The Haunting of Thanksgiving
“I just saw something flash across the hall doorway! Down there, by the floor!” He pointed. “I’ll bet it was that darn cat.” Uncle Art hated Fluffy. Actually he hated all cats, not Fluffy in particular. I never knew why, I thought cats were nice. Unless you were a bird, of course.
Everyone peered over at the hall doorway where Uncle Art had pointed, but no one saw anything out of the ordinary.
“Can’t be Fluffy,” Mom said. “ I put her out before we started eating. Otherwise she’d be a big nuisance, roaming around under the table, bothering everybody for scraps. I’ll go check, though, make sure. I’d better take her a little snack, it’s so cold and lonely out there, poor little thing.”
Then we were all distracted by the pies and cakes and ice cream and everything. I was wishing I hadn’t already stuffed myself, so I could pack in more dessert. Last year I had eaten too much dessert and had made myself sick. Not this year, though. Now I was eleven and my stomach was way bigger.
“She’s out there, all right,” Mom said coming back in with a trailing of cold air. “And complaining about it. Temperature is dropping and those clouds don’t look good. We’re going to get some snow for sure.”
“I guess we’d better plan on leaving early if we’re going to make it before it gets nasty,” Aunt Betty said worriedly. “We haven’t got our snow tires on yet.”
After putting away impossible quantities of pie and cake and ice cream, everyone pushed their chairs back and started clearing the table, including the remains of poor Missus Gob. Not much left, but enough for a couple of days of leftovers. It was a good thing we had a traditionally huge farmhouse kitchen because it was now full of people scraping and washing dishes, stuffing leftovers into containers, snacking on the occasional overlooked tidbit, visiting loudly and, in general, having great fun.
I didn’t say anything at the time but, just as I was picking up the mashed potato bowl—hardly anything left in it—to take in to the kitchen, I glanced up and saw something streak across the living room portal. It was far too fast for me to make out what it was, but I could see it was too high up off the floor to be Fluffy or any other cat.
That was strange, I thought uneasily as I carried the dish into the kitchen. Maybe I would have said something to someone, but everyone was talking at once and the noise level was way too loud for me to get a word in.
Cleanup over, we all retired to the living room, but it wasn’t long before both Aunt Elsa’s boyfriend and Uncle Bob stood up. Uncle Bob said, “Well folks, we hate to eat and run, but that weather is looking a little scary.” Aunt Betty and Aunt Elsa nodded, starting to stand.
“Can’t blame you for that.” Dad said, getting up. “Just glad you all could come. See you at Christmas? Maybe some more of your pies, Betty?”
“For sure and the sooner the better,” Betty smiled, “and thanks again. It was all great, especially that turkey!”
“Missus Gob,” Maryanne said, looking a little sad.
“I really was kind of sad,” the Maryanne in my audience put in. “I knew I was going to miss her. Still do.”
“Ahem,” I cleared my throat.
“Oh, sorry,” she said. Didn’t look sorry.
We all moved toward the door, gathering up winter coats and scarves, trading hugs and goodbyes. It was getting seriously cold out there and snow flurries were starting to swirl around. Aunt Elsa and the boyfriend, whose name I hadn’t learned and who I knew I would never see again, had come prepared and were putting on layer after layer of warm clothing.
“His name was Clem,” Maryanne chimed in. “I remember him well. He was so cute. I don’t know what ever happened to him, though.”
“Do you mind?” I asked. I don’t know how she can remember this stuff, cuteness or not. She was only six.
Uncle Asa would be leaving, too, since he was riding with Bob and Betty. At that moment Uncle Art exclaimed, “There it is again!” He pointed toward the open doorway to the hall. “That’s no cat. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a cat, it’s not that Fluffy critter.”
I went over and looked back and forth in the hall but found nothing. I knew what he meant though. I had seen it earlier, whatever it was. It was making me nervous.
After waving goodbye to our guests we let Fluffy in for the night, gave her more little cat snacks, and returned to the living room. Dad put a new log on the fire and we settled down for a cozy evening. It would be dark soon and the wind was already beginning to whistle around the corner of the house, pushing the snow flurries against the window panes.
“I hope everyone makes it home before this weather really sets in,” Uncle Art said, looking apprehensively out at the snow flurries. “I’m glad we’re staying over. Thanks for the invitation.”
“You’re more than welcome,” Dad told him. “You’ve got way too far to go and you’d be caught in it for sure.” We heard a rattling noise from overhead. “What’s that?” Dad asked, looking upward.
“Must be the wind,” Mom said. “It’s getting stronger by the minute.”
“Maybe,” Dad said, but he looked doubtful. I was doubtful, too.
The talk turned to hunting, as it usually did when Uncle Art was around, and to farming when Dad could get a word in. Mom and Auntie Liz were actually more interesting to listen to, as they tended to talk about people we knew and rummage through whatever peculiar behavior they had been caught at in recent days.
Usually, I was quickly bored by the adult talk and would find some mischief to get into, probably getting Maryanne into trouble, too, but I was far too full of food to want to do anything but sit in front of the warm fire. And I sure wasn’t going out to freeze in that windy out-of-doors. Then, too, I felt a little queasy and thought maybe my stomach hadn’t grown so big after all.
I was just drifting off into an overstuffed stupor when we all heard a loud bang coming from upstairs. Sounded like something ran into a wall.
“What the hell was that?” Uncle Art exclaimed. “It came from somewhere upstairs!”
“I’ll go see,” Dad said, heading for the stairs. We heard him clomping around up there and then back down the steps. “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head. “Couldn’t find a thing.” He looked puzzled. What was going on?
The evening passed pleasantly in conversation with Dad keeping the cozy fire going. Maryanne fell asleep early on, snuggled on the sofa between Mom and Auntie Liz and I wasn’t far behind, dozing pleasantly in front of the fire with the adults’ conversation rolling over me like a swarm of stingless bumblebees.
As all good things do, that great Thanksgiving trailed to an end. Mom helped me climb sleepily up the stairs while Dad carried Maryanne. They tucked us in and got Uncle Art and Auntie Liz settled into the guest room. The wind had really picked up by this time and was musically howling around the corner of the house and lashing branches from the big maple scratchily against the roof.
“Got to trim that tree,” I drowsily heard Dad say as he closed his bedroom door. I slipped into a welcome slumber.
I was suddenly wide awake! Not my usual slow-motion awakening. My eyes just snapped open! What time was it? It was late in the night! In the wee hours! Had I heard something? Felt something? Certainly I had heard the wind, it was still shrieking around outside, trying to tear the corners off the house. But it wasn’t the wind that woke me. Something else, but what?
It was totally dark. Our little security nightlight in the hall was out, I noticed, and supposed it was a victim of the usual storm-related power outage. Then I heard footsteps enter my room.
Little footsteps, nothing mysterious or scary. Maryanne’s quavering voice materialized out of the darkness in front of me. “I’m scared, Tommy. There’s ghosts. I saw ghosts. Can I come in here with you? I’ll be safe with you. Will you keep me safe?”
I pulled her in under the warm covers and told her not to worry, she’d be safe here. But I was starting to worry, myself. I heard some scratching and fluttering noises in the hall where Maryanne had just been. Then s
ilence. Maryanne pulled the covers over her head and held on to my hand. She thinks I can keep her safe. Well, if she thinks that, I guess I’ll have to do it but I sure wish I knew how. And, safe from what? Was there something out there?
I didn’t hear or see anything for a while and was again drifting off to sleep when suddenly I heard a whooshing noise heading down the staircase followed by a cacophony of hissing and snarling from a terrified Fluffy. I heard Fluffy scamper into the kitchen, slide across the linoleum, and bang into her hiding spot behind the stove. After that, only silence, but my eyes were wide open again. Maryanne squeezed my hand tighter. I couldn’t see her but I knew her eyes would be big in the darkness. She pulled the covers over her head again. The pillow, too.
Some sounds of movement came from Dad and Mom’s room. Good, I thought. They’d heard it, too. They’re getting up. I didn’t know whether it was ghosts or not, but something was going on. I hoped I could keep Maryanne safe. I couldn’t get scared now, she was counting on me.
Dad and Mom’s bedroom door opened and Dad came out with a pathetically dim flashlight in his hand. “Did you hear something out here?” he asked as he passed my open door. He went on to check Maryanne’s room. “She’s gone! Where’s Maryanne?” he exclaimed excitedly. “She’s in here, Dad,” I called out. “She got scared.” Not that I