Chapter 8

MYSTERY OF THE SINGING GHOST

By Ana Riley

© Ana Riley 2003

CHAPTER 8 – Page 56

CHAPTER 8

“Ethan!” I can barely whisper, the dust is so thick. “What was that?”

“Could be a bat, raccoon or some other small animal.”

“If it’s a small animal, then why do I hear footsteps? It’s the ghost, Ethan! She’s here and we’re going to meet her.”

“HELLO! You folks in there?”

Ethan is grinning again. “Your ghost is male, bald, skinny and runs the local store.”

“Hi! We’re upstairs!” I’m glad Ethan looks so great when he grins because he sure does a lot of it around me.

“Forgot to tell you somethin’ ‘bout that ghost. Thought you might wanna know, ‘specially since you were serious about comin’ out here and all.”

“We’ll be right down.” Ethan has that wonderful ‘take charge’ way about him. I feel safe with him.

These stairs are miserable to say the least! I’m glad I’m not pregnant and having to climb them everyday! I’m also glad that that broken step is as small as it is or climbing over it would be a risk in itself. Fortunately, if I did fall, I’d land right on top of Ethan. He’d reach out to me with his arms and I would fall helplessly into them, my head saved by his muscular chest…

“Hi again!” The store owner smells as if he’s been smoking. Maybe I didn’t smell his clothes in the store because everything smelled. Does he leave his cigarette burning when he makes unscheduled runs out to haunted houses?

“Hey, Missy, forgot to tell you why that there girl haunted this here place.” He’s pausing, making me wait for the answer. He’s as much caught up in this mystery as we are.

“Maybe we should go outside and talk.” Ethan has been clearing his throat every so often. Dust must be getting to him too.

After the near fall through the stairs and then the rattled nerves with the door closing, I’m rather glad to be outside for a moment. The sun is warm and even though the air is autumn crisp, it’s beautiful. The trees are bravura. Do you know what bravura means? It’s a great word! I should use it more often. It’s less boring than beautiful.

I love it when the trees turn gold and red. Then, when the leaves fall, they line the road, in some places covering it completely. Our lane is like that. The leaves fall from the trees on both sides and end up covering the road completely in some areas. When I go running – did I tell you I like to run? Exercise is so good for one’s mind. It’s also good for helping me get into my jeans and short skirts. Keeps my legs looking fit. – I love the crunching sound that is made when I step on the leaves. The squishing sound is also cool when I run after it has rained and the leaves are soaked.

“So you two found this place okay.”

“Good directions.” Ethan is so polite.

“What did you remember about the ghost?” My tone shows interest.

“Well, ya see this here foundation?”

I hadn’t noticed it when we entered the house, but to the right is a very old, cracked cement pad, the pebbles of gravel popping through everywhere. It’s about four meters square. The foundation is approximately two meters from the right side of the house, closest to the lean-to.

“This here was an outdoor sauna.” The store owner’s boots must be as old as he is. They’re leather, complete with leather laces that cinch them closed halfway up the calf. The leather boots are as yellow as his cigarette stained fingers and they wrinkle around his feet not unlike his face wrinkles with each expression. “Dukhobors took over this place sometime in the ‘20’s. They sure liked their saunas. Most every Dukhobor in the county had one. Some still standin’.” The store owner’s fingers are twitching. He’s probably wishing he had his cigarette.

“Story is that this here girl belonged to the Paulsson’s – folks from Norway. They built this house, built it outta logs, logs standin’ upright, not stacked like we do ‘em.” I never noticed how animated this old man is. He’s engrossed in what he has to say. “They had a girl ‘bout the age of this here ghost you’re chasin’. The girl got the sickness – diphtheria. Killed lots o’ kids in them days! She died and they buried her right here, by the house, though that there lean-to wasn’t on, so it was close but not too close. Then those Dukhobors came along and didn’t pay no heed to the grave and built right over it!” I wish you could see the storekeeper’s eyebrows. They’ve gone right up into his hairline, he’s so excited. “Maybe the grave marker fell over, was rotted. No one knows for sure. Anyway, that there Norwegian girl was mighty upset that a bunch of naked Dukhobors was getting’ all steamed up right there on top o’ her grave. So, she got all ghosted up and made sure no one never got no sleep.”

Ethan is trying as hard as I am, not to laugh. It’s funny when you think about what he’s just told us, but this storekeeper is so serious that I think he’d think we don’t appreciate the gravity of the situation. I’ll ask a question to keep him going.

“Did she ever have a proper burial, like in a church or with a minister?”

The storekeeper keeps scratching his bald head. “Weren’t no preachers here back then. Maybe them Norwegians did their own ceremony.” When he shrugs, his skinny shoulders look like sticks pushing up inside a flannel shirt.

“Have there been any recent hauntings here?” Ethan is so calm. I think one of the reasons people like talking to him is because he’s such a good listener. He makes you feel like what you are saying is really important.

“None that I heard of. Not recently, anyway. No one comes here, not that I know of, anyway.”

“Do you think anyone would mind if my girlfriend and I camped out here one night?” Jenny would find this fascinating.

If the old store owner's eyebrows were dissolved into his forehead a few minutes ago, they have all but disappeared completely. He’s scratching again. Maybe he’s trying to find his eyebrows.

“I dunno. Guess you could always ask the farmer who owns this here land. He lives on the other corner. Didn’t wanna build too close to this old place, ‘case this girl’s still on the prowl.” When the store owner’s finger points, it looks like an arrow, his finger is so thin.

“Thank you for coming all this way to tell us this. We really appreciate it.” Ethan is being his usual polite self again.

“No problem. Just thought you might wanna know ‘bout the sauna.” The store owner is turning away. His faded, plaid shirt is so thin that every bone on his spine is a flannel bump down his back, and it’s hard to tell for sure if the belt holding up his jeans is going to do its job when this man bends over. His hips are so skinny, I wouldn’t be surprised if his pants fell right off. Photo by A. Riley 2003

“Thanks a bunch. By the way, what’s your first name?” I’ve just realized that we’ve spent a good part of the afternoon with this man and I never asked his name.

“Ernie. Folks call me Ernie. Short for Ernest.”

“Thanks again, Ernie. We appreciate all your help.”

“No problem. Anytime. Drop by again sometime when you’re out this way.”

Ernie has a bit of a limp when he walks. I’ve crossed my fingers that a thorn on one of the weeds doesn’t snag his pants and that his belt doesn’t lose its hold and that we don’t see Ernie’s pants fall off before he gets to his pick-up truck.

“So, Missy, are you seriously thinking about bringing Jenny out here?”

I have to smile at Ethan’s calling me, ‘Missy’. He’s even used the same tone and manner as Ernie.

“Why not? She’d love the adventure. I’ll email her when we get back. Oh Ethan, isn’t all this so very exciting? The girl, the sauna, the Dukhobors – the ghost is real! That university professor I told you about, the one that writes books on this stuff, talked about the same kinds of scenarios. Amazing, huh? I just have to photograph the foundation. Stand on it, will you?”

“Then, we’ll check out the attic.”

“Definitely, even if it means climbing those wretched stairs again.”

Going back into the house is different this time. Knowing that a family with a girl my age, actually lived here, makes me feel a little like I’m trespassing. I’m feeling like I am entering a home, not just an old haunted house.

“Watch the attic door when I open it. There may be bats.”

“Ethan, what’s that scratching sound?”

“Probably just mice. Maybe even a rat.” His grin is now a smirk.

“Rats? Did you say, rats?”

“R-a-t-s! You know, those cuddly, cute little furry gray creatures that nibble slowly at dead humans.” Smirking.

“There are rats in Saskatchewan?”

“A few farms have them. Some with four legs, some with two.” Smirk and grin.

Photo by A. Riley 2003 I’m behind Ethan on the stairs this time. He’s pushing on the attic door. I’m glad he can’t see that the thought of being attacked by bats, birds, rats, mice, is not my idea of a good time on a bravura, autumn Sunday afternoon. That scratching sound is grating on my nerves. He’s got the wood door loose. The creaking of the hinges is loud, even louder because there’s nothing else making noise except the scratching, and still louder because we’re in the middle of nowhere, on a deserted farm, on the ‘Day of Rest’. Everything seems to be sleeping, resting, except whatever it is that is making the scratching sound and whatever just flew across the opening of the attic door.
“Swallows. Not bats. Not yet.” Ethan’s speaking in short phrases. I think he’s a little nervous. He’s climbing into the attic.

I’m trying to speak. Dust. Swallow and clear my throat. “Ethan, is it safe to go up there?”

“Not too bad. A few soft spots. Want to come up?”

“I’ll stay here in case you fall through the floorboards.” I don’t know what I’d do if he did fall through. I better have a plan. I’d do first aid then take his keys, drive the jeep to the store and get help. That’s it. That’s what I’d do. I always feel better if I have a game plan.

“Gia, there’s stuff up here … old trunks, lumber, dishes, a chair … a child’s old tricycle, and …” Silence.

“Ethan?” More silence. “Ethan?” I can hear him shuffling on his knees across the floor. He’s moving towards the attic door. His face is covered with cobwebs, sweat and dust.

“…and this!” Ethan’s head is showing through the open attic door. He’s holding a torn and tattered white, cotton nightgown.

Dear Reader,

Do you like the real photos of the real ghost house near the real town of Hampton, Saskatchewan? I think Ethan's leg going up the stairs is cool. I also think the photo of the outside of the house has an eerie feel to it. What do you think?

If you go back to Chapter 7, you'll see the photo of the actual bedroom I went into. Can you imagine having four kids in this one room? Can you imagine that those four babies were all born in that very room and not in a hospital?

Hope you like the photos. Bye for now,

Gia

Analynn Riley@

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