Creaky House

Sarah made a decision to walk through the cemetery. But no sooner had she stepped through its gate than the brave soul she had been outside the graveyard, turned into a quivering bowl of jelly on the inside. Funny how dead people can do that to a person.

Taking slow, labored steps, Sarah tried to gather some courage as she strolled past grave after grave.

Willard Creaky
B 1825 D 1850
If you are reading this,
Count your blessings
And move on.
You don’t belong here, yet.

Jerome Creaky
B 1745 D 1770
When the revolution comes,
Tell them I will be there
In Spirit

Sarah stopped for a moment, seized with a desire to comfort someone. But who? She was quite alone. Not a needy friend in site. Then she noticed the headstone.

Greta Creaky
B 1876 D1884
Do not weep for me
When you figure out
My age.
I am not dead.
I have just
Moved on.

Wow, thought Sarah, she was the same age as me. That’s spooky. And why are there so many Creaky’s around here?

As Sarah turned to continue her journey to the other side of the cemetery, a voice from behind her whispered ‘boo.’ Sarah froze. Too frightened to make another move.

“Oh, don’t be scared,” said the voice. “I’m sorry. I should know better than to sneak up on someone in a graveyard.”

Sarah lifted her foot in an effort to make a run for it. But something was holding her back. Some strange force had gripped her sneaker and was pulling it back to the brick walk.

“Gum,” said the voice.

“What?” said Sarah.

“You stepped on a huge wad of gum,” said the voice. “That’s why you can’t move your foot. Visitors around here are so inconsiderate sometimes.”

“Sorry,” said Sarah.

“Not you, silly. I’m talking about people who trash sacred places. Not only do I clean up around here, I live here, as well. My name’s Greta. Hi.”

“I know,” said Sarah. “I can read.”

“What?” said Greta.

“I read your headstone,” said Sarah, trying to muster up a ho-hum-so-you’re-a-ghost vibe.

“Oh, my God!” said Greta. “That is so funny!”

“I’m glad you’re having fun, “ said Sarah. “Because I’m practically peeing in my pants. I know you can’t help being a ghost. It wasn’t your fault, I’m sure. I’m eight years old, too, by the way. I’m sorry if I’m talking too fast. I always do when I’m nervous. And, boy, am I nervous. It really stinks that you didn’t get to be nine. I’m going to be nine on Sunday and I’m really looking forward to it. I hope that’s not why you’re haunting me. Because you sound like a really nice person and I bet if I were alive in 1884 we would have been the best of friends and maybe I would’ve been able to do something to keep you from dying. Saved you from drowning, or given you my heavy coat to keep you from getting cold and sick, or maybe, kept you from being so lonely that you wished you were dead, and I would have made the loneliness that made you sick go away and you wouldn't have died, and--”

“Hold on!” said Greta. “I’m not dead! I’m as real as you. If you’d only open your eyes, you’d see.”

Sarah turned her head around and opened her eyes, real slow.

“Boo, again,” said Greta.

Sarah saw a young girl kneeling at the foot of Greta Creaky’s headstone, soaking a small portion of the grave with water from a sprinkling can.

“Daisies,” said Greta. “I just planted some. They were Aunt Greta’s favorites. She’s actually my great, great, great aunt. but that takes too long to say, and sounds so silly when you do. So I just call her Aunt Greta. I was named after her."

It was at this point that Sarah remembered that she was holding her breath and so she let out a long stream of warm air. Suddenly she felt calmer than ever.

“Here,” said Greta. “Let me give you a hand with your sneaker.”

Greta knelt in front of Sarah and asked her to raise her foot as far as she could. Which wasn’t very far.

“Hold still,” said Greta. “I’ll snip the gum with my pruning shears.”

Which she did. She then unlaced Sarah’s shoe and gently lifted her foot out of the little red sneaker.

“Come on,” said Greta. “I have something in the woodshed that’ll get the gum off that sneaker.”

“Thanks,” said Sarah.

“You bet,” said Greta.

Uncle Ned Creaky sat on a stoll in the toolshed sharpening his hedge clippers on a huge grinding wheel that he pedaled with his foot. He paused for a moment. Looking around for any sign of life. When he was satisfied he was quite alone, he pulled off his work gloves and commenced to trim his fingernails on the swift moving grinder.

“Who needs nail clippers?” he said. “Now, if I can only figure out how to do my toes, I’d be in business.”

When Uncle Ned was done grooming his nails, he went about the business of sprucing up the graveyard after the harsh winter.

Got my work cut out for me this fine Spring, thought Uncle Ned. It was the end of March and the warm Spring air filled him a renewed sense of purpose. After a winter like that, Uncle Ned thought he’d be frozen to the bone for the rest of days.

“What a mess!”

He surveyed the debris outside of the toolshed. But it was nature’s debris. And that didn’t upset him at all. He Looked forward to it.

“Uncle Ned!” said Greta. “Can I use your grinding wheel?”

"What for?” said Uncle Ned.

“I want to grind the gum off my friend’s sneaker,” said Greta.

“You can, if you can reach the pedals,” said Uncle Ned. “Otherwise, leave it be.”

"OK,” said Greta. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Uncle Ned. “And who’s your new friend?”

“Her name is Sarah,” said Greta. “I scared her half to death, and I owe her. Can we afford another grave sweeper? I think she’d be a good one.”

“But,” said Sarah, “I wasn’t looking for a job. I was on my way to the library. I’m a volunteer.”

“Oh!” said Greta. “Trust me! Grave sweeping is far more interesting. And remember, I saved you from the deadly grip of the killer gum wads!”

Sarah sensed a friend for life in the making and decided to trust what may be fate.

“OK,” said Sarah. “But if I ever comes across anyone I can see through, I’m out of here!”

“Deal,” said Greta. “Ok, Uncle Ned?”

“Fine by me,” he said.

Greta figured she’d wait a few weeks before introducing Sarah to the rest of the Creaky’s.

Baby steps will definitely need to be taken, thought Sarah. The Creaky house is not for everyone. No, indeed.

To be continued. . .