Return to 3rd Street

The yard was overgrown with weeds and the windows were boarded up. I was frightened almost to death and afraid to let it show. The older kids in the neighborhood were conducting tours and it wasn't cool for me to show my fear.

I ducked my head and entered cautiously into the house that we considered haunted. The rancid smell attacked my nostrils and I strained to adjust to the light as particles of dust hung and danced in the rays of light that entered between the boards on the windows. We went into the pantry where food had been left by the family that had abandoned the house. Someone had broken a glass jar of peaches. The sweet smell of the syrup was inviting, but the environment was not.

I nearly turned and bolted when I began to hear strains of organ music coming from the darkened doorway to my left. I could not show my uneasiness so I followed my playmates as they entered the dining room.

I was aghast as I saw him hanging there in the arch between the living room and the dining room. His head listed to the left and the arms of his flannel shirt hung limply to his sides. The fingers of his gloves fit loosely. He had only one boot on his right side. His left pant leg was pinned up. There was a crutch laying on the floor beneath him. My terror was overwhelming, but my determination to appear tough was stronger.

I don't remember how we got out of the haunted house that day. I do remember the anxiety I felt as we spent our first night in the house.

The house had belonged to a Dominguez family, but they abandoned it for some reason.

The house was auctioned to satisfy the debt for back taxes and my parents decided to buy it. There was not a single pane of glass in the house that was whole. Every window had to be replaced. Brooms and dustpans were replaced with scoop shovels and buckets to remove the dirt and rubbish that had accumulated in the years since the house had been abandoned. Spider webs were removed from the corners of the ceilings that sagged from the weight of the dirt resting upon them. Plaster on the walls was cracked and fragile. It fell with just a touch.

We moved our furniture into the house. Lace curtains had been prepared and hung in the living room. Wax was spread on the unfinished hardwood floors. The room at the northwest corner of the house right off of the living room was assigned to the boys. The worn boards of the floor had been painted with battleship gray paint. There were two beds in the room. One double bed where my brothers slept, and my single bed.

As night approached, the shadows across the walls and ceilings began to lengthen. There was a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling of the bedroom. As long as the light was on, I felt secure, but the time finally came that light was turned off. I was warm from the beautiful patchwork quilt laying over my twin bed, but my heart was chilled as the shadows under the beds darkened. I was afraid to hang my hand over the mattress for fear that some unseen being would grab it from underneath.

Sleep finally overcame the fear. When I woke in the morning, all was well.

The House on 3rd Street

When we were getting ready to move into the neighborhood on 3rd Street, across from the Pagett residence, we had a bit of cleaning to perform before we could occupy the house. The floors were covered in dust and dirt, windows were broken, there was a large teddybear hanging from a rope in the living room. The house was vacant for some time before Arlo and Gatha arranged to buy the house on time.

I reflect in how industrious my father was in improving the house. He installed plumbing in the house with things he acquired at auctions. He was still working for Boyd Pagett at CCG&O, and had access to some of the tools he used there. He installed a heating stove that used kerosene. He repaired parts of the foundation with flat rocks. He put perlite against the foundation for insulation.

The attic was full of junk. Yes it was junk.

The yard was unimproved, no sidewalks. Dad put in a bridge to allow him to drive into the yard. Dad drove the delivery truck for CCG&O. He used the truck to deliver kerosene to the house and fill the barrels that stood outside the living room window. Sometimes we were required (mostly Kent and Donnie) to lug 10 gallons of kerosene home in 5-gallon cans and then put it in the barrels with a 90 degree funnel. The funnel had a lip that hooked inside the barrel bung and a frame that kept it upright. We had to lift the cans up over our heads and pour the smelly kerosene into the funnel. As the kerosene left the can it sometimes glugged and splashed. With practice it was possible to put some kerosene in the barrels without getting soaked in kerosene.

The apple tree on the south side of the house was where dad tied Thunder. Thunder was dad's hunting dog. The garden was built around the tree and was a family project (mostly mom). We never went hungry. I still like my green vegetables.