Haunted House Challenge: "A Day of Chaos" -- by Anne Leskey

 

A Day Of Chaos

 

“Haaaappy birthdaaaay to me!” sang Ermine, coming in from the garage. 

It was not her birthday, it was not even close to her birthday, but that was Ermine’s favorite song and she sang it all the time. As in, all the time. She hummed it in the bathroom, she caroled it when she had to clean out the chicken coop, and she belted it out when Dad was trying to take forty winks on the sofa. Besides this, there were a number of times when it seemed to spontaneously burst out of her. And sometimes she changed the words. 

“If it was my birthday, I’d ask for a bike, ‘cause my wheel burst, and I’ve got to hike,” she sung to the tune, somehow. 

“What did you just do?” asked Velvet, coming out of the pantry with an alarmed voice on her face as she heard the particular words that Ermine was producing.

We were well used to finding out important news through Ermine’s songs; she often did that rather then speak, but generally when carrying on a conversation she talked like a fairly normal human being. 

“Oh, my bike wheel ran over a really sharp ridge of rocks, and it tore the tire. I wrecked, of course,” Ermine said in a vaguely proud voice, “I put it back in the garage, and Dad will just think he’s neglected its maintenance. Oh, by the way, there’s a ghost in the garage, Shamrock.”

I tried to feign interest, but really, how could when I was cutting up a particularly pungent onion that sent the tears to my smarting eyes? And besides, I didn’t believe her. Ermine was always seeing ghosts. Every breath of wind showed her a different one. She had notebook after notebook filled with harrowing stories of how exactly they became ghosts. It was all nonsense of course, but I must admit I didn’t like being in the dark after reading one of her tales. 

“Don’t be silly, Min,” said Velvet sharply. 

She thought her duty to correct her wayward siblings when Mom and Dad were away. She was the oldest at eighteen, and had the sort of motherly disposition which makes for a very good but somewhat bossy older sister. Me, I was rather amused by Ermine’s matter-of-fact diversions from the truth. She didn’t mean any harm by them, and that was what made lies bad, in my opinion at least. 

“But I’m not being silly,” objected Ermine indignantly, “There’s a ghost in our garage, and I don’t care if you believe me or not.”

I gently smacked my forehead against the cupboard door, realizing that there was going to be another sisterly spat between Ermine and Velvet. They just didn’t seem to realize that there were ways of solving things. Still, it was their preferred way, and I supposed that I shouldn’t begrudge them that, even if it did make my ears ring. 

“Let me explain this very carefully. Ermine Angelica Durand, there are no such things as ghosts, okay?” Velvet said, speaking in one emphatic breath.

Ermine huffed, “Haven’t you ever read The Christmas Carol?” she accusingly questioned.

“Which just happens to be a fiction book,” commented Velvet. 

“Guys, chill,” I feebly attempted to say, but naturally they took no notice of my plea. 

I decided to go into the garage myself, and see if I could sense any supernatural presence. I did not expect to find anything, of course, and when I entered the oil-stained environment my predictions were fulfilled. It looked like an ordinary garage. Both cars were gone, Mom having one, Dad the other. One side of the garage was littered with Dad’s junk, the other with his tools. Really absolutely normal. 

Except perhaps one thing. Ermine’s bike was broken rather badly, but the kickstand apparently still operated, and she had left it properly standing up. There was no wind in the garage, and yet the pedals were moving gently up and down, and the wheels slowly,  agonizingly moved round and round. I frowned, and hesitated a moment, before bolting back up into the kitchen.

“Velvet, I think there must be a draft in the garage,” I said, not wishing to bring her violent disbelief in ghosts down on my head, “Come see if you can spot it. It would be bad if there were a hole or something that could let rain and bugs in. Or the chickens…”

We all went into the garage, me with a little trembling feeling in my stomach, and looked around. Velvet stopped short as she saw the unaccountably moving bicycle. It suddenly stood motionless just moments after we entered the garage.

“Hum. Must be an after reaction from Ermine’s crazy driving,” said Velvet at last, “I don’t feel a draft, and we just had the garage put up a few months ago, after that hideous old tumbled down room was taken out.”

“That was done years ago. The room being taken down, I meant, not the garage going up,” I laughed, “It was funny. They redid all the rest of the house, but forgot to restore this room. Still, it gave us a good place for a garage.”

“But do not you see?” asked Ermine, “That’s the trouble. This wasn’t always a garage; it used to be somebody’s home, and at last it was somebody’s tomb.”

“Except,” said Velvet skeptically, “Even if someone did happen to die here, they probably weren’t buried.”

Ermine sighed, “Well, I concede that point. Anyway, I daresay he doesn’t just haunt the garage.”

A bucket suddenly fell over, and we all gasped, only to look ashamed of ourselves shortly afterwards. June-Nip-Purr, Ermine’s cat, crawled out of the bucket with a startled look on her thin, pointed little face. She was a very dainty-looking cat. Her smoky-blue coat had earned her the name ‘Juniper’, but Ermine naturally had changed that up a little. 

“There, see, everything is just as it should be,” said Velvet severely, “Not an oddity anyway. Bicycle wheels habitually move like that in some situations…”

“When someone’s pedaling them. It was stopped. I came in ten minutes ago,” said Ermine flatly. 

“Well, Shamrock and I both say there is nothing wrong here,” said Velvet, naturally having to drag me into it! 

“Well, er, yeah,” I rambled.

Ermine gave a huge, exasperated sigh, and climbed back into the normal part of the house. She was obviously irritated with both of us, and so ominously didn’t speak for awhile. Velvet and I returned to the concoction of pasta salad, almost forgetting about the incident. 

“Shamrock!” screamed Ermine, running into the kitchen half-an-hour later, “The…come into the bathroom!”

I set the bowl I was washing back in the water, and followed her quickly. Velvet, June (the cat), and Prince (my dog) followed us. We entered the restroom and saw a rather peculiar sight. The shower head was a movable one, and it was jerking up and down, sending chaotic spurts of water everywhere.

“Ermine! What did you do?” shouted Velvet.

“I didn’t do anything!” screeched Ermine, “It was just like that when I came in.” 

For a moment we were silent, and then Velvet said through white, trembling lips, “Pipes. There is something wrong with the pipes, that’s all. I’ll…I’ll call Dad.”

Dad was a plumber. He and Mom were at work, of course, but I supposed that phoning him wouldn’t do any harm. Velvet stumbled out of the room in order to make her proposed call. I, meanwhile, went over to the laundry closet, and located some duck tape. I firmly cut of a foot long strip and smacked it over the shower head, taping it to the shower stall itself. I then shut the water off and gave a slight gasp.

“Sham?” squealed Ermine.

“I felt something cold. With the consistency of cheese fondue,” I explained breathlessly, “But nothing’s there. Min, keep June and Prince away from the toilet paper, won’t you?”

Unusual happenings or not, I didn’t have any wish to have a repeat of the event that had gained my dog his name. Prince’s full name was Prince Charmin and there were two reasons for it. Somewhat because he was an extremely ugly mastiff mix. But mostly because he had torn up an entire pack of Charmin toilet paper on his first day here, after we’d gotten him from the shelter. 

“But anyway, the water is off…and, what in the world?”

The washer and dryer were suddenly sporadically turning on and off, and that was when I fully realized that something really queer was happening. I frowned irresolutely, and then took off my glasses and wiped them on my t-shirt, before looking again at the machines. They were still bursting into life, and then dying down. I frantically unplugged them, and felt again the cold fondue-textured feeling seeping through my fingers. It was weird. 

“Dad says it’s probably nothing to worry about. He’ll be coming home in an hour, though, so he says we can wait until then to fuss about it,” said Velvet, “He thinks it might be something to do with the valves.”

I told her about the washer and dryer.

Velvet looked profoundly miserable, “Okay, this is not normal,” she admitted, “Someone must have meddled with our electricity and stuff.” 

“Orrrrrrr,” stretched out Ermine, “there’s a ghost.”

“Ermine, really, this is serious,” said Velvet.

“Yes it is. Somebody died in our home, and now he’s increasing our electric bill,” said Ermine.

“Ermine! There’s no ghost here,” Velvet insisted.

Ermine glared at her, and spoke one word, “Septic!” 

I choked on a laugh, “You mean skeptic,” I said, “And, Vel, I agree with Min, there’s something weird here.”

“Right, right,” said Velvet, “This is absurd. There’s something wrong with our plumbing, and we all start going on about supernatural this and that. Seriously, you two, grow up all ready.”

“But I can’t for ten years yet,” moaned Ermine, “I’m only eight.”

“And I’m just fourteen,” I rejoined, “It’s kinda hard to grow up when you’re incapable of it. Anyway, Vel, I think there is something a bit odd here. I’m not saying, exactly, that it’s a ghost…but I don’t think we ought to eliminate that distinct possibility. What’s that sound? Did you leave the mixer running, Velvet?”

We resignedly went into the kitchen, followed by Prince, June, and Velvet’s sun conure Poppy was flying (and squawking) after us. I almost thought that the animals were scared and were sticking close to us for protection. Which was particularly funny in Prince’s case, the big two-hundred and fifty pound baby. 

The mixer was going, and it was bad, because Velvet had just put in several cups of flour and sugar and things to make cookies. The mixer was top speed, and I imagine everybody knows what a lot of dry ingredients souring into the air looks like. The spotless kitchen was now far from spotless. 

Ermine stood on one foot, and sung her favorite tune, but with modified words, “We have got a ghostie, we have got a ghostie, we’ve gottt aaa ghostie, we’ve got a ghost!” 

Velvet bawled, “Alright! Alright! We’ve got a ghost, and now Dad’s coming home, and you know he’ll be trying to get rid of it with insect spray and homemade gnat traps!” 

*

Dad and Mom came home within minutes of each other, and immediately noticed something was out of place. I suppose one would, when your daughters are looking frantic and are covered in water and flour. The handles on the doors kept turning and opening, the dog’s balls were floating in the air, and the toilets kept flushing.

 Oh, and did I mention that the television came on every ten minutes and started screaming out all the horrible news of things that were going on in the city? And of course Ermine, who wasn’t supposed to listen to it, was glued to it every time it happened to turn on. 

Well, there was one thing anyway. Velvet and I might have been terrified, exhausted, at at the end of our patience and resolution, but Ermine was enjoying herself tremendously. 

“Mom!” said Velvet, flinging herself into our mother with unwonted emotion, “Help!”

“Necesitamos ayuda,” added Ermine, who was learning Spanish. 

“Ayuda, ayuda,” croaked Poppy, “’elp, ‘elp.” 

“The mixer, and the TV, and everything is turning on,” I bawled. 

At this moment, in confirmation of words Dad’s car turned on and started backing out of the garage. Fortunately the door was there, and caught it. Well, perhaps not that fortunately. The door was crumpled up and the back of the car was too. But it stopped moving. 

“What in the world?” asked Mom, staring from the garage door towards us. 

“Ghost,” I wailed.

“Phantoms!” sobbed Velvet. 

“Wraiths and apparitions!” happily supplemented Ermine, “Come inside, and see what’s going on there. The flour went out of the mixer, and the bathroom’s soaked, because the shower turned on. And oh! Any number of things.” 

Our parents numbly followed us into the house. Suddenly Prince jumped up and gnashed his teeth against something. For a moment we saw an anguished, shadowy appearance, clutching at their bottom, but it vanished almost immediately. Prince growled darkly, but looked confused. 

The dishwasher suddenly turned on and started leaking out soapy water. Mom gave a harrowing cry, and dashed towards it, fiddling with the controls. The front door burst open and we saw that our sprinkler was on, full blast. 

Dad rushed outside, and Mom started unplugging all our electronics. The ghost was not to be foiled; the cupboard doors started opening and banging. We went into the living room, Dad joining us with an angry expression, and we all consulted together.

“Why today?” Mom wondered, “What’s different?” 

“I can’t think of anything,” I said musingly, “Except…well, but that’s absurd.”

“Oh!” said Ermine, looking enlightened, and running out of the house, leaving the door open behind her.

She returned, panting, and lugging a huge painting which we had thrown out last night in our tidying up of the attic. Our excuse was that it was hideous. About three feet by two  feet, it had an ugly, moldy frame. The picture itself was a black-and-white photo of an monstrously repulsive person, contorted by the photographer into greater degrees of ugliness. And the setting and clothing and everything was disgustingly foul. But nevertheless, that was the only change we made. 

And as Ermine presented it, the lights, which had been turning on and off rapidly, now halted. June curled up on the sofa, and Prince sat docilely on one of the air conditioning vents. Poppy went to her favorite perch and got a drink of water. Everything suddenly seemed to be normal. But there was an air of tension. 

“James, perhaps if you just put the picture over the pianoforte?” tentatively suggest Mom. 

“Can’t you just call it a piano, Mom?” bemoaned Velvet, as Dad complied, fussily arranging it on a hook.

The air of tension vanished immediately. Ermine started plugging in our electronics again, and we all gazed at the painting.

“But it is so hideous,” sighed Mom.

The lights flickered.

“We’ll just need to clean it up a bit,” said Dad hurriedly, and the lights returned to normal.

*

Three years later, and we have led a relatively normal and peaceful existence. There are minor drawbacks. The picture cannot get dusty or dingy in any way, or all our appliances start going haywire. But fortunately, Mom is a cleaning fanatic, so it doesn’t often happen. 

The worst time was when Poppy decided to use it as her bathroom; we had to shower in cold water for a week. And occasionally, we get glimpses of our ghost. Ermine lives in the hope of getting to speak with him, and I confess that I would find it interesting. But as of now we just have to be tenderly respectful of his picture. Otherwise…well, none of us want to go through another day like the one we had.