GOOSEBUMPS

. . . NOW THAT I HEARD the noise, I sat on the edge of my seat, waiting. What I thought I heard had been the sharp uncertain squeak of a door easing open. It sounded like it came from the room upstairs.

From the moment my dad dropped me off at the old church for choir rehearsal,

I thought I was alone. Being small for my age and trying to show myself a big boy at twelve, I wanted to prove to him and myself that I could stay alone for a short while at this creepy place, fully confident within minutes the other choir members would show up. There were no cars in the parking lot so I knew most likely I was the first to arrive.

I leaped from the car, tossing my dad a slight smile and a wave, daring not to glance back too long for fear he might see a hint of fright in my eyes, or I might see a similar hint of dread and apprehension in his. I flew up the steps and pulled the massive door open. Going inside I was almost immediately swallowed by darkness. There were no lights on in the open vestibule and what faint light I did see coming from some distant place, didn't make much difference where I stood. But as my eyes adjusted to the dark, I decided to go into a side room near the main entrance to wait there for the others.

The church itself was an old structure in complete disrepair. Back some ninety years before then, back when it was first built with its gleaming white stoned exterior, high steeple roof and windows of dark stained glass, this edifice was the marvel of the community. Everyone flocked to it. But that was then before weather and time got to it. Time, yup, it hasn't been kind to this old house of God over the years as it changed hands. It seems hardly respectful to describe such a relevant place in such shabby terms. Catering now mainly to poor people from the neighborhood, being the fact its now located in the poorest section of town, the sad fact is over half its membership are either out of work or work low paying jobs. For this reason repairs or remodeling was minimal if any at all. For some time, the elders had voiced concerns about fixing the place up. But that took money. And to be very honest about it, there was no one in sight capable of giving this old church the proper amount of money it needed for a facelift.

So this tattered old temple sat on the verge of ruin. There were windows with holes in them. The tall heavy wooden doors, outside and in, were dark and ancient with layers of peeling paint hanging from their sides. Even the hard wood floors looked damaged. So scuffled up from the lack of care and misuse you couldn't tell they'd ever had a shine. My family had gone to this church for years, knew all its members, so this wasn't uncharted waters for me. I knew this building and some of its history. And the fact the doors remained unlocked most of the time was no mystery either. Who would steal anything from this old relic. There was literally nothing of value to steal. Even crackheads avoided staying here. So the notion of being in danger while waiting alone in this musty old house of worship never really crossed my mind. It wasn't really so bad. I'd just have to wait a little while for the others to come.

But then I heard the noise. And it sounded very near. Looking up from the piano where I sat, I trained my attention in the direction of the noise.

So I waited.

For half a minute I waited.

Part of the reason I didn't crap my pants was the fact I'm always hearing things. Hearing sounds not really there. Some people call them haunts. Apparitions. Spooks. And despite the fact I fully believe in ghost, I have to admit I've never really seen one in person. I guess you can say I'm one of those rare "ghost people" who don't see spirits and phantoms.

I hear them.

I've always been hearing things. That's probably part of the reason why my childish mind didn't fly into panic when I thought I heard the door squeak. I shouldn't have been surprised. I seemed to have been born that way. Born with a kin sense of hearing. My mama says through the whole time I was developing in her belly, the slightest noise could make me jump.

Uhmmm, I hear things. So perhaps that's why, when I heard the door squeak I thought: ghost. For most people, the mere thought of getting spooked is a fantasy or a make-believe event. It'll never happen. The scariest things they encounter is when somebody jumps out and say: BOO! These are the ones who get their scary-fix watching slasher movies and telling ghost stories around campfires. . . But not so with me. I always hear things. And I think they're ghost.

And like I said, you don't always have to see them to know they're there. Ever since I was a child I've had this ability. I was always hearing things other people didn't seem to hear. This started at a very early age. Once in our small house, an old box fan had stopped running in the middle of the night and we all were sleeping. Suddenly a loud blast, like the blast of a horn, woke me up. I opened my eyes, the house was full of smoke. I went at once to my parents' room and woke them up. But that wasn't the only time I heard things. Sometimes I'd hear people laughing that aren't there. Or doors slamming. Or a lady crying. And at times a little child running barefoot through the house.

Once, many years later, as a grown man, I'd gone to a primary school for an interview. It was during the summer and the classrooms were being cleaned, which accounted for why there were student desks and chairs stacked up in the hallways. As I walked through the halls I couldn't find the office, or anyone there for that matter. The building seemed empty. Then I realized it was lunch time and I was early. So to pass time I began looking at the class photos on the walls. Many of the photos were from the turn of the 20th Century. There were photos from 1902. 1910. 1917. On down the hall, others still: the Class of 1927;. 1942. All smiley-faced kids, boys and girls. And I thought to myself, I'm certain many of these children have probably already lived their lives and passed on.

Then gradually I began to hear music playing, a piano, and lots of children voices. And it sounded as if they were singing and dancing to the music. Oh, Great, I'd said, following the sound, I guess everyone's back from lunch and the teachers and kids are having fun. So I followed the sound to two massive doors. From inside the laughter, dancing and music was so loud I could hardly think. This must be the cafeteria or gym, I said to myself, throwing one of the huge doors open. And I paused. The music stopped the instant the door opened. In there was a stage and on the side of the stage sat two teenage boys, the summer help, on their lunch break. The room was dimly lit.

"Where's all the children?" I asked.

"What children?" one boy asked.

"I heard music and children dancing."

The boy shrugged a shoulder. "There's nobody here but us," he answered.

My mama says some people are just born gifted. Either the gift of seeing. Or the gift of hearing. Or the gift of being touched by spooks in some way or other. Yes, for sure, I'm one of them. I guess you can say I'm one of those people born with the innate ability to attract ghost. And some of my stories can give you real goosebumps.

But ghostly encounters seem to permeate my history. My family's history, that is. Take for example my mom. She told me a few ghost stories from her own childhood memories. There was the story when she was five and she and her brother of ten snuck out one night. "We went to play in the alley" she would say, " and was chased home" by a gigantic glowing spirit, twirling round and round. They didn't know it until later, but in the area a number of truly gruesome murders had recently occurred. Then there was the story of the huge snarling dog standing in the middle of the road. Mama says people still talk about it. Something wasn't right about the animal. It seemed the demented canine had red glowing eyes, with a bloody yellowish spittle hanging from its jaws. The dog stood very still in the road. Blocking traffic. It was the most freakish thing anyone ever saw. No one dared approach it or tried to chase the dog away. Folks kind of knew what it was. A spirit. Cars had to go out of their way to drive around it. And another story mama told was very frightening. It was about two men fighting over a pack of smokes. With a rusty butter knife one of the men cut out the heart of another. Stabbed him mercilessly so many times he broke the poor guy's ribs. Police say the heart was more squishy than jello. The killer was all covered red with blood. And to this day, people still say they see the dead man standing near the alley where he died. Under a mulberry tree, in the wee hours of the night, you can see a lone dark figure taking long steady drags from a single cigarette. Its fiery point glowing orange, then slowly receding.

Ghost are real.

I suppose that's what I was thinking as I sat there listening that day.

No big deal. I'd gone into the church, to the little side room next to the dark winding stairwell, and shut the door. From that room it was clear I'd hear the other choir members when they arrived.

An old upright piano was in the room, so to humor myself, I sat down and began banging out noise. I couldn't play. Not a single lick. But boy could I make noise. I was about three minutes into this magical make-believe masterpiece I was creating when, pausing, I heard the strange sound. It was the slow squeaking of a door from the room at the top of the winding stairs. The sound was about two flights of stairs away, but it registered in my ears like a noise originating in my own thoughts.

I can still hear it.

For a moment, I sat very still.

Waiting.

With my ears I focused on the staircase on the other side of the wall.

--Maybe, jjjjuuust maybe I was hearing things.

So for a long moment I waited.

Nothing.

Dead silence. I could almost hear my own heart beat.

Ho-hum was my attitude at last as I shrugged my shoulders and began pounding again on the piano keys. I was lost in heaven, giving birth to another marvelous piano concerto. My fingers were flying across the keys. A life of their owwwwn-n-n-nnnnn

--But then I heard another strange sound. It was footsteps. Heavy on the steps. Heavy footsteps echoing from the very wall adjacent to the stairwell.

My fingers froze in mid air.

"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!" came the footfalls as loud as thunder slowly down the stairs.

I'm sure my eyes grew wide as quarters. I was a boy transformed. My heart beating out of my chest.

"BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!" slowly down the stairs the sound continued.

"H-H-Hello!" I found myself saying weakly. My whole body on edge. Starting to quake.

"BOOM! BOOM!"

It seemed whoever, or whatever it was, there was no escaping it.

"HELLO!" I screamed, not recognizing my own voice. I sounded like a girl. "Who are you? What do you want?" Still yet, I didn't sit still. Something -- I don't know what (because I was pure chicken) -- but something in me compelled me closer to the door. "HELLO!" I called again, still shaking, the heavy footfalls louder now, more thunderous than before.

"BOOM!" came the last stomp, and I could tell from the sound, it stopped right outside the door

-- and was in fact, waiting!

I was there too, at the door, inside the room. Tremblingly my hand grabbed the doorknob. For a long silent moment a private war waged in my consciousness. Should I open the door or shouldn't I? What did I expect to see? Who? Some of my buddies perhaps pulling a prank? Or could it be -- could it be my first time seeing -- a ghost?

My hand released the doorknob just gradually because I torn between two thoughts: either to turn, run from the door. Hide in a corner. Or else stay here, stay and face it. Whatever, whoever is it -- but perhaps…perhaps? Just perhaps this was a big mistake! Perhaps I shouldn't have stayed to wait here alone? . . . .My mind was talking to itself, over and over -- a trillion other "perhaps" piggybacking then on these very questions, exploded there inside me.

My ears were starting to pop.

I went again to grab the doorknob. To hold it. To turn it. To open the door. But I snapped my fingers away suddenly.

The doorknob was ALREADY turning. Back and forth, back and forth, back and ---

So someone really WAS out there for sure

--And they could walk right in. And get me!

"Hello," I called once more. There was a strange hollowed tone to my voice.

I could almost feel the person waiting for me on the other side. Someone big and heavy... who possibly wanted to do me bodily harm.

Here for the first time since I've been dealing with ghost, I was literally afraid. I didn't know what to do. Sweaty palms. Ears popping. It seemed my very heart was pounding out from my throat

--but at the same time, unthinkingly, my fingers grasped the doorknob, a near death-grip, tightening with all my strength to hold the knob while it twisted, turned, back and forth, back and forth

-- and I gave out one last final call -- "H-E-L-L-OOOO!" as I yelled in that one desperate hell of a moment . . . and with all my might, I flung open the door.

But no one was there.