"A Noise In The Breezeway"

“A Noise In The Breezeway:

Part One”

by Samuel Earl DiGangi

1) Little Julie Jennings

“I heard a man sneeze.”

The sentence came, for a second time, from Julie Jennings, aged three.

“Almost four,” as Julie would often remind those who asked.

Her mother looked down fretfully. Julie could not tolerate lies. Her beloved and only daughter was free to imagine, play, and pretend all that she wanted but lying would not be tolerated at all.

Then again, her mind reasoned, Julie is three. “For crying out loud,” Lindsey Jennings' mind continued, “you don't have to be like every mean-spirited teacher who ever destroyed you as child do you?”

Lindsey sighed.

“Julie, I have told you about this before, have I not?,” she asked.

“Yes,” admitted Julie. Still, the admission did nothing whatsoever to sway the small girl in her belief and that, while Lindsey didn't want to think about it, sent a few shivers down the young mother's spine. Usually... no, make that always, Julie would laugh or admit to her fanciful stories.

Oh, and without a doubt, they were not only fanciful like the yarns of most children, but downright spooky. That is because Julie's fiance', Sedrick, who was a proud member of the armed forces and was starting his first week into six months in the Middle East, had an insatiable love of horror movies. Not just the monsters and aliens common among many fans of the genre but the “who done it” kinds of, what Julie called, schlock.

As a result, Julie did not imagine the closet monster or demons or Bigfoot but rather, stalkers, murderers, and madmen. This meant that, living alone just outside of the city didn't need to feel any creepier than it already was, and here was Julie, one week into the departure of her father, saying that she heard a man sneeze in the breezeway when the two of them had been alone and not the left the house in two days!

The last time that something akin to this happened, Lindsey had just come in from clearing out some branches after a particularly hard downpour only to find Julie talking on the phone. As Julie entered the living room, she heard the wee-child on the phone saying with great vigor, “We live at 4422 Elm Pine Rd,” then looking at her mother and adding,”Isn't that right, Mommy?”

“Who is on the phone,?” Lindsey had demanded to know at the time.

` “Gary Stapton,” Julie had replied without missing a beat. “He said that he is going to kill us.”

Luckily, a quick look at the cellphone history alerted Lindsey that no calls had actually been made and at the time, Sedrick had been home upstairs. It turns out that ol' Gary was a character on a program that Julie had grimly learned about who would call his victims telling them how they would die before killing them.

Movie night with dad was more closely monitored after that episode, to say the least.

Lindsey sighed again.

She then looked towards her 'fridge and was reminded of what Sedrick had said to her upon his departure. “If anything get funky,” which has always been her love's way of saying “scary,” or if you get fearful at any time while I am away, remember that Bob just moved in and he can be here in five minutes from almost anywhere.”

Bob Waldercott was the newest hire of the Star County Police Department. He had only been on the force for about six months but he was more than friendly when Sedrick had struck up a conversation with him while at the Post Office.

“Thank you for your service, sir,” Bob had said to Sedrick, who was arrayed in his uniform and ready to depart for his tour of duty.

Noticing that Bob was a lawman, Sedrick replied, “Shouldn't I be saying that to you?”

“Who's stopping you?,” joked Bob in return, and the two began talking from there.

“My name is Bob and I am not like the other cops, trust me. Call me any time that you need anything. As a matter of fact, here,” Bob said, as he reached his stubby fingers into his coat pocket,”this is my card. My number is on it and so is my personal cell. Not everyone gets this card.” When Waldercott said “this,” he squinted with such fervor that Sedrick feared that his head may explode.

“Sure thing,” said Sedrick,” and thanks again.”

The number still waited for use on the refrigerator but was Lindsey going to call the cops over the outburst of a three-year-old?

...almost four.

After a heavy sigh, a thought did arise in Lindsey's mind. While Lindsey had always been as honest as Honest Abe on trial at gunpoint – as her father would have said – she had heard stories whilst growing up about parents hauling their kids right into the police station to teach them a lesson. This could work on Julie and, after all, he only lived a short distance away. Bob may even be still on duty and not at home with his shoes kicked off yet.

Plus, that way, she wouldn't be like every mean-spirited teacher who just made her feel like trash.

“Okay, Julie, I guess that I need to call the cops,” the determined mother said.

Julie only nodded.

“You are aware that the cops will take you to jail if you lie to them, right?,” Lindsey reminded her daughter.

Julie only nodded again.

This was starting to get really creepy. Damn your stories, Sedrick.

2) Calling The Cops

With yet another and, somehow, even heavier sigh, the nervous and somewhat foolish-feeling mother dialed the number on the card. She had taken the card from the magnetic clip already and was sitting on the sofa. Julie was playing on the floor by her feet.

The phone rang a number of times and Lindsey was ready to simply disconnect rather than leaving some ridiculous sounding message about an imaginary sneeze from a...

“Bob here,” said a voice on the other end.

“Oh, hi. Um, this is Lindsey, you met my husband at the Post Office,” she stammered.

“Yes, my mail is always late and I am sick of it,” said Bob.

Lindsey sat, unsure just what to say next.

“I am only messing with you, Ms. Jennings. I have you on caller I.D. I typed you in when I met your husband. Excuse me, I am only kidding,” replied Bob.

“Oh,” laughed Lindsey. It was a laugh without much humor in it, however. “My husband said that if something came up I could call you,” Lindsey said.

“Something has come up, then?,” inquired Bob.

“Yes, I mean, well, I don't know. My daughter is three...”

“I am almost four,” Julie chimed in.

“Hush, Julie,” she spat. Her words came out far sharper than she had intended. Were her nerves so easily already getting the best of her?

“... my daughter keeps saying that she heard a man sneeze in the breezeway while I was upstairs and, well, she has an imagination that she has inherited from her father, so I can't say that anything has really come up,” she continued.

“Not a problem, Ms. Jennings, not a problem at all. I will be there within ten minutes. I am over here by the 21 Exit, and I was heading home anyhow,” Bob stated.

Mr. Waldercott certainly seemed loyal to his post. His voice lost all sense of jovial tones once she had said that “something had come up,” but then again, what in twenty reasons did he think that she was calling an officer who she had never met before? Advice on cooking rice... some pet care tips, perhaps?

Before her mind could mock the situation further, she leaned down to lift up Julie in order to make her confront the situation that she had created, and already, Bob was pulling up in the driveway. That was certainly not ten minutes, so he had made her a priority, clearly.

As his newer model Explorer pulled onto her property from the long and winding driveway that seemed to meander from the road as if engineered by a blind man, Lindsey noticed that the officer's vehicle looked quite rustic. It was a rust-colored brownish-orange and it bobbled along the gravel road as if the driver didn't care very much for his shocks or undercarriage. No, he wasn't kicking up dust, but that was likely a testimony to the quality of Mr. Waldercott's tires, not his lack of acceleration.

With the sun glare proving to be all but blinding, it wasn't until Bob has bobbled his way to within about 40 feet of her front porch that Lindsey could get a look at him at all. When she did, she beheld a slightly overweight man with a reddish-brown mustache that seemed to appear drenched in tobacco juice and spit, a passing observation that proved to be untrue when she got a bit closer. He simply looked that way. His hair looked like a reddish version of his dusty vehicle and his chubby cheeks only made him appear dingier.

Yuck.

“There is the police,” Lindsey said to her daughter, hoping to arise in the young child a sense of dread and a need to tell the truth. Instead, Julie just lifted up her male doll and made a sneezing sound.

“That is not funny and fully unacceptable,” chided her mother.

Soon, Officer Bob Waldercott was lumbering out of the Explorer and towards the front porch where Lindsey stood with Julie still in her arms. The officer was wearing a pair of blue jeans that, even though quite new and pristine, managed somehow to look rugged and unkempt when adorned by Bob.

He mounted the stairs and reached out his hand to shake Lindsey's hand, an offer that she accepted. Then, he also reached out to shake Julie's hand. Holding the doll, still, the young child reached out her left hand and the officer made no note of the mistake as he shook also the child's hand.

“I understand that you heard a stranger in your house,” the officer said to Julie.

Bashful, the child said nothing.

“Answer the man, Julie. It is because of you that we brought this kind man out here,” Lindsey reminded her daughter.

“I heard a man go 'a-choo,'” said the almost-four-year-old. She then again mimicked the sound as if it was coming from her doll.

“Were you pretending like that?,” asked Bob.

“A stranger sneezed,” said Julie.

“Hmmm,” said Bob, scratching at the brick-red stubble under his chin.”Well, then we better have a look around for evidence. You wouldn't lie to me, would you, Julie?”

Again, the child said nothing, but shook her head “no” as her only reply.

“Well, Mrs. Jennings, may I go into your home and have a look around. See if I see any footprints that can't be accounted for, that kind of thing? It rained pretty good this morning so I think that it would be impossible to get on or off your property without leaving a few muddy tattle-tails, if you know what I mean,” said Bob.

Both the mother and daughter laughed at the officer's use of verbiage and th whole notion of footprints and mud had not occurred to Lindsey sooner. If it had, should have ruled on the authenticity of Julie's claims without having to call the lawman over to her home. Now, if nothing turned up, she was going to feel even more foolish than she already did, which at this point, was saying quite a lot.

As soon as the officer entered, Julie thought of the fact she had left pot roaches in the ashtrays This was something which was called to her attention when, as luck would have it, Bob began looking at the furnishings to, apparently, see if anything was moved and the glass ashtray was the only thing on the table.

Julie made matters worse by looking right at the ashtray and this was noticed by Mr. Waldercott just their eyes met.

Bob laughed. “I am not like other cops, don't worry about it,” he said. “You cause no trouble I see no trouble.”

“Sorry,” Julie still sheepishly replied as Bob waved off the apology.

“Forget it. I never saw it. I do wanna' ask if anyone smokes cigarettes in the home,” Bob continued.

Looking confused, Lindsey replied that neither she nor her husband smoked.

Bob only nodded and it seemed like eons before he spoke again. “Good. That way, if I find a fresh butt around the property, we can maybe verify the source of the mysterious sneeze, right Ms. Julie?”

Julie nodded again, surely unaware of what the sentence meant.

Once the living room was inspected, Bob asked if he would be allowed to see the area where the sneezing was to have taken place. Permission was granted and the lawman was taken to the breezeway area, a small hallway that connected to the back porch entrance. The door was dead-bolted shut and there did not appear to be any mud or footprint residue from outside near the doorway or on the floor by where one would walk if they had come through it.

“Has this door been opened recently to your knowledge, Ms. Jennings,” Bob asked.

“Ah, no sir. The back porch is actually being redone by my husband but time got away from us and he was sent overseas before he could finish it. We never use this door,” Lindsey answered.

Bob pulled the door's curtain to the side, an off-white and rather gloomy-looking curtain, and he could see the tattered red porch with most of the boards missing. A few new boards had been hammered onto the far end and he could see that there were no signs that anyone had used the porch frame to enter in via this door.

“Are there any other entrances to the house?.” Bob asked.

“Yes, three more, actually. The side basement entrance, the actual basement entrance that goes right to the cellar, and what we call the emergency exit, or exits. One exit, really, but from everywhere in the house” Julie replied.

Bob only nodded his head and Lindsey became aware that she was sounding like a nutcase. So, smiling awkwardly, she then added, “The one that goes to the cellar is padlocked – it is one of those old ones where the doors swing up from the ground - and I did check that before I called you. It is intact.”

“All right, so.... that leaves the other two. You lead the way,” Bob said, gesturing for Lindsey to show him where he needed to inspect.

To get to the basement door entrance, Bob was taken back through the breezeway, down a different hallway that was lavishly decked out in hand-carved redwood, and then to his left, where a few steps took him halfway into the house's basement and to the door in question. While the house needed work, Bob could see why the couple bought the place. The woodwork alone must be over 100 years old and it was practically flawless.

Julie looked to the floor and noticed that not only was the tile still a bit dusty (a sure sign that we shoes had not been on it) but the little throw rug that was in front of the door – and which always ended up moved and crinkled after the door was used) was also perfectly in place. Lindsey considered herself to be mildly OCD and she could tell by how evenly the mat was placed that she had put it down last and that no one had moved it. It was near a load of fresh laundry which had yet to make it upstairs, a basket that was also placed with the folded clothes facing the doorknob (another ODC quirk).

“I think that we can rule this one out,” Bob confessed. “You said that your house has an emergency exit?”

“Um, yeah. That is kind of a complicated story,” admitted Lindsey. “It was actually the reason that I decided to call you.”

3) The Emergency Exit

The total story behind the emergency exit built into her home was a bit of mystery even to Lindsey. As she told the tale to Mr. Red (as her mind was now calling bearded officer), she warned him that her husband was sure that the story had been embellished like all local legends, so fact and fiction were hard to differentiate between. Still, the house seller had admitted that the death had taken place in the house and had shown the newspaper clipping, dated nineteen twelve, July, showing how the event was covered in the local rag.

From what details it gave, a woman named Ethel Davidson was a young girl just coming of age when the home had caught fire. At the time, Ethel was 14, and the fire had damaged what used to be the back bedroom. Oddly enough, Sedrick's unfinished porch now awaited his return in that very spot, though even Lindsey didn't know this fact. What she did know was the Ethel shared the room with her younger brother, Mitchell, who was reported to have been only five years of age at the time.

Just how the fire started was never known and, oddly enough, there were not the usual rumors of arson, revenge, or satanic sacrifices common to other local stories of old. No one had any idea and no one seemed to even try to guess as to how the fire started. Most likely, a lantern or something with fuel was to blame (for reasons which will be clear later in the horrific story) but even back in those days, Lindsey said that fire experts of the day could tell a lantern fire when they saw it... so she had no idea.

“Maybe one of the reasons why the story never included a cause for the fire was because the facts which are known are so horrible that the cause of the fire itself almost seems secondary,” Mrs. Jennings opined.

Q “Go on,” encouraged Bob as he was led towards the emergency exit.

“You never heard any of this?,” inquired Lindsey.

Bob shook his head, “No ma'am. Most of the other officers will likely know about it but I am different. I am not like the other officers in that I am not from here. Most of them have family ties dating back here to about the time of that tragedy though, so they would know.”

“Oh, yes. That would explain it,” said Lindsey, before continuing on with her grim story.

As Bob soon learned, Ethel wasn't just awoken by the smell of smoke, coughing fits, or with fierce burning eyes and lungs. She was not even alerted by screams of panic and warning but rather, a shrieking that reeked of ultimate suffering and boundless pain.

As she opened her eyes, the room was bright, yet no light had been lit. The illumination was coming from Mitchell! There, in vivid color, Ethel beheld the skin melting off of her brother's face and oozing onto the floor as he ran from his flaming bed. Sadly, the area by the door where the confused child ran to seek the aid of his parents in the next room was already greatly weakened by the flames and the child fell through the floor. Being a ground floor bedroom and a new addition even back then, Mitchell's little feet and legs came to rest only a foot and half down on the earth below, but to his horror (and Ethel's as she beheld the nightmare), this wedged the boy's body into the floor only a foot from the door.

Making matters worse, those who helped to put out the flames reported that the children's bedroom door swung inward, meaning that the boy's flaming body wedged into the floor only worked to block the door from opening when his frantic parents tried to enter the room, hurriedly opening the door. Ethel's father, Frank Davidson, had opened the door with such force that he, blessedly, knocked his trapped son unconscious as his flesh seared.

While this relieved the suffering of the child, it also prevented him from lifting himself out of the hole (which he may not have been able to do). It prevented him from being able to move at all to allow the door to open, too.

This meant that Mitchell's little torso and head protruded through the floor like a grotesque July Fourth display, and it meant that Ethel was trapped by flames in a corner of the room, watching her brother's skin bubble, burst, blacken, and melt only into the hole that he was stuck in. At least, this is how the story was told by those who filled in the details to Sedrick who, with his above-mentioned love of horror and mystery, could not wait to graphically tell Lindsey about.

“Oh my God,” gasped Bob.

Lindsey shook her head in agreement and said, “So, traumatized, when Ethel somehow came into full ownership of the house – she outlived her whole family it seems – the house got a new addition. It was suggested by the real estate agent that Ethel spent almost twenty grand, which was something like a million dollars in the nineteen seventies, I don't know, and had each room fitted with a small hallway that leads to a concrete exit under the house. It empties into the back yard and the exit was later converted into a storm shelter by the last owners. Why, I don't know, since the basement is already a storm cellar. Maybe they were afraid of nuclear war or something, I don't know, but they never closed off the entrance from the house. I think that they meant to, if it was to protect from nukes they would have had to have wanted to, but they moved before they ever did.”

“It also seems that Ethel was no stranger to affluence and she owned no less than twenty-five different properties all over the United States and each of one of them, according to Sedrick anyhow,” Lindsey said, rolling her eyes a bit, “each one of them had the same and costly addition in the house. They all had emergency escapes in each room, fireproofed, and so on. She was functional in life, it seems, but deeply damaged by the events of her youth.”

“That is some crazy shit, I must say. This exit is open...?,” asked Bob.

Lindsey sighed one more time as she admitted that it was a concern.

“How so?,” asked Bob.

“Well, the hinges are rusted on the inside. I think that a do-it-yourself prepper built this newer exit and it shows. Ethel had it, according to pictures in the master bedroom, just ending in a small, cement stairway leading to the back yard.

“The last owner extended that exit area and built a really bad structure of some kind over it... poorly I might add. I am only guessing at the nuke thing, I have no idea what they were doing.” Lindsey said, smirking a bit at the last owner's attempt at handiwork.

“Anyhow,” she continued,“ my husband stood on the doors for one reason or another and the side of the door dropped in. One hinge is now bent due to that and if a person was to squeeze a bit, they may be able to get in and out without being seen.”

“So, we can check that entrance for footprints or signs of activity, too,” Bob said.

“Yes, but...” Lindsey said.

“Go on,” Bob said, motioning for her to keep talking.

“Like I said, once in, it leads to every room in the house,” she admitted.

4) Good Old Henry

NOTE FROM AUTHOR: IF YOU, the humble reader(s), would like to see part two of this published, please accumulate five comments asking for it, a total of twenty views, or five dollars in tips. If any of these milestones are met, I will write Part Two and it will be published. Part Two will include the ending in full and be the last part of the story.