That Animal

That Animal

    Dad built our house in 1919. He erected a simple two-storey, three-bedroom brownstone with an eye-catching wrap-around porch. It was a respectable home occupied by a respectable family but, with time, it no longer was respectable.

    Rumours surfaced from the many families that moved in and out of my house through the years. Its reputation went from ‘That’s where the Postmaster used to live’ to ‘That spooky house has a malevolent spirit.’ Not that it looks spooky from the outside; it’s the inside that gives people the heebie-jeebies. But malevolent? Now, that hurts my feelings. Spirit – yes…. but not malevolent. How can a ten-year-old be malevolent? I’m not even in the poltergeist species; just a run-of-the-mill ghost that most people learn to live with. I wouldn’t hurt a fly; I just release swarms of them once in a while for kicks. The occupants are the ones that hurt them: zappers, fly swatters, tea towels. I do admit that it’s just way too much fun to watch.

    But it’s that animal.

    This new family moved in last week. Nice folks with two little boys, Jake and Drew, ages eight and ten, and that creepy cat. A Siamese they call Jezebel…a girl cat. She’s unto me and I can’t shake her.

    Take the family’s first night in my home. I was going to introduce myself to the parents. Just a quick visit – the kind that unsettles the occupants but does not frighten them… yet. I entered their bedroom through the ceiling and the instant I broke the veil, I heard growling! Like a bloodthirsty samurai when drawing his sword, a high-pitched blood-curdling screech flew out of that animal’s mouth.

    It was sleeping at the foot of the bed and how it sensed my presence so quickly is a mystery, but it stood up on the mattress on its tippytoes, curled its back, bared its teeth and stared at the ceiling flashing an eerie red eyeshine. It startled me. The couple woke up and immediately turned on the bed lamp.

    “What is it, Jezebel? What do you see?”

    The couple stared at the ceiling where the cat’s glare was focused. Kinda hard to see a ghost when the lights are on.

    “There’s nothing there, Jezebel. You probably saw a spider in the dark, I bet. Come, settle down next to Mommy.”

     I chalked it up to a bad job.

    The next day I decided on the ol’ light switch flickeroo; one of my favourite pranks. That usually leaves them bewildered and tentative. I like to play with the electrical wires between the walls, that way, I can see their reactions without giving my location away.

    I waited until everyone had left for the day except for the mother. She works part-time and was tidying up after breakfast. I floated down between the wall that faces the kitchen island. Suspended over it are three large pendulum lights which are perfect to turn on as they cast a strong glow even in the daytime and can give them quite a jar.

    No sooner had I floated down to the inside wall that the insufferable beast detected me. It was that quick! She bounded across the kitchen linoleum to my location and sat herself facing the wall, with only inches between us. Her long dark brown tail was violently jerking across the floor from side to side, and her piercing blue eyes honed into the exact spot where I was hiding.

    “What is it, Jezebel? Don’t tell me we have mice in our new home. Is that what you’re hearing, huh? You can hear those little rodents, can’t you?”

    That menacing critter could sense me, but it couldn’t see me so my prank was still a go. I waited until the lady was wiping down the island countertop. I flicked those three pendulums on from the back of the light switch inside the wall and playfully waited for a reaction.

    She stopped, looked up at the lights and slammed her hand hard on the granite countertop.

    “Damn,” she said, “that cat is never wrong!”

    And then she walked over to Jezebel, picked her up and started caressing and praising her for finding mice!

    “What a good girl you are… yes you are. You’re Mommy’s little mouser, aren’t you.”

    Oh yeah?... Well, watch this lady! On… off. On… off. On… off. Here’s to your mouser!

    “Wow, we have LOTS of mice in the walls for the lights to flicker like that. Must be a short from chewed wires. We may have to call an exterminator and an electrician!”

    She nonchalantly walked out of the kitchen and began vacuuming the living room. It was a total non-event for her. I, on the other hand, felt like an absolute loser left hanging like a dumbass between the walls.

    I floated back to the crawl space under the basement stairwell. This has been my hideaway for the last one-hundred-and-four years. It was my safe space when the Spanish flu epidemic burned through my community. It sheltered me from all the tears and fears, even though I wasn’t able to escape its deathly grip. Now, I’m its permanent homie sharing the cubbyhole with the family’s canning and root veggies. I do get a chuckle when I hear the mother ask one of the boys to get something in here. They vigorously fight about who it’s going to be as both boys find it creepy in the basement and would prefer not to come down.

    Who does come down often though is that animal to do its job in the litter box. That feline is sinister to the bone. She stands watch in front of the cubby door for hours with her back to me. The creamy hair on her back and neck stand up, but I don’t hear a peep from her. However, I can smell her and it’s enough to gag a maggot. I don’t know what they feed her, but from the potency of her lethal fumes, I’d venture to say it’s toxic waste. Every time she drops a dump in her box, she immediately comes to the cubby hole door, turns around and releases the most noxious fugitive emissions that permeate into my safe place. She knows what she’s doing. It’s her way of telling me who's the boss of this house.

    I hate her and she hates me.

   This calls for the big guns.

    It was during a family movie night when mother and father were on the couch and the two boys were flopped on the floor in front of the flat-screen television. That animal was comfortably purring on the missus’ lap. Mrs. Doubtfire was the flick of choice, so I waited until the movie was halfway in when I dropped a dollop of ectoplasm on the floor in front of the TV stand. That animal furrowed its brow and pulled its ears back flat on its head.

    “What’s with the cat?” asked the father.

    “I dunno, must be the vacuum in the movie.” speculated the mother.

    That animal jumped onto the floor and cautiously approached the blob of goo. It sniffed it, gently pawed the edges, then decided it was good enough to eat. It licked it up then cleaned its front paws.

    “What are you eating, Jezebel?”

    The mother paused the movie, walked over to the cat, and forced open its mouth looking inside for any obstructive object. Nothing.

    “Were you boys eating in the living room? You know the rules! I better not catch you eating in here. Last warning.”

    That didn’t make enough of an impact, so I decided I would drop some ectoplasm on the front edge of the credenza, right under the TV and let it drop down the front. That should get their attention!

         That damn cat jumped up and began licking it again, but the mother was having none of it.

    “That’s it! Who ate yogurt in here? Whoever it was didn’t even care to wipe what they spilled. Who did this?”

    Both boys looked at each other, shrugged and said it was not them. The hubby looked at his wife and said:

    “Don’t look at me, you know I don’t eat yogurt.”

     She resigned herself, sat back down and they continued watching TV. Now that was funny. Let’s see what else I can do. How about a little bit of gooey ectoplasm under the coffee table?

    And…..action! On cue, the cat jumped down and quickly began lapping it up.

    “That’s it! One of you boys made a mess in here and is lying about it. Last chance… if you don’t confess, then both of you are off to bed now and movie night is cancelled.”

    She was fuming. Again, both boys stared at each other, shrugged and said it wasn’t them.

    “That's it, off to bed… now!

    “But it wasn’t us, Mom. We swear!”

    “Off to bed…now!”

    Both boys began crying and said it wasn’t fair as they stomped up the stairs. I felt like shit. It was like I was looking at my brother and myself when we were that age and a heaviness settled in my consciousness. Just like them, we had been punished and sent to bed for something we hadn’t done, and like them, we had cried and stomped our feet. This wasn’t as much fun as I had anticipated, in fact, it was a real bummer. I had those young boys unfairly punished and that was not my intention.

    After that episode, I took a turn and made amends. I began keeping an eye on the boys and enjoying their antics: wrestling on the floor, playing in their superhero costumes with swords and capes, and admiring their healthy competitive spirits. These two boys were tight just like my brother and I were. If this family remains in the house for years, then I will be able to watch them grow up and observe what I missed with my brother after my early exit.

    One afternoon, the boys were roughhousing at the top of the stairs and the youngest one tripped. It was going to be a ‘headfirst’ tumble down that long flight of wooden stairs. I swooped down and grabbed him by the collar, gently lifting him and setting him halfway down the stairwell.

    “Mom!” yelled Jake.

    The mother quickly responded to the distress call.

    “Mom, Drew just floated down the stairs. I saw it with my own eyes! He was going to fall, then all of a sudden it was like he was Peter Pan.”

    “Alright guys, enough. Lunch is on. Go wash your hands.”

    “But Mom!” he protested.

    Of course, the mother didn’t believe a word of it. I eavesdropped at bedtime that night and that is all those boys talked about. They had concluded that it was an angel.

    Nice.

    The following week, as the family was sitting down for supper, the mother was carrying a steaming hot bowl of chili to the table, when she slipped on a wet spot on the floor. The hot chili splashed out of the bowl and was about to land on the oldest boy. I couldn’t stop the chili in mid-flight on time, so I yanked the boy’s chair and slid it back a good ten feet as the hot food splattered in the space where the boy had been.

    Everyone froze, even the mother splayed on the floor unhurt. They all stared at each other, bug-eyed and silly-slapped.

    “Did that just happen?” asked the father.

    “I didn’t do that, Dad. You saw it… you saw it! My feet weren’t even touching the ground. It’s that angel!” Jake was convincing.

    And then, both boys began recounting the stairwell episode again, and this time, the parents were all ears.

    But that cat was onto me. It jumped on top of the fridge where I was hovering and began hissing and viciously swatting at me.

    “What’s with her?” questioned the dad.

    The family exploded into laughter as they watched the cat shadowboxing. She was hissing and meowing and swatting her paws at nothing from the outside, but from the inside, that vermin was attacking me. Her protracted claws were smashing and ripping through my fog as I looked down at her and stuck my tongue out. She had such a hissy fit that she peed right there on top of the fridge, and boy, did she get fire and brimstone hurled at her from the mother. She spent the next hour locked in her crate and I spent the next hour taunting her and there was nothing she could do; no farting or hissing or swatting, she just leered at me with the evilest murderous eyes she could muster.

    I had finally scored some points.

    The family remained in my home for years, and I had the joy of watching the boys grow up. I was living my stolen childhood vicariously through Jake and Drew. I was always there for them, keeping watch and helping where I could.

    The cat never warmed up to me and with time, the family figured out that Jezebel could sense the presence that lived among them. They all believed it was an angel. Jezebel knew what I was… a ghost. I do consider myself a ghost, but one who has earned a set of wings.

    Word got out that an angel lived with this family and the house was indeed blessed, not cursed, and once again, the house’s reputation was restored.

    Jezebel and I remained fierce enemies and she resented the fact that I was considered an angel when she knew differently. She finally died after torturing me for eleven years. To my horror, she never left the house, and now I have to share my ethereal space with that demon animal. We are still at each other’s throats. What a cruel twist of fate.  

    I hate her and she hates me.

THE END