THE WINDOW

THE WINDOW

“we didn’t do it, mom”

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The leaves on the trees blended in a beautiful mixture of colors that offered a most breathtaking sight on that cool autumn day when I moved into my new home.

Coming from the city, it always amazed me how the trees changed from a plush summer green to a burst of mixed fall colors – orange, yellow, red, brown, to a stark gray – bare for their winter sleep - only to be awakened again in spring with the slow dawning of a promised flowery foliage.

As a child, my parents often brought my brother, sister, and me to what we city folk called “The Island”. I knew instinctively that someday, I would make my home here. That dream all-too-slowly became a reality but no matter how long it took, I still looked forward to sharing my memorable experiences of the changing seasons with my sons.

Now, here I was looking out my very own window at my very own yard smiling contentedly. Wrapping my arms around my waist, I sighed deeply. Yes, I thought, Long Island is the perfect place for families with young children.

At that time, my sons, Ken, who turned three years old a few weeks earlier, and Jim, whose second birthday would follow in a few short months, played happily in the backyard with our dog, Soulja, a medium sized, but very protective shepherd-collie mix. My smile grew as I watched them from the kitchen window.

Yes, I thought again as the feeling of satisfaction overpowered me, this is the perfect place for families with young children, my grin stretched to its max as I mentally added, and a dog!

It was the perfect, peaceful atmosphere we needed. After a messy divorce, and moving in with my parents, the stressful life I had put my boys through was finally over. We could all relax and breathe easily.

I’d taken my two-week vacation from my job and was lucky to find someone who would take care of my sons while I worked. Joy was just that! A joy! She had two children, Frankie who was Ken’s age, and Billie, who was one year younger than Jim. Joy and I blended like peanut butter and jelly. A perfect match! Added to our compatible personalities, she lived around the corner. Neither of us had to worry about traveling. As I said, a perfect match!

I know my parents worried about us, especially when my ex left. Just left! Yes, he did leave a note, but I already knew “who” he left me for. My parents and I had no doubt that he wouldn’t be coming back.

They voiced their concern. How would I make ends meet? How would being a single mother affect my job? My life? Could I handle a job, being a mother, homemaker, and all that came with it without putting myself under more stress?

Yet, life goes on, doesn’t it?

While I loved my parents and they loved me, it was just too much with all of us living in one small apartment.

I glanced outside once more and knowing my boys were safe outside, I returned to the task of unpacking boxes. The kitchen was first because while we could take our clothes out of boxes as needed, we couldn’t eat off our clothes. (Although at times it looked as though my boys did.) The dishes and cooking utensils were my immediate concern.

As I carefully unpacked the dishes to place them in the sink for washing before setting them in the cabinets, someone grabbed my shoulders and with much force, spun me around in circles, causing the dishes I had in my hand to fly through the air and crash against the wall in a loud explosion of shattering glass.

I stood in stunned silence, leaned my hands against the countertop, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, when suddenly it felt as though someone grabbed my ankles and pulled my feet back and out from under me, which sent me crashing to the floor with a force I had never felt before.

To avoid having my face smash against the floor, I threw my arms in front of me as I fell.

For a few minutes, I lay on the floor as my head began to pound with what seemed to be the beginning of a violent migraine. Oddly, I felt no pain from what I’d call a bump on the head. The pain I felt came from within, exactly like a ferocious smack with a 2x4 to the brain.

Gathering my wits, I looked up to confront my intruder. No one was in the kitchen but me.

Never being one to push that old proverbial panic button, I took a deep breath, stood, stepped over the thousands - maybe millions of shards of glass and made a soothing hot cup of tea. I needed to calm down, catch my breath, clean the floor, and then finish unpacking as much as possible before my boys and the dog wanted to come in.

And to figure out what happened. I needed to think this through, calmly and logically.

Unfortunately, my heart was not about to allow me to calm down. At least not immediately. It felt like it had risen to the back of my throat in fear and throbbed like a New York City jackhammer in motion.

At first, I thought I had just had a dizzy spell, and tried to ignore the queasiness I started to feel. Time passed and once I calmed down, I began to feel physically better.

Finally, with the house almost completely put in order, my sons and I settled into an almost structured routine. At least I thought so.

In the house now for close to three months, I started to notice things had been moved to places where they shouldn’t be. I’d find a few dishes in the oven. Huh? The bathroom water faucet was left turned on to full. Some of my pots and pans were stacked haphazardly in a corner of the kitchen floor.

My boys always enjoyed playing pranks and at first, I just let it go, thinking that if I ignored what they did, they’d stop.

It wasn’t until I was in the house about six months that I realized the true magnitude of the situation. By the end of that time, I knew I had a serious problem, and it wasn’t my children. Nor was it I.

My house was haunted!