As you’ll see in the news, the Williston Herald is running a kid’s ghost story contest. When I read it, I thought, “I want to write a ghost story.” The last time I wrote a short fiction piece so many of you lovely people sent me the nicest notes and I’m like a gremlin when it comes compliments (and food) – feed me and I won’t leave you alone. So, in the spirit of Halloween and contests that I’m too old to do, here you go.
The Haunted House
by Amanda Kosior
“Don’t go over to that house, Coop, you hear me?” Natalie Schanz’s sunshine smile had darkened to a thin grey line. Around her feet, the autumn leaves swirled. “Pretend like it’s not even there.”
Coop looked at his mother, who had only moments before been laughing with her childhood friend. Her mother gave him the look that said that he shouldn’t even think about it.
“Don’t even think about it,” Laura Rooney said.
Natalie’s son, Sawyer, shifted his weight to the other side of his bicycle, and stared at the ground.
Coop was pretty sure he was going to like his new house. He was pretty sure he was going to like his new school, and his new neighborhood, and his new town, and North Dakota in general, because they were all like his house, school, neighborhood, and town in Wisconsin – only now they were closer to his grandma and grandpa. He was pretty sure he was going to like living across the street from Sawyer, because Sawyer was also eleven, played hockey, and rode a bike. But he wasn’t sure what to think about that old, rundown house at the end of the block.
“Sawyer will show you all the good places you can go; won’t you, buddy?” Natalie’s smile returned.
Sawyer nodded, his eyes still downward.
“I see they still haven’t done anything about The Olson’s,” Laura had said to Natalie five minutes earlier when she had brought over a meat tray and Sawyer to welcome the Rooneys to the neighborhood. Laura had tilted her head to the house – which had probably been bright purple once, although now the few flecks of remaining paint were more of a dusty violet – and, as she did, the rickety screen door flapped open and closed a few times.
“They put up a ‘No Trespassing’ sign a couple of times, but you know how it is,” Natalie had said. “Ardie Jean set up that trust to pay the taxes and keep the lawn and sidewalk clear, so it just goes on and on.”
“Still?” Laura had scoffed. “She died, what, fifty years ago?”
“At least. My dad said it was haunted when he was a kid.”
That’s when Laura and Natalie had remembered that their boys were standing there.
“Don’t go over to that house, Coop, you hear me?” Natalie said.
Later that afternoon, after the moving van left and the pizza man called, Cooper took his dog, Gunner, for a walk. He thought about going left, towards the park, because that’s where his mom told him to go; but instead he casually strolled to the right, in the direction of The Olson’s.
Earlier, the street had been busier with cars and neighbors but now it was just Coop, Gunner, and the wind – which pushed him along until he found himself in front of the place he had been warned not to think about. He studied it.
Cooper had assumed all haunted houses would look like something a person would find at Disney World, with a big spire and a gargoyle or two. This was just a regular old falling-down house. The porch tilted so low forward that the weeds had started to wind up the siding and most of the boards covering the windows were long gone. But still, slap a coat of paint on it and it wouldn’t be too far off from their old home in Wisconsin. In fact, he was pretty sure his mom had that exact same planter by the door, except this one had pieces of broken glass where the flowers should have been.
Gunner pulled on the leash, bored with the normalcy of this forbidden abode.
“Bye, house,” Cooper said.
The front porch light came on.
Cooper stared at the light.
“Must be a prank,” he said to Gunner, trying not to be scared. He also tried not to be frozen in place. Neither seemed to work.
“Stay away from this place, buddy,” a voice called out behind him, and Cooper jumped out of his skin. He flipped around, grateful that he was at least able to move again.
The voice belonged to a mom pushing a baby in a stroller. The baby chewed on the ear of a stuffed elephant, holding it out to Cooper as they approached.
“It’s probably about suppertime, isn’t it?” She asked, patting him gently on the shoulder. “You’d better get home.”
He nodded, and flipped Gunner’s leash. She stood in front of The Olson’s until he turned into his driveway.
Cooper didn’t sleep a wink all night. He got up twice to peek out the window. In the darkness, The Olson’s front porch light burned brightly.
The light was still on the next morning when Sawyer rode up on his bike. Together, the boys turned away, towards the park.
They rode until they ran out of runway at the baseball field, where they joined a game of 500 already in progress. They played until lunchtime, when they, with a few new friends in tow, rode back to Sawyer’s for hot dogs. For the rest of the day, they rode and played and played and rode until one of the kids – a boy named Jack – said, “I’m hungry,” and, without discussion, all of the boys turned down the road one block behind Cooper’s street.
They parked their bikes behind some tall bushes, and army-crawled to the back door of The Olson’s House. The back porch light was also on.
“What are we doing?” Coop whispered. His voice shook, and he played it off with a cough.
“Shh,” Sawyer said.
A moment passed, and then the back door to the house creaked open.
“C’mon,” Jack whispered, and Sawyer grabbed Cooper’s arm, dragging him forward. The boys ran up the stairs, through the door, and into the kitchen.
The condition of the kitchen mirrored the outside of the house. Cobwebs hung off of every surface, from the dented ice box to the shredded polka-dotted window curtains. Inside the doorless oven, a squirrel chirped.
“Hello, Mrs. Olson,” Jack called.
Once again, Cooper found himself unable to move. He wished he had listened to Natalie. He wished he had listened to that lady with the baby. He wished they hadn’t moved out of Wisconsin. He wished and wished, but those wishes still didn’t stop the fact that a real-life ghost was floating right up to him.
Except, Cooper realized, his legs loosening up a bit – like the house, this ghost wasn’t very…ghosty. She was see-through, to be sure; but more of a pinky see-through. She wore an apron embroidered with hearts and had tied a little bow on the top of her fluffy hair. Cooper sniffed, and realized the air smelled like chocolate chip cookies, which were his favorite.
“Hello, boys!” The ghost said in a twinkly, twittery voice. “Sit down, sit down, I baked too many cookies!”
The boys sat down at the table, which Cooper noticed was not only completely devoid of dust, but polished clean and covered in a lace tablecloth. Mrs. Olson puttered about the countertop, and when she turned around she was holding a platter of actual, non-transparent chocolate chip cookies.
She held the platter out to Cooper. He took one and bit into it. It was warm and gooey and perfect.
“Now who are you?” She said, as she pushed the platter to Cooper to make him take a second.
He told her his name the best he could with a mouthful of cookie.
“Cooper Rooney,” she said, tapping her finger on her lips to indicate she was thinking. “Cooper Rooney. I don’t know any Rooneys. Are you from around here?”
“No,” Cooper said. “But my mom’s family is. My grandma’s name is Ginny Thompson.”
“Ginny Thompson!” Mrs. Cooper threw her head back and laughed. “So you’re Laura’s boy?”
“She loved chocolate chip cookies, too,” Mrs. Olson said, handing him another one before giving the other boys three cookies of their own.
“You can’t tell your mom about this,” Jack said, shoveling two cookies in simultaneously. And then, in his best mom voice, “Too much sugar.”
Sawyer nodded. “Always ruinin’ supper,” he sang, and the boys laughed.
Okay, in all honesty, I don’t know where the photo above came from. I didn’t take it. I had it on my phone picture roll with all sorts of other photos that I downloaded that I thought were funny, like this one:
I was going to get a stock photo of a spooky house and saw these skeletons and thought they were much better. If it’s your photo or your skeletons and you want me to take it down, please message me (and I’m sorry).
Obviously, this week’s news has a writing contest. It also has sauerkraut and a perfect game. Read on.
Know a middle schooler or high schooler who loves to write ghost stories? The Williston Herald is hosting a spooky writing contest! (Williston Herald)
Once again, Wishek’s Sauerkraut Days are a stinky, delicious success. (KFYR TV)
Speaking of Wishek, here is a story of two random acts of kindness by teenagers Dominic Sayler and Gavin Wolf. (KFYR TV)
This is the non-obituary obituary for Arthur’s Joanne Iwen. (Fargo Forum)
Congratulations to eleven-year-old Tatum Lee of Bismarck, who bowled a perfect 300 game! (KFYR TV)
For the 42nd year, Williston is Tree City USA. (Williston Herald)
Let’s Be (Official) Pals!
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