Daddy: "Whatcha doin' Pick?"
Isobel: "I'm putting up some of my art."
Daddy: "And what's happening with all the photos?"
Isobel: "I'm moving them out of the way and then putting up my pictures."
Daddy: "I got that but what are you doing with the photos after you put up your art?"
Isobel: "I'm putting them over here. I'll put them back on the fridge when I'm done. If there's room left."
Daddy: "OK, so long as you put them back. Neatly."
Isobel: "Don't worry Daddy, I know just where they all go. I am totally agonizing on the fridge."
Daddy: "And on me too!"
Isobel: Hahaha...wait, what?"
Daddy: "Skip it."
It is that time of year and we will not break with the traditions of the past. Submitted for you approval, a tale as horrific as it is true. If you fear the macabre, if you are loathe to sleep with the lights on, turn away and read no further. But if you possess courage untold, then press on and read...you have been warned...
It was Mrs. Narrator that heard it first, a sound that she couldn't quite identify. It sounded like it was above her, though she couldn't be certain that it wasn't beside her or behind her. At first it was small and nearly imperceptible but there just the same. Like something you don't notice until you notice its absence. She had been working from home while the kids and I were off at school.
"What the hell is that?' Mrs. Narrator asked the cats. The cats, of course, remained silent.
Now Mrs. Narrator is not one to be unnerved but she isn't made of stone. So when the sound changed, she started to get a a little agitated. It was louder now and more constant. Like the sound the ice droplets make against the snow during a freezing rain storm. 'Click, click, click click click...'
"For real," she said. "What IS that?" but nobody answered.
It was a late night for me at school. Five o'clock lab and so I wouldn't be home for at least another two hours. It was time to get the kids, time to get out of the house and away from the sound. But that was all too easy, too simple and whatever it was was not going to be denied its due. By the time she got back it had grown in strength and intensity. Imagine someone bouncing a red, white and blue rubber ball off of a two by four and then throwing a bucket of ice chips into a porcelain bathtub, every couple of minutes.
Izzy noticed as soon as she came upstairs.
"Mummy, what is that sound?" she asked.
"I don't know baby," said Mrs. Narrator. "But it's driving me crazy."
"It sounds like it's in the wall." said Izzy. "No wait, it's in the roof. No it's outside...or is it?"
"I know baby." said Mrs. Narrator. "It sounds like it's everywhere at the same time and then it just stops."
"OK," said Isobel. "This is seriously creeping me out."
"It's OK baby." said Mrs. Narrator.
It was about a quarter to five when I finally got in my car. I picked up my phone to check for messages and noticed there was one from home. it was a little confusing but, so was Mrs. Narrator. It read, 'We've got a critter in the house.' We had two asshole cats, two rotten kids and a foul tempered wife...that's five critters by my reckoning so I eased the car into drive and crept out of the parking lot. 'She is obviously feeling jaunty.' I thought, completely misreading the tone of the text. 'No need to hurry home.' I continued on my leisurely way.
But the sound was not taking its time. 'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'
The cats were now getting jumpy and pawing at the walls, yowling and hissing. This only served to fuel the fires of Isobel's imagination, which in turn made Mrs. Narrator edgier.
"Mummy, I don't like that sound any more."
"Me either baby."
It was finally my turn at the register. With the storm coming, people were getting panicky and stocking up on water and food. I just bought some oatmeal and a bag of cookies. It's important to keep regular and I have a vicious sweet tooth.
'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'
I put the key in the ignition and headed for home. It was going on six o'clock and so the traffic was still rather heavy.
'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'
The trip home, that would normally take me about twenty minutes, would take me about forty five now.
'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'
I thought I'd better text her.
"Don't wait for me for supper," I wrote and hung up the phone. Not safe to text and drive after all.
'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'
By the time I got home, the noise had become almost constant. Not loud enough to be heard from downstairs but Mrs. Narrator had been listening to it all day and would swear by this time it was deafening.
"Go into our room and listen for yourself!" she ordered. She and the kids were sitting at the kitchen table. None of them venturing upstairs with me. I went to the bed room and remained quiet, waiting for the whatever it was to make itself know...I didn't wait long. 'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'It seemed above me and then just as quickly behind me and then in front and then beside me. 'Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...Thump...thump...thump...click, click, click, click....thump...thump...thump...'
"God-dammit!" I shouted and ran downstairs.
"What is it , Daddy?" asked Isobel. "What is making that awful noise?"
I swallowed hard and tried to speak as calmly as I could.
"We've got a @#*ing squirrel in the attic!"
It's hard to keep healthy once you pass forty. Both Mrs. Narrator and I have crossed that thresh hold and have made a concerted effort to maintain some degree of health. There are days though when watching t.v, eating chips and drinking beer makes a whole lot more sense than running on the treadmill or doing plyometrics. (whatever the hell that is) Luckily we have Isobel as a coach.
Mrs. Narrator had been riding the stationary bike, working up a sweat when Isobel came up to investigate.
"Hi Mummy," said Isobel.
"Hello my girl." said Mrs. Narrator. "What's up?"
"Wow, your muscles are tiny."
"What?" asked Mrs. Narrator.
"Your muscles are tiny."
"My muscles aren't tiny," said Mrs. Narrator. "Look at these." She flexed her biceps at this point. (for the record they aren't tiny. Sinewy and well defined is how I would describe her biceps. Incidentally if I don't describe them as such she is likely to wrap them around my throat.)
Izzy pondered the pose a moment.
"Where are you going to show those off, the tiny gun show?"
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