Baby barked.

  Tonya turned and walked into the house. "Come on. I hope you like meatloaf."

  * * *

  The door opened into a small room filled with mud-caked boots and coats, then opened into the kitchen. She led me into a small dining area. "Matt? Is that short for Matthew?"

  "Yes, but please, call me Matt. Sometimes I'm called Mr. Christian so often I forget what my first name is." I moved through the kitchen to a simple table with two wooden benches and sat.

  She placed Baby down on a mound of towels on the floor at the entrance of a hallway. "I'm sure that can be difficult with so many children. I don't see how you do it."

  "Back in Atlanta I had more students, but that's completely different."

  "Why did you leave Atlanta?"

  "Um..." I stalled.

  She put her hand on top of mine. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

  "I just needed a change. The hustle of the city was starting to get to me. My nerves."

  She removed her hand and studied me. "But there's nothing to worry about?"

  I continued, "I'm completely fine. I just decided the country life sounded better. I have enjoyed it..." I got stuck on my lies.

  She forced a smile. "I understand. Everyone has something they'd rather not discuss."

  The conversation had taken a wrong turn. I moved to adjust my glasses when the thought of Baby's skin on my fingers saved me. "May I use your restroom?"

  "Of course," she pointed down the hall behind her. "It's the third door, down on the left."

  I excused myself and circled wide to avoid the dog. Baby lifted her head as she searched for me with her foggy, granite eyes. She turned toward the hall entry, her nose pointed right at me, and let out a snarl.

  "Baby, it's okay," assured Tonya.

  The dog lowered her head onto her bed, but still showed her teeth in disapproval.

  In the hallway, there was a musky scent, much like the one I'd noticed in the schoolhouse. The floor pitched downward. I assumed it was the recent addition to the house. The floor was more rigid beneath my feet, there was no pad under the carpet, and I could feel the change in the surface in my knees and back. The smell of moist earth got stronger.

  All the doors in the hall were closed, so when I came to the third door on the right, I opened it. It wasn't the bathroom, but instead a small storage room with scents of fresh corn and fresh-cut wood, sweet and earthy. Leaning against the two adjacent walls were wooden frames that looked about ten by ten. Under the single window, there was also a table with sheets of burlap-like material.

  Baby barked.

  I pulled my head out of the room and turned to the other side of the hallway. It was the first time I had been in someone else's house since I had moved to Middwood. The older homes in the "country" were much different, but once I crossed the hall and stood in front of the toilet, I got a familiar fright.

  "Hello, Satan," I said.

  The devil painting in front of me was smaller than the one I had trapped in my closet. I pursed my lips. Perhaps the ghosts out in the backwoods were tiny, so smaller paintings were all they needed.

  I wet my hands, but there wasn't any soap. I noticed a Lustre-Creme bottle, but the label had long been worn off. I opened it and took a sniff, and it was the same inviting scent of corn silk from across the hall. It would have to do. I couldn't help but take in the sweet smell as I lathered up my hands. "Get thee behind me, Satan, and get thee dog cooties down the sink."

  I dried my hands and made my way back up the hall. Tonya was busy setting the table.

  "Where did you get the soap in your bathroom?"

  "I make all kinds of things," she put her hand to her chest and gave me a terrible imitation of a Southern Belle.

  "I saw that. I mean, I didn't mean to, but I went into the wrong room by mistake. I saw your studio." I tried to cover my snooping and keep the conversation going. "I wish I was good with my hands, but that isn't my gift." I didn't know what she was thinking, but our conversation paused. "I have a hard enough time with my left and right."

  She cocked her head. "And you're a teacher?"

  I shrugged. I could almost feel her in my head. It was a strange sensation to have so much anxiety pop up so quickly.

  She smiled again. "Well, I'm glad you like the soap. I'll have to send you home with some, but after that, you'll have to buy it. That is how I keep food on the table."

  "Deal."

  "Speaking of the table, have a seat." She crossed the living room and opened the back door. "Peter. Time to eat."

  Once Peter came in, we all sat down to a good meal of meatloaf, carrots, and potatoes. Granted, it wasn't as good as Grandma Rollin's, but a darn close second place. I tried not to eat like a pig, but Tonya kept giving me more.

  I finally held up my hands in surrender. "I'm not sure I can eat another bite."

  "You don't like it? Or is it just you eat like a bird?" asked Peter.

  I shot him a blank stare. "I ate everything on my plate." Then turned to Tonya. "I assure you, it's amazing."

  "Good, ’cause there's more," Tonya said.

  "Oh, my goodness," I smiled painfully.

  "You can do it, Christian. I believe in you, but if not, then more for me."

  Tonya stood and removed the pan holding the few remaining slices of meatloaf. "I'll wrap some up for you to take."

  "Maybe you can put some meatloaf in a grilled cheese sandwich," Peter said with a spark of longing.

  "That actually sounds good," I said smiling with my face and stomach.

  "It does, doesn't it? We will have to try that, won't we, Mom?" he said grinning with a full mouth of food.

  Pointing to Peter, I asked, "But you? Where do you put it all?"

  "Oh, I can eat. I'm a good eater," he said mocking his mom displaying both a mother's pride and a mother's pain.

  We all laughed. His impression of her was spot on because she followed it with, "Yes, you are a good eater. Too good of an eater. Eating us out of house and home."

  I immediately reached for my wallet. "Please allow me to pay you for the meal," but then I remembered I didn't have any money.

  "No. Besides, that remark was for Peter."

  Tonya sat back down next to me. "So, Matt, do you plan to stay in Middwood?"

  A tension fell over the room. I stretched my neck slightly to each side to keep the tension from holding on to me. "I believe so. I like my students. I love the house I'm staying in, and the view, even though it’s just of the yard and the street, it's a step up from where I was."

  "So, you came to a haunted town to be calm?" Peter asked.

  Tonya reached across the table and popped him on his arm. "Don't talk with your mouth full." She resettled her gaze on me. "But he is right. I'm not sure if the valley is the right place for calm."

  I grinned. "I thought you said it was boring?"

  "Boring yes, but calm, no. The dead have a problem resting here."

  I paused, my eyes wide. I'm sure I looked like an idiot, but Tonya had just opened the door for a conversation about the town. I tried to chew my food quickly.

  Trying to play it cool, I asked, "What is that all about, really? I'm not a superstitious person, and I can't wrap my head around all of it."

  She looked at me. "Mr. Christian, the town is haunted. It's as simple as that."

  I stopped mid-chew. Here was my chance to finally get some answers. "You can't be serious. The adults believe it, too? I thought it was just something to keep the children in line, like Santa Claus."

  "I wish it wasn't, but it's all true," Tonya said.

  "Mom?" Peter said in pain. "There's no Santa Claus?"

  Tonya rolled her eyes and playfully swatted Peter. "Stop it."

  Peter laughed, then pointed at me with his fork. "See, I told you. He doesn't believe it."

  I shrugged. "Ghosts aren't real."

  Peter shrugged, mocking me. "Yes, they are. Everyone in Middwood knows the story of the ghost children."

  I looked at Tonya.

  She shrugged. "Everyone knows the story."

  "Except me," I said with a flat smile.

  "Wanna hear it?" asked Peter.

  "Oh man, yes."

  "Can I tell him, Mom?"

  "Since, apparently, no one else is going to," Tonya waved him on.

  57

  Peter turned in his seat and bent his arms at the elbow, throwing up his hands like he was catching a hiked football. "Thirteen years ago, at this same time of year, three weeks before Thanksgiving, the Johnson children, Grace, Isaac, little Turtle, and Joshua, went crazy. No one knows for sure why. Some people say it was something in the water. Other say it was the devils and witches, and some think it had to do with the old tales of the monsters from over the mountains, the changelings—"

  “The what?”

  “Old, old folklore. Hush and listen.” He went back to his previous stance. “So, the Johnson children went crazy, and they took up an ax and hatchets. First, they went after their mother, Sarah, the previous school teacher, but her husband, Roger, saved her. Before they could escape, Joshua cut Roger's leg! Sarah and Roger made a run for it, and the kids chased their parents down the mountain, trapping them in old man Casteel's barn. Sarah and Roger barricaded the door, but the children chopped it down with the ax and hatchets. The parents had nowhere to run, and Roger was hurt, so the kids moved in..."

  "And?" I asked.

  "They killed their parents."

  "Jesus, and they killed them with hatchets?"

  Peter pointed. "Well, except for the oldest, Joshua, he had an ax."

  "Good God. Well then how did they become ghosts, I mean, how did they die?" I asked.

  "The next morning, they lit their house on fire and killed themselves, screaming out their confessions as they burned alive."

  "Why did they kill their parents?"

  "They went crazy," Peter said.

  "There are rumors that the oldest boy, Joshua, talked his younger brother and sisters into it," Tonya said shaking her head.

  "But what caused them to kill their parents, and why did they kill themselves?"

  "Regret, shame, penance, I don't know. Surrounding families rushed to try to put out the fire, but it was too late. They're the ones who heard the children confess."

  "How is it possible their ghosts?" I asked.

  Tonya shook her head. "This is Middwood. Strange shit happens here all the time. Would you like some banana pudding?"

  "Um ..." I regarded her offer, but my mind was still swimming with the story of the ghost children. "Maybe I'm not crazy after all."

  "I sure hope not," she joked.

  "Well, I want some banana pudding," Peter said, chewing with a smile. "But trust me, Mom, he's crazy."

  Baby barked.

  Tonya half-stood, craning her neck to see out the kitchen window. "Who is it, I wonder?"

  There was a knock at the door.

  "Peter, would you mind getting that?" she asked.

  "It's not him, is it?" Peter groaned. On the second knock, Peter got up and walked heavily to the door.

  Tonya slid closer to me and began to laugh, although I hadn't said anything.

  "What's so funny?" I asked with pleasant, surprised confusion.

  Baby yipped and yapped.

  "Good afternoon, son," said the voice outside. "Is your mother home?"

  "Yes, but we are having lunch. We have company. Can you come back later—"

  Randy Bankward pushed past, Peter. "I'm sure your mother won't mind me coming in."

  He was dressed in his Sunday finest on a Saturday afternoon. Baby growled at him. Looking down at her, he scolded, "I'll have none of that from you, old lady." He took his hat off as he crossed in and held his hat in front of his belly. He stopped smiling when he saw me.

  "Oh, I didn't mean to intrude," he said with passive-aggressive sarcasm.

  "Baby, hush," Tonya commanded. The dog sighed and reluctantly settled. "We were having lunch, Randy," Tonya said. "Matt was telling me the most amazing stories about Atlanta. We will have to go there sometime. Won't we, Matt?"

  All eyes were on me, and I had no idea what to say. I looked at Peter who was equally surprised, but then the boy's expression narrowed on his mother.

  Completely confused, I played along, like some bad improv game. "Yes. Atlanta is a great city. We should all go sometime."

  "Peter, too, I suppose?" asked Mr. Bankward.

  She laughed. "Peter wouldn't go with us on our trip, right Matt?"

  "Of course, he could. Mr. Bankward could come as well."

  "Oh, Matt, you are so fresh," giggled Tonya and rubbed my arm.

  "I see." Bankward scrunched his chin. "Mr. Christian, what brings you here?" Bankward asked.

  "Mr. Mullis sent me here," I replied.

  Mr. Bankward stepped closer to me. "Well, did you get what you came for?"

  I nodded.

  "Good," he said. "Then why don't you get going? After Thursday's misstep, I'm sure you have plenty of work to do."

  "Peter's my ride, and he's still eating. I don't want to be rude."

  "I thought you said Peter was a troublemaker?" Bankward said crossing his arms.

  Peter shot me a questioning frown.

  "Well, there's no doubt about that." I smiled. "But that was before I got to know him better."

  "Teachers and students should not—"

  "Oh, Randy, stop. I invited him. I'm sure there is nothing wrong showing our new, young, handsome teacher a little hospitality," protested Tonya.

  "That's very kind of you, Tonya," Mr. Bankward replied.

  "Mom, just give him the rent money," murmured Peter.

  Tonya walked to the kitchen and opened one of the canisters on the counter. "Here," she said as she handed him an envelope.

  "Aren't you going to invite me to stay for lunch?"

  She clenched her jaw. "Randy, would you like some lunch? I can wrap something up for you, and you can take it with you when you leave."

  "Tonya, it's a nice offer, but wouldn't you like some company since the boys are leaving?" He put the envelope back on the table.

  Peter shook his head. "Oh, I'm sorry Mr. Bankward, you must have misunderstood. We aren't leaving."

  "Well, you're going to drive your teacher home."

  "Mom?" Peter whined looking for backup.

  She sighed and forced a smile at her son. "It's okay, honey. I do have business to discuss with him."

  Peter shifted his eyes to Bankward. "Do you want me to stay?"

  She crossed to Peter and ran her fingers through his dark hair. "Peter, you know your mother can take care of herself." She grinned. "Go on. We'll have dessert when you get back."

  Peter stood, leaving everything in its place and stormed out the door.

  The screen door sprung shut behind him.

  I wiped my mouth and rose. "Thank you for lunch and... the afternoon." I faltered, "Are you okay to be with him alone?"

  She gazed at me and anger flashed in her eyes. "I'll be fine."

  I paused, staring at Bankward, then nodded to Tonya. "Thank you, again."

  Peter honked the horn. The Rustic's sputtering and hisses masked the hint of a whispering choir blowing through the dead trees. I shuddered and moved quickly to the truck.

  Tonya watched us from the screen door as I got in the truck. She looked sullen, then she backed into the house, the shadows swallowing her.

  "He's a horrible man," Peter spat and pounded the steering wheel with the palm of his hand. He lowered his head but then composed himself.

  I pushed my glasses up on my nose. "I can't say I like him much either."

  "Rich old bastard."

  "Rich old bastard with power. That's how it works. They're the ones in charge."

  We drove in silence. I couldn't think of anything to say, and Peter was distracted with his own brooding. I had lots of questions, but asking a son about his mom's sexual partners usually wasn't the best idea. I wish I kept up with sports, I thought. It would have been the perfect time to bring up baseball. "Does Kentucky have a pro baseball team?"

  "No. Why do you ask?"

  "I like the sound of my own voice."

  He looked at me, then gave the slightest smirk. "You like baseball?"

  "I can feed you a line and say yes if it'd cheer you up."

  He huffed. "Nah, I'm not really into baseball. I can't sit still that long."

  "I would ask you about movies, but I see that Middwood doesn't have a drive-in movie."

  He snorted. "Middwood doesn't have anything."

  "It has magic water." I grinned.

  He shrugged. "Old news."

  "To you, maybe. But my jaw feels brand new. Besides, now you can tell the other students you decked me."

  He let out a sound that resembled a laugh.

  There was a lull, and we rode in silence again.

  "Thanks, Christian."

  "What for?" I asked.

  "For trying to cheer me up. Thanks."

  58

  After Peter dropped me off and I showered, I went to collapse in the Tomb. As I lay there, many things were bothering me, but there was one thing that couldn't be silenced or pushed back: the ghosts were real?

  If so, was it as simple as not breaking any of the rules to keep them at bay? Were the rules really that tried and true? How could a few ghost children watch all the windows in the town at one time? If they are ghosts, what keeps them from coming in at will? They were ghosts. They could walk through walls. They could be seen or unseen. They could be in this room right now, and I wouldn't know.

  I shivered and peered around in the blackness and pulled the covers up a bit more. Maybe that is part of the reason there were no windows in bedrooms, in the pitch black, the living couldn't see the dead.

  They had to be real. But I wasn't sure about the episode with the two little girls. That could have been the drugs. Vomiting girl ghosts? I scoffed.

  I suddenly sat up in my bed. "I didn't take any pills today." Just the words in my mouth made me want to run down the hall and stuff my face, to crunch on the chalky heaven.

  However, I didn't. I couldn't.

 

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