Dad In Spirit: Chapter 1

Hello,

This is A La Faye with Sylvanasalee and today I'm going to share a chapter from Dad in Spirit,

A story I wrote.

I hope you'll enjoy it and if you do,

Maybe you'll look for future chapters.

Before we begin,

I'd like you to take a deep breath.

Slowly exhale.

Relax.

Loosen up.

And listen in.

Halloween,

Joan-style.

Jack-o-lanterns lit up our front lawn like supernatural yard lights.

The dust-spinning whine of Mom's stone grinder buzzed through the dark around them as she scrambled to fill all her gargoyle orders.

After working a full day at the Guardian Insurance Company,

She chiseled away on miscarved tombstones to make those spooky stone dudes.

She usually made a few for craft fairs and such,

But come fall the orders poured in like vanmatt.

My older sister,

Juliet,

Had gone in full production mode too.

A few years ago,

She sewed the costumes for the sixth grade production of Peter Pan.

Marissa Ortiz liked her Peter costume so much she wore it for Halloween that year.

Pretty soon,

All the kids in school wanted a Juliet Jones original for trick-or-treating.

To keep up with the demand,

Juliet would start working on new designs in January.

She'd get enough orders for costumes to keep her sewing almost every night from the beginning of school to Halloween.

She had the stereo,

The new clothes,

And the college fund to prove it.

That girl made enough money to stake a high roller at Atlantic City Craptable.

Dad even had to build a sewing annex into her room so she could store all the costumes.

That place filled up rack by rack with fairies,

Grim reapers,

Corpheers,

Griffins,

And swans waiting to come to life.

Last year,

She transformed my suit-wearing principal,

Mrs.

Guilford,

Into a fairy godmother,

Sparkly dress,

Corset,

Wand,

And all.

I couldn't wait to see what Juliet turned her into next.

Meanwhile,

My little brother Samuel wandered through the house memorizing every ghost story ever presented as the truth.

He wanted to know them all.

From the phantom handprint left by a window-cleaning fireman who died in the fire that called them away from his housekeeping duties to the wispy flapper who haunted the site of the Chicago dance hall where she died,

Cited by dancers,

Passers-by,

And cavies alike.

My favorite was one about the relative who refused to leave.

Uncle Otto continued to rock away the night hours in his bedroom years after he died.

When the family talked about something in the house,

Otto cast his vote by taking his bedroom door off the hinges and throwing it down the stairs.

That little temper tantrum clinched it for the family.

They moved out in a jiffy.

Dad kept busy haunting the local Y.

As a carpenter who treated every new project like an invention,

He took on the job of annual curator for a neighborhood haunted house.

The Y built a new place a few years back and made plans to tear down the old Victorian building.

But Dad wouldn't hear of it.

He promised he'd keep the Y in clean towels if they'd let him turn that old place into a haunted house every year.

He did more than keep his promise.

Last year they made enough money to add a whirlpool.

Dad didn't go for gooey sound effects,

Strobe lighting,

Grape eyeballs,

Or spaghetti guts.

He actually converted the old Y building into a moaning,

Creaking spook house,

Complete with secret passages,

Projected spirits,

And floating objects.

Folks came from as far as Wisconsin to see Dad's yearly spectacle in our small neighborhood here in Minneapolis.

With the rest of the family in full festival mode,

That left me,

Evan Jones,

The boring member of the Jones family,

Halloween quintet.

I'd never wind up on the Oscar stage accepting an award for costume design like Juliet.

I couldn't give a whole audience a coat of goose bumps the way Samuel did every time he told a ghost story.

Even with Dad's help,

My Boy Scout birdhouse looked like it had been built on a hill in a strong wind.

And the one time I tried to carve something out of rock,

I ended up chipping a hole right through Mom's workbench.

Nope.

I was just plain old Evan Jones.

I spent my time helping out where I could,

Hunting down new tales for Samuel,

Polishing stone goo-leaves for Mom,

Basting for Juliet,

Or fetching tools for Dad.

Go for duties aside,

I guess I had one talent.

I could solve a mean puzzle.

Word as it sounds,

I actually loved doing word problems on math desks.

Give me a puzzle,

And I was in mental heaven.

I loved how you could twist and turn things around in your head,

And so they became new things.

I guess Dad was the same way.

That's why he loved remodeling Hamilton Hall year after year.

It was a puzzle he had to take apart and put together again.

I would have loved to do more than just fetch tools for Dad while he remodeled Hamilton Hall.

But he was also a solo show.

He didn't even let me help when he was researching.

Haunting historical societies,

Libraries,

And any reference database available online.

Dad did background research for authors.

If he wanted to do a book set in a main hotel that burned down 100 years ago,

Dad would find out what kind of towels hung in the bathroom if he could.

And when his brain was in danger of bursting if he didn't tell someone about all the cool facts he'd learned,

He'd hunt me down.

He'd wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me about his newest discovery.

Take Charles Goodyear as an example.

Dad found out that the first few times a guy thought he'd invented vulcanized rubber.

That's rubber that doesn't easily melt.

He sold rubber coats,

Shirts,

And underwear.

You'd think the guy had vented the button the way people snatched up his clothes.

Too bad they couldn't keep them once they'd put them on on a hot summer day.

They melted.

Can you imagine walking down the street having your underwear melt on your leg?

That's what you get for buying rubber drawers in the first place,

I guess.

Yeah the stories Dad shared were really cool,

But I would have loved to be more than his audience or his grover.

See,

No one but Dad was allowed inside the Hamilton Hall Haunted House until Halloween night.

He was always squawking over the walkie talkie to get me to run over with some gadget or another,

Then meeting me at a back door.

Dad always unveiled his newest incarnation of Hamilton Hall on Halloween.

But he insisted on having everything done so he could take the day before Halloween off.

He usually needed the rest.

Hamilton Hall was open only one night,

So people started coming as soon as it got dark and kept filing through until dawn.

The line went all the way to the end of the block throughout the night.

Two days before Halloween was Dad's last chance for finishing everything,

So he'd start working at dawn.

As his designated gopher,

I'd made enough runs to and from the Hamilton Hall to wear a new path to wear backwards.

At half past eight I heard Dad shout,

Well,

Now I'm in a coffin till morning.

I'm done.

Grabbing up the walkie talkie,

I shouted to congratulate Dad as I ran downstairs.

Dad sang,

Celebration!

At full blast as I darted through Samuel's room,

Down the back stairs to Juliet's room,

Then down the front stairs and through the kitchen to Mom's workshop.

Stepping at the front door,

I met Dad as he walked in,

Still singing,

Are ya ready?

He shouted up the stairs,

Tall enough to touch the bottom of the chandelier,

In our ten-foot hallway.

Dad was a big guy with a lot of long room,

So you could hear him all the way up to the fourth floor where I hung out.

Everyone showed up in a flash,

Ready to celebrate.

The Jones family always celebrated at Kingston's,

The restaurant where you ordered dessert first.

We'd start with a caramel chocolate pie,

Then launch into a garbage pizza,

Everything on it,

From pepperoni to tuna.

We'd eat the toppings with a fork,

Then roll up the crust like a burrito and dip it in pizza sauce.

It was the best!

Dad made sure we got one of their private rooms,

So we could have our own celebration.

We'd done dessert before Juliet even finished telling us about the dragon costume she had just finished for the Tinsdale triplets.

We cheered the waiter when he brought the pizza.

Harpooning Juliet's discarded pepperonis with a toothpick,

I leaned over to Dad to ask,

Could you help me study for my math test?

I could do a word problem with half my brain in reverse,

But long division and decimal points tied my thoughts into knots.

And there was no way I'd ask my little brother for help.

Samuel did math problems in his sleep.

I had heard him mumbling his way through the multiplication tables when he snoozed during car trips.

Thanks to him,

I was the only fourth grader with a younger brother in his class.

Dipping pizza crust into his milk,

Dad said,

Sure,

Sure,

Let me get home.

Dad said sure,

Like most people,

Answer the greeting,

Hi,

How ya doin?

People just say,

I'm good,

What's up with you?

Even when they've just flunked a math test.

Dad didn't mean that he'd study with me.

Maybe he meant it in the way people who want to let you know they care about you do when they ask how are you doing?

But they really don't want to know the details.

They've got better things to do.

Dad probably wanted to help me study,

But knowing him,

He'd get drawn into a late night research project and forget all about it.

Turning to Samuel,

Dad said,

How about a dry run on your show for tomorrow night?

Okay.

Mom turned down the lights so we could all listen to Samuel tell tales of the dead returning to the land of the living.

He had to practice for the big night.

As the pre-tour entertainment at Hamilton Hall,

He stood out front on a black veiled stage murmuring his stories into a microphone while Mom ran the soundboard.

Joliet outfitted the ghoulies who ran around inside and Dad played the part of special effects wizard.

Me?

I collected tickets.

As Samuel led us down a dark winding road in Hudson,

Wisconsin to investigate an eerie glow under a bridge on Cooley Road,

Mom said,

Look,

Jones,

What is this on your head?

Nothing.

Dad insisted.

Joliet,

Get the lights,

Mom said.

Joliet jumped up and fumbled through the switch.

As a light came on,

Mom stood up to inspect the back of Dad's head.

There's a wealth back here large enough to be harboring a gold ball.

It's a heather to the trade.

I took a little spill.

That's it.

Dad took off the old conductor's cap he always wore while constructing and rubbed his head.

You could have a concussion.

Dad turned to her,

His eyes crossed.

Why are my pupils dilated?

Cut it out.

Mom spotted him.

It only hurts when I blink.

Dad fluttered his eyes.

One of these years you're going to fall and impale yourself on a screwdriver.

Nobody will find you for days and all the visitors will think you're one of the attractions.

Now that'd be a show stopper.

Dad nodded.

Mom shook her head,

Knowing there was no stopping doubt.

Safety ruined the fun in his mind.

He had scrapes,

Scars,

Bumps,

And memories of broken bones as evidence of all the fun he'd had in his life.

After Kingston's,

We went to Bailey's Lawn Ornaments and Monuments.

We had a blast.

Mom wandered around with her flashlight getting ideas.

The rest of us played hide and seek.

To be honest,

It was more like hide and find with us.

Dad always found everyone.

He loved being it.

He'd count to two hundred so everyone could find a real good hiding place.

Then sneak find us all.

He'd shout,

Here I come.

Hide your toes.

Then he'd fall silent.

He didn't talk.

He didn't shuffle his feet.

I'd never even heard him breathe.

You couldn't tell the hunt had begun.

One minute I'd be peeking around the hairy arm of the stone gorilla I'd hidden behind.

Then Dad'd be leaning over the gorilla's shoulder saying,

Do you think he eats stone bananas?

It never failed.

Dad would count.

We would hide.

Then he'd show up out of nowhere to strike up a conversation.

We never let him hide because we couldn't find him.

We preferred to get mad at him for sneaking up on us and chase him until we couldn't breathe.

We'd tackle Dad then kickle him.

His laughs sounded so much like those little rubber drums that squeak when you shake them.

He turned a bright red.

You'd think he'd been dropped into a vat of Kool-Aid.

He looked so funny we'd start laughing and fall over.

We'd all end up in a giggling gasping heap on the ground.

That night Samuel started the chase.

He had found a great hiding place wedged between two stacks of huge concrete blocks.

Hiding across from him beneath a giant mushroom,

I saw Dad crawling over the top block.

He moved so quick and smooth.

For a second I thought he could move one of those cat-like superheroes,

Catman or Pumar.

Moving through the night without a sound.

Pouncing on his victims.

Then Dad slid down into the crack head first like a snake.

His beat-up old train conductor's hat fell on Samuel's shoulder as he said,

Howdy.

I'm looking for the ceramic squirrels.

Say nanny.

Dad!

Samuel screamed reaching up to grab him.

I hate it when you do that.

Dad pulled himself back up to the top of the pile saying,

It's the object of the game,

Samuel.

Would you prefer that I cheated?

Samuel came out of the bottom row of his hiding place.

Just as Dad jumped to the ground,

He lunged at Dad.

You cheat!

Dad jumped backwards laughing.

Do I?

I'll get you!

Samuel shouted and the chase was on.

Dad started to run.

Samuel pursued him.

I ran too.

Samuel chased Dad toward the open field beyond the uncarved headstones.

I put on the steam to catch up.

Juliet almost flattened me when she jumped down off a stack of concrete flower boxes.

We collided and teetered laughing as we got under way again.

Dad had already reached the field.

He was so tall it was like he had seven league boots.

He could cover practically a quarter of an acre in a couple of strides.

Dad turned and started to jog from left to right so we could catch up.

Samuel dived at Dad's legs,

Hitting him in the knees.

Dad crumbled to the ground.

As usual,

Juliet came to Dad's rescue and tackled Samuel.

Those two laughed as I jumped in and went for Dad.

He hadn't moved.

He just lay there.

He'd been known to play Dad,

But I felt this time was different.

Of course I always did and he got me every time.

I dropped down beside him shouting,

Dad!

His eyes closed.

His head turned to the side.

He looked as if he'd fallen asleep.

Pet it out,

Dad.

I shoved him.

The others had stopped goofing off.

They stood over Dad,

Staring down at him as if his head had gone missing,

All big-eyed and open mouth.

Come on,

Dad.

Joke's up.

I pinched his cheek.

Mom's coming.

Juliet screamed.

I turned.

Mom ran at full bore,

Her fuchsia scar floating along behind her.

Seeing Mom made everyone panic.

As she came rumming,

Dad must be in trouble.

Just then,

Dad flew up in the air as if he'd been jolted with electricity.

Blinking,

He realized he was surrounded and started to yell and tickle anyone within arm's reach.

When Mom showed up,

Tickling fingers ready and laughing,

We all figured it was a joke,

Jumped into the tickle fest.

I laughed so hard my ribs hurt on the way home.

The whole night turned out to be one great Jones family adventure.

I went to bed happy as a dragon with a cave full of treasure.

Hmm.

So do you think you could go to sleep as happy as a dragon in a cave full of treasure?

Hmm.

I bet that might be possible.

And if you're interested,

Perhaps you might want to check out the next chapter of Dead in Spirit.

But for now,

Why don't you settle into your lovely pile of treasure?

And you know,

In this imaginary world of dragons and treasures,

You could think about what sort of treasure you would hold.

Could it be stuffed animals in every variety you love?

Could it be fuzzy blankets that make you feel safe and warm?

Or footy pajamas?

Maybe dreams of what's to come.

Hmm.

As you settle in and relax,

Think about where you would like to go in your dreams tonight.

What sort of adventures could you get up to?

Oh,

I'm getting a little sleepy.

How about you?

Well,

I hope your dreams are fun and filled with the Jones family style adventure.

So close your eyes,

Relax,

And see where the dragon-y dreams make you.

This has been A La Faye of Sylvanasumy.

Good night.