Mother Ghost Grimm Page 4

  My Homework Ate My Dog

  Story // Matthew Ahlborn

  * * *

  Five was in serious trouble. He was going to submit a paper mâché clown head for his Halloween art assignment, but he found out that Saxony was doing the same thing. It isn’t fair, he thought. She’s 13, she shouldn’t even still be in the 6th grade. He had already bought the beach ball and supplies from the dollar store to make it. Still, she had brought hers in early and he couldn’t do the same thing (even if hers was goofier than it was scary and his would-be WAY better).

  Now what was he supposed to do? The art show was on Friday, only 3 days away. He was supposed to bring his project in on Thursday so it could be graded and put on display. He sat in his room and looked around. What could he do? What was there that he could turn into something spooky and get an A? He looked around and saw a lot of stuff that just wasn’t that scary: sports equipment, some action figures, a wireless game controller that he knew needed new batteries. “That’ll be dead soon,” he thought. Scary, yes, but not the right kind of scary.

  “Five! Dinner!” came the call from downstairs, his mom certainly proud of whatever slow cooker masterpiece she had concocted from whatever she could find in the fridge.

  “Two-point-five! Let’s go, loser!” came immediately after that, from his 14-year-old stepbrother Kevin, who came barreling down the hallway like a buffalo, kicking Five’s door on his way to bounding down the steps 3 at a time.

  Five sighed and went downstairs for dinner. A few minutes into his chicken/rice/vegetable/some kind of soup dinner, his mom said bluntly “Five, what’s wrong?”

  He told the story of the clown head that was not to be, how Saxony had brought hers in early (but left out the injustice of her still being in the 6th grade and how he thought he should get first dibs on the idea).

  “I don’t know what to do now,” he said, utterly defeated.

  “Just take a selfie and print it big, that’ll scare the crap out of everybody” said the truly original-thinking Kevin.

  Mom rolled her eyes and said, “Well, what do you have around here that you could make scary?”

  “Nothing,” Five muttered. “Unless this place is haunted, and I can get video footage of the ghosts.”

  “I could make it a haunted house; I could kill you in your sleep! MwahaHAHAAA!!” Kevin chimed in, making stabbing gestures with his fork.

  Five sat straight up.

  “What?” asked his mother.

  “I could make a haunted house!” Five said.

  “Out of what, dummy,” said the eloquent Kevin.

  “Is Carly’s doll house still in the basement? The one we didn’t sell at the garage sale?” Five asked.

  “Yes,” mom said slowly. “What are you thinking?

  “Well, if it’s ok with Dave I could take it out to the back shed and spray paint it black and gray and add webs and stuff and put my tablet inside to show spooky lights and play creepy sounds!” he said, getting more excited with every word.

  His stepdad Dave raised his eyebrows, set down his fork and said, “Five, that is a really good idea.” He looked at mom. “Carly told us to get rid of that thing before she left for college last year, so I’m sure she won’t care. I’ve got plenty of spray paint in the garage left over from painting the patio furniture, as long as he doesn’t make a mess of the shed, I’m fine with it.”

  Dave returned to his chicken stuff. Mom smiled and nodded. Kevin burped and blew it across the table. Five dug into dinner, which was suddenly much more appealing.

  After dinner, Five executed his plan. He got the 5-foot tall, 3-story doll house from the basement and collected spray paint and the collapsed cardboard boxes Dave had used to protect the shed floor from his many projects. He strapped on his white construction mask and safety glasses and set to painting the white, pink and purple structure shades of grey and black. After 3 or 4 passes he stepped back to take a look.

  It was going to be a masterpiece.

  It looked like something from The Munsters or The Addams Family, and once he got some cotton spider webs and slow-moving lights inside it, it would be spectacular! Now all he needed was to come up with a spooky story to go along with–

  “BUUUUURP!!” came the bellow from right behind him.

  “Aww Kevin, you are so gross!” Five yelled as he waved his hand in front of his nose.

  “Let’s see it, loser.” Kevin stepped into the shed and stopped in his tracks. “Dude, that’s actually really cool.”

  “Really?”

  “I mean, for a total pansy like you, yeah.” Kevin was incapable of kindness, Five was certain of it.

  “I’m going to add some webs and throw some dirt on it to make it dusty, and then write a short story–”

  “You know what it needs? An actual ghost. I’ll see what I can do.” Kevin turned and left, but not without lifting his left leg and letting out a quick fart.

  “Don’t mess this up, Kev!” Five cried. “I’m serious, I need this grade!”

  Five put another two coats on the house and pulled the shed door closed so it could dry overnight. Suddenly Kevin appeared and threw a leash at him. “Kipper needs a walk.”

  “He’s your dog, you walk him.”

  “He’s your dog too, loser.”

  “You had him for like 10 years before your dad married my mom, and he hates me” Five said holding the leash out to Kevin.

  “Which means for the last 3 years he’s been your dog too. He hates you because he’s right. Now walk him or I’ll pee your bed.” Kevin would actually do that.

  “Just leave my house alone.” Five said. Kevin smiled.

  The next morning, Five went out to the shed. His house looked fantastic! The paint had run in a few spots and made it gloriously creepy. However, it was open more than he thought he had left it. Five walked around to the open side, opposite the split on the vertical hinge, and saw something that literally took his breath away.

  “BOO!” Kevin yelled from the doorway.

  “What the hell is that??” Five cried.

  “I made it a real haunted house!” Kevin said proudly.

  “What did you do?” Five asked, already knowing the answer.

  “I caught a field mouse, put him in a Ziploc and let him spend the night in your house. He died in there – he’s dead, right? – so now your house is really haunted! That’s how that stuff happens, tragedy and murder mwahaHAHA!!!” Kevin was so pleased with himself.

  “Are you out of your mi–” Five stopped when he heard his mom calling them in for breakfast. “Get rid of it or I’ll tell mom.”

  “Relax, Two-point-five,” Kevin said as he took the bagged corpse. “The mouse was in one of dad’s traps, so he was gonna die anyway. Now you’ve got a story to tell.” They both knew that Kevin wouldn’t get in any real trouble.

  “Whatever. Just leave my house alone. And keep Kipper away from it.” Five knew that Kipper would pee on anything of value, and since this was really important the little snot was sure to douse it with his finest vintage. Five added another quick coat of paint to the inside and went in for breakfast.

  After school, Five went out to the shed to see his magnum opus. Kipper ran out the back door with him and made a beeline for the shed, stopping a foot short and growling like a guard dog.

  “Back off, Kibble,” said Five. As he passed, Kipper tried to nip his ankle. “OW! Knock it off!”

  As soon as he opened the door, he could tell something was wrong. The house seemed to… flex or swell when the light hit it. Five paused, then took a long look at the dim lights emanating from inside the windows. They were certainly creepy, especially considering he hadn’t put any lights in it.

  The house flexed again, ever so slightly. Kipper slowly walked up to it, growling, his Shih Tzu eyes level with the second story windows. As he approached the space where the house opened, Five knew something was about to happen. He started to reach for Kipper, to tell him to stay back, but the house suddenly opened a
nd… pulled? drew? tractor beamed? the little guy right into the cavity where the interior should have been, but it was only dimly lit darkness. With a single yip-yelp, Kipper was no more. The house slammed shut and powered down, no more lights to see.

  Warren Charles Everett V stood slack-jawed and silent. He took two steps back, shut the shed door and said out loud, “Um… my homework just ate my dog.

  “I’ll get an A for sure!”

  Harry the Helper

  Story // J. Speziale

  * * *

  Edward was a lazy man who always looked for the easy way out. He had a beautiful wife, Evelyn, and she was the best cook in the entire village. Shortly after their wedding— Evelyn’s father, Frank, built the newlyweds a small home on a large plot of farmland. “Take care of the cattle, grow a bountiful harvest, and live a wonderful life.” Frank told the couple. Edward did not care for the generous gift from his father-in-law, as he was dreading the idea of working hard on the farm.

  Frank took Edward outside and they walked around the property to check on the barn, cornfields, and pasture. Edward’s only concern at that moment was when his next nap would be. As the two men came to the edge of the field, they happened upon a old, bronze bell sitting atop a pole in the ground. The bell was the size of fully-grown pumpkin and had strange markings engraved on the side. Frank grabbed Edward’s arm and pointed. “Whatever you do, Edward, DO NOT RING THIS BELL.” Edward sighed and rolled his eyes. “I’m very serious Edward,” Frank continued, “Please take care of my daughter, and this land, but NEVER ring this bell.” Edward’s curiosity grew, but he promised Frank he would not ring it.

  In the mornings, Evelyn would wake her lazy husband and they would take a stroll around the beautiful property before they began their daily chores. Edward despised working and wished he could go back to bed. During their walks, the couple would pass the strange bell. One day, Edward’s interest peaked, and he rang the bell three times— despite Frank’s warning.

  Thutunnnggg Thutunnnggg Thutunnnggg

  “This is my land now, and I can ring any bell I choose,” Edward said to a concerned Evelyn. The air felt still as the final ring echoed throughout the land. Evelyn noticed that all of the birds stopped chirping, and the cattle scurried away to hide in the barn. The newlyweds then went inside, and Evelyn prepared breakfast per Edward’s harsh demand. After they ate, Edward left Evelyn to do the dishes and he reluctantly shuffled out the door to begin his chores.

  As Edward walked through the pasture towards the cornfield, he noticed a man dressed in a black suit casually leaning against the bell. Edward approached him and asked his business.

  “Were you the one who rang the bell?” The man asked Edward, flashing his yellow teeth as he smiled. Edward looked the man up and down and found him strange. He wore a tattered black suit that was much too big for his thin body. His long, stringy, black hair spilled out of a worn top hat. “Of course, I rang the bell,” Edward said with an annoyed tone. “It’s my bell and I can ring it anytime I please.”

  “I apologize, sir. Where are my manners?” The man said. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Harry. Harry The Helper. And I am here to assist anyone who rings this bell.” Harry took a long bow and his hat fell to the ground. Edward noticed a long, grotesque scar on the back Harry’s neck— it looked like his skin had been split in two, then sewn back together. “Help me with what?” Edward asked. “I am not going to waste my money on some farm hand that just showed up on my property.” Harry smiled his toothy grin, and his bloodshot eyes lit up. “That’s the beauty of my services, friend. I’ll help you with any tasks you wish. All I ask for in return of my favors are 3 square meals a day. That’s it!”

  Edward looked at him curiously. “You promise you’re not trying to swindle me.”

  “No sir.” Harry said with another dramatic bow. Edward beamed. “Well you’re in luck Mr. Harry The Helper. My wife Evelyn is the best cook in town. When can you start?”

  “How about tomorrow morning, right after breakfast?” Harry asked excitedly. Edward took Harry’s cold, rough hand and shook it with enthusiasm. The men parted ways, and Edward walked home to inform Evelyn of the new arrangement.

  * * *

  Harry the Helper arrived at the crack of dawn, just as Evelyn was preparing breakfast. Harry stepped inside, sat down at the table, and placed a napkin in his lap. Evelyn noticed that he was much taller than the other men in the village, his dark, beady eyes watched her every move. He didn’t say a single word as she cooked. Evelyn plated Harry’s breakfast and set it in front of him: 2 eggs, 3 strips of bacon, toast, and a cup of black coffee. For a split-second, Evelyn turned around to check the clock on the wall, and as soon as she looked back — Harry had already licked the plate clean. She couldn’t believe how quickly he had eaten.

  “You are quite the chef!” Harry said with delight. “But you see… I have quite an insatiable appetite. And since I am going to be working hard all day, I must ask you for more. Three more plates ought to do it!”

  “Three!?” Evelyn exclaimed.

  “Oh yes ma’am. But I promise you, no morsel will go uneaten.” Harry said as he vigorously scratched the oozing scar on the back of his neck.

  So, Evelyn returned to the kitchen and made three more plates of food. As soon as Harry was finished, he got up from the table and went outside to begin his work. A few hours later, Edward finally woke from his slumber, and demanded Evelyn make him a breakfast of his own.

  * * *

  The very second the clock struck noon, Harry the Helper returned for lunch. Evelyn had to serve him six sandwiches, a pound of fried potatoes, and a gallon of lemonade before he was satisfied. A few hours later, Edward awake from his afternoon nap, and once again ordered his wife to make him a separate lunch. That evening Edward, Evelyn, and Harry the Helper sat together at the table for supper. Harry never said a word, he remained still with the same toothy grin and his eyes darted rapidly around the dining room. Evelyn baked five chickens, roasted half the vegetables from her garden, and poured three jugs of milk just to appease Harry’s appetite.

  This routine went on for months. Poor Evelyn slaved away in the kitchen all day in an attempt to satiate Harry’s hunger. Edward did nothing to help. He only lounged around and ordered Evelyn to bring him meals. Evelyn noticed Edward’s belly had doubled in size, but Harry the Helper remained thin as a rail. Fed up with the way things had become, Evelyn begged her husband to fire Harry and go back to working on the farm by himself. When Edward refused, it was the last straw for Evelyn. In the middle of the night, she snuck out of the house and went on her way in pursuit of a better life— One that she deserved.

  Three loud knocks at the door woke Edward from his slumber. He waddled to the door to find Harry the Helper, who looked very angry. Edward explained that he did not know where his wife was, or when she would be back.

  “Well sir, I cannot work if I have not eaten.” Harry hissed as he dug his nails into his scar. “There’s plenty of food around here, just make something for yourself. You can have anything you want.” Edward sighed.

  Harry’s menacing eyes lit up. “Anything!?” “Yes, anything.” Edward responded as he shuffled over to the couch and fell back to sleep.

  Harry stepped inside and closed the door. He went into the kitchen, sharpened a large knife, and gathered some spices. Harry the Helper flipped through Evelyn’s cookbook until he found what he was looking for: a delicious recipe for a roast.

  Edward had gained quite a lot of weight over the past few months and was finally big enough to satisfy the mysterious man’s appetite. Harry the Helper smiled as he ate the last bite of Edward the lazy farmer, just before walking out of the house and crawling back into the grave he had come from— waiting for his next meal to ring the old bronze bell.

  Shadow Puppets

  Story // Blair Daniels

  Illustration // Blair Daniels

  * * *

  My dad and brother are away tonight on a camping
trip.

  I was feeling lonely, so Mom decided to have a little slumber party with me in the family room. After reading a few books and making a blanket fort, she asked me what I wanted to do next.

  "Let's make shadow animals!"

  "That sounds great." She flicked off the lights and set up a flashlight on the other side of the room. Then the two of us sat on the floor, projecting shadows on the wall.

  Mom twisted her fingers into the shape of a dog. I made a cat. She wiggled her pinky, opening the dog's mouth. "Woof! Woof!" she said, moving towards the cat.

  "Meow! Hissss!" I replied, making the cat lunge at the dog.

  "That's a pretty brave cat," she laughed.

  "The bravest,” I replied.

  Suddenly, a third shadow emerged on the wall. Right behind my cat. It looked like a coyote, and it was a lot more realistic than any other shadow animal Mom had done.

  "That's so cool, Mom! How are you doing that?"

  Mom didn't reply.

  "Mom?"

  She was staring directly behind me. Wide-eyed. Trembling. Her hand clamped over her mouth.

  She wasn't making the shadow.

  Yet the coyote continued staring at me with its hollow, lifeless eyes.

  Nightly Chats

  Story // J.T. Hayashi

  * * *

  I know that I’m a “big kid” now, and Dad says I shouldn’t be afraid of monsters anymore. But he doesn’t hear them. The awful things they say. Not to me, but to each other, about each other. Nasty-sounding things.

  “About time that stupid old man left,” snarls The Monster Under the Bed.

  “Too true. I hate having to wait for our talks because he can’t hurry up and just go,” says the Closet Monster.