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Chapter 7: The Trap Door Closes
The morning after the storm, Mrs. Grayson once again noticed muddy footprints on the front porch. Like before, they only went to the center of the porch, then back down the steps. She inspected them closely. They appeared to be the same size as before.
She called into the house, “Children. Come outside. Right now.”
She pointed to the mud prints. “We lost our phone connection during the storm last night. I’ll be back as soon as I call the police from the Conoco Service Station.”
They all looked from the muddy porch up to their mother’s face.
Jeanie knew this was very serious. Who would walk on their porch, then just turn around and leave? Why was the person there in the first place?
“Look. I’ll be right back.” She could tell her children were frightened. They still hadn’t spoken, just looked at her, waiting. “Jeanie, take the kids in and lock the doors. Don’t answer the door for anyone. I’ll use my key when I get back.”
Jeanie locked and bolted the door. Her hands shook so much she could barely turn the knob. Neil started crying. Ann put her arms around his shoulders, but that just started a greater flood of tears.
Jeanie suggested going upstairs to the club room. “Can I go?” asked Liz, with wide and unblinking eyes.
“Sure. All of you.”
Usually the club room was off limits to the smaller kids. Ann pulled out coloring books and crayons, and they settled down quietly, happy to be included.
Jeanie plopped down on her overstuffed chair and looked up at the ceiling. She jumped up, and began stammering, pointing to the ceiling.
“What’s wrong with you?” Ann asked nervously. “For-gosh-sakes, what’s the matter?”
Jeanie continued to point. Her finger was shaking. Her whole body trembled. “Look,” she finally shrieked.
Ann looked up at the ceiling. “I don’t see anything.”
Ricky, Neil, and Liz, sensing something was wrong, screamed and jumped up, knocking over their table and scattering crayons and coloring books across the room. Then chairs crashed to the floor. Liz grabbed her brothers and shuttled them out into the hallway.
“Now look what you’ve done.”
The chaos seemed to calm Jeanie, like a slap in the face. She pointed to the trap door. “See. It’s closed.”
“So-o.”
“We left it open, remember?”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. I fell off the table after I opened it.”
“It couldn’t just close by itself.”
“That’s the point, Ann. That’s what I said.”
Ann stared up at the trap door, and tried to remember how it looked the day Jeanie fell. She could almost see Jeanie climbing up and pushing the door open with the stick she pulled out of the window. The color drained from her face. “Oh-my-gosh. You’re right. We left it wide open.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Jeanie said, grabbing her sister’s hand and plunging down the stairs. They paced the living room, waiting for their mother to come home. When Jeanie saw her walking up the steps, she ran out to greet her. “Did you call the police?” Jeanie called out.
“I told you not to open the door.”
“I forgot. Are they coming?”
“Yes. Yes. They’re coming.”
Ann went to the edge of the porch and stared at the mud prints. “They’re definitely footprints.”
“I’m staying home today,” Mrs. Grayson announced. Jeanie and Ann grabbed her around the neck, nearly knocking her to the ground.
“I’ll do some baking. Maybe some cookies,” she added wistfully, thinking of the little time she had for homemaking. “But first, we’re going to do our own investigation. There has to be some explanation for those mud prints. She was reluctant to call them footprints yet.”
“Oh-h-h,” Jeanie moaned, remembering the trap door to the attic. She looked over at Ann. “You tell her.”
Ann explained in exacting detail how they left the trap door open after Jeanie fell off the table. “Now it’s closed,.” she said.
When Ann finished, their mother furrowed her brow while she thought about what Ann just told her. After a long silence, she suggested they go upstairs while she looked at it herself.
“No-o,” said Jeanie. “I won’t ever go in that room again, not ever.”
“Come on, Jeanie. Mother’s with us,” said Ann.
Jeanie reluctantly followed. Just when they got to the second level, the door bell rang. “That must be the police,” their mother said. She turned and headed back down. “Let’s go see.”
She opened the door. No one was there. She looked toward the street. No police cruiser. Her heart began throbbing in her throat, and her hand began to tremble. She had to get hold of herself. She couldn’t let her children see her unravel. She glanced around the porch one more time, then out toward the yard and driveway. Whoever it was, was now gone.
She was about to close the door, when a head with short-cropped hair jumped out of the tiger lilies next to the porch.
“Hi,” came a greeting from a girl about Jeanie’s age. Mrs. Grayson stared at the well-dressed child. She had on a white tennis outfit with a skirt the swirled around her legs and hips when she jumped up.
“Are you Cindy?” she asked. Without waiting, she added, “Would you like to come in?”
“Thank you,” she responded.
“Cindy,” Jeanie and Ann called when they saw her.
“Can you come outside to play?” She was uncertain since their mother was home.
Ann and Jeanie forgot the trap door for the moment, and asked to go outside. “We’ll do our chores this afternoon,” Ann offered before her mother could say anything.
Mrs. Grayson sighed. “Go on.”
The three girls skipped off the porch toward the shade at the edge of the orchard near the apple trees. Cries of pleasure rang out in the early morning sunlight. Mrs. Grayson watched for a minute, then smiled. She went inside, and up the stairs to her bedroom. She guessed the trap door wasn’t all that important after all.
“Lizabeth,” she said upon entering. “What are you doing in my room?”
Liz stood quietly, her round eyes staring up at her tall mother. She stood immobile and silent.
“What’s scratching under my bed?” Mrs. Grayson asked. She leaned over and looked. Two pair of eyes peered back. She jumped, then laughed at her own nervousness. “Ricky. Neil. Get out right now.”
The two boys crawled out. They grinned sheepishly. They had red lipstick scrawled across their faces like Indian warriors, but didn’t feel too brave at the moment.
“Well, this does it,” Mrs. Grayson said “It’s time to hire a housekeeper. It’s too much to expect your sisters to control you three, when I can’t even do it myself.”
Liz quickly got her voice. “Oh-h, please. I’ll be good. My word of honor.”
“I don’t like housekeepers,” said Neil.
“Me either,” said Ricky.
“I’m sorry, kids. I have no choice. I’ve got to work at the farm during the summer. It’s our busiest time.”
“Can we please have one more chance?”
“May we. And the answer is no. Now clean off your faces before the police get here,” she said. “Right now.”
“Are you going to the farm today?” asked Liz.
“Not today,” she answered.
When the children left her bedroom, she went upstairs, and looked at the trap door. She climbed on a table, and pushed a broom against the door. It wouldn’t budge. She tried several more times, pushing even harder. Still nothing. It was closed tight. She got down and put the furniture back where she found it. She looked up one more time before leaving. If the girls opened the trap door, how did it close? Why is it locked? Who locked it?
She stood quietly at the door and pondered her own questions. Oh, quit fretting. They probably never opened it all the way, and it just fell shut. And no
w it’s stuck. But with that settled for now, she still had other unanswered questions. Who made the footprints on the porch? And what does that person want?
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Chapter 8: Miss Briggs
The ad in the newspaper read: WANTED: Experienced Housekeeper to run home for family with five children. Apply in person at 1022 Chase Street.
Miss Briggs, a tall, thin woman with short red hair, was hired after Mrs. Grayson checked out her references. Later that same evening, she arrived with her clothes and some personal possessions. Mrs. Grayson moved an extra bed into the club room on the third floor.
Jeanie and Ann liked the idea of a housekeeper, until she was given one of their rooms. They moved their personal things out before Miss Briggs arrived, including the large posters of Elvis Presley that covered three walls. They also took one table and one overstuffed chair.
I don’t see why she has to be next to us,” Jeanie said.
“Tell me about it,” Ann answered, sitting down on the edge of their bed, and stretching out her legs.
“Wait ‘til she hears those noises from the attic in the middle of the night,” Jeanie said.
“She’ll ask Mother to move her downstairs before the week is out.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Jeanie suggested.
They sat at the top of the basement stairs, and continued their discussion.
“I hope she’s a good cook,” said Ann.
“Did you see those beady eyes?” asked Jeanie.
“Yeah, they’re all red and watery.”
“She gives me the creeps. There’s something strange about her.”
“I can’t put my finger on it. But you’re right.”
“I don’t see why Mother didn’t hire someone younger. That first girl looked really neat.”
“Mother said she was a teenager.”
“So what’s wrong with being a teenager? I’m a teenager.”
“That’s the point. Mother doesn’t think a teenager can take care of another teenager.”
“I didn’t know she was hiring someone to take care of me.”
“How do I know?”
“Gripes. Now we have someone to boss us around all day. Do this. Do that.”
Ann started laughing. “Like we do to the little kids.”
Jeanie didn’t see the humor. “So?”
Mrs. Grayson called from the other room. “Girls, Miss Briggs is here. Come to the living room. She wants to get acquainted.”
“Jiminy Crickets,” they muttered. “Okay, we’re coming.”
They entered the living room, and greeted Miss Briggs graciously. “Miss Briggs wants to get to know you, so I’m going upstairs while you all talk.”
Their mother left the room. Jeanie and Ann looked at each other, and tried to avoid eye contact with Miss Briggs, and those red, beady eyes.
“Why don’t we make some house rules?” Miss Briggs said in a high, shrieking voice. “First of all, let’s settle on a bedtime. I firmly believe children need lots of rest to have good dispositions for--.”
“Oh, gripes,” Jeanie whispered out of the corner of her mouth to Ann. “A sermon yet.”
Miss Briggs bristled, and stopped in mid-sentence. “Never interrupt your elders,” she admonished. “Who’s whispering?” She looked around at each child, asking with her eyes. Was it you? Are you the culprit?
They responded with complete silence. Not a tattle-tale in sight.
“Well, then,” she continued in the same, shrill monotone, “Either tell me who did, or you all go to bed right now.” She looked around the room one more time. “Okay, then. Get up and march to your rooms right now.”
She belongs in a courtroom, Jeanie thought as she rose to leave.
Liz opened her mouth to speak, but decided not to. Ricky and Neil were both scared out of their wits, and couldn’t say anything if they tried.
“Now go,” Miss Briggs ordered the startled children. They very quietly tiptoed out of the room and up the stairs. “And sleep tight, and don’t let the bedbugs bite.”
“Corny. Corny.” whispered Ann, when she was out of earshot.
Their mother had just got out of the shower when she heard her children patter by in complete silence. She glanced at her watch in amazement. It was only seven o’clock. Surely they weren’t going to bed.
The next morning, their mother left for the farm earlier than usual since Miss Briggs was already in the kitchen cooking breakfast. On the way to the farm, she kept thinking how obedient and polite her children were the night before. She was so proud of them. Even Liz was on good behavior. She smiled happily as she drove down the highway. She knew she had hired the perfect housekeeper to look after her children, and run the household.
When their mother left, Miss Briggs woke everyone with a cheery, whiney song. “Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealth, and wise.” She went from room to room, knocking on doors, and startling them out of deep sleep. “Time to get up, time to get up. The early bird gets the worm.”
“Gee willicuns,” Jeanie commented. “What a way to wake up.”
“I’m not an early bird, and I don’t eat worms,” added Ann.
“It’s only six o’clock,” added Jeanie, looking up at the clock. She climbed out of bed, anyway.
Neil was slightly defiant. “I’m still asleep,” he yelled in his sleep.
“Then tonight we’ll see that you get to bed early,” Miss Briggs answered. “How about six o’clock?”
He crawled out of bed. “I’m awake. I’m not sleepy.” He walked out of the room in his pajamas.
“Get dressed, young man,” Miss Briggs called after him. “We dress for breakfast in this house.”
After serving a breakfast of sausage links with buttermilk pancakes and maple syrup, Miss Briggs assigned their daily chores. She began yelling in her high, shrill voice, “No. No. Let me show you.” Then she would jerk the broom or dish cloth out of their hands.
“Ann,” she said firmly. “Swing that broom. Stir up dust when you sweep.” Then to Jeanie, “Put some elbow grease on that woodwork.” And Liz, “Push down on that mop until the floor shines.”
At ten o’clock, the doorbell rang, and Miss Briggs rushed to the front door and cracking it just enough to peek out.
“Hi,” said Cindy, though she couldn’t see who was there..
Miss Briggs quickly slammed the door, and ordered the three girls to go outside. “You have a visitor,” was all she said. “You can finish your chores later.” With that, she practically scooted them out of the house, slamming the door behind them.
“Well,” said Cindy, after they emerged all at once on the front porch. “What was that?”
“You mean who,” corrected Jeanie. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “That’s our housekeeper.”
“Did she mean to slam the door right in my face?” said Cindy.
“Her name is Miss Briggs,” Liz said. “She’s mean.”
“Huh,” said Cindy. “I used to have a nanny called Miss Griggs. Daddy fired her for wearing Mother’s jewelry.”
“Their names rhyme,” said Liz. “Maybe they’re sisters.”
“Oh, really, Liz,” said Jeanie. “What kind of logic is that?”
“Did she return the jewelry?” asked Ann.
“Yeah, thank goodness. They’re priceless antique jewelry that belonged to my grandmother’s family. I think they came from Germany.”
“Are you rich?” asked Liz, thinking of all that beautiful jewelry.
‘Not really,” she answered, embarrassed. “What does Miss Briggs look like?”
“Didn’t you see her?”
“No. She only opened the door a crack.”
“She’s real tall and skinny.”
“Her eyes are like glass marbles. All watery and red,” added Liz dramatically.
“Sounds like Frankenstein,” commented Cindy with a smile.
“And her voice whines like an out-of-tune violin,” added Ann, holding her arms li
ke she was performing.
“She sounds awful,” said Cindy.
At one o’clock, the bell from the house across the street rang several times. “Time for me to go,” Cindy said reluctantly.
“Maybe you can come back after lunch,” suggested Liz.
“I can’t. I have French lessons, then piano,” she answered.
“Then tonight?” asked Ann.
“Tonight I have elocution.”
“Elo-o...what?” asked Liz.
“Elocution.”
“Oh.” Liz still didn’t understand, but she didn’t feel like pursuing it right this minute.
“Well. Bye now.”
“Bye, Cindy,” they called as she hurried to the mansion across the street.
Miss Briggs watched them from behind the living room draperies. After Cindy left, she opened the front door and called, “Lunch is ready, girls.”
They trudged slowly up the rock walk way, and onto the front porch before entering the house. Even the boys, who were usually ravenous with hunger from playing cowboys, didn’t want to go inside.
“Gee whiz,” Neil commented to Ricky. “Miss Triggs is mean.”
“Her name is Miss Briggs,” said Ricky, then added, “She sure is.”
They ate fried bologna sandwiches and French fries. The potatoes were burned on the bottom. Neil spit out a mouthful, and blurted out, “The potatoes are burned.”
Jeanie nearly choked on her bologna. Ann just kept on eating, like she hadn’t heard a thing. Liz held her glass of lemonade halfway to her mouth, waiting for an eruption of some kind. Ricky slid under the table, out of sight.
Miss Briggs, sitting at the head of the table, jerked her tall frame up and stared down at Neil. The table shook, and Jeanie thought she saw foam running out of the side of her mouth. Neil tried not to look up from his plate, but the silence flustered him. Her small, watery eyes met his, but it seemed like she looked right through him. He stuttered, and his eyes remained focused on hers like he was hypnotized.
“Young man,” she finally spoke. “You will eat those potatoes without another word.” Then she sat down and sternly looked around the table at each child.
“Yes’m,” he answered. He gobbled the rest of the potatoes, just like she ordered. He never criticized her cooking again, even when she wasn’t around. He knew she had antennas that could hear everywhere.