The Goblin Lives In Their House

 “Did you boys hear that?” Papaw asked.

It was only the four of us that Friday night: My grandparents, my brother, and me. I was ten years old and my brother Davey was seven. We sat on a rug in front of the fireplace. My parents had went out of town for the weekend and left us with our paternal grandparents at their rambling old farmhouse out on Possum Ridge. It was mid October and a great night to sit by the fireplace. Papaw had built a fire and the record player was playing in the living room. The record was the Happy Goodman Family. My grandparents were old time Church of God and only listened to Southern Gospel. Papaw, a tall, slender man was in his early 70s then. He sat in a rocking chair dressed in a pair of faded bib overalls with no shirt underneath. He was bald except for a few wisps of cottonlike white hair in various spots on top of his head. He only shaved before church on Sunday morning so his face was covered with grizzled stubble. He was smiling as he rocked. At times, he would sing along with the record, he had once been the baritone singer in a quartet and still had a decent, if slightly raspy, voice.

“I didn’t hear nothin’” I said, in answer to his question.

“I heard somethin’, Papaw,” Davey piped up. “Sorta like somebody fallin’ outta bed?”

Papaw nodded.

“Yep, boys, I’ll bet it was ‘Ol Archie!” he said. He had a sly smile on his face.

Mamaw was sitting in her easy chair, doing needlepoint. She was a plump woman with grey hair that she wore in a bun. She frowned and shook her head.

“Dillard Welch!” she snapped, “Don’t you start that nonsense with Jeff and Davey, your own grandsons!”

“What nonsense, Mamaw?” I asked.

“He has turned something that happened back before your daddy was born into this crazy story! Last year, we had a fine young man named Brother Blair come to the church for a revival meeting. Everything was going real good! People was being saved and joining church right and left. Brother Blair stayed here at the house that week. On Saturday night, the people asked Brother Blair to continue the meeting for another week, but Brother Blair said, no, he felt the Lord was leading him on. It was all because of your Papaw tellin’ his silly story! He scared that boy!”

“Now, Rhodie, I’m sure he was following the Spirit’s leading in the matter!” Her name was Rhoda, but she was “Rhodie” to Papaw. People from our part of Kentucky are bad for adding an “e sound” to the end of everybody’s first name. That’s why my brother was Davey and not David. Somehow, I had avoided being called “Jeffie”.

“I wanna hear your story, Papaw!” Davey said. “I’ll bet it’s a good’n!”

“It shore is!” Papaw said. He reached into the front pocket of his overalls, pulled out a piece of bubble gum and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a few minutes. As he chewed, side A of the album ended. Papaw got up, padded to the record player, and turned the record over. After he returned to the rocker and began to speak.

“Your Mamaw and me bought this house from Clinton and Naomi Sebastian. We was just married and living in a little old cabin on my family’s property. I wanted a place of my own more than nearly anything. Mr. Sebastian came by where we was living and offered to sell us this house for a whole lot less than it was worth. “We just got to git away from here,” he kept saying, “We just got to, I tell you!” I took out the loan and we agreed to meet at Gordon Sebastian’s law office to sign the papers. Gordon was Clinton’s first cousin, you see.”

“Well, we signed the papers and I told the Sebastians that we realized packing up and moving wasn’t easy, so there was no big hurry. He said, “We’ve got the trucked packed and the house cleaned out.” He gave me the keys and said it was ready for your Mamaw and me to move in. He seemed to be in a big old hurry to git outta town and his wife did, too. We walked him and Naomi out and, sure enough, they had the truck packed and ready to go. Gordon noticed that their boy, Archie, he was their only child, wasn’t in the truck. Archie was about twelve years old. He was always getting into trouble at school, talking back to teachers and beating up on other kids. They finally expelled him for pulling a knife at school! Gordon asked where the boy was. Clinton Sebastian turned white as a sheet and said, “Don’t you worry about that hellion, Gordon Sebastian! You just mind yore own business!”

“Then, they got in their truck and drove out of town as quick as you can say “Jackie Robinson”!”

“Well, did they leave their boy behind?” I asked, knowing that I would regret asking.

“Look, boys, every since we moved in, we’ve heard noises that we couldn’t figure out. When your Uncle Clifford was a toddler, just learning to talk, we’d hear him chattering away. We’d check on him and he’d say “Archie” over and over. When yore Daddy was a little boy, not much younger than Davey there, he was out in the back yard one day. He came in, just a bawlin’ his eyes out! He said there was and ugly goblin man with red eyes and orange hair out there and he was scared! Clifford was a little older and he said not to be scared, that it was only Archie! “

“Boys, I think Archie Sebastian has been here since 1943, acting like a goblin or somethin’!”

Davey started humming. I knew the tune. Mrs Flynn had been my first grade teacher four years ago and she had been my brother’s teacher last year. I could see her, teaching our class the song, standing in front of the chalkboard, shoes off, waving her hands like we were a choir or orchestra.

A goblin lives in our house, in our house, in our house,

A goblin lives in our house all the year round.

He bumps

And he jumps

And he thumps

And he stumps.

He knocks

And he rocks

And he rattles at the locks.

A goblin lives in our house, in our house, in our house,

A goblin lives in our house all the year round.

“If you’re gonna hum,” I told Davey, “try to hum the song playing on the record.”

I didn’t want to think about a goblin being in the house where we would sleep that night!

Thankfully, Papaw seemed to grow weary about the talk about Archie Sebastian. We listened to some more Gospel records- Mighty Kingsmen, Hinsons, Singing Cookes, and a few others. Mamaw made popcorn . Papaw had bought a Kentucky Wildcats basketball yearbook and he let Davey and me look at it. It was around eleven when Mamaw announced it was bedtime. Dave and I walked upstairs and went to the room that had once belonged to our father and Uncle Clifford. The room had twin beds on one wall was a framed photo of William Jennings Bryan, an heirloom that had been in the family since the erstwhile Mr. Bryan had been a Presidential candidate. On either side of the picture were a Kentucky Wildcats pennant and a Cincinnati Reds pennant. There was a small table between the two beds. There was a lamp on the table and another framed photo. The photo was our dad, about ten years old-no shirt, blue jeans, barefoot. His brother had his arm slung around Dad’s shoulders. Clifford would have been an eighth grader and he looked like he was dressed for a dance- slicked back hair, white shirt, bowtie, houndstooth pants, and black dress shoes. On the bottom of the photo, somebody had written Darrell and Clifford, 1960. It was a cozy room.

My brother and me undressed and put on our pajamas. We climbed into the beds. Thee was a knock on the door, the door opened, and Mamaw walked in.

“Boys, don’t let your Papaw’s silly story bother you. I love that man, but I swear, the older he gets, the worse he is!”

“Aww, he just likes telling stories,” I said.

She kissed both of us and said goodnight before leaving. She closed the door behind her. I was feeling drowsy.

“Hey, Jeff?” Davey asked. Sometimes he seemed older than his age. Now, he sounded childish.

“What?” I replied.

“Can we leave the lamp on for a while longer?” he asked.

I was actually glad that he asked.

I rolled onto my side and pulled the covers over my head. It didn’t take long for me to doze off.

At first, I thought I was dreaming. It took a few minutes to realize that I was awake and there was a conversation taking place in the room. I still had the covers pulled over my head. I didn’t move as I listened .

“My name is David Leland Welch. They call me Davey,” Davey said.

“Who’s in the other bed?” a gravelly voice asked. He had an accent that I couldn’t quite place.

“My big brother, Jeffrey Carter Welch. He’s called Jeff.”

“And who are you?” my brother asked. I tried to hold my breath and almost hoped there would be no answer.

“That’s for me to know and you to find out, little boy!” the other replied. He laughed, but there was no humor in his laugh. It was scary.

“What I’m wondering, “the person with the gravelly voice and strange accent said, “is why big brother is trying to convince me that he’s asleep!”

I gasped and felt myself break into a cold sweat. I could feel the covers being pulled off of my feet. I felt long fingernails on the soles of my feet. I began to giggle despite of my best efforts not do that. I flung the covers off of the bed and almost immediately regretted it!

In the dim lamplight, I saw a man who was only about my heighth. His shoulders and chest were broad. His hair was bright red, nearly orange, and framed his face like an unruly lion’s mane. His face was pockmarked. His teeth were yellow and looked sharp, almost like fangs! His hands were the hands of a much larger man and had long fingernails, almost like claws. But, it was his eyes that I can’t forget. They were red! Not red like somebody having contact lens trouble, but the pupils were red!

“Are you Archie?” I asked, my voice sounded girlish.

I noticed that he had a sheath on his belt. He pulled a buck knife out of the sheath and waved it at me.

“That ain’t none of yer business, punk!”

With that, he turned and stalked out of the room.

Davey hopped out of bed.

“Let’s see where he goes,” Davey said. I found myself clambering out of bed and following my brother out of the room. What were we doing?

We followed the strange man up the hallway. At the end of the hall, he leaped into the air and grabbed the string that was attached to the attic ladder. He pulled the ladder down and then scurried up into the attic!

Davey ran to the attic ladder and climbed up. Against my better judgment, I followed!

To my surprise, there was light in the attic. There was a lounge chair set up and a small table next to the chair and an oil lamp was on the table-that was the source of the light. Archie, if that was who he was, was pacing back and forth. He was holding the knife between his teeth like a pirate. He spun on his heel and his face seemed to light up when he saw us. He put the knife back in its sheath.

“C’mon in, children, see how the rich folk live!”

“So, you’ve decided that my grandparents’ attic belongs to you, huh?” I asked.

“They’re the ones who showed up where they didn’t belong!” he said.

Something about him made me angry!

“My Papaw has a shotgun! Maybe I’ll go wake him up!” I said.

He pulled the knife again and waved it at Davey and me!

“You better not tell nobody about me!” he screamed.

“Let’s git outta here!” Davey hollered.

My brother grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the attic ladder. We climbed down and ran back to the bedroom!

I can’t speak for my brother, but I didn’t sleep much that night. Papaw always got up early. When we heard him going downstairs, we got up and went to the kitchen where we knew he would be drinking coffee and reading his Bible.

“Papaw, there’s something in the attic you need to see!” I hollered.

He looked up from his Bible and nodded.

“OK, if you say so,” he replied. “ If we’re goin’ up to the attic, I’ll need a flashlight.”

“Better git a gun, too!” Davey said. He was being loud, too.

“Boys, let’s not be so loud! You’ll wake your Mamaw!” Papaw cautioned us.

Papaw, opened a drawer in the kitchen and removed a flashlight. Then, we walked upstairs. He stopped by the room he and Mamaw shared to fetch a pistol. We walked to the end of the hall and he pulled down the attic steps. He climbed up into the attic, quite spry for a man his age. Davey and me stayed on the floor. We could hear Papaw moving around. A few minutes later, he popped his head out of the attic. He was grinning.

“I reckon it might be safe now, boys,” he said.

We climbed up into the attic. He shined the light around the room. Stacks of boxes...a few used up appliances, including a rusty, old wringer washing machine… the lounge chair from last night was folded up and leaning against a wall.

“Boys, I don’t see nothin’! Nary a thing!” He put his pistol into a pocket of his overalls.

“He was here!” I whispered.

“The goblin! We seen him with our own two eyes, Papaw!” Davey said, nodding.

“Boys, I believe you, I really do!” Papaw said. He was smiling, but it was a sad smile. “But kinda keep this here to yourselves. No need to upset yore Mamaw!”

And I did keep it to myself.

Until now.

#

We buried Papaw a week ago. I went back to college. Davey went back to Indiana where he works in a factory. Yesterday, Dad called me and said Mamaw needed help with something and asked if I could take care of it.

I pull into the driveway. Mamaw is sitting on the front porch, doing a crossword puzzle.

“Dad said you needed some help,” I say after hellos have been said a long hug has been shared.

“Jeff, I don’t know why he did this. He must have done it the day that he died.” We walk into the housse, then upstairs, and down the hallway and she points up to the attack trapdoor.

There’s a buck knife stuck in the trapdoor. I jump up, grab the string, and pull the trapdoor open and the attic ladder down. I pull the buck knife out of the trapdoor.

“I haven’t seen this in a while,” I say softly, almost in a whisper.

“That knife yours? Or maybe your brother’s? “ Mamaw asks. “I don’t think your Papaw had one like that.”

“No, not mine, or Davey’s, or even Papaw’s. You really should consider selling this old place, Mamaw,” I say as gently as I possibly can.

“But kinda keep this here to yourselves. No need to upset yore Mamaw!” Papaw had said.

And I’m gonna do just that, Papaw.