethin' down on a
pad, then I hear him walk back toward the dinin'
room and the kitchen. Suddenly I hear "flip,'' a
pause, another flip, a pause, another flip, and I
look over at the little table where the magazines
are, and I see the pages of the one with Hitler on
the cover turnin' over one by one, like somebody's leafin' through it. And I see the
rockin' chair slowly rockin' back and forth. My hair is standin' on end.
"Get a grip on yourself, George,'' I tell myself. "It's the breeze from the window.''
Just to prove it to myself, I go to slide down the window. As soon as I touch the sash, it's like I have two big invisible hands on toppa mine pushin' down hard -- so hard the window comes down with a bang. Manny comes runnin' in from the backa the house. "What the hell's goin' on?'' he yells at me through the glass. I had to struggle to push the window up -- which was funny cuz it had gone up easy before. "I was just foolin' with the window, and it came crashin' down.'' "Well, watch it! It's spooky enough in here,'' he says, "without you friggin' around." He goes back toward the dinin' room and the kitchen. I hear "flip. . .flip. . .'' And the pages of the other magazine are flippin'. Not the Hitler magazine. This time it's the one with the fat guy -- what's his name? --
Goring, with two little dots over the "o." And the rockin' chair is rockin', rockin', rockin'. "Ginny,'' I say, "what the hell did you get me into?'' But at least I'm outside. Now I hear Manny goin' upstairs. For a long time, all I hear is the pages flippin'. And then I hear just what I heard the day before. Music like a piano -- no, a music box -- yes, a music box -- someplace off in the house. No seagulls for damned sure. And the tune! "Ach, du Lieber Augustine''! My hair is standin' up on end all over again. Just then I hear Manny comin' down the front stairs. He looks as white as a sheet as he climbs out the window. "Did you hear that goddam music?'' he asks me. "Yeah, I heard it.'' "And look what I found under that little bed in the backroom on the top floor,'' he
says. And he holds out a goddam music box. He turns the crank and winds it up.
"Ach, du Lieber Augustine, Augustine, Augustine. Of course it wasn't singin' words, just playin' notes. But I remembered the words from German class twenty-somethin' years ago. "Sunuvabitch!'' Manny says. "That's the song I heard up there, but I was startin' down the stairs holdin' the goddam box in my hand when I heard it. And George, that little bed looked like somebody had just been sleepin' in it. Jeez, George, I'm not sure I want this job.'' "You gotta help me, Manny,'' I tell him. "I promised wunna the owners I'd get it cleaned up.'' "George, work is scarce, and I need the dough. But I won't work in here alone. I guarantee you that.'' Well, he named his price, and I swear he inflated it fifty percent over what he'd charge anywhere else. We got Henry the Locksmith. We got the electric light company to check the fuse box and turn on the electricity. We got the town to turn on the water. And everybody that went in there came out with some weird story about strange noises or somethin' that sounded like music from upstairs. Manny himself had the damndest story. He went in the first day with a crew o' three guys. Two of 'em wouldn't come back. They claimed when they picked up the mattress from the little bed in the backroom, they felt a hand on the backa their necks. Manny and the other guy had to stand guard while these two carried the mattress and the blankets and the tattered ol' bedspread outta the house. They left the bed frame. Everytime they started to come down the main staircase, Manny said, they'd hear the damned music. They started usin' just the backstairs. Manny said he oiled the hinges on the door at the foot o' the stairs, but he couldn't stop it from squeakin'. The next day, he went back with five new guys. Seven of 'em altogether. Said he wanted to get the work done before they all took off on him. He said they moved the magazines from the table near the rockin' chair over to the door to take 'em outside -- he swears he moved every magazine himself -- but when they come back from the other room, the one with Hitler on the cover is back on the table. And the goddam rockin' chair is rockin' back and forth! "Must be the wind,'' says wunna the guys. But Manny claims all the windows and all the doors were shut tight. Well, somehow or other, Manny and his guys got the job done. They washed all the windows. Manny says that really brightened the place up. They washed all the dishes and the silver and the glasses that were on the dinin' room table, put 'em away in the kitchen cabinets. They cleaned out all the cobwebs and the rotten drapes and swept and vacuumed out about a ton o' dirt. They fixed the porch. They cleaned up the yard. I didn't go out to check, but Manny says it looked pretty good. "George,'' Manny says, "I was never so glad to get a job behind me. At least the last coupla days when we were workin' outside, nothin' creepy happened. Except one thing.'' "What was that?'' I ask him. "Yesterday afternoon, we're puttin' the rakes and the carpenter tools back in the truck, and I look up at the upstairs windows -- I think it was the little room in the back where the bed was -- and George, I swear there's a face lookin' down at me. I yelled to Tony to look up, but before he could look, the damn face disappeared. George, I needed the money real bad to stay with this job.'' As you could expect, Henry the Locksmith, the electric light guys, the water department guys, and, most of all, Manny's guys spread the word around town about the strange things happenin' out at the Watson Estate. Of course, Aggie hears about it. She thinks it's funny as hell. "George,'' she says, "do you really think you can sell a haunted house?'' "Aggie,'' I say, "it may not really be haunted. There may be an explanation for all those things.'' I said it, but I didn't believe it. "Maybe we'll get some rich sucker from New York who wants a place on the water.'' Then I go way out. "Or maybe we'll find some guy who wants a haunted house.'' Meantime I kept havin' that dream about the old man and the maid -- two or three times, I had it -- the exact same way as before. It ends up with her lookin' out the window while the hearse takes his body away. Eerie!
Copyright, Durham Caldwell
Ach, du Lieber Augustine, tut es mir weh!''