By Arturo Hernandez
PART 4
(I wrote this short story back 1n 1995, while living in our first home in Tampa, Florida.)
“Can you read me a bedtime story, Aunt Felicia?” Penny asked politely, her eyes twinkling.
Felicia nodded, opening the Mother Goose Nursery Rhymes book that she had bought last Christmas. She read Humpty Dumpty and Little Boy Blue. She had started to read a few poems when the phone started ringing in the other bedroom.
“I’ll be right back,” Felicia gave her a kiss and quickly raced for the ringing phone.
She picked the phone up.
“How’s my favorite goddaughter?” Sandy Graw asked.
“Hey lady, you finally decided to call me back,” Felicia answered gleefully. She hadn’t heard from her godmother in ages.
“What is it my dear child. Do you miss me? It has been long time. Are you in trouble: money, men, love?”
“Ghost,” Felicia answered.
“Ghost, yes, they can be so annoying sometimes. Are you being plagued by ghost, my dear?” She asked.
“Willard seems to think so. He says his home is haunted.”
“Now, now, child. There are ghosts. I’ve known some good ones and some bad ones,” Sandy assured her. “It’s the bad ones you got to watch out for.”
“I think he’s headed for a nervous breakdown,” Felicia told her, scrawling circles and lines on a sheet of notebook paper.
“you could be right. Perhaps.” There was a moment of silence. “Let me pay Willard a visit. Check out this ghost problem of his.”
“Wonderful,” Felicia replied.
“Give the old boy a ring. You tell him that Sandy is coming to scare those nasty ghosts away,” she assured her.
“Thank you, Godmother. When should I expect you then?” Felicia asked.
“I’ll call the airlines right now. As soon as I get the arrival information I’ll give you a ring. Don’t you worry your pretty little head anymore. Willard will be just fine. All right?”
“Sounds great,” Felicia replied.
“Go away! Get away from him!” Felicia heard Penny hollering. Frantically, she jumped out of bed. Grabbing the huge bat by her bed, she bolted out her bedroom and down the hallway, nearly stumbling over Penny’s toys. She flew into Penny’s room, brandishing her weapon, examining the darkness.
“Go away!” Penny hollered again and again, kicking and swinging at the darkness, her head shaking violently. “Get away, get away from him!”
Felicia threw the bat down and sprinted towards Penny. She seized Penny’s arms. “Penny — wake up, it’s only a dream, wake up,” she pleaded.
Penny continued to kick and shriek. “No! Leave him alone! Run Papa, run!”
Felicia held her tightly. “Penny, it’s Aunt Felicia, please wake up honey. No one’s going to hurt your Papa. Wake up honey, you’re all right.”
Suddenly, Penny’s eyes opened. There was a dreadful look on her face.
“You’re safe now, Aunt Felicia’s here. You were having a bad dream.”
Slowly, her thrashing abated. She stared into the darkness.
“It wasn’t a dream. I saw them, coming for Papa, the ugly men. I tried to stop them, but they kept on coming and coming, crawling and jumping over Papa. I swear. They had large teeth and bald heads.”
“I assure you, honey, it was just a bad dream. Even big people like me get them from time to time. They seem real but they’re not,” Felicia explained, stroking her face.
“If you say so,” Penny replied, uncertainly, staring into darkness. Thoughts of her father being torn to pieces by the ugly men were tormenting her still.
“Would you like to sleep with me tonight?” Felicia asked.
Penny nodded, quickly jumping out the bed.
Doctor Bates had stayed with Willard the whole afternoon and into the evening. During his stay, nothing had moved or floated, howled or groaned; that is nothing that might have suggested a house chock-full of ghosts.
The Doctor had finally come to the conclusion that the Willard was suffering from a mild form of schizophrenia, otherwise known as acute schizophrenia. This would explain why Willard (not ghost) had gone through the house breaking things, knocking things over; it would explain the strewn tools, photos, and pillows, the broken cabinets. He had assured Willard that it was temporary, that recovery should be quick.
“I recommend you take an extended vacation, Mr. Helman, with the family, away from this place.” Bates looked down at his watch. “It’s really getting late. I’ll schedule you an appointment with me Monday.”
“Sure,” Willard mumbled softly to himself, staring glassy-eyed at the crystal seal on the Zenith.
“Fine then. We’ll continue our discussion Monday.”
“It’s funny.”
“What is?” Bate’s eyebrows crinkled.
“That nothing moved,” Willard said. “Nothing moved while you were here; that’s strange.”
“You think things might start moving once I leave?” Bates asked.
“That’s a strong possibility.”
“Here, take these pills.” Bates reached into his shirt pocket, took out a small bottle, opened the top and spilled a few pills on his palm. He handed the pills to Willard and smiled. “Here.”
“I said no drugs Doc.”
“They’ll help you relax. That’s all.”
Willard nodded and took the pills, sticking them in his pants pocket. He glanced at the clock; it was ten fifteen. “It’s almost midnight, the witching hour,” Willard said, grinning comically at Bates.
Bates laughed. “That’s strange, my watch says-” Bates looked at his watch, “eight past twelve.”
“Well, according to your watch Doc, the witches are already out and about,” Willard said and smiled.
“Yes. It would seem so, that is if you believe in such nonsense,” Bates replied, smiling. “Now take a pill and get some rest.” Bates gathered up his belongings and started towards the exit. “Now you rest, you hear me. We’ll talk later.”
“Thanks for helping me clean up this mess, Doc.”
“Sure.”
“I must have knocked the power off when I went on my mad rampage,” Willard ventured.
“That would explain why your clock is two hours behind,” Bates assured him.
Willard nodded dismally.
“I’ll see you then Monday Mr. Helman.” Bates opened the door.
“I’ll be there. Thanks again, Doc,” Willard told him, watching Bates amble towards his car.
“Think nothing of it; now get some sleep, I know I’m in need of some myself.” Bates paused suddenly, turning his head toward the rustling bushes on his right. He stood staring at them for awhile. “I’m getting this strange feeling,” he finally said, turning towards Willard, “that something’s spying on me.” He laughed.
“Sorry, Doc. Must have been all that talk about witches and ghosts,” Willard replied. “I’ll see you Monday.” Willard waved, then closed the door.
“Must have been,” Bates said, turning back around.
A chill crept up his back as he started towards his car. He looked up at a lofty pine tree in the yard next to Willard’s. Its limbs were moving, its prickly fingers clawing at the darkness, which seemed odd, for it didn’t feel windy to him.
Bates peered at a windsock hanging quietly from the pine tree in Willard’s front yard. If it’s windy out here, how come Mr. Helman’s windsock isn’t moving. That makes no sense. He pondered. Another chill ran up his back.
He came to a sudden stop (his heart started to pound) for coming straight for him was a lawn mower, rolling quietly over Willard’s grass. It stopped a few feet in front of the doctor.
Bates stepped back, almost falling backwards. “If this is some elaborate prank, I suggest it end right now,” he called out, squinting at the darkness around him. “Or I will be force to call the authorities.” He pulled out his cell phone nervously and started to punch in numbers. “I’m not kidding.”
There came no reply.
He put the phone back in his jacket, looked around for the pranksters, then started hastily towards his car.
He then heard behind him footsteps, thumps on the ground. He spun around, but saw nothing. Shrugging, he turned back around. He was stopped again, by another sound, a different sound, not of feet crunching grass or ground, but a slithering sound, like that of a large serpent or snake. He turned around to see not a snake but a garden hose slithering quickly his way. The hose rose into the air, hissing water from its nozzle; it lunged for him. Bates jumped back, pressing his back against the car door. He watched, in horror, as the nozzle got in his face; he watched as the hose then started to wrap its muddled body around his ankles and feet; watched as it snaked up his body.
The doctor grimaced. “My God,” he groaned.
Suddenly the hose fell limp around his body.
Sweating dearly, Bates started to giggle. A nightmare, that’s all that it was, sleepwalking again, he thought. As he quickly shrugged the hose off him, he noticed a large hole, a couple in fact, in the ground near the driveway. He noticed, also, the windsock flapping, in a wind he could now feel.
He quickly got in his car and sped away, vowing never to come to Willard’s house again.
Poems by Arturo Hernandez 