Haunted Things

Hands on and Gun Shots (Leigh)

As the stench of sulfur filled the air and people started gagging and choking in the middle of the living room since they didn't have the survival instincts of hedgehogs when I told them to duck and cover, and instead kept standing like idiots out in the open, I waited for the house to begin it's tell-tale thumping that always followed the smell of sulfur and preceded the raining of fire and brimstone to announce the arrival of the house's builder, aka Grampa Jakob Dämon Uhhold Himmel. 

Upon his moving to the good old US of A from the Motherland of Bavaria, promptly killed and buried his first three wives in the basement for not disciplining the children correctly (my dad used to laugh about how he spanked them to death (such a joker, my dad)), but by the time the fourth wife arrived he had either slowed down in his dotage or she was particularly devious and he found himself oddly accident prone in her presence, as would be shown by the fact that within the space of two weeks after the wedding he tripped and took a tumble down the stairs, breaking an ankle; he chopped off his hand while cutting wood; fell into a boiling vat of lye soap, burning off half his face and rendering his good hand useless; stepped on a board of rusting nails (but didn't live long enough for tetanus to become a life-threatening problem); found his chopped off hand in a jar of pickles (no one knows what happened to it after that, though); and generally hung out in the shed on a meat hook. 

Granny Angelica Himmel was quite a character. The rest of Grampa Jakob might have joined his hand in various pickle jars. The family stories varied.

The house went THUMP!

I glanced upwards between my fingers. Three, two, one....

Then nothing. A gun shot rang in the distance and an answering crack of shattered glass made everyone scream. That was different. No one in my family used guns.

"Was that the ghosts?" my darling fiancé squealed. "Are the ghosts shooting at us?" He jumped on the sofa, covering his head with his arms. How was he still alive? I couldn't be the only one annoyed here.

"Darling, I already explained that my family is really more hands on," I said.

Another gun shot.

"We're going to die!" Jacon yelled. The college students threw themselves to the floor. Except for the tall blondie with the tight ass and wide shoulders. He crouched behind the sofa with me. Finally.

"So, what's your name?" I asked.

He blinked, confused.

"Your. Name."

He opened his mouth.

I patted his cheek. He was still eye candy despite the lack of intelligence.

The door thumped, and in ran a muscular black man in fitted jeans and ripped t-shirt. He dove and rolled across the floor, sliding in G.I.Joe fashion to join the hiding place behind the sofa. He blinked.

"Ma'am," he said. "Sorry for busting in the door."

Shouting came from outside.

"But I seem to be in a difficult situation. Mind if I hide here a while?"

"It's all right with me," I said. "Who's shooting at you?"

"You know. Assholes. White supremacists. What can you do?"

"I know, right? Assholes are everywhere. You can stay here, just watch for raining fire and blood on the floor. That shit's messed up more of my clothes..." My voice trailed off as my eyes realized what I was looking at.

And I thought blondie was attractive.

This man was 'Momma, the kitchen's on fire' hot, no doubt about it. Talk about hands on material. He must have served in the military and was still working out three times a day. That shirt was still entirely too whole. I'd have to put a few more holes in it.

"Don't suppose you have a shotgun in the house?" he asked me.

"Sweetie, we don't need a shotgun. You just stay put." I winked at him and stood.

Drake stood, too. He dusted himself off and took a manly stance at the door. The college students quivered on the floor, getting blood on their pants. I rolled my eyes. I told them about the stains. And the insanity.

Two white men ran up on the porch. They paused and looked in warily, either because they knew it was the Himmel House or because they knew their would-be victim was way studlier than either of them.

"Hey, guys!" I said. I even waved.

"Sorry to intrude on your property and all, but have you seen a dark skinned man run by here?" The short-bearded one asked. He tucked his sawed off shot-gun behind his back. So cute.

"Oh yeah. He went upstairs."

"Really?" asked the long-bearded one.

"Really. Friend of yours? You can go on up and find him if you want." I pointed at the staircase. Dammit, I broke a nail.

"Oh. Okey-dokey. We'll just go on up." They tiptoed inside.

I smiled. "Just be sure to check in all the rooms, and don't mind the walls. We're redecorating."

"We are?" Drake asked.

"Absolutely," I said. "Who wants to live with 'I will jump rope with your entrails and suck the marrow from your bones while you screme' (scream misspelled) painted in blood, sweat and eye-ball juice all down the hallway? Not to mention the 60's flowered paper. That stuff makes me nauseous."

The two men crept up the stairs, making each step creak loudly.

Elisha started after them with her electro gizwizzies and microphone.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"To record any activity up there."

"Do you want little Joey to make a jump rope out of your intestines?"

"Is that a trick question?" she asked, stopping on the first step.

"No, that's pretty straight forward," I said.

The white supremacists reached the upper floor and by the sound of things went in the first room.

And, three, two, one...

The screaming began.