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Somethings just can't be explained...

    It was quiet, as if a blanket of silence had befallen the house. So still that I could hear my own breath drift from me, the only reason to believe I was still alive. Everyone was asleep, at peace with their dreams. I don’t know why, I’m not, restless as I lay still as a rock under the blankets and sheets.

    I had to pee, squirming a little I tried to hold it. Something wasn’t right, the air felt thick. The light from the bathroom illuminated the dining room, just enough for me to see into the room. The carpet was red, one of my Mothers favorite colors. The dining room table was covered with a white table cloth and the chairs stuck out majestically with a deep brown finish. Mom was very proud of that table I remember. On top of the table was a large basket with plastic fruit that never really fit the rest of the house. On the other side of the dining table was the cubby hole. This cubby was a little freaky, that’s where the heater duct went through the house. All the way to the upstairs where my aunt lived. Strange noises would emit through the closed opening whenever the old heater turned on. To a young child it’s a little weird. Depending on my mood, or the old heater’s you could swear that it was going to explode.  

    Oh… I have to go!

    Squirming some more, rustling under the covers and crossing my legs in slight desperation.  

    Looking over the sheet across the bed and into the other room, I searched for a movement, a shadow, something to tell me that I shouldn’t go. Time had come to an abrupt stop.

“Breath,” I tell myself.  

    “Breath…”

    Come on, there’s nothing there. Reassuring me, in my mind, nothing there, stop being silly as Grand Mom would say.”Stop being a baby”!   

    So I started to slip out of bed, slowly, my pajamas rustled and crackled from the static, it was much cooler outside of the sheets and blanket, I looked cautiously around. No shadows tonight, no footsteps, no sounds that I could discern whatsoever. The house itself was asleep. It’s safe reassuring myself and trying to steady the nervous trembling in my hands.   

    I wonder as I search my surroundings.

    This is strange thinking to myself.

    The room seemed brighter than usual; all of a sudden my senses seemed to have hyper intensity. I looked at the clock over were my mom slept, it was 4:10. The walls, white paneled walls with brown stripes seemed out of place tonight, this morning. Everything seemed bigger, and I smaller. In all of this it was almost forgotten that I had to go to the bathroom. Taking careful steps, moving closer to the doorway, around the bed, where the dining room was awaiting.

     “You know you’re a big boy now… There is nothing to be afraid of…” I bolster myself.

     Walking briskly to the doorway, “what will I see”? I’m there, dropped to my knees, searching to my left there is the kitchen, you can only see so far. What can be seen is the door leading to the outside world, painted black with green opaque windows, there are six of them. Strange shadows wallow beyond the door windows cast from the porch light.  The shiver runs through my spine and my legs are rubbery. The kitchen is dark. Black is my Mother’s other favorite color. Next to the kitchen was the closet door. Always closed, it made a great hiding place for hide and go seek because of all the junk that was in there. It was forever smelling of moth balls its acrid stench still with my memories to this day.

    Craning my head to the left I could see the arched entrance to the bathroom. Beside it was a large square opening to the living room. It was shadowy dark in there. The hanging red lamp was off and thinking to myself that was peculiar. It hung dark and ominous from a black steel chain from the ceiling, hovering above a dark stained table outlined in red velvet. I was more worried about that room at the moment than any other. It was the largest area in the house and the shadows seemed to loom larger there.  

    A familiar smell caught my attention at that moment, looking directly to my right there was the china closet. The scent of the old glassed closet had always been pleasant to me. Its dark finish was always majestic and it was a defining piece of the dining room. The funny thing is we never ate there and I had always thought this was peculiar that it was called the dining room.  

    Another quick search from around the corner from where I stood gave me a better sense that there was no threat. I double checked all shadows and dark places and decided it was time to make my move.

    Stepping lightly so not to disturb the things that could not be seen, I moved toward the arched doorway and to safety for the moment, “there was nothing to be afraid of”. I told myself. The air was thick and charged with an unfamiliar intensity. Just steps away from my destination I became aware of an unusual sound. A tinkling as if a small bell, the sound stopped me in my tracks as if I had walked into a wall. This is when an overlooked piece of the dining set caught my attention.

    The cart was wood and stained as such that it matched the rest of the dining room collection. It had always looked flimsy or easily damaged but this was deceiving. The old cart had been bumped and hit many a time and had survived us children and guests. On the handcart there was a tea set. An antique brass set that Mom said she had always had. There was the tea pot tall and noble the creamer bowl shined its brassy luminescent aura. Mom obsessively kept the set from being tarnished. There next to the creamer bowl sat its sister the sugar bowl and this is where the clatter of rhythm was coming from.

    I was stunned and perplexed.

    Listening at this strange cacophony I wondered what to do. The call of nature was upon me and I had to really go. The rattling was strange and tempting. I decided to go into the bathroom and get my business done. So slipping away as far from the cart as could be I slid into the bathroom. Shutting the door behind me, the sound of the ringing ceased. I leaned against the big heavy door and listened. No sound. It wasn’t loud enough to come through, maybe.

    The bathroom for some odd reason had always been a sanctuary for me. It was the only room in the house that didn’t give me the creeps at any time. The emerald rug at my feet always seemed warm. The big heavy wood door could easily be barred up and it would be close to impossible to get in. The sink to the left had a marble top and the cabinet below again stained a deep brown like much of the wood inside the house. There was a window to the right. Mom had wanted new shutters put up and she got’em. They were wood too with green opaque windows so no one could peek in. There was a bathtub. “All bathrooms should have one” Mom would say. I felt safe here.  

    The amazement was leading me to wonder what could be making the sugar cup lid to jump around, to make such a noise. Could it be air? A bug trapped inside? There had to be a reasonable explanation. I tried to grasp the situation with logical thoughts. Maybe it was a mouse? It had to be something of this world, right, I convinced myself. Sure it had to be one of these explanations.

    By this time my body was trembling. Maybe from the cold or from my taught nerves I could not say. Maybe it was all of the above that made me so shaken. Curiosity now seemed to take the place of most of my fears. Strength and some courage came in strangely through this unlikely of emotions. I was as if the cat with curiosity!  So finishing my business and flushing the toilet “you should always flush when you’re done your business as mom would say” I took a resounding breath. Taking another, slowly breathing, this one too ease my nerves some more and then leaning an ear toward the door I listened.

    My head touched the wood and my hair felt scratchy to its surface crackling with static from the dry air. The wood was cool to my ear and the paint rough on my cheek from the old door. There seemed to be no sound emanating through the elderly wood. Putting my hand on the cold metal of the door knob I paused, this is silly thinking to myself. There is nothing to be afraid of. Losing my fear for the moment and twisting the archaic mechanism I slowly opened the door with a crack.

    Discerning the light jingle originating from the sugar bowl was still happening; I swiftly moved to the cart and eyed it curiously. What wonder could be making such a racket underneath such a heavy closure? Standing there amidst my darkened home, braving the unknown qualities of its existence in the realm of night, pondering the circumstances of the situation, my curiosity was the best of me.

    Reaching for the top lid, feeling completely disconnected from the world around my surroundings, not even bravery in my soul just the pure aptitude of knowing, drawing me to the now thunderous jangling in my ears. What marvel of conjecture pushing me amazingly to touch the strangely warm metal of the protective covering?  I was lost in the moment, exhilarated, feeding off the energy of the night, the home I lived in and all of its other world mystery.  

   I pulled the sugar bowl top off…

   It was as if a rush of air escaped from the brass cup and with it the sound I will never forget, “Ah!”

   The sound of relief, the timbre of the voice masculine, pleased of its irreverent release, almost a thank you, in its otherness. The air in the house had dropped in temperature momentarily and I was both cold with goosebumps and heated sweat. Time had literally come to an indelible stop.   

   Whatever it was, it had escaped and I had let it loose on the world. I was struck dumb founded, the loss of all wonder, my body numb, unfeeling, unsure of the astonishing fact of what had just transpired. For how long I don’t know I was a statue of belief, unbelief, and everything that was my being was stunned into awe. Telling myself finally to breath I gasped for air. I questioned my sanity; did the one disembodied word that escaped from the sugar cup really happen?

   I bolted for the safety of the covers in my parent’s room and slid under the safety of those blankets and strangely fell fast to sleep. I did not dream.

 

   The morning brought a modicum of solace as I readied myself for school. I could hear my mother talking to my aunt Rose over there tea and coffee, then she went by me in a rush to see what my sister was up too. With heavy jacket and school books in hand heading for the kitchen door and out to the bus stop I paused.

    A feeling of confession came over me; with this assertion, which the impious chronicle had to be told. I quietly slid toward my aunt and told her of the nights venture. She listened with much intent taking in every word having a serious inquisitive expression that was totally sincere. I thought deep down that she would only think of my little account of the night’s proceedings as a child’s folly.

    As the retelling brought the hair to my neck standing and my eyes tear full she told me that it will be ok and that I should get on to school before I’m late for the bus. It made me warm inside that she didn’t mock or belittle me. Then she hugged me and off to school I went.

    Through the bright sunny day easiness befell me as morning playtime, math, history and other mundane things took away from the memories of the night passed. It was a cool early spring day of sunlight and fluffy clouds; the feeling of newness was upon all the children that day. I forgot of the unpleasant incident of phenomenon that had transpired the night before.

     When the bus stopped I had all but forgotten the incident. Running for home all thoughts were on soup, the afternoon cartoon shows and what little homework I had. Reaching my porch door and bounding into the house that was alive with my mom and aunt sitting in the kitchen drinking tea and coffee as they do. Talking of news and grown up topics that interested me at times. They looked happy asking all the usual questions of how school was that day and if I had homework. Even the sun shown upon the inner sanctum of our gloomy home giving a salubrious feeling, throughout, so I headed for the bathroom unthinking of the night before.

      There before me as if a silent wall had knocked the air out of me. I couldn’t believe my eyes something was definitely amiss and it could have never gone unnoticed. Where the old wood cart had been for time immemorial with its shinning tea set and how it seemed to snag you as you went by was completely, like a hole in my soul, gone.