Beth Anderson died peacefully in her sleep in July of 1927, at the age of 88. She was popular in town for her easy going disposition an was well known as the matron of the local boarding house, whose fate was now uncertain. Her will stated that all of her possessions were to be left to her grandson, Jack Anderson, but only on the condition that his family move into the boarding house. There were no stipulations beyond that, but she was very clear that the house was not to remain unoccupied for any length of time.
Between a steady stream of boarders and her frequent sales of merchandise that departing tenants ha left behind, Beth had amassed a comfortable amount of money and had established a trust at the local bank to help cover living expenses an upkeep up the house. It wasn't enough to live on, but it would be enough to help Jack move in and subsidize them if he had trouble finding work in the smaller city. He and his wife decided to go for it, they felt like a change of scenery and had fond memories of his grandmother's house from the several times they had visited it.
One month after the funeral, they moved in. They would have done it more quickly, but they needed to close down the boarding house and remove all the tenants. Jack was tempted to just boot them out on the street, but his wife Victoria convinced him to be more generous and give them adequate time to collect their things and find a new place to live. After all, for some of them, this was their home.
Even still, when they first showed up, they found two of the rooms still cluttered with things that had been left. In fact, they looked like the tenants hadn't even moved out. Victoria was concerned that something could have happened to them, or perhaps they needed to stay longer, but Jack calmly explained that that sort of thing happened all the time. His grandmother had just collected up the belongings and sold them off, unless any of it was worth keeping.
Jack passed by the room where Victoria was ripping down old wallpaper in preparation for painting. "So how long did your grandmother live here?" Victoria called after him.
His shadow re-appeared in the door as he trudged into the room, staring off into space. "I'm not sure." His left hand scratched at his chin. "It was before I was born, I know that. 30 years, maybe?"
"Well, she sure let the place fall apart. Thirty years of living needs thirty years of maintenance, you know."
He shrugged. "It was a boarding house. It's in good enough shape. Her room is fine, the rest are good enough. Bunch of drifters, after all. They didn't need the Ritz." He pulled at a loose piece of wallpaper. "It's actually interesting how she got the house, I guess it was her nephew that bought it and then one day he just up and vanished. She was the closest relative they could track down."
Victoria rocked back to a kneeling position as she wadded up the wallpaper. "Disappeared?" He nodded. "So what was he, your uncle, then? You never told me you had an uncle."
"I didn't, it was some relative on the other side of the family, through a marriage or something. Maybe he'd be like a cousin or something, but I don't know how it works." Getting bored with the conversation, he shrugged, tossed the ball of paper he'd wadded up, and went back to hauling out garbage.
It took a few months, but slowly the boarding house was transformed into a livable home. The house had character and they enjoyed it. They had agreed that they would celebrate when it was finally done, and Jack had come up with the idea of holding off one thing to do until it would be the ceremonial last thing, and then that would be the official end of the rehabilitation.
That final item was to tighten the doorknob on the downstairs closet. After Jack screwed the loose knob into place, the two of them hugged, and went out to the local movie theater to watch The General, which would be followed by a nice dinner, as their reward.
Nine months later, their son, Jack Jr. was born.
His early childhood was uneventful. Victoria would spend her days playing with him and tending to the house, and Jack would read to him when he came home from work. They were the perfect picture of a modern American family with everything to hope for and nothing to worry about.
Unfortunately, as Jack Jr. approached his fourth birthday, a picture became the very thing that they began to worry about.
Jack came home tired from a long day at the mil. It was honest work and the money was good enough, but it still left him tired. It was one thing when he was coming home at the end of the day to a quiet infant who was just happy to be near him, but now it was a young child that expected to entertain his father at the end of the day. Much more work for him. Still, considering the state of the economy, he was happy to have a job at all. The extra money his grandmother had left them was definitely coming in handy now.
This evening, it was his wife, not his son that met him at the door. She looked slightly shaken.
"Hi sweetie," he said casually as he gave her a peck on the cheek while simultaneously unbuttoning his shirt. "You look tired. WEll," he smiled," Just a few more months and then we can send the little fellow off to school and someone else can worry about tiring him out all day." He hung up his hat and turned to his wife, who still looked shaken. He arched his eyebrows and tilted his head forward. "What/s wrong?"
She didn't say anything, just held out a piece of paper with coloring on it. Jack looked it over, it was several crudely drawn photos, next to a childish copy of their house. More people looked out the windows. He beamed.
"He drew this? Well atta boy. Maybe we've got an artist." He studied the drawing and tilted it back and forth. "I mean, he needs work, but he is only 3, after all. I'm sure with the proper schooling he could really make something something of this. Maybe be in advertising! That's really booming."
Victoria glowered at him. "And don't you want to know who all those people are?" she tartly questioned.
He looked back down at the page and held it at arm's length. "Well, that's me, that's you," he shot her a smile, "That's our little Michaelangelo, and the rest are..oh, I don't know. Boarders in the house. Or relatives." His glanced darted up at his wife. "Neighbors? Who are they? Should I know?"
"You were right the first time. They're boarders in the house. He says he talks to them. They come to visit him. Jack, I'm worried. Is that normal?"
His wife's attitude was now understandable and he smiled broadly. "Honey, you worry too much. He's a little boy, and little boys have imaginary friends." He glanced back down at the drawing. "Well, usually only one of them. Maybe two. So ours has a whole troupe of 'em. Just shows he's got that much more imagination. See? I told you he'll make a fine artist!" He returned the drawing to her, and gave her another peck on the cheek. "Now, what's for dinner?"
The boy kept drawing his pictures, and every so often one would upset Victoria so much that she'd meet Jack at the door with it, where he would brush it off and go about his business. She tried to persuade him to go to a child therapist, but he would have nothing of it. "The boy is creative," he'd say. "Maybe he'll be a great scientist! Or an inventor! He could be another Edison! Or another Newton! And you want to take that away from him? Just let him be a kid." She nodded and agreed and tried to be placated, but her mother's intuition just wouldn't let her.
"Look at the one he drew today!" She met Jack halfway down the front walk and thrust out another crude drawing to him. "You think that's normal? People ten feet tall carrying him away?" Jack glared at her. Work had been hard. People were being fired all the time and if he didn't keep his productivity up, he could be next. The money in the trust wasn't enough to live off of and he didn't know if he'd be able to find work in this economy. The last thing he wanted to do was argue more about his son's imagination.
He gave it a quick glance. Sure enough, he was being carried off by tall men. He was smiling. Two people looked out of the windows of the house, crying. "Okay, so he runs off with his friends. Maybe he wants to join the circus or get away from his over protective mother," he said icily.
"Did you see us in the picture? We're in the window. We're crying because he went away but he thinks it's all a game." She snatched the picture back from him. "Jack, I need your help on this. I'm scared he's going to run away. He says he's been talking to these people in the house. I don't know, maybe there's a neighbor or something. Could one of those transients have come back and gotten in the house somehow?"
Clearly, this issue was no longer going to be resolved by Jack's reassurances. With a deep sigh, he plodded past her and up the front steps. "All right, all right, we'll talk to him."
Jack Jr. was up in his room, at his desk, happily drawing away. His father took one last look at the drawing his wife was holding, then at her, then he marched up behind him. "Whatcha drawing there, kid?"
"Hi daddy. It's the people that live in my closet." It was another sketch of the tall figures carrying him away, in it he was smiling broadly.
"Jack, there are no people in your closet."
"Yes there are. A whole mess of them. Like maybe seven." He looked up eagerly at his father. "Or even five! They're real nice and I'm going to go away with them."
Victoria poked her head in the door, she was about to approach them, but Jack waved her away. His lips curled and twitched as he debated what to do next. Quickly, it came to him and he waggled his finger at his wife.
"Look, kid, I'll prove it to you." He strode across the room and opened the closet door. It was empty. "See? Nobody lives in your closet."
He didn't look up from his coloring. "They're not in there right now. They don't stay there all the time, just sometimes." His legs swung in front of the chair.
"I think that's about enough drawing and talking about running away and people in the closet." His father came up behind him and gently took the crayon away from him, while simultaneously placing his other hand over the paper. "That's enough for tonight."
"But daddy, I'm drawing."
"I know, I know. But you're starting to make your mom nervous about your drawings, so we're going to take a little break from it for a while, okay?" He nodded sadly. "Now go give your mom a hug and tell her you're sorry."
He hopped down off of the chair and ran over to his mother, who had stooped down. "I'm sorry I scared you with my drawings, mommy," he said as he gave her a hug. "I love you." He kissed her on the cheek then wiggled free of her grasp and ran out of the room. She stood up and faced her husband.
He smiled. "Problem solved."
His wife met him at the door the next night. The glare in her eyes made it immediately clear that it wasn't good news. "Come in here and look at what your son did." She thrust a finger out at him before briefly turning and storming into the house. Jack missed the days when he would come home from work and relax as he dutifully followed her into the house.
She stormed up the stairs and stood outside Jack Jr.'s door, tapping her foot. "Just look at what he did."
The room was a mess. Drawings covered the walls, up to a height of about 3 feet. Al the exposed floor was covered in more drawings. The desk, the chair, the bed, everything. All repeating drawings - the house, people crying inside, tall men carrying Jack Jr. away. It looked like it had all been done in charcoal." The site was all so incredible, Jack couldn't help but laugh.
"You think this is funny? You think him destroying his room is funny? You think him disobeying you is funny? And you know what else? He has the unmitigated gaul to deny doing it! You know what? You deal with it. You think it's so funny, you deal with him. He's in the dining room waiting for you." She threw up her hands in disgust and stormed out of the room. The slam of their bedroom door echoed through the house.
Down in the dining room, Jack Jr. was sitting at a small chair, facing the corner, sobbing softly. "Son?" He visibly tensed up at the sound of his father's voice. "Son, come over here."
He shuddered and slowly rose to his feet. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was running.
"I told you no more drawings. Why did you draw all over your room like that?"
His son sniffled in reply. "I didn't. They did."
"We know you did it. They're your drawings and they're all over everything. Don't lie about it."
"I'm not lying." He stomped his foot. "The people that live in my closet did it. I told them not to, but they said they were going to anyway. I...I tried to stop them, but they're so big!"
Jack massaged his temples. "Don't lie about this, you're making it worse. You're already going to help us clean up the mess you made, and you're not getting any dessert for at least a month. Do you want to make it worse?" He looked his son in the eye. "You could get a spanking, too."
He shrieked and covered his rear. "No." He burst out with more uncontrolled sobbing. "I didn't do it. They did it. And...and...and...they're gonna take me away anyway. And then you'll be sad! You'll be sad you didn't believe me and sad you were mad and sad and mad and sad." He stomped around and bawled and descended into mere noise instead of actually saying anything.
This was too much for his father. Deftly, he stood up, scooped up his son and gave him a quick smack on his ass. The boy screamed louder and tried to squirm away, but his father stopped him promptly with the threat of another spanking. He still gave the occasional limp kick and pitiful wail as he was hauled upstairs to his room.
With his son balanced over his shoulder, Jack pulled down the dirty sheets and exposed the bare mattress. Then he tossed his son on it. "You're going to sleep in here tonight without any dinner and without any blankets, since you decided to draw on them. Tomorrow, we're going to clean up this whole mess and I never," he paused and emphasized the word, "want to hear of you doing something like this again." The small boy huddled on the bed and glared at his father.
Jack cocked his head and parted his lips, but only needed to raise a finger to cause his son to turn and lie down. With that, he turned down the gas-lamp and shut the door.
His wife was sitting on the bed in their room. "I took care of it." She averted her gaze from the window to the corner of the room. "I said I took care of it. He's going to help clean everything up, and he won't be lying about it again."
She snorted.
"Look, I said I took care of it." He raised his voice more quickly than she was expecting and she jumped at the tone. He backed off. "Sorry. Look, you were right. He was getting out of control with the drawings and lying about it. I gave him a good talking to and spanked him. He'll behave." He put his hand on her shoulder and she took it. "It's fine. I sent him to bed without any dinner tonight."
"Actually," he continued, "dinner sounds pretty good. I'm hungry, what are we having?"
"I made a roast."
"Sounds delicious. Let's eat."
"Should we really not give him any dinner? He's such a little boy."
"He'll be fine. One meal won't do him in. My father sent me to bed without dinner all the time." She gave him a disbelieving look and he shrugged in reply. "I had my moments, too. He'll be fine, let's have dinner."
She paused at his door as they passed it, starting to reach for the handle before he pulled her away and they went downstairs to eat.
They had scarcely sat down to eat before the door slamming started. Jack threw his fork down on his plate in disgust. "What is that kid up to now?"
"Well, you did yell at him pretty badly," his wife meekly chided.
"Don't you start. You wanted me to deal with it, and I dealt with it." More slamming doors. He tossed his napkin on the table. "You don't like how I'm doing? Fine, we'll go handle this together, let's go."
He pushed himself away from the table with such force that he almost knocked his chair over and stormed up the stairs with his wife on his heels. The door slamming was continuing. As they got closer, they could tell it was just coming from Jack Jr.'s room. He was slamming his closet door.
As Jack reached for the doorknob, the slamming promptly stopped. Must have heard us coming. Well, that's not going to save him. He reached forward and flung the door open. In the faint light that entered the room from the hallway, he could see a tall man with pale skin wearing a top hat looking out from his son's closet. The man had thin, pale skin, and green eyes that almost glowed. He smiled a smile that was far too broad for his face, exposing two rows of teeth sharpened to points.
They both paused momentarily, and then the tall man vanished into the closet and pulled the door shut.
It took him a moment to react to what he had just seen, but then Jack ran into the room and flung open the closet door. It was empty.
| 10/24/2006 | The Seventh Story of the House |
| 10/21/2006 | The Sixth Story of the House |
| 10/13/2006 | The Fifth Story of the House |
| 10/04/2006 | The Fourth Story of the House |
| 10/03/2006 | The Third Story of the House |
| 10/02/2006 | The Second Story of the House |
| 10/01/2006 | The First Story of the House |
| 10/01/2004 | It's Your Turn |
| 10/02/2003 | The Experiment |
| 10/02/2003 | The Stain |
| 10/02/2003 | The Recorder |
| 10/02/2003 | The Secret Room |
| 10/02/2003 | Why you should always carry tools |
| 10/02/2003 | The Solicitor |
| 10/02/2003 | The Picnic |
| 10/02/2003 | Moving Day |
| 10/02/2003 | The Very Short Life of a Fat Man |
| 10/02/2003 | Life on a Farm |
| 10/02/2003 | The Mooresbury Men |
| 10/02/2003 | A Better Killer |
| 10/02/2003 | Scary Noises |
| 02/01/2003 | The Wind Blows In My Heart... |
| 01/15/2003 | I Am The Goddess |
| 01/15/2003 | Freak |
| 01/12/2003 | They Won't Be Coming Back |
| 01/12/2003 | Bugs |
