Ghost of O'Leary House

Chapter Seven

David walked about the sitting room, clearing away dust with an oversized feather duster (per his Grandma’s instructions) to create room enough for him to sit and eat. There was a low table with several candles shedding light throughout the room, the dark wood reflecting the flickering the light from the dancing candlelight. A recliner, the frame of which dug harshly into your back if you sat on it for too long. This made David think that Grandma didn’t play the hostess that often.

Judging by the layer of dust, he was right!

Moving to a tall bookshelf, David wiped away the volumes and cleared away the gray haze with a hand-held vacuum. Grandma had opened a window to allow the Sage smoke to drift out, the dim light of dusk entering the little room. David was now taking his cleaning wipes to the task of clearing away the matted gray fuzz that had built up over the past decade or so over the mantle and on the bookshelves.

The shelves held photos of what David learned were his Grandfather, Trevor O’Leary, who had lived for a short time before dying early in the marriage. The grainy black-and-white photos were of a dour looking man standing around farm plots, in front of a barn by a well that David recognized to be the one in the backyard, where the fields were. David resumed cleaning after looking over the photos, wondering what his grandfather had been like.

Every so often, David had come across something unquestionably strange on the shelves that flanked the door. His thoughts, however, were growing darker due to it.

“Why would anyone have a hand in a jar?” David asked as he stared at the glass container, a sick green-yellow fluid slushing around the hand, splayed open in a locked position, a heavy bracelet covering where it would have been severed at the wrist. The other discoveries, a stuffed cat and a statue of a rather twisted looking dragon wrapped around a brass sand clock, were but a few of the items David had stumbled across.

One of the few that he’d found that he found neat was a knife, set within a jet-black scabbard, perhaps six inches long with a three-inch handle. The wavy blade was free of rust or any sign of aging, and the handle was either crafted from ivory or bone. It was crafted to resemble several humans, all piled and squirming atop each other, obviously in agony. Their hands reached towards a dark set gem embedded in the blade itself where the hilt tapered off.

“Cool!” He said before looking back at the kitchen, making sure his Grandmother wasn’t looking. “My form of payment, Grandma, for cleaning up your nasty living room.”

 “What was that my dear?” Grandma called from the other room, somehow hearing David, and his murmuring.

“Was just wondering how long dinner will be? I’m starving!” David lied, slipping the sheathed knife into his sweater pocket. David had liberated a few rotary fans from around the house and lined them up near the open window. Now that he’d stirred most the dust into the air, he went about flipping switches and turning knobs, turning each fan, the air now finally circulating within the old room. The stench of cherry candles, burnt sage and old person musk quickly slithered out of the home beneath the might of David’s fans, allowing him to take a deep breath and not cough for the first time since he arrived.

A low growling came from his feet, catching David by surprise. Oliver had emerged from the depths of the house, his lofty tail flicking irritably as he paced closer to David, hoping up onto the creaking sofa to stare at the young boy.

“What do you want?” David asked, looking at the cat with a small amount of distrust. David really didn’t like cats.

It merely sat there as regally as it could, licking its lips while staring lazily at David through golden orbs. David gingerly extended a handout to pet the softly growling animal, eyeing the long fangs that hung low from its upper jaws as if it were a saber-toothed tiger of old. David smiled as Oliver allowed this action instead of biting David’s hand, even going so far as to lean into the petting a little bit.

Grandma walked from the kitchen, bustling with a tray laden with a plate of cookies and two steaming cups. Setting them down in front of her armchair, she straightened out her back with her hands, groaning at the series of pops that popped from her old bones.

“You okay?” David asked, slightly concerned.

His grandmother waved off his attention. “Part of being old David, part of being old. I’ll take something for it later after I go through my herb garden.”

David smiled at the chocolate chip gingerbread cookies, picking one up and biting into it eagerly. The warm and gooey confection melted in his mouth, allowing him to heave a sigh as he stared at his grandmother, who was looking over the areas he’d cleaned. He felt nervous when she went over to the bookcase where the knife had been, her fingertips ghosting over the spines of books and tapping her various knick-knacks (she even caressed the hand in a jar!) before she turned back to face David, her lips pulled back in a smile.

“You did well,” she said, wiping her hands on a cloth hanging from her apron. “The living room hasn’t felt this livable in years.”

“Why do you keep it so closed off like it is?” David asked, eyes darting to the staircase, which had several wooden boxes piled up on the steps, held back by bungee cords stretched to their limit.

Grandma merely shrugged. “Really don’t need the space,” she said, her tone hushed. She looked over at the fans then down at Oliver, who she walked over to and scooped up, ruffling his fur. “Oliver! Is this where you’ve been hiding?”

“Yeah, he’s been in here since I started cleaning,” David said, stepping forward to continue petting the black cat.

“Well, you can go outside for a while, catch yourself some dinner!” Grandma said, shuffling over to the open window. Placing Oliver on the ledge, she gave him a gentle nudge to ease him over into the front yard, something he did with slight reticence.

“You really make him hunt for his food?” David asked, looking at his Grandma with thoughtful eyes.

“Of course! I mean, I really only have three cats that stay with me now, the others just visit every now and then.” Grandma said as she eased herself into her armchair. She took a steaming cup and a cookie and smiled. “A lot of strays are in this town.”

“We have stray dogs back where I live, but they get rounded up by the pound,” David said after finishing his second cookie. “Doesn’t Alice Grove have a Pound where strays can go?”

Grandma leans back, smiling as she sips on her tea. Cupping the glass in both hands as if she were warming her fingers, she chuckled. “We do indeed. But its local superstition that its bad luck to pick up a cat off the street.”

“Why?” David asked.

Grandma shrugged. “Just an old tale about cats bringing in bad spirits with them, when I have it on good authority that cats can help keep unruly spirits at bay.”

“Really?” David asked, sipping his tea slowly.

“Oh yes, black cats are lucky, very lucky… they can do a lot for you if you’re willing to put up with them.”

The ceiling groaned, distinct footsteps echoing from above going across the room and ending just above the front door. David looked over at his Grandmother. “What was that?”

She waved it off. “The house makes noises, probably just some rattling pipes.”

“It sounded like footsteps,” David said, earning a foul look from Grandma.

“I’ve told you before that there’s nobody else in this house save for the two of us,” Grandma said her voice sterner than usual. “Now will you trust me on that?”

“Sure,” David lied, looking up at the ceiling. “Sure thing.”