Allison’s Haunting Dilemma

It was the hardest decision I’ve ever had to make. To live with the teasing for the next three years of high school or face my fears of being panophobic. 

My name is Allison; I’m fifteen years old, and this fall, I’ll start my sophomore year in high school. I’ve always thought I was a likable person. I get along with my friends, and we’ve shared many memories at the Ice Cream Station. That’s where we meet most days.

The Ice Cream Station is a malt shop with an arcade. Under their logo are the words, ‘Come on in and fill up,’ and believe me, we’ve filled up there many times. It’s a great place to hang out.

I was in the Station when my world came to a halt. My friends and I sat talking about an old house sitting on Elm Street. It was deteriorating and had been vacant for years; we all knew it as the Johnson’s house. The paint was peeling, and some of the windows were broken. Vines grew around the columns on the front porch sending out more feelers each day. As each year passed, Mother Nature gnawed away at the structure, reclaiming what was once hers. I’d heard the old house was haunted, but I never went there. If I passed it, I did so in a hurry.

I assumed looking at it would conjure up an evil spirit or ghost. I didn’t want anything like that following me home. At least that was my thinking.

As I said that day at the Station, my friends and I sat talking about the Johnson’s home. Everyone was kidding and daring anyone to go inside. Everyone refused. Then, for no reason, they all looked at me.

Since the first grade, my friends teased me about being scared. Yes, I’m indeed scared of, well, let’s face it, I’m afraid of everything. Doctors called the phobia panophobia. My friends never let me forget it and teased me about being a scaredy-cat. As I grew older, it started bothering me, and the more it bothered me, the more they teased me. I didn’t like the harassment, and it was more of an annoyance than anything else. But, it was true. I’m scared of everything.  

It’s well known that I’m afraid of mice, bugs, spiders, and bees—especially wasps. When one comes near me, I immediately go into fits. I start flinging my hands and arms like someone doing an uncanny dance. I’m afraid of shadows, driving, kitchen utensils, dogs, cats, and anything that goes bump in the night. To me, everything bumped in the night.

My friends tease me often, saying I’m afraid of my own shadow. I have to admit, that was one of the things that didn’t frighten me. 

As I was saying, as we sat at the Station, my friends dared me to go inside the Johnson’s house, knowing darn well, I’d never agree. What was I to do? I was so tired of the teasing and knew it wouldn’t let up for the next three years. I couldn’t help that I was so mistrustful about everything. Then again, I knew I would never go into that haunted house, none of us would.

They sat teasing me, saying the world would come to an end if I went near the place, let alone set foot inside the house. I sat pondering the thought.

What a dilemma, I’m so scared of everything, and I could feel my heart racing as I thought about that old house. But I hated the teasing. My hands were sweating as I gasped for breath. My arms looked like pickles as goosebumps raced up and down them. If only I could muster up enough courage to go inside the house, the teasing would have to stop. It would be the bravest thing any of us ever did. I sat thinking about my predicament; I was in a quandary.

“I’ll do it,” I said.

My friends stared at me as I repeated my statement. “I’ll do it.”

They glared at the frightened little girl sitting at their table. I twisted my black hair around my finger, trying to remove the sweat. I tried to hide my anxiety. My stomach was churning, and I was sure the frozen treat I was eating would make its way back up. I swallowed, trying to keep it down.

“You’re going into the old Johnson’s house?” asked Jimmy.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m not as scared as you think I am.” Everyone knew that was a lie. My mind started spinning, thought after thought. What was I doing? I couldn’t believe what I was saying. Why couldn’t I keep my mouth shut? I would never go inside that old house, and I knew it.

“OK,” said Clara. “We’ll meet in front of the house Friday night at a quarter till twelve. You go inside and up to the second floor. Shine a light out the window, and we’ll know you are there. You do that, and I’ll never tease you about being scared again.”

Ah, music to my ears. As my mind tried to process the consequences of going into that house, I ignored them. I heard what I wanted to hear. My friends, who had teased me since first grade, all agreed. They would never tease me again.

I left the Ice Cream Station. Then as if hit by a ton of bricks, reality set in. What had I done? I hated the teasing about my condition, and I despised the thought of being tormented through high school. But going into the Johnson’s house at midnight, oh please, just kill me now. What had I done?

Today was Thursday, and I decided to stroll by the old house against my better judgment. Yet, I forced myself to do so. It was a sunny day, and I assumed ghosts and spirits only come out at night. The witching hour, which was three o’clock in the morning, is when they are the most active. That’s what I heard on the television. I was hoping the ghost hunters were right. 

I stood looking at the old house. I was sure it was beautiful at one time, but now it was a shell of what it once was. Old man Johnson died at the age of forty-five; he didn’t leave the house to his wife. Instead, he donated it to the Baptist church. This upset his wife, and she begged the church to give her the home, they refused. This created hard feeling between the church and Alice Johnson, but the church would not give up the house.

There was a stipulation in Mr. Johnson’s will. Alice Johnson didn’t own the property but controlled possession until she died. She couldn’t sell or remove anything from her home but could live there until she died—this infuriated Alice.  

Alice went home, packed a trunk, and went to the Philippines. As long as she was alive, no one could take possession of the house. The church had to wait until she died, and Alice lived a long life.

The once beautiful home began to deteriorate. No one cared for the property, as Alice never allowed anyone on the premises. The home slipped into ruin. Forty-five years later, the property still sits waiting for Mrs. Johnson’s return. However, each day that passes takes a toll on the weatherboard structure. As the paint peeled, the unprotected wood gave way to rot and decay.

The inside of the house was intact; Alice abandoned her belongings. She took some of her clothes and left the home unlocked. The local authorities tried to keep the migrant workers out but failed. As the years passed, the old house succumbed to a slow death. Dirt, dust, and filth overtook Alice’s beloved possessions. They, too, felt the effects of abandonment.

I walked up the drive. The drive had two concrete lanes for the tires, and I thought how different it looked. If I was going to enter the house at midnight, I needed to know something about it. I stepped up on the back porch. The knob on the kitchen door would not turn; locked, I thought. I checked the window, and to my surprise, it slid up. I stepped into the kitchen.

I checked the door; it had a turn-key lock and an old version of a deadbolt. I unlocked both locks and opened the door. The hinges gave way to the pressure and made a soft squeaking noise.

The large windows allowed the sun to flood the rooms, lighting up the house. The bright light relieved my fears; it wasn’t scary at all. I walked through the kitchen, dining, and living rooms. At the front door was the staircase. I headed toward it.

My hands were sweating, and my heart was pounding. I was nervous, but little by little, my anxiety surrendered to a more peaceful feeling. The house was old, lonely, and dusty. I didn’t feel anything dangerous or ghostlike. Yet, I’d never been in a situation like this, so how would I know?

I stood at the entranceway, studying the staircase. It was magnificent. To my left was a parlor decorated with sofas, chairs, lamps, and at one time, a beautiful area rug. Dust consumed it all now. I pulled the pocket doors shut.

The staircase rose to the second floor and allowed access to a hall bath and four rooms. As I stepped onto the landing at the head of the stairs, I peered into an old bath. It was empty, and that delighted me. I closed that door too. Two bedrooms were facing the back of the house; I glanced inside and closed those doors. The old beds, curtains, and chests were dusty from years of neglect, but I realized the dust wouldn’t kill me.

My hands were sweating, but my heart had slowed. I fought off the urge to run, and the more I explored, the less frightened I became. There were two more rooms to check, and both faced the front of the house. The room on the right surprised me; at one time, it was Alice’s sewing room. Three large windows in the front and on the side of the house allowed the sun’s rays to penetrate the room. The light chased away the shadows and created a brilliant glow. I could see why this was the sewing room. Stacked on shelves were bolts of material and sewing supplies. I stood thinking how hard it must have been for her to leave her belongings.

Standing in the corner was a dress form. It appeared Alice had made arms and attached them to the form using long pins. It freaked me out, and I wanted to run, but the sunlight in the room calmed my nerves. As my hands trembled, I took a deep breath; it was a dress form, that’s all.

The last room was another bedroom. I assumed it was the Johnson’s bedroom. There was a full-size bed, dresser, and two wardrobes; I took a deep breath and opened up one of the cabinets. Several long dresses remained on hangers. Alice’s clothes, I assumed, left here over forty-five years ago.

I checked the second wardrobe; old man Johnson’s clothes still hung there. I pushed the door closed. I could feel my hands, brow, and underarms sweating; I wanted to run but didn’t. For some reason, seeing Alice’s clothes made me feel sorry for her; it was as if I could relate to her. Seeing Clyde Johnson’s clothes frightened me. After all, Clyde was dead, and Alice was still alive.

This was the room where I would shine my light, alerting my friends I was on the second floor. I kept reassuring myself I could do this. I begin clearing things from my path. I closed all doors. As I started to shut the door to Alice’s sewing room, I had an idea. My burdens lifted.

As I went down the stairs, I checked the lock on the front door; it was open. This would be my entrance, then up the stairs, and shine my light out the window. I had closed all the doors upstairs except the two facing the front of the house. I knew my friends would be standing on the city walk. 

A quarter to midnight on Friday night, my friends and I stood facing the Johnson’s house. I could feel the anxiety flowing from my friends; just standing in front of the old place sent chills up my spine. I knew my friends wanted to run, but no one attempted to do so. There were nine of us, and the smell of fear flourished. 

“Well,” said Jimmy, “You’re up.”

“Want to come with me?” I asked.

“No,” snapped Jimmy.

I walked toward the front door. The door opened, and I stepped inside. I turned on my flashlight, and it lit up the room. I turned the latch on the front door; I didn’t want anyone coming into the house behind me.

I hurried up the stairs and toward the two rooms I’d left open. The doors to the bath and the two back bedrooms were still closed. I felt a sense of relief. I shined my light around and around, pretending to be nervous, lost, and disoriented. 

I pulled out a small light from my pocket, took a deep breath, and entered the sewing room. I turned off my floodlight. I pushed the dress form in front of the window and went back toward the door. I pocketed my small light and turned on my floodlight. I went into the Johnson’s bedroom and shined my light out of the window. I could see my friends standing on the walk. 

I headed back toward the sewing room. I flashed my light up, down, and around as I was leaving the room. It appeared I was searching every corner and crevice. When I stepped back into the hall, I turned and focused my beam on the sewing dress form. It sent the eeriest silhouette out of the window.

I stepped back into the hall and let out a blood curling scream. It was so loud it frightened me. I ran toward the head of the stairs. Coming to my senses, I stopped and flashed my light once more around the upstairs. Ensuring it entered both rooms. I screamed as loud as I could. I will tell you; it was most frightening.

I went down the stairs and into the living room. I let out one more scream and headed toward the kitchen door.

I slipped out the back door and headed down the drive. The streetlights confirmed my thinking as I saw my friends running down the street. I watched as they turned down a side street, heading for their homes.

I walked to the front of the house and stood for a moment staring at the abandoned home. I nodded and whispered, “Thank you.”

I strolled toward home, knowing after this night, my life would never be the same, and it wasn’t. I didn’t feel scared anymore; I felt a fresh breathe of air as I walked toward home. I knew the teasing would end. I had faced and overcame an awful dilemma. It was difficult for me but well worth the sacrifice.

I’d heard many times in English class that Shakespeare once wrote, ‘Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.

I smiled and then laughed aloud. If ole Shakespeare knew what he was talking about, I guess all my friends died tonight. I’m sure I scared the daylights out of them.