(no subject)
Prompt in workshop..."17% of people report to have had an encounter with a ghost"
Its silly but was so much fun. Its not edited, sorry for odd grammar.
Janice threw the screen door open; it scraped the wooden floorboards as the spring pulled taut. Knowing it would snap back quickly, she pushed the boxes through the door and into the entryway.
The house was built in 1845, and featured a series of connecting rooms all opening onto a broad wraparound porch. A canopy of leaves and limbs spread upward and outward from a sentry of oak trees, their ample girth showing their age to be quite possibly as old as the house itself. It was a fixer upper, but one that had history…a prerequisite for Janice, having grown up in the south where such houses once littered the landscapes.
The screen door slammed shut, adding its own dust to the collection that coated every surface. Suddenly tired, she stepped over the boxes to sit on the bottom of the staircase - a sweeping number reminiscent of Gone with the Wind. From her low perch, she studied the stacks of crates in a vague attempt to find caffeine. “Coffee pot is here somewhere…” Mentally defeated before she really started, she grabbed a package of cookies from a nearby bag, left over from a hasty, unhealthy breakfast. Shifting her weight, she was startled to find that the step was loose. Leaning toward the edge to look more closely, the board snapped, and she tumbled to the floor.
“Geez…nice. More work.”
Pushing her hair from her face, she rolled onto her knees to push the board back into place as best she could. “Wait a minute…”
The light reached just inside the hollow space to reveal a notebook. Janice pulled it out, blowing the dust from its cover in dense clouds. The cover revealed nothing of its contents, and so she pulled it open, the spine crackling with the ache of things not used often.
To no one, she read aloud:
January 22, 1982
Dear Diary - it is day one of my new adventure. Having dumped the husband that was, I am so happy to set up housekeeping in my new place…a mansion by some standards. Grandaddy’s money looks good wrapped around my furniture!
January 24, 1982
Dear Diary - I have started to unpack, but am a little unnerved by the sounds from under the house. From the meowing, its clearly a cat - probably feral - but might as well be invisible. I can’t see much under there, and I am hoping to lure it out with tuna. I’ve placed a bowl near the front door.
Janice paused, smiled at the idea of adding a cat or dog to her new façade. Grabbing a bottle of water from the same bag, she read on…
January 30, 1982
Diary - All the furniture is in place, and I’ve started with other decorations. Jamie says I should hve painted before I moved in, but I’ve got my whole life to paint, right? Oh..and still no sign of that cat…or cats as it seems the case may be. I’ve named them all Cookie…since they meow loudest when I am eating Oreos. Its like they can see the food…but they won’t touch the tuna. I’ve stopped leaving it because its costing me a freakin’ fortune.
February 3, 1982
Dearest Diary -
If I am writing in a sloppy manner its because I am drunk. The meowing has grown so loud that I can’t sleep without a good fifth of anything available. Tonight’s selection is Nyquil and tonic. The tonic adds a top-shelf touch. Oh…and the Oreos have started to disappear. I buy them, they vanish. Something is really creepy.
February 6, 1982
I am freakin’ sick and tired of this! I think someone is either messing with me, or maybe I have the most prolific cat in the world living under the house. I swear there are at least 75 of them…meow meow meow meow meow…..What the freakin’ hell do they want? My head is full of the noise, and now…well this is going to sound crazy, but now I swear I see them. Dripping from the walls, dashing across the posy borders I carefully applied in the upstairs bathroom, sliding down banisters and sometimes I catch one peeking from inside the telephone..okay, that one isn’t exactly visible. I press the receiver to my face and see a tiny yellow eye. I think I need to call someone.
February 8, 1982
Okay…this is fucking incredible. I called animal control, and they swept this place clean…no cats. They were fucking making figure eights around the fucking guy’s legs…and he says to me no cats here lady. No cats. No fucking cats. They’re fucking everywhere and he says no cats.
The buzz of Janice’s cell phone sent a shot up her spine.
She reached for her purse with shaky hands, but stopped when she heard the tiny meow.
Its silly but was so much fun. Its not edited, sorry for odd grammar.
Janice threw the screen door open; it scraped the wooden floorboards as the spring pulled taut. Knowing it would snap back quickly, she pushed the boxes through the door and into the entryway.
The house was built in 1845, and featured a series of connecting rooms all opening onto a broad wraparound porch. A canopy of leaves and limbs spread upward and outward from a sentry of oak trees, their ample girth showing their age to be quite possibly as old as the house itself. It was a fixer upper, but one that had history…a prerequisite for Janice, having grown up in the south where such houses once littered the landscapes.
The screen door slammed shut, adding its own dust to the collection that coated every surface. Suddenly tired, she stepped over the boxes to sit on the bottom of the staircase - a sweeping number reminiscent of Gone with the Wind. From her low perch, she studied the stacks of crates in a vague attempt to find caffeine. “Coffee pot is here somewhere…” Mentally defeated before she really started, she grabbed a package of cookies from a nearby bag, left over from a hasty, unhealthy breakfast. Shifting her weight, she was startled to find that the step was loose. Leaning toward the edge to look more closely, the board snapped, and she tumbled to the floor.
“Geez…nice. More work.”
Pushing her hair from her face, she rolled onto her knees to push the board back into place as best she could. “Wait a minute…”
The light reached just inside the hollow space to reveal a notebook. Janice pulled it out, blowing the dust from its cover in dense clouds. The cover revealed nothing of its contents, and so she pulled it open, the spine crackling with the ache of things not used often.
To no one, she read aloud:
January 22, 1982
Dear Diary - it is day one of my new adventure. Having dumped the husband that was, I am so happy to set up housekeeping in my new place…a mansion by some standards. Grandaddy’s money looks good wrapped around my furniture!
January 24, 1982
Dear Diary - I have started to unpack, but am a little unnerved by the sounds from under the house. From the meowing, its clearly a cat - probably feral - but might as well be invisible. I can’t see much under there, and I am hoping to lure it out with tuna. I’ve placed a bowl near the front door.
Janice paused, smiled at the idea of adding a cat or dog to her new façade. Grabbing a bottle of water from the same bag, she read on…
January 30, 1982
Diary - All the furniture is in place, and I’ve started with other decorations. Jamie says I should hve painted before I moved in, but I’ve got my whole life to paint, right? Oh..and still no sign of that cat…or cats as it seems the case may be. I’ve named them all Cookie…since they meow loudest when I am eating Oreos. Its like they can see the food…but they won’t touch the tuna. I’ve stopped leaving it because its costing me a freakin’ fortune.
February 3, 1982
Dearest Diary -
If I am writing in a sloppy manner its because I am drunk. The meowing has grown so loud that I can’t sleep without a good fifth of anything available. Tonight’s selection is Nyquil and tonic. The tonic adds a top-shelf touch. Oh…and the Oreos have started to disappear. I buy them, they vanish. Something is really creepy.
February 6, 1982
I am freakin’ sick and tired of this! I think someone is either messing with me, or maybe I have the most prolific cat in the world living under the house. I swear there are at least 75 of them…meow meow meow meow meow…..What the freakin’ hell do they want? My head is full of the noise, and now…well this is going to sound crazy, but now I swear I see them. Dripping from the walls, dashing across the posy borders I carefully applied in the upstairs bathroom, sliding down banisters and sometimes I catch one peeking from inside the telephone..okay, that one isn’t exactly visible. I press the receiver to my face and see a tiny yellow eye. I think I need to call someone.
February 8, 1982
Okay…this is fucking incredible. I called animal control, and they swept this place clean…no cats. They were fucking making figure eights around the fucking guy’s legs…and he says to me no cats here lady. No cats. No fucking cats. They’re fucking everywhere and he says no cats.
The buzz of Janice’s cell phone sent a shot up her spine.
She reached for her purse with shaky hands, but stopped when she heard the tiny meow.