Louisa, Pooh,and the Haunted Loo, A Tale of Revenge by Guest Blogger Aunt Pooh



 

My sister, my brother, and I grew up in was technically a suburb, but was really the country.  There were cornfields on two sides of our house and a farm down the road. We loved to go in the cornfields ,and for Halloween, we would pick the corn, which was hard, shell it, and at night go around the neighborhood, throw it at people's windows and run away.

There were stories of children who had gotten lost in the cornfield and were never seen again.  My sister Louisa who was very "down to earth" (She thought Halloween costumes were "stupid", although she did enjoy the Trick of Treat candy,)  said it was probably "bums" (That was what we called homeless people then.), but my brother Hank and I thought it might be ghosts.

To hear my mother talk, you'd think bums were "coming in the windows", as she liked to say.  Up the road was an old cemetery, with not just gravestones, but mausoleums.  We liked to look in the windows, because of course the spirits didn't come out during the day.  Louisa said that was stupid and that she wouldn't be afraid to go in the cemetery at night and sit on one of the benches and eat a sandwich.  When Hank asked what kind of sandwich, I was about to say that wasn't important, but Louisa said she would bring cheese because peanut butter and jelly was too messy.  Then Hank asked if she would put mustard or mayonnaise on it, and she said she would just eat it plain because mustard and mayonnaise were too messy, too. 

We had to pass the cemetery on our way to school.  There was a hedge around it, so my mother told us to walk on the other side of the road in case bums were hiding the hedge waiting to jump out and grab us.   Sometimes, just to be daring, we would walk on the cemetery side, but I never did by myself.

As if the cornfield and the cemetery weren't enough, there was a haunted house between the cemetery and the school.  It was up a long driveway, so if a ghost or bum got you, no one would know.  One Saturday, just before Halloween, Louisa was talking again about having a sandwich in the cemetery.  Hank said, "Oh, Louie, you're just saying that.  You know you couldn't get out at night."

Louisa was a realist.  "Let's do it this afternoon."

This time I was down to earth.  "That's not scary.  There might be people coming to put flower on the graves and stuff."

Hank thought a minute, "Let's go to the haunted house.  We can have a picnic on the lawn."

That sounded good.  When my mother found us making sandwiches, we told her we were going to a nature walk, and she gave us some cookies to take and even some milk in my Cinderella thermos bottle.  We put it all in my lunch kit and started off.

It was a sunny day, but when we started up the drive, we felt a chill in the wind.  I said maybe it was the ghosts.  Louisa said, "Oh, Pooh," but Hank looked excited.    Supposedly, the house had belonged to a rich family, who had all died off except one daughter.  Some had been drowned, some had died in carriage or car accidents, and some had suddenly gotten very sick and died, even though they were young and didn't have anything wrong with them.  After all that, nobody had wanted to marry the daughter,  not that you could blame them.  So she lived alone, except for her housekeeper and gardener and  then she grew old and died of a heart attack.  That was a little anticlimactic, but as Hank pointed out when we heard the story, maybe she had been scared by a ghost.

We sat on the front steps and ate our sandwiches,  The Louisa got bored listening to Hank and me wondering if there were rats or bats or bums in the house and stood up.  "I'm going in there."

She was always more daring than I was, probably because she didn't have much imagination.  That can be a good thing sometimes.

I didn't know what to say.  I didn't want to do it, but I didn't want to seem afraid, although I was.  Hank was more practical.

"Oh, Louie, the door must be locked."

It was, but Louisa decided to try to back door.  "If that's locked, we can break a window with your lunch box."

We went around to the back on a stone path that was overgrown with grass and weeds.  The back steps wobbled, but Louisa pushed on the back door and it opened.  I was glad my lunchbox wasn't going to be scratched or the thermos broken.  I decided I had to go in.  After all, I was the oldest.

The kitchen still had a table and chairs covered with dust.  There was spider webs in the corners and even on the faucet in the sink.  I  ran my finger over the dust on the table.  "Don't do that," Hank said.  "The ghosts might get mad."

We went into what was probably the living room.  There wasn't any furniture there;  the kitchen had been dirty, but the empty rooms seemed so desolate that I shivered.  "Let's go home," I said.

"Don't be a baby.  Let's go upstairs." 

"Let's go home;  I have to go to the bathroom."

"You can go upstairs."  And she started to go up.  Hank and I followed her;  what else could we do?

Upstairs was a long hall with about five doors.  One was closed.  "That must be the bathroom,"  Louisa said.  I waited for her to come with me. "Well, go ahead."

 There were no windows in the bathroom.

"Keep the door open a crack, but don't look."  The bathroom was dusty too, but I really did have to go and it was better than the bushes.  As soon as I was finished and stood up, the door slammed shut.  I tried to open it, but I couldn't.  The knob turned, but I couldn't push it open.  I was in the dark.  If there were any spiders, I couldn't see them.

"Louie, open the door." 

"I cccccccan't,"  Louisa sounded scared.

I pushed again.  Nothing.  Were the ghosts holding the door shut?

"I'll go home for help," Hank offered. Were the ghosts waiting for them to leave so the could get me?  And I was more afraid of my parents finding out than of the ghosts.

"Louie, please."

"I'm trying."

I almost started to cry, but if I got out of this, alive she would never let me forget it. 

Suddenly the door opened.  I nearly fell into her.

We ran down the stairs, out the door, and down the lane.  Fortunately, Hank remembered the  lunch box.

My mother was surprised that we hadn't brought home any flowers or leaves.  Louisa said we had picked some, but I had left them behind after we ate.  "You know how she is."

I never told anyone about this until after Louisa died.  At the luncheon after her funeral, Hank and I were reminiscing and I mentioned the haunted house.

Hank looked sheepish. "Louie made me promise never to tell anyone, but  I guess it's all right now.  Louie was leaning against the door so you couldn't get out.  She said it was to make up for all the times you and your friends would play Princesses and would make her be the servant."