Chapter 1: Broken Window

“AIEEE!”

The sound of shattering glass was shortly followed by mom’s cry of annoyance and bewilderment. I woke with a start and found myself watching the scene play out from our car’s passenger seat.

It wasn’t a very good view, since things were happening on the driver’s side, but the door was open since Mom was too busy storming away, so I could more or less spot the red-headed kid and little white terrier she was approaching. What I couldn’t hear very well was the verbal battle starting to ensue, so I got out of the car and walked a little closer.

“…I’m telling you, it wasn’t me!!” yelled the red-head, a girl with pigtails and freckles who must’ve been older than she looked.

“Then whose ball was it?!” Mom demanded angrily.

“Not mine. This one’s mine,” she replied proudly, holding out a red softball in her mitted hand.

Mom wasn’t convinced, and I wasn’t either, to be honest. “They could both be yours for all I know, and besides, don’t your parents know you’re playing in other people’s yards?”

“They do!” she countered. “We didn’t think people’d live in this place ever again!”

I glanced up at the two-story house sitting behind them. So this was our new house after all. It did look pretty old, but the well-kept kind of old. A window on the second floor was broken, but judging by the current situation, it was a recent wound.

I tuned back in to the going-nowhere argument and decided to intervene by tapping Mom on the shoulder. “Mom, listen.”

She spun around, expression softening at the sight of me. “Did we wake you up?” she asked apologetically.

I nodded, but continued what I started to say: “I’ll check out whatever room that’s window got broken, find that ball, and you,” I pointed to the startled but suspicious girl, “can help me figure out who it might belong to. You‘re familiar with the other kids in this town, right?”

She shrugged. “Better than you, I’m guessing. Who are you, anyway?”

“Ken Daus,” I replied. “Me and my family just got here from Reindeer. You?”

“Pippi,” she said simply, “and I don’t like your name.”

That took me aback. “Sorry?”

Mom kept on her disapproving glare. “I’m still going to call your parents,” she warned Pippi while handing me the key.

As I wandered to the front door of the house, I heard Pippi reply, “Is it okay if I give you my Mom’s work number? We don’t have a home phone.”

* * *

The creaky door opened, revealing the dust floating about inside. There had been people here in the past few days replacing the carpets and tiles, setting up some of the furniture, and other general repairs, but the place was still pretty dusty. I stepped in gingerly, almost expecting the floor to cave in at the touch of a feather.

Pass the mostly empty living room, and up the flight of stairs, which also squealed in protest. Four bedrooms lined the upstairs hallway; a bit of an overkill, since Minnie and Mimi, my little twin sisters, could share a room without killing each other. However, it also meant I wouldn’t have to share a room either.

It wasn’t long before I found the room with the broken window, which, judging by the familiar shape of the bed frame set up inside, was probably my room. Yay! I thought, but then decided it was better this way. The window would be my problem, and therefore wouldn’t be dragged onto me by someone else.

Besides, everything else was impressive. This had to be the biggest room I ever had to myself, even though I didn‘t have much to fill it with, nor did I care. The comfort was thinking about how much the twins would enjoy having their own big rooms.

Being careful to avoid the shards of glass, (I always take my shoes off during long car trips and had forgotten to put them back on this time,) I picked up the ball.

A cold, angry voice echoed in my head. I stood up, hair bristling, and looked around. Empty. But I could hear heavy breathing, as if the person who had shouted at me was ready to start again.

“It’s not mine,” I said out loud, mostly because it really wasn’t, partly to see if I could provoke the voice. Sure enough, I heard it, fainter this time…

“KEN! You okay? What’s taking you so long?”

…and then was lost.

“Coming,” I shouted in reply to Mom. Before I left, though, I stopped in the doorway and took one last look at the baseball in my hand. Could it have been the same one I lost in Reindeer? I immediately shook the absurd thought out of my head and hurried out.

You’re the reason…You’re the reason…Said the echo.

* * *

“Really?” Minnie was saying when I got outside again. The twins were both stroking the little white terrier, who panting and looking blissfully cute.

Pippi nodded. “Yep. He’s actually a stray dog. He sleeps in the backyard shed of this house and I bring him food and walk him and play with him everyday.”

“Why haven’t you been keeping him at home?” Mom asked suspiciously.

“My Dad’s allergic,” she replied. “Sorry. Like I said, I didn’t know this house was still livable.”

“That’s okay!” exclaimed Mimi. “Now Mick can live here with us!”

Mom cringed at that statement. “No way!” she yelled. “We’re NOT having a dog in the house!”

“Then he can sleep in the shed, like he always has,” I piped in. “And if the girls can’t take care of him, I will.” It wasn’t the prospect of owning a pet that made me stick up for my sisters. We had had a few pets in the past, all eventually left behind due to apartment restrictions. I just couldn’t see any reason to send the dog away when we would eventually move again and this house would be deserted like before.

“I don’t know…” Mom said. She seemed to be weakening, then she thought of something. “But he digs in the yard! Look!”

It was true. The yard was filled with small but numerous holes. There were also a few turds here and there.

“Well…we can train him,” I replied after a moment’s hesitation. “And if we can’t, then we can send him to a pound or something.”

Mom was silent this time, thinking.

“Just give him a chaaaance!” Minnie, a passionate animal lover, whined while giving her the doe-eyes.

Finally, she gave in. “Alright. For now, it’ll be alright. But this is also your father’s house,” she added. “If he says no, the dog goes, got it?”

“He’ll never even notice it,” I muttered.

“What was that, Ken?”

“Nothing.”

* * *

Mom insisted that I walk home with Pippi. (“And make sure you write down her address!”) Neither of us really complained because, although we had only known each other for less than fifteen minutes, we had a lot to talk about.

“Man, your mom’s hysterical!” Pippi was laughing. “One minute, she’s like, ‘No! No! No!’ Next, she’s like, ‘Fine. Have it your way, sweet talker.’ You really know how to push her buttons.”

I shrugged. “I guess so. The twins really like me for it, but I just go for whosever’s way sounds best. Sometimes I get on my sisters‘ case if Mom‘s point is better, so really, I‘m on everybody‘s good side in my family.”

“Wouldn’t that be the life,” sighed Pippi wistfully. Suddenly, she asked, “What about your dad?”

I flinched. I never liked talking about Dad, but I figured I might as well. I knew Pippi wasn’t prodding or anything; she was just worried about Mick.

“My dad,” I started, trying to think about how to word this, “is never around. He’s away at work all day, and when he does come home, late at night, he’s too tired to pay any attention to us. I never talk with him, and I don‘t even care to anymore.” I could have said a lot more, but that wasn’t necessary.

Pippi smiled oddly. “That’s kinda funny, ‘cause my dad’s the opposite. He’s at home way too much, just lazing around and watching tv, and my mom’s the one who has to earn all the money.”

“Oh,” I said, embarrassed for having known that her mother worked and then complaining about my dad. Talk about insensitive! “Sorry, that was rude of me.”

“It’s no big deal,” Pippi shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m like you; I just pretend he’s a piece of furniture or something, and then he’s a lot easier to forget about.”

We walked on in silence, both trying to ignore the awkwardness that had entered the conversation and afraid that another word could touch the other‘s nerve. But finally, I thought of a subject changer.

“Hey, Pippi, does everyone around here think our house is condemned or something?” I asked.

She nodded. “Yeah, pretty much. We did here a rumor about some guys going to refurnish the place, but we didn’t believe them. No one‘s lived there for decades.”

“Why? Are people just afraid of it, or do you even know?” I asked. The creepy voice from earlier was still bothering, and I wondered if there could be any connection.

“Well,” she said hesitantly. “Sure, I can tell you. You’re pretty level-headed. Just keep it from your mom unless you really want her to freak out.”

“Tell me what? What is it?” I was breathless with suspense.

“That house…well…” She took a deep breath. Then whispered darkly, “…Your house is haunted!”

“I knew it!” I cried, slapping my fist in triumph. “I heard a voice when I went in to get that baseball. That must have been the ghost, right?”

This obviously wasn’t the reaction Pippi had been expecting. Her eyes narrowed in disgusted shock. “I was just kidding! What are you, crazy?!”