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THE THINGS IN THE WALLS

by Callie Todhunter

There are things inside the walls. They scratch and scream and moan and mutter. They have yellow eyes and furry bodies. They are as big as cats.  She can see them when they look out of the walls. And they see her. They are hungry things, hungry because this house is so old; there has been no food since a hundred years ago.
        On March 14, 1997, 5-year-old Emmy walks down an old hallway. Dusty pictures hung on the walls, sad reminders of the past of this house. Children, families, even beloved pets. She tiptoes across to an old bedroom. There are deep scratches in the fancy woodwork on the walls. Her mother walks in and says,
“Don’t worry, Emmy, those are just from those cats the old owner used to keep. They were beastly animals.”
Emmy nods, but some part of her doesn’t believe her mother. She ran outside to the grassy hills behind the old house. The wind blows her, nearly knocking her off her feet. She stumbles up the slippery slope and stands at the top. She can see the whole world from there. She looks down at the house. And something looks back.
Emmy yelps in surprise. She tares back down the knoll, and looks through the rooms for the things with the yellow eyes. She runs to her mother.
“Mommy, mommy, there are things in our walls!” she cries.
But her mother just smiles and says to her father,
“Such a big imagination in such a small child.”
Her father smiles, picks up Emmy, and puts her on his shoulders.
“’Okay, Emmy girl, show me the things, the ones inside the walls.”
Emmy nods and led her father up the hill, trembling.  She points down at the pair of shining yellow eyes glimmering in the dark of the attic window. She looks at the top of her father’s head and whispers,
“See, daddy, I wasn’t imagining it, there they are!”
Her father laughs and whispered back to her,
“They look like marbles, just shining in the sun to me, but go check it out, see if I was right, okay? Maybe the old owner collected marbles! That’d be fun, huh? ”
Emmy climbs down from her father’s back, nods solemnly, and runs down to the house, dark even in the afternoon sunlight. She climbs the steps to the attic. And she never came back down.



         Three years later, may 4, 2000 a new family moved into the old house. A mother, father, grandfather, and 6-year-old daughter, plus a dog and two fish make up the small family. The mother planned on getting the old house torn down, and the father did whatever the mother did, but the girl and her grandpa were against it.
“Mom,” said the girl, “Why are you tearing this place up? It’s great! Don’t you think so, Fa-fa?”
“Yeah, it’s a right neat little place. Why, lookiee here! It sure’s got one swell old garden!”
He puttered about in the garden, already at home.
“Well,” laughed the mom, “It’s a little overgrown, don’t you think?” I expect the garden will be wrecked when the, er, wrecking crew come.”
“What?” cried the old man, hobbling over, “I was already against this whole wreck-the-old-house thing-a-ma-bobber, but this is just going too far! In fact,” he continued, his hoarse voice rising to as loud as it could go, “ Kay and I intend to do something about it, don’t we, Kay-Kay?”
The girl nodded vigorously.
“Now, pops, let’s not squabble,” murmured the father softly.
The old man was too far into his argument to stop.
“Wreck my garden, would ya? How ‘bout I wreck your car? Is that what you want? And your own daughter loves this house. How can you destroy a historic relic? Why, I’ve a good mind to…”
The girl intervened, cutting across her grandfather’s rant.
“C’mon, Fa-fa, let’s go inside. We might as well see what it looks like before they destroy it.


      In the year 1875, another family moves into the house. The Lews. It is a family of a mom, a dad, and 5 children, 2 girls, Sarah and Issabel, and 3 boys, Michael, Cory, and Louie. They have taken many a train from Philadelphia, to this lonely house on the outskirts of Bridgewater, Vermont. Now they have hitched a ride with a horse and buggy cab. The oldest children, Sarah, Issabel, and Cory, help to drag the trunks indoors, while the twins, Michael and Louie run inside, screaming,
“I’m gonna get the best room!”
“No, I’m gonna! I’m older!”
“By three minutes!”
“I’m still older!”
“MMOOMMMMYY!”
They scramble up stairs and through doors, down halls and into rooms. Finally Louie yells,
“This is mine!”
So of course Michael yelled,
“No, it’s mine! I saw it first!”
“Did not!”
“Did too!”
“MMOOMMMMYY!!”
A few minutes later, they discover the attic and race upstairs, hollering at the top of their lungs.
“Ha, ha! I’m faster, slowpoke!”
“Nononono!”
“Am to!”
“MMOOMMMMYY!”
They get upstairs. And suddenly they are silent. No one ever found them.

When Kay and Fa-Fa stepped into the house, it was like stepping into a time capsule. The sink had a pump, the oven was a wood stove, and the microwave-what microwave? The floor was dusty from being alone for hundreds of years.
“Fa-Fa, why do you think all those other families left so suddenly? What do you think happened?” asked Kay nervously.
“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing.” Said Fa-Fa.
He went to the sink and pulled out a wad of papers. He grinned.
“Hey Kay, old newspapers!”
Kay loved old newspapers, even though she was only six, and could barely read, because she planned to be a journalist when she grew up.
“Really? Can I see?” she asked eagerly.
He tossed them to her and she grabbed them and took them outside in the light. She sat on the steps in the back porch and looked at the disintegrating papers in her hand. They were tied together with a frayed yellow ribbon. The yellowing newspapers almost blended to it. She placed the pack and ribbon down on the steps. Then she darted to a tree, and sat on a wide limb, which met neatly with another, like a chair. She was tired, and would just rest a moment. She climbed up, up, and finally to a comfortable limb from which she could see the house. She stared at the house for a long, long time.



1774,
A girl walks down a dusty path. This pathway is long and winding. It goes all the way to her new home. She is 14 years old, and is already starting a life alone. Her name is Providence Cantell. She hurries along, clutching the reins of a horse carrying her belongings. She hitches up her skirt, looks around furtively, and then jumps into the saddle of the big horse. She trots down the dusty trail, looking for her domain. She rides up the hill, and there it is. Providence ties the horse near a pump, and pumps some water into a trough for it. She walks in and looks around. A fuzzy thing darts around a corner.
“A cat!” exclaims Providence.
She has never had a cat, but she rather likes them. She follows it around the corner. And she vanished, but no one knew or came looking for her.

“Kaaaaaaaaaaaaay!”
A voice pierced the still blackness of Kay’s dream. The darkening sky appeared.
“Hummanah?” she groaned blearily.
“Kaaaaaaaaaay! Where are you?”
“Whaaaat?” She cried groggily.
“Kay?” a delighted voice came from the base of the tree.
A face appeared between the branches.
“What, Dad?”
“Where have you been for the last two hours?”
“Huh? Oh, um, right here, sleeping, I guess. Who’s looking for me?”
“Well, Pops and I, we thought you were probably fine, you’re a strong little girl and you always wander off, and besides, where could you go? But you know how your mother is, she sent me out here looking for you. Are you alright? Boy, you aren’t gonna sleep at all tonight.”
Kay mumbled,
‘Am too’
And she jumped down from the tree and ran inside. She had picked the smallest bedroom, because it had an ancient Canopy bed. Her mom replaced the mattress, and the blanket, but left the faded purple awning. As Kay drifted off to sleep, she stared up at the lavender sky. She sank deeper and deeper into the sea of lilac. Suddenly,
“Heha heha heha heha!”
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Hollered Kay,
“AAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!”
Her beagle, Scarlatti, loomed over her, drooling and panting.
It was 7:00 in the morning.
“Oh no!” cried Kay in dismay, “I’ll be late!”
She jumped up.
“Late for what? No kindergarten today, remember? Not for a week and a half…”
Her mother walked in to discover Kay digging through the boxes marked, Kay’s Clothes, in her mother’s sloppy writing.
Kay appeared not to have heard her.
“Mom, have you seen my overalls? Or my blue tee shirt? Or my green high-tops? I just don’t see them. And I have to wear them today!”
“Relax, Kay, no school today. Here.”
she handed Kay her missing clothes.
“I took the liberty of washing these.”
Kay got dressed hurriedly and ran downstairs. Her dad looked worriedly at her.
“Have you seen Pops? He’s gone off somewhere again!”
They scoured the house, but there was no doubt about it.
Fa-Fa was missing.

The house stayed the same for years and years and the things got hungrier and hungrier…

As the years went by, they never found Fa-Fa, and although they mourned, they never lost hope…

Kay grew older and went to school, and forgot all about the papers Fa-Fa had given her that first day…

Her mom put in a new porch, but did not tear down the old house, as a respect to Fa-Fa’s wishes…

Homework occupied much of Kay’s time, and friends, and she rarely went out to the old back porch or climbed the trees, but preferred the new modern porch…

And life went on…

“Beep beep beep bee…”
Kay groaned and flicked of the alarm.
“Kay? Aren’t you up yet? It’s 7:00 and you haven’t showered!”
Kay gasped, leaped out of bed and ran to the bathroom.
“I’m up, I’m up!”
She grabbed a towel and hopped in the shower, enjoying the steam on her face.
“KAY! Get out of the shower! You need breakfast and you only have fifteen minutes!”
“Coming, hang on just a sec’, I just gotta…”
She wrapped a towel around herself and one around her hair.
“KAY! Are you dressed yet? Get a move on or you’ll have to walk! I’m leaving in ten minutes!”
Kay scrambled into her room and pulled on a pale blue shirt with a drawing of a cartoon kitten across the front, jean Capri’s, and sandals with beads on the straps. She yanked her hair into a low ponytail and a sparkly blue headband. She grabbed her brown and pink messenger bag, threw in her binders and a yellow folder, and rushed downstairs.
Okay, mom, she thought, where’s breakfast?

The kitchen was a wreak. Bowls littered the table and counter, dirty spoons, trays and a mixer filled the sink, and her mom stood in the center, beaming.
“Hey sweetie, guess what? I tried a new recipe for waffles, so dig in!”
Kay sat down at the only available clear space and looked at the waffles, as her mom chattered on about the great new color she painted the door.
They were dark brown, burned around the edges, and giving off an odor that was none too pleasant. Kay steeled herself, slathered on maple syrup, and took a cautious bite. She barely stopped herself from gagging.
“Yeah, uh, great, Mom, but, yaknow, I should go, I’m gonna be late, so…”
Her mom looked so crestfallen that Kay felt guilty.
“Tell ya what, mom, why don’t I wrap ‘em up and eat ‘em on the way to school, alright?”
Her mom nodded and wrapped the waffles in Saranwrap. She handed them to Kay along with her lunch bag and a stray paper.
“Oh, and sweetie?” called her mom as Kay rushed to the front door, “the front door is still wet, so take the back way so you don’t get wet paint on your shirt.”
Kay reversed her step and ran back through the kitchen and to the cheery, but unused, yellow door. She put her shoulder to it and shoved. It popped open in a cloud of dust. She stumbled into the sun, and gazed at the beautiful view of the Vermont countryside. The green trees gleamed in the sun and the brook sparkled as Kay took a step forward.
“Ooof!”
Kay felt something slide under her feet as the porch gave way to stairs which flew up at her and struck her as the ground slid toward her…”
“Shoot.” Said Kay in a small voice, her big eyes tearing as she felt the long tear in her jeans, the beads flying off her sandals, and the hot, red wetness at her knee, cheek and toe.
“Kay, what happened, I…,” her mother broke off at the sight of Kay on the ground sobbing, her sandals and jeans, and the blood dripping from a gash in her knee, a scrape on her cheek, and covering her entire toe, “Oh! My word!”
Her hand flew to her mouth.
“Kay! Oh no! Your knee! Face! Oh your poor, poor toe!”
She scrambled down the stairs and pulled Kay to her feet, helping her to a kitchen chair.
Her mother pulled off Kay’s sandals, rolled up her jeans, and cleaned her various injuries.
The cut on her face wasn’t bad, just bleeding, and it stopped promptly as her mother gently applied a liquid that burned and made Kay wince, her eyes spilling over again.
“Shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoot. Shoot, shoot, shoo…OW!”
her mother quickly applied the disinfectant to Kay’s knee and slapped on a blue bandage.
“Ow, mom, stop, oh please don’t do my toe, please ow!”