Scene Two
The kitchen, much like Melody's room, was in a state of disaster. It was a rehabilitation project of her mother's – the last room to be remodeled since the family took over the house from Bernie's parents.
Inconveniently for anyone who wanted to make a sandwich, the process had only just begun. Currently half of the orange and brown "chicken" wallpaper was spottily removed wherever it was already loose; some of the linoleum floor tiles had been pried up at several corners where Lonnie wanted to see what it looked like underneath; and nearly all of the cabinet doors had been completely removed, along with the face panels and handles of the drawers.
Melody's father Bernie, much to his chagrin, was currently in the process of prying open the silverware drawer with a screwdriver in the hopes of acquiring a knife for his jar of peanut butter.
"What are you doing here?" Melody asked him, still enraged from her conversation with her mother.
Bernie braced himself, not wanting exactly to be the recipient of his daughter's bad mood, but not finding any quick escape from it. Melody was now blocking the only easily accessible door, and his stomach was growling at him in need of a snack.
"Well, good afternoon to you, too," he said, struggling with the lid of the massive peanut butter container. He stopped this effort and reached out a hand to her. "Hi," he said, in a lambent tone. "I'm Bernie Jackson, and probably to your constant and utter annoyance, I'll be playing the part of your father for the rest of your life."
Melody scowled at him and opened the fridge, probably too gruffly, as all of the jars in the door clanked together in an obvious effort of communal protectiveness. She almost stomped her foot on the ground, and then stopped. She knew that she was being ridiculous. She hated when her parents made her angry like this, but this frustration was directed mostly at herself for letting them get to her in the first place.
"I said hello to you after I changed into my sweatpants about a half hour ago, but you didn't say anything."
Melody didn't say anything this time, either.
"Deep in thought I guess."
"I was working on something."
"Some secret project, eh? One you seem rather reluctant to talk about. What is it, Petunia?" Bernie said, placing his arm around her shoulders in what Melody perceived was a sarcastic and pseudo-comforting way. “Decoding the language of hamsters? Cracking the nuclear launch codes?”
She brushed his arm aside and escaped through the door. In his efforts to make light of sticky situations, he usually only tended to succeed at making things worse.
"Oh, come on," Bernie called after her. "It's not going to be one of those days, is it?"
Lonnie then entered the room, looking behind herself in the direction that Melody had breezed past. She then turned to her husband. "So what did you say to her?"
"Nothing," he said. "Just being my charming self."
Lonnie smirked. "Well, that explains why she's even angrier than when I left her."
"I'M NOT ANGRY!" came a voice from the living room.
"Ears like a steel bat," Bernie said.
"THAT IS SO NOT THE PHRASE!" Melody returned.
"Don't worry," Lonnie said through the closed kitchen door. "It's just your father being himself."
"Thanks dear," he said, and kissed her on the nose.
Lonnie smiled at this, but it soon faded. "You got peanut butter all over me. How do you always manage that?"
"That," he said, "is for requiring me to use a tool to open the drawers in the first place."
Lonnie grabbed a paper towel from the spindle and cleaned herself up. "So," she said. "Did Melody tell you her latest idea?"
Bernie cleared his throat. "Our conversation didn't progress into the use of spoken language," he said.
Melody chose this moment to somberly push forward through the swinging kitchen door. Without saying a word, she grabbed a glass from the exposed cabinet, calmly blew off some dust from the outer edge, and tiptoed over to the sink to fill it. She drank the entire contents, placed the glass down the counter, and the turned to face her parents, sighing deeply.
"Let me just start out by saying," she said, delicately wiping a drop of water from the corner of her lip, "that I really can't explain what's going on with me..."
Both Bernie and Lonnie offered an explanation, which appeared to be the most obvious to them. "Hormones!" they said in unison.
Melody, still calm, took the time to breathe in deeply before continuing. "And while it is most likely an adjustment in the hormonal chemistry of my brain, due to my current age..."
Bernie turned to Lonnie. "It's like watching a PBS show."
Lonnie shushed him. "I want to hear this."
"I would just like to formally apologize for my earlier outburst, and would like to state, for the record, that while these reactions may be quite beyond my control I would hope that they will subside after a couple of days."
Bernie choked. "Couple of days."
Lonnie stabbed him in the back with her thumb.
He turned to his wife, and whispered. "But she's been this way since she was nine."
"In conclusion," Melody continued, showing no notice of her father's objections, though she seemed to look directly at him for the remainder of her presentation, "I would hope that we could all move past this with the maturity that is required of the situation."
Bernie applauded the speech, bowed, and called for cheese and refreshments.
Melody raised her hand in the air, calling for silence as though Caesar to release the lions. "Now," she said, "I will take my leave of you, as I'm bound for City Hall to make my case for the destruction of this supposed weather station in favor of my proposal of the Phineas J. Foghoot memorial, Lafayette Street Communal Garden."
At this, Bernie closed one eye and widened the other. "Huh," he said. "Did something happen to Mr. Foghoot?"
Lonnie shrugged her shoulders. "I saw Donovan sleeping on him earlier. He might have some drool on him, but that's about it."
Melody cleared her throat. "Mr. Foghoot is fine, but now that I'm twelve, you must realize that my appreciation for stuffed animals will soon be dwindling, I just felt that my friend should be remembered in some way before being crated off to the attic." She turned and began to walk towards her bedroom.
"But what's all this business about City Hall?"
"She wants to talk to the government about her plan."
"Where even is that?”
“Where is what?”
“City Hall. Is that the mayor's office?"
"Yes," Lonnie said, her eyes narrowing. "It's where the mayor works. It's downtown." She shook her head.
"Oh," he said. "Like you knew that before your daughter told you."
Lonnie laughed. She leaned forward and rubbed her husband's shoulder. "I'm sure there's lots of people who are dumb about local politics."
"Laugh while you can," he told her. “My I.Q. test results come back Thursday. Then you’ll see.”
"I will, and I am and I won’t," she said, chuckling under her breath.
"However,” Bernie continued, “her explanation, like much of the time, leaves more questions than answers. Fr'instance, she's on her way to this City Hall right now?!"
"That's what she said. You're taking her, right?"
"No," Bernie said. "I just got home from work and I want to have a snack and watch television like every other local taxpayer."
"Well, there you go."
Melody emerged from the hallway, wearing a very smart, professional outfit, and carrying a small satchel.
Bernie looked at his daughter, and it suddenly felt to him as though it were the first time. “When did she grow up?” he whispered to his wife.
“Melody?”
“She looks practically like an adult.”
“Girls mature faster than boys,” Melody jumped in.
Ber
nie raised an eyebrow, and Melody pointed to her ear and mouthed the words “Steel bat.”
He narrowed his eyes, and then nudged his wife with his elbow. Lonnie nodded back knowingly. He looked at her again, more discerningly this time. Melody was now almost as tall as he. She was beautiful with long, though slightly tangled brown hair. Small, rectangular-lensed glasses hid her dark blue eyes and added to her commanding appearance. The only betrayal of her true age, was a light sprinkling of pink spots dotted about her face.
"Well," Melody said. "I'm off."
"Okay," Bernie said. "Just make sure that you fill the tank on the way home." He threw her his set of keys.
"Funny, father," she said, throwing the keys back at him. "But like you, I'm not officially licensed to drive a car, so, also like you, I will take the bus. I have checked the Tri-Met website and found that I just need to hop on the #9 Powell bus, get off at SW 6th & Main, and then walk a short 0.1 mile southeast to Portland City Hall."
Bernie swallowed deeply. "First of all...You're taking the bus? By yourself?"
"Yes," she said. "For an independent young woman, such an act is not be beyond the realm of possibilities."
"Well, no, not at all, but..."
"I think what you're father is delicately trying to say is that there's no precedent set for you...taking the bus by yourself. That's all."
Melody didn't know what the big deal was. Sure she had had some fears of traveling on her own in the past, but she figured that since these obtrusive hormones were forcing her to become more independent that they would also logically just make these fears go away should she suddenly be faced with them. "It's the least they could do," Melody suddenly said out loud.
Bernie shrugged. "The least what could?"
Melody shook her head, scornfully. "Never mind," she said. "That should have been internal dialog."
"Starting to bleed over, is it?"
Melody brushed him off. "Well," she said. "I'm off." She bowed in a rather silly and awkward way, and then opened the front door and stepped out onto the porch. She stood there for a few moments staring into the front yard, the sun beginning to wane. She wasn't sure which she was hoping for, her hormones to kick in to increase her sense of boldness, or for her parents to rush out and stop her. At the moment, while she would have been welcoming of the former, her heart was begging for the latter. She closed her eyes, and felt the small breeze on her face. Breathing deeply she took the first step down from the porch to the sidewalk.
Her journey to the bus stop, which was barely a block away, was slow and deliberate. In that time it occurred to her that her somewhat sheltered life, both self-imposed and also from being a home-schooler, might possibly have a downside. While she didn't care for the Pavlovian-style of modern schooling, something could be said for how it made anti-socialism seem functional. Melody didn't want to join a gang or anything, but it might be nice to be able to skip to the end of the block without becoming catatonic.
Lost in this contemplation, she spent nearly fifteen minutes to arrive at the covered stop on the busy street around the corner. Once there she found both her parents waiting for her.
"Hi there," said her father. "We weren't sure if you had any money with you. Also, did you take the scenic route or something?"
"I had to work my way up to it." She shook her head. "Why didn't I see you pass by me?"
"We walked the other way around," said Lonnie. "We didn't want to discourage you."'
"Also, I looked it up, and City Hall actually closed about twenty minutes ago." Bernie shrugged. "It's not like the government burns the midnight oil, I guess."
Melody slumped, and more or less gave the impression of a melted candle. However, this was mostly just for show, as she was quite relieved by this news.
A bus approached, and slowed to a stop despite Bernie waving at it.
The door opened, and the man leaning forward stared at them expectantly.
"Sorry," Bernie said. "We don't actually need a bus today."
The driver shouted at them. "This isn't a homeless camp," he roared. "If you don't need a bus, please vacate the bus stop area."
"I waved at you," Bernie said, sheepishly.
The bus driver sat with his door open for a few more seconds as if deciding whether or not to continue berating the trio. Finally, he shook his head, closed the door and resumed his route.
Bernie turned to his wife, a flash of anger on his face.. "I waved at him. You saw me do that, right? It's the universal sign that we don't want the bus to stop."
Lonnie shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you," she said. "That wasn't your driver, was it?"
"No," Bernie sighed. "Thankfully." He then turned to his daughter. "Well, child. I think it's about time..."
Melody, however, seemed lost in thought, and was not reachable at the moment. It took a tap on her shoulder by her father to rouse her back to reality.
"Nickel for your thoughts, four cents added for inflation.” He smiled but quickly stopped, realizing how corny he must have just sounded. “Although, it better not be what I think you're thinking."
Melody smiled at her father, broadly. Gone was the idea for a communal garden. Gone now was the plan to bulldoze the weather station. Her mind was on to expansion. The bus driver, while unnecessarily grouchy -- perhaps he had some hormonal changes of his own swelling in his brain -- had given her a great new project idea.
"Picture it," she said. "Phineas J. Foghoot's Commemorative Homeless Shelter and Rehabilitation Center."
Scene Three
Melody had been in her room for hours, clacking away on her manual typewriter like a hen pecking at the ground for seed. Every minute or so, there would be a loud ding! followed by a clatter and a thump! as she manually returned the carriage to the beginning position.
"Is it horrible," Bernie began, sitting in his favorite chair in front of the television set, "that I really don't want a homeless camp across the street from us?"
Lonnie, who was knitting, didn't look up at her husband. "No," she said. "Well, kinda, I suppose. I mean it would be nice to do something for the homeless. It’s just that that little building isn’t big enough to..."
"That's right!" Bernie shouted, jumping to his feet. "We don't have the facilities! What is she thinking. You just can't put in camp-sized facilities into a small neighborhood! There's zoning laws to consider, and..."
“Settle down, Bernie,” Lonnie said, swapping out her knitting for a darning egg. “On an unrelated subject, that girl does own a pair of shoes, right?” She held a twisted, once-white sock up to the light, exposing several holes.
Melody suddenly emerged from the hallway, a handful of papers in her hand. "What I am thinking is turning this weather station or whatever it purports to be..."
"It IS a weather station," Lonnie said, with an annoyed tone. "I've seen inside it with my own eyes. It's full of gauges, and computery things. I've told you that."
"Anyway, this well-disguised 'weather station' of course needs to be demolished, as in my previously proposed plan. I have edited the blueprint to expand the building in the back to a two-story home where people with no income can stay to get back on their feet."
"Huh?" Bernie looked at his wife with squinting eyes. "How did you get a look in there?"
"You know," Lonnie said. "The guy that comes around every couple of months to check the sensors."
Bernie raised an eyebrow. "The guy?!"
Melody cleared her throat. "Stay focused, you two," she said. “I’m sure mom isn’t having an affair with the fake weather station checker.”
"This is all very well intentioned, dear," her mother continued, looking over Melody’s map, "but there are zoning issues, and all kinds of things to be..."
"Details," Melody said. "Minor details. I'm sure that the mayor and I can hammer this out tomorrow morning."
Bernie ch
oked. "Tomorrow morning? You're going to try for the bus again?"
"Actually," she said. "It turns out, my hormones were unsuccessful in increasing my bravery sufficiently." She turned to Lonnie. "So, Mother, I'm going to need you to take me."
"I have to take your Nana to the doctor for her checkup tomorrow," Lonnie said. "Maybe your father can turn in his 'take your daughter to work day' coupon he never used. Your site is downtown at the moment, right?"
"Yes, but...." Bernie sat down again and slumped dramatically. "There's really nothing for a twelve year old to do, there, other than make coffee." He almost added, 'and that's my job', but stopped himself.
"That's okay," Melody said, brightly. "I can just sit in a corner and read until City Hall opens. You won't even know I'm there."
"Oh," Bernie said, under his breath. "I'll know."
"So, it's settled then," Lonnie said. "Now,” she continued, dramatically tossing her darning egg into a wicker basket near her feet, “what does everyone want for dinner tonight? Hot dogs?"
"You mean, fake dogs, right?" Melody looked at her mother, cautiously.
"Melody," Lonnie said. "For goodness sake do I have to say that every time. We're ALL vegetarians. I'm not just going to throw some meat secretly into our diets to mix things up."
Lonnie stood up, but before she departed for the kitchen, she leaned forward to Melody’s ear. “While we all appreciate your giving nature and this desire to create gardens one second, and then help the homeless the next, I've got to wonder why this sudden interest in a building that has existed since before you were born, and which you didn't seem to give a fig about before this morning. Not that I'm a skeptical person, mind you.”
“No one gives figs anymore, Mother,” she said, sullenly.
“Well, there has to be some reason behind this.” She gave her daughter a good, sharp glare and headed for the kitchen. Once the door began to swing she called out. “I’LL FIND OUT...ONE OF THESE DAYS...YOU KNOW!”
Melody rolled her eyes, and looked towards the television set. She sighed, dramatically. “There might be one thing.”
With that subtle glance, suddenly Melody had her father's attention. His eyes radiated up at her like miniature Suns. They patiently waited for her to crack and spill her information as though she were some inferiorly designed Piñata.
“What?” Bernie raised his eyebrows. “You have something you want to tell me, I can sense these things. Is the TV broken? Did the cable go out?”
Melody didn't say anything at first. She grimaced, and shuffled her feet. “Your precious idiot box is fine, Dad.” She produced two shiny disks from her satchel. "Anyway,” she said. “As long as you aren't in the middle of something."
Bernie’s shoulders slumped as he eyed his daughter, cautiously. One of Melody's favorite type of activities was creating what she liked to call "the short film". These unfortunately almost always turned out to be anything but: Unedited stream-of-consciousness outtakes, or what Melody called "the dailies". She would play these for anyone whom she could sucker into watching.
Bernie however was in no mood, and assumed them diversionary. "Whatchu got there, Darlin'?"
"Don't worry," Melody said. "It's not one of my film projects you like so much, I said sarcastically. It's the security footage of that building across the street.”
Lonnie emerged from the swinging kitchen door. "What was that? Please, Melody, don't tell me you've been filming that place just because you get some weird vibe from it. There's nothing conspiratorial going on over there."
"So you say," Melody said, pushing a disk into the slot of the video player. "And, no, it wasn't me filming it. The boys brought this to my attention."
The boys were a group of semi-anonymous male children who roamed Lafayette Street. Their normal attire was combat gear and the occasional twig attached to their helmet. Constantly playing at war -- like most boys, Melody assumed -- they were omnipresent and aware of all of the goings on in the neighborhood. It had taken great effort on her part to become allied with them and gain their confidence. So successful was she in this endeavor that the boys actually began referring to her as the General.
"The boys?" Bernie always seemed completely ignorant of the presence of these children, no matter how many times Melody mentioned them.
"Yep," Melody confirmed without further explanation. "I think they may have dug a bunker near this weather station, and may even be able to access it via tunnels from their backyards for all I know."
"Bunker?" Lonnie appeared worried. "You're starting to talk like them now, Melody. There's something seriously wrong with those boys. And their parents aren't much better."
"It's the only way to gain their confidence," she said. "Besides. It's better to have them on your side than against it."
Bernie raised his hands, giving up. The boys were starting to sound familiar, but he still wasn't sure about who they were or what they stood for. Apparently, though, they were some kind of primitive barbarian horde who wandered about digging holes. "Do you think these are the same people who have been knocking over garbage cans?"
"No, Dad," Melody said. "That was probably a dog."
Bernie shrugged his shoulders. "You said something about a video?"
Melody said, "Oh yes." She then changed the channel and pushed play on the machine.
The video quality was rough, and also in black and white. Bernie needed to lean forward and strain his eyes to make out any familiar shapes.
"Oh, I see," Bernie said. "You hired a convenience store to spy on this thing."
Melody shushed him. "It's a little grainy because it's filmed in night-vision." She began to fast forward. "There's a spot here I wanted to show you. Right about...here, at approximately two-thirty-seven in the morning."
Bernie and Lonnie leaned in closer to the screen. There was a wavering of the doorknob, as if by an impact, and then suddenly the door itself began to open. Melody paused the screen here for a moment.
"Keep in mind," she said, "that I've reviewed hours of footage, and no one has entered this building for days and days. There's only one door, and it has to be a very small room."
She unpaused the film, and the Jacksons watched in shock as a woman in white emerged in the doorway. The woman looked around as though confused, and walked daintily down the steps and past the camera.
"Also note," Melody continued. "She never returns to the building, however, six days later, at exactly the same time of day this same almost exact scene plays out again."
Lonnie began to click in her throat. "Turn it back," she said.
Bernie seemed skeptical. "Not that I don't believe the ravings of some unknown security camera owned by some odd boys who wander the neighborhood. But did you consider they might be hoaxing this, setting you up to look like a chump?”
"I considered it," Melody said. "Then I discounted it. First of all, the boys don't have any humorous bones in their bodies. Also they seem to live by a strict code of justice which wouldn't allow for pranking for the sake of it." She rewound the video at her mothers request. "Besides," she said. "There are no gaps in the film. It's low quality, but each disk runs for twelve hours continuously. This is no hoax."
"But maybe...," Bernie began, but was quickly cut off my his daughter.
"Nope!"
“Between disks…!”
“You really think those boys are going to talk some classy woman into sitting in a cramped room for twelve hours just to make me look silly in front of you two?”
“Maybe for your Internet connections?”
“I, sir, am no Internet connection.” Melody was so greatly offended by the inference that she struggled to keep herself from storming from the room. The Internet was for research only, not for posting videos about possible ghosts caught on film, blabbing about what one was having for breakfast or other such mindless pap.
&
nbsp; Bernie laughed. “That’s almost word for word entirely what the Internet is. I mean you left out sharing cute cat pictures...”
Melody’s face turned red. Whenever she was angered or otherwise highly emotional, she tended to speak her thoughts aloud rather than keep them contained.
She let out a strangled growl of frustration. “Ignore the thoughts that should stay in my head.”
“Sorry,” Bernie said. “Like I can tell them apart.”
Melody pushed play and the the film ran again.
"I just wish we could see her face more clearly," Lonnie said squinting at the screen and sitting as close to it as possible. "Then maybe we could I.D. her in some way." She turned to Melody. "How good is your video camera?"
Melody placed her hands on her hips. "Why?"
"Well, you said this happens every six days at the exact time."
"I postulated that it happens every six days. I don't think there's enough data to say if that's a fact or not."
"Yeah, whatever," Lonnie said, not really listening. "Let's see if there's a good view of that doorway from the front window." She stepped between the big, unused comfy chairs and the curtains, and squatted down at the level of the windowsill. She grunted and made “hmm” sounds as she scooted along the three windows attempting to find a sweet spot. “Honey,” she said, finally. “How do you feel about propping your camera outside on the porch?”
“I don’t,” Melody said, with a grimace. “You know it only has about a thirty minute battery life, not to mention it’s highly intolerant of dew conditions and theft by passersby. Also, it has no night vision. You’d need a search light sitting next to it to be able to see anything, and that wouldn’t be suspicious at all.”
Lonnie mumbled to herself and continued to look for a location along the window.
Bernie scratched his head. “I’m still not sure why you wanted to go to such great lengths to get that building torn down. I’m assuming, of course, this is why the plan for the garden and the homeless shelter.”
Melody scrunched up her face.
Bernie just stared at her, expressionlessly for a few more moments.
“What?”
“What’s the real reason?” he said.
“I just showed you the video.”
“It’s a little weird,” he said. “I’ll give you that. And it’s obviously gotten your mother a little excited.”
Lonnie emitted a muffled hummina, but this seemed to be more related to her own task then at any attempt to communicate with the two of them.
“But it’s not enough to work out a plan to get this little weather station...”
“...If that’s what it is...,” Melody added quickly.
“Yes, you don’t need to keep saying that,” her father told her. “To get this place removed from the face of the earth.”
Melody stared at her father for quite a while as if trying to decide if she should elaborate on the subject. “Well,” she said, finally. “There is this thing.” She removed the first disk from the machine, and then inserted the second. “This one chronicles two additional event points, which I clipped and compiled for convenience. At each point the scene seems to progress just a tiny bit farther along.” She forwarded it to the event in question. “See, here,” she said, pausing the film. “See how the door begins to open a second time.”
Bernie leaned in close, and called his wife, who was currently framing the scene as though she were a film director, forming the thumb and forefinger from each hand together to make a square. Once her attention was gathered, Bernie filled her in with the updates.
The video showed the woman in white disappear out of frame as normal, but the camera, still focused on the door, showed the handle rattle a second time and then open a crack.
“It stays open like that for hours,” Melody said, forwarding the video. The only movement in the shot was the bushes just off to the right of the screen. At Melody's insistence, they danced around quickly as though a light breeze in the air. The ever-present clock at the top of the screen, zipped along at a frantic rate as though a very poor rendition of H.G. Wells' Time Machine.
“Then look here,” Melody said, pointing to the door. “Four hours and ten minutes later. The door simply closes itself.”
Bernie scratched his head. “You said there’s one more even on this tape.”
Melody winced but decided not to correct his description of an optical disk as a “tape”. “Yep. Let me get to that point, but I need to warn you that it’s a little disturbing.” She moved the film past the point where the woman usually walks past. “The door behind her rattles as it did previously, and then opens.” After another few minutes a giant hand grabs the very top of the door frame, and what looks like a massive head peers out from the darkness. “Eyes emblazoned with undefinable hatred,” Melody said as an added narrative. Although, with the film as grainy as it was, just how emblazoned the eyes were was very much open to interpretation.
“What IS that?” Lonnie said.
“It looks like a bugbear,” Bernie offered, recalling one of the creatures from his days of role-playing games. “And I’m only half-joking.”
“What looks like the giant hand could just be a leaf that flew over and landed on door frame,” Lonnie said. “It’s not a very good picture, after-all.”
“Did the leaf also open the door?” Melody could sense the tension in the air. While she found this portion of the video creepier every time she saw it, she knew her parents couldn't not be feeling the same way. It was common practice, after all, for humans to try to simply explain away spooky things as common everyday, normal things. That what looked like a giant hand followed by the emergence of the face of a beast could so easily be explained by a falling leaf was congruent with a mind grasping at any natural explanation it could find. It was likely an attempt to preserve sanity in the observer. This was understandable and something that Melody herself was happy to go along with as long it didn't interfere with reality. The supernatural was not the norm and most things which seemed odd on the surface had roots in the workaday. However, this particular phenomenon was something different. Casual observation showed that these were facts which couldn’t be denied. A ghostly woman in white. A beast of some variety lurking behind her. Both trapped in some sort of time loop or matrix. This is something they would have to deal with and could not simply wish away.
“You see now why we need to get this building destroyed?” Melody said.
Bernie found the remote and played the scene back a few times more.
“Even if it is some sort of evil beast – which sounds especially ridiculous when you say it out loud -- what makes you think that destroying this building would stop it from coming? Maybe destroying its environment would simply make it come out faster. Or even make it angry and lash out at everyone in the neighborhood.”
Melody rolled her eyes. “Common sense tells us that destroying the focal point will end the activity. I think you tend to worry about every conceivable outcome no matter it’s likelihood.”
“I just like to look at it from every angle,” said Bernie, a little miffed.
“Not very helpful.”
“Melody!” Lonnie said crossly. “Stop pointing out your father’s flaws. He doesn’t like it.”
“Sorry,” Melody said. “Though I’m sure you'll agree that Dad worries about everything.”
“Granted,” Lonnie said. “But it’s always better to tip toe around these things, or at least mock on a more subtle level. Following proper social protocols, that is.”
“Hey!” Bernie protested. “You guys could at least wait until I leave the room before you start talking about me, following proper back-stabbing protocols.”
“Oh, Bernie,” Lonnie said, rewinding the video again. “We’re just teasing you.”
Bernie pouted, and folded up his arms intentionally dramatically. “B
ernie Jackson don’t like to be teased,” he said.
“So, noted,” said Melody. “I’ll put you down for back-stabbing only.”
“I appreciate that,” said Bernie, sounding not at all appreciative about the whole thing.
Lonnie threw her hands into the air. “I can’t get a good read on this thing,” she said, and then turned to her daughter. “You said that this happens pretty much like clock-work, yes?”
“Yes.” Melody gave the response slowly, and mistrustfully. She didn’t exactly know where her mother was going with this for certain, but she had a good idea that she wasn’t going to like it.
“When’s the next time this lady in white is schedules to depart.”
“Actually, tomorrow morning. Though even if you do find a good spot for the camera in the house, I don’t think it will be of sufficient quality from this distance, even at high definition. Plus there’s no timer so you’d have to be up at that time anyway to man it.” She fell silently for a moment, and tried desperately to find more reasons for her mother not to act on what she was thinking. Finally, she snapped her fingers, or at least tried to. (As Melody had never quite learned this trick, she accomplished the desired effect by saying the word “snap” after the attempt.) “Also, my camera doesn't have night-vision, and it’s too dark that time of the morning to...”
“I’ve been thinking of all of that,” Lonnie said, effectively cutting her off. “And I have the solution.”
Scene Four
The weather station was a shoe box castle, antennae instead of parapets, portcullis overgrown shrubbery. Except instead of keeping out the spooky, it apparently contained it, and occasionally even spat it out into the world.
Bernie and Lonnie sat out in the cold morning air, huddled against the edge of Mrs. Mendleblat’s dew-soaked, and semi-rotten fence. Melody, who could not be awoken, though Lonnie assumed she was faking for obvious reasons, was conspicuously missing from the family outing.
“You noticed that suspicious white van parked in front of Shenenigans' house, right?” Bernie said, softly.
“Oh,” Lonnie said. “I hadn’t until just now.” In truth, Lonnie had been eying that van very carefully. Their neighbors to the right (facing the street), always seemed to be up to something, so an unmarked van in front of their house didn’t seem too out of the ordinary. “Maybe they hired their cousins to finally disassemble and reassemble our back fence one inch closer to us.”
“The Shenenigans',” Bernie mused. “Up to their old shenanigans.”
The Shenenigans' made no bones about their feelings of constant annoyance that the Jacksons were somehow on their land. They were constantly threatening to send a survey crew out to prove just that. Though, Bernie would swear he had once seen such a crew in yellow slickers and portable fancy equipment stop by once in the morning hours, but nothing ever became of it.
“The war of attrition rumbles on, eh?” Bernie looked away and towards Lonnie’s backpack. “So,” he said, slapping his hands together and rubbing them quickly as if to warm them. “What sorts of snacks did you bring?”
“Bernie, for goodness sake, we’re fifty feet from the house. It’s not like we’ve been hiking all day.”
“What? It’s my sleepies,” he said. “They need to be fed.”
When the two were first married, Bernie had once tried to convince Lonnie that a race of fairy-like beings lived in his stomach and, if he was forced to wake up before a certain time, they would demand tribute of fine chocolates or some other acceptable goodies.
“Well, I only brought a blanket, a camera and the big flashlight. And you’re already sitting on the blanket. You're free to snack away on any of those items.”
“Fine,” Bernie said. “Never mind then. What time is it anyway?”
“Five minutes to show time,” she said. “So get the light ready. This thing doesn’t shoot in the dark.”
While Lafayette did have street lamps, it was too wane to effectively light up the scene in front of them, casting the weather station in a creepy paleness which made the entire endeavor look like a scene from a horror flick.
“Why do I feel like I’m on the set of The Columbus Day Massacre IV all of a sudden?”
“Because Bernie Jackson don’t have what it takes to be in the ghost investigation gang!” Lonnie shined her pen light up at her face and made a Whooooo sound that caused her husband to jump slightly.
“Stop it,” he told her. “I want to go in now. I’m hungry and tired.”
Suddenly a figure emerged past the privet bushes, and Bernie and Lonnie both jumped up and screamed. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?” asked the tall, skinny figure.
“Melody!” Lonnie yelled in a whisper. “You can’t just sneak up on people on a ghost hunt. Especially people with bad hearts like your father.”
“I don’t have a bad heart,” Bernie corrected.
Melody yawned, and handed her father a small container of almonds and chocolate chips. “Here,” she said. “I brought snacks.”
“She so gets me,” Bernie said, smiling.
Lonnie sighed, looking at her watch. “Like father like daughter.” She then slapped Bernie on the shoulder. “It’s almost time,” she said, hurriedly. “Shine that flashlight on the door, and don’t do it like when you’re helping me with the car engine.”
“I can’t help it if your giant head gets in the way.”
“Just shine it, joke boy!”
Bernie hefted the large, twenty pound flashlight at the door, and switched it on. Suddenly the door and surrounding area was aglow.
Bernie whispered to Lonnie. “Calling this thing portable is a bunch of propaganda.” He then turned to Melody. “Is there any way we can hook this up to your tripod?”
Melody and Lonnie both shushed him as he was nearly talking over some crackling noises coming from behind the door.
“I think it's happening,” Melody said, her heart racing. She placed her palm on her chest as if to keep the organ from beating itself out of her rib cage. It was at this moment she realized she had not only grabbed her father's hand, but was squeezing it tightly.
The door knob began to rattle as if caused by an internal vibration. It wasn't the same sort of motion that one would expect a person to make. It was more mechanical, awkward. Finally, the vibrating stopped and the knob slowly began to turn.
The Jacksons held their breath as the door opened slowly, showing at first only darkness within.
“Is that it?” Bernie asked nervously.
Melody shushed him, but then unconsciously grabbed his hand tightly again as a figure emerged.
It was a woman dressed all in white. She was very demure. Her skin was like alabaster, hair silken and tied up in back with a fine bow. She held up her hand to the light as though it caused her pain.
“She’s reacting to the light, Bernie. Do you think this is an intelligent haunt?”
Bernie said nothing, as though unable to move.
The woman moved out of the light slightly, and called out to them. “Is there someone there?”
Melody pushed herself between her parents. “Well, this definitely didn’t happen in the video,” she said, out of breath. “Definitely an intelligent haunt.” She wanted to sound as though she knew what she were talking about, but deep down she just wanted to run away.
Bernie tried to force his mouth to work, and managed a stammered sentence. “D-do you think we should respond?”
“I don’t know if engaging with a ghost is a good idea,” Melody warned.
“Who’s there?” the woman in white continued. She seemed sad and forlorn. “Why won’t you talk to me?” She again tried to move away from the light, but like a physical force it seemed to hold her back.
“I think the light is keeping her in a bubble,” Melody said.
“You're just making that up,” Bernie said.
??
?Who are you?” Lonnie called out suddenly. She then turned to Melody and said. “It’s rude to just sit here and say nothing.”
“I’m Madeline,” the figure in white said. “Madeline D’amarite. Who are you and what are you doing on my lawn?”
“Lady,” Bernie said. “You’ve got it all wrong.”
“How many of you are there? Please turn off that light, it’s burning my eyes!”
Lonnie reached out to Bernie’s hand. “Bernie,” she said. “At least point it lower.”
Behind the woman in white the knob began to rattle again, and as if triggered by her presence the door opened all of the way quickly. Exposed now was a large, grey, nondescript form.
The creature was at least seven feet tall, and had to bend down to peer through the doorway. It’s face seemed non-existent, devoid of any features at all except for a gaping hole where the mouth should be.
This creature emitted a horrific muffled snarl and stepped aggressively towards the woman in white.
Madeline turned and screamed in terror as a thick, clay-like arm reached around her waist and pulled her inside.
Bernie and Lonnie rushed to the woman’s aid, but though the door was still wide open they seemed impeded by some force from entering the building. The doorway seemed replaced with smoky sheet of glass. They could make out a front parlor inside. Portraits hung on the wall decorated with fuzzy red wallpaper and antique furnishings completed the room. For a horrifying moment, they could hear faint, distant screams as though the woman in white were being dragged down into a basement lair.
“Hello,” Bernie called out to her, but there was no response. Soon the vision faded into blackness, and thankfully so too did the heart wrenching screams.
Bernie ran back for his large flashlight and shined it into the black void to no avail. It was as if he were attempting to peer into a deep, bottomless ravine.
Behind them came the screeching of an engine as the white van, once parked suspiciously across from street, sped off into the night.
“That was some good timing,” Bernie said. “You think this was a stakeout?”
“A stakeout for a ghost?” Melody narrowed her eyes at her father, for she could see no reason for it. “True,” she said, “an unmarked white van tearing off after the conclusion of the appearance of a ghost seemed a tad fishy. But that would seem to imply that this woman in white phenomenon was known outside the neighborhood.”
“Possibly the government,” shuddered Bernie.
“Here’s the scary part,” said Lonnie. “I don’t think it was a actual a ghost we saw.”
“Well, she and that beast thing seemed real enough.” Bernie turned to his wife with a confounded look on his face. “You saw that, right??! What was that?”
Lonnie shrugged, lost for words.
“You see,” Melody said. “You see why I wanted to get this thing torn down.” She pointed to the door. “And now it’s closed. Did anyone see that happen?”
Bernie rapped on it with his knuckles, and was suddenly worried that someone might actually answer his response. “I suspect,” he said, “that it was never opened in the first place. I think this door is what was barring us from entry.”
Lonnie chimed in. “And the faltering background was the ghostly remains of that poor woman’s former house glowing in the past.”
“...And fading like a candle?” Melody finished, cockeyed. “You suddenly getting poetic on us, mom?”
“No,” Lonnie said, blushing in the moonlight. “Sometimes I just talk...that way.”
“Well, I say,” Bernie began, “but not as floridly, that we all get back in the house. OUR OWN HOUSE,” he corrected. “And maybe have a snack and get ready for bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”
Lonnie sighed. “More snacking.”
Melody led the way, and then turned. “I just have this horrible feeling that our presence here tonight might have allowed that beast to finally grab that woman. This might be our fault.”
“Thanks," Bernie said. “That's the something we were trying not to think about.”