Haunted House Challenge: "Dear Future...Or Is It Past?" -- by Eve Nightingale

Note From Hazel: Sorry this went up so late, I didn't get a chance to post it until now.

Dear Future. . . Or Is It Past?

by Eve Nightingale

 

 

July 27, 1911

 

Dear Past,

 

         They have not yet returned, Past. Three days and they have not returned. I have stayed here, as promised, and looked after our animals, as promised, but I have not been able to find it in me to eat any more. At least I did not promise that.

         I am so tired, Past. So very tired. I passed out earlier today and woke in quite a panic. Harry, that rather odd pig, woke me by poking me with his snout. I don’t know how long I was laying there till he did. I know it must be because I haven’t eaten but my mind simply won’t let me eat.

         It’s such a strange thing, having one’s mind not allow you to eat. 

         I wish Mommy and Papa would come home. I miss them dearly. The town has been so quiet since Mommy hurried to the mine. I wish they would come home. . . 

         Yours till the end.

 

         Your Future,

         Lola Doran 

 

July 28, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         Somehow I ended up in the basement. I have not a clue how but I am just pleased that I am feeling much better. I have not checked upstairs quite yet so I do not know if Mommy and Papa are home. I have heard someone upstairs so I hope they are!

         I had such peculiar dreams, Future. Such peculiar dreams. I dreamed a family lived here. Two families, actually. The first one was quiet like mine but the son remained here. Then another family came and were quite noisy. Both families added to this house and there were some wonderful additions and some additions were of terrible taste. I plan to tell Mommy and Papa about them. We’ve already added a bathroom and kitchen so why not continue improving this house? With taste, of course.

         I think I will go get some food now. I will write again today if Mommy and Papa return!

 

         Sincerely your past,

         Lola Doran 

July 28, 1911

Afternoon

Dear Future,

 

         You will not believe me! I can’t believe myself but, Future, this house is haunted! I believe that is why my rest was so troubled. That family I wrote about earlier, the noisy one, are upstairs! Thankfully, they didn’t see me. I have retreated to the basement and am trying to find a way to get them to leave.

         The house looks different too. They’ve ruined it. They’ve painted it such ghastly, un-naturelike colors—it’s horrid! They have these devices that make so much noise and they argue over them!

         I must end the entry here. I have to find a way to get them to leave! This my house! The house where the Dorans live! Not whatever ghosts or demons they are. 

 

         Frightened but forever your past,

         Lola Doran 

 

July 29, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         They are very good at ignoring despite what their behaviors suggest. I have tried all day to get them to leave but they ignore me. How incredibly rude. Not only do they invade my house, make it look ghastly, but they ignore me! Just wait till Papa comes home. He will not be happy.

         School will be starting soon but I doubt I can go. I must rid this house of these ghosts before I can even think about learning. I just have to find a weakness of theirs. I have noticed that they disappe-ar from time to time, some more than others. The children disappear the most but then the entire family disappears at night. Perhaps if I could find a way to go with them or find where they disappear to, I can find out a weakness. 

         This is all ratty. Why can’t ghosts dislike garlic like vampires? I would cover the house in garlic and be done with it. Well, then there’s the problem of the multitude of garlic. . .

 

         Your Past,

         Lola Doran 

 

 

 

 

 

 

August 2, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         I have tried for the past three days to follow where the ghosts disappear to to no avail. I haven’t the slightest clue where they go. I would assume it was that they can only thrive during the day but the fact the children, and sometimes the parents, disappear during the day crosses that out.

         They are such a strange family with such strange things. They seem to hate the quiet. There is always something making noise. They use something that allows people to talk and move even though they are not there. I’m starting to think their belongings are being possessed. Ha! I’m being haunted by ghosts who are haunted by ghosts!

         These strange possessed items come in several different shapes and sizes and make all sorts of noises. One of the noises I think is supposed to be music but they haven’t a lick of taste. None whatsoever. No wonder they are haunting me. They weren’t satisfied with their terrible tastes and nonsensical possessed items that they can’t rest in peace!

         Oh, how could I forget! Ghosts haunt when they are not at peace, right Future? I must find why they are not resting and fix it. Maybe I should break those devices. For my sake rather then theirs. They give me such a headache.

 

         Your annoyed past,

         Lola Doran 

 

August 3, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         It failed. Terribly. I’m not sure what I had expected. If they are ghosts with belongings, I shouldn’t be able to touch them and yet I still thought I could break their devices. 

         Everything I tried to use to break them just ended up going through them during the rare times that I found something I could hold. Now I am cursed with head-splitting headaches until they leave. 

         They are fond of walking through walls and I haven’t an inkling why. I guess that if I could walk through walls, I would quite often, but watching them walk through walls and not return for hours is so confusing. They often walk through the west wall at the south side of the house and don’t return for hours. The eldest child does that often, like her father.

         Every night they disappear through the east wall at the northern part of the house. Why? I haven’t the slightest clue but I am trying very hard to find out. I will try to follow them tonight but I have a feeling it won’t work.

 

         Sincerely your past,

         Lola Doran 

 

August 3, 1911

Night

 

Dear Future,

 

         I can not follow them, Future. I tried walking through the wall like them but it will not work. I wish I could have heard the ending of their conversation. They mentioned something about a church in the next town over. 

         I have a sudden desire to go there. There is a very nice cemetery there. My friend is buried there and I often like to visit her when I am as confused and lost as I am now. I know it is silly to talk to the dead. They can not talk back after all. 

         Perhaps this family is buried there! I have heard their names often enough—they argue and blame each other often enough—that I am sure I could find them and see why they are so unhappy! I shall go tomorrow! No! Tomorrow night would be even better, when the ghosts are all gone!

 

         Your excited and clever past,

         Lola Doran 

 

August 4, 1911

 

Dear Future,

 

         Tonight I go to the cemetery! I thought about asking my friend Will to come but he’d just call me a coward. The heel. So I will venture alone.

         I used to be scared of graveyards, long ago, Future. They scared me so much and I didn’t quite know why. I just knew they did. Then my friend Lilly told me a story about them. It’s a personal story so I won’t inscribe it here but it was a very sweet and sad story. Ever since then, I haven’t been scared.     

         I have my oil lamp all prepared and ready. I still fall asleep by it every night.

         I have tried looking all over for my coat but have not found it. Rather annoying but I should be fine in the dark. August nights are not normally that cold.

         I shall write either after I return or early in the morning if excitement does not override my sleep.

 

         Your thrilling past,

         Lola Doran 

 

 

August 5, 1911

Early Hours of the Morning

Dear Past,

 

         I am shaking with fear, Past. I do not know what to do but I know I must see where these ghosts go.

         I went to the cemetery. I went to the cemetery to find their graves. But I didn’t find their graves, Past. I didn’t find them! I found Bethany’s grave but not this family's. Instead I. . . I found. . . OH! I can not say, Past! I refuse to write it! I refuse! I am going to find where the ghosts go and end this nightmare once and for all! 

         I refuse to say!

 

         Your terrified future,

         Lola Doran 

 

 

August 12, 1911

 

Dear Future or Past,

 

         Please forgive the lateness of this entry. I could not bring myself to write this but I fear I can not wait any longer.

         I found where they all go at night, Future or Past, whichever it is now. I found where they all go. They go upstairs.

         My home does not have an upstairs but theirs do or mine does now, whichever it is. My home never had an upstairs but I followed them up stairs to a new floor where they sleep. They have their own rooms, some have two, and sleep.

         It felt so wrong being there. So wrong. As if I didn’t belong. I mustered up my anger that I like to call courage and marched up to the man of the house to try to wake him when I caught something in the mirror. Looking over, I jumped back. 

         Where I was supposed to be, I wasn’t. There was nothing there. No light, no shadow, no person. It was as if I didn’t exist.

         I ran from the room and ran back to the graveyard. I forgot to take my lamp but I didn’t need it. These lights along the road appeared on top tall posts but I did not truly notice them until on my way back. 

         I needed to see if I remembered correctly of what I found and to my horror I did. I remember it, Past or Future. I remembered it clearly.

         They have no graves. But Mommy does. And Papa. They never came home. . . Their deaths were the day the mineshaft collapsed. I guess Mommy tried to save Papa only to be crushed herself. They never came home.

         But you know what I saw between them? Another grave. This time it had my name on it. My name, my birthday, and my death date. 

         I feel myself slipping away now. I know I was not being haunted but the one doing the haunting. I feel so alone. . . so cold. . . but I can hear them. I hear Mommy crying softly with both peace and joy and Papa calling me to them. They didn’t come back to me but rather went on . . . went to their true home. 

         What I don’t understand is why I didn’t go then? Why, when I fell asleep so tiredly and hungrily to a sleep of which I would never awake, didn’t I leave home?! Perhaps I couldn’t accept my fate. 

         It pains me to leave this home but, despite how noisy and troublesome this new family is, I know they will care for it. The eldest doesn’t want to let this place go. That brings me comfort. Someone else loves this home too and she will be with her family.

         Mommy and Papa have grown louder so it is my time to go. . . Goodbye, Me. Goodbye, house. Goodbye world. Goodbye.

 

         Sincerely,

         Lola Doran

 

 

            With a dull thud, the diary landed on the floor of the one and a half story house. It laid in a hallway to the eldest’s bedroom. It just so happens that that eldest daughter was running her way up the stairs. What is the wretched point?! If they want me to stay, why don’t they teach properly! In her angry daze, she did not notice the diary until she tripped over it. She normally had very good balance but when it came to being shocked back to reality, her body forgot all sense of balance.

            She stumbled to stay upright, running into the chair in the hall as she scowled as to not cuss. Once she stood straight, rubbing her hip, she turned and saw the old, leather bound book on the floor. She paused. Not mine. . . maybe parents’. She bent over and picked it up carefully, noticing how cold the leather was. She didn’t think the air got thatcold that close to the floor.

            She carefully opened it, always scared that she would hurt an old book, and looked at the very first entry back in 1904. She mouthed the words of the short entry before reading the signature. Her mother was walking up the stairs to check on her, that class had been rather dispiriting after all, so the daughter called out: “Hey Mom?”

            “Yes sweetie?”

            “Do we know a Lola Doran?”

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. 

Challenge Time! Haunted House Challenge

Hey fellow Bards! It's time for our Summer Challenge! You guys all voted and it looks like the winner was:

Rules

This is a pretty self explanatory challenge: Write a story involving a haunted house. Now, however you decide to do that is up to you. It can be a real ghost, or it can just be psychological. It can be funny or scary, or both. That's up to you!

Date

The Deadline for this one is September 18th

I'm looking forward to seeing what you guys come up with!