Welcome Home

It is almost midnight now, and I have misplaced my keys. The hounds are baying outside, much louder than they should be. And my little pet kitties are giving me that wide eyed stare, as if something they see someone behind me. I turn as quickly as this tired body will let me, but alas, I catch nothing. My eyes are old and dim now. No longer monsters in the corner of my  eyes, only fog. I see  only the world ahead.  Such were  the eyes of an old man, who were blind to the visions of little kitties. But that was quite alright. 

I know that there are ghosts in my house. 

There have to be! Otherwise, I am just a crazy man talking to the walls alone in the dark hours. There is nothing so wrong with that, of course.  Words can echo and comfort the heart, even the ones you speak to yourself. But it is not my words that I listen to, but the senses which I am not so old enough to doubt.. 

There in the cellar there are smells. Passing must and vapors. It is the sound of tiptoes on the floor outside my room while I wait to sleep. If I strain them hard enough, on my evening stroll perhaps out of the corner of my eye, I might just catch the shadow my little cats were looking at, dancing on the wall over there.  

You could call me mad. Chalk it all up to natural phenomena and explain away the reasons why these are not ghosts. But, truly,  I just know that there are ghosts in my house.

This is faith.  

My auntie was the same. 

She would call out to me from an old leather chair, then a beautiful woman, slightly younger than his mother. She would be sitting in the den, of the old house,  watching the sunset. 

"Pumba! " she would call to me. for I was a chubby little thing who liked  to eat a lot of sweets. "Oh look at you all muddy from playing in the rain."
"Whatever happened to you slippers?" she asked.
"They got stuck in the mud while I was chasing the dogs." 
She clicked her tongue, as she called  me over, wiping me down.  After I was clean enough, she put me on her lap.
"Keep your old auntie company, Pumba and I shall trade you a cookie and a story. " she said. 
It was never a no, of course. I was homemade chocolate chip and words from my auntie who smelled like them. No child could ever resist such an offer.
I would cuddle up to her, munching on a the treat as  I stared out the window,  she would begin her tales. 

 "Your grandmother had once told me this a long long time ago, as a warning  to all the younguns."  she started 

  "I will say it once, so you ought  not to  ask me to say it again, alright."
I nodded, as any child would.  Staring into her eyes and crossing my heart.  Promising as  honestly as  children do.
Satisfied by this, she smiles, and gestures  me  to come closer.  As I get close enough, she grabs me, to hold me in place and whispers. 
”Be wary in the night time, or else you might disturb the spirits. "

“There are ghosts in the house, auntie?” I would ask with a  soft voice, my mouth full of cookie. “How would you know?

And with a wicked smile she would reply. 

”The whole world is old  after  all, and all the earth is a graveyard.” she  said, “The ghosts are all around us.”

"The ghosts of dogs. The ghosts of the ant." she said. "Even the ghost of the fish" she said teasing me with a finger in my belly.
"But  there are many human ghosts. " she continued. Tall and small.  The many who might have died here before. Ah yes, even now they are near"

“B-but how can you tell?” I would whisper to my auntie’s ear.

“Well…”she would say, bending down low beside me  with a whisper of her own,  running her finger down my back “Tell me boy, do you feel a tingle up your spine”

And I would, stiffening at her touch, reminded of that time  a little spider had crawled on my arm. I felt my hair standing on end. 

“Then that means…” she continued, coming close. "They are right.."

“ ...Behind you!” she would suddenly yell, tickling little me, causing me to scream my lungs out in scared out of my wits, my fear then mixing with the maddened glee that is my auntie's cackle.  Oh what a witch she was, but I loved her all the same.  But my mother, oh my mother would be so angry. She  would hear the noise and rush immediately down the rickety stairs only to find me crying in the arms of my auntie, terrified and shaking. 

“He is old enough to be told these stories, Iman” she would say to my mother. "And he isn't that scared, right Pumba?"
I was positively shivering. Auntie hugged me tightly. 
"Sorry, Pumba." she would whisper. 

“You know he hasn't been sleeping well.”  my mother would say back angrily. “What are you going to do if he stays up all night? I'm the one who has to take care of him.” 

"Blame the ghosts!" said Auntie confidently. 

"Ah you're just as bad as mother!" said my mother.  

"That's only because you were a scaredy cat, not like your child here." she said, with me still shaking. 

"Because those stories are scary." replied my mother, quite crossly. She held me by the shoulder, and said softly.
"Come, little Pumba, I'll take you to bed."

But I did not let go of Auntie. No, she could pull and pull all she liked, but I would not let go.
"I am not a scaredy cat!" I cried, hugging my auntie tighter than ever.
My mother looked at me and then my auntie with a look that was more surprise than anger, to which my auntie replied with a wide feline grin.
"Well, you heard him" she said smugly.
"Bah!" said my mother, quite vexed. "Whatever, don't come crying to me tonight if there are ghosts !"
My auntie would carry me to bed that night, clutching me tightly the whole time as she carried me through the landing , the rickety stairs and into my room. 

As she tucked me in ,  she kissed me on the forehead and asked me.
"You're not really afraid, are you?" she asked, her face was so concerned this time, her voice so calm and soft. 

"Of course, not auntie," I replied, to which she grinned again. 

But that was a lie of course.
I was  still just a boy, afraid of the ghosts and the things in the dark.  I just didn't want to be. I wanted to be brave like auntie, because I loved her and her stories. 

But those days would be far off, for that night I would not sleep a wink.  The times my eyes were closed were so my mother would be satisfied, as she checked on me past my bedtime. I know she said I shouldn't go running for her. And yet here she was checking on little me.  

It was hard not to smile or laugh as she would sneak in, as softly as she could. But  I  could always hear her, the softness of her steps. The whisper under her voice as she tells me she loves me. The muted  disapproving ticks as she rearranges my  blanket to keep me warm. Her quick little tiptoe out.

Sounds of love.

But those are not the only sounds that I would hear in that night.
As the dark became true and the moon became hidden by the clouds, I would sit there in the pitches of black as my eyes adjusted. All the while I would by 

There would be scratching in the ceiling. And grunting behind  the walls. Something would  be  dragging outside my doorstep.  Or even right beside my bed.

Oh what could these sounds mean?  My young heart  did not want to know. I would  keep my  eyes shut, covered tight under my blanket.

They would not catch me,  I said, looking for the lion in my heart.. If my mother couldn’t. Then surely they wouldn’t either.

I threw off my blanket and stood up proudly amidst the dark only to immediately be startled again by the sudden barking of dogs.

Oh loud  they were. Normally they were quiet in the garage, big old lazy bums. But that night they were howling and growling, scratching at the cool concrete floor.  There must be something wrong, I thought. They must need my help. 

So, pretending to be brave I crept out of my room, with my bare feet the floor was cold and numbing as I silently walked in the shadowy house. I dared not turn on the  lights for fear of waking up my mother.  If she had caught me at that hour, she would have thought I was scared.  But I was going to brave, I told myself, just like auntie had said.
And so, I clambered as quietly as I could through the dark, holding the banister tightly as I walked down the stairs. I was careful not to step on the creaky floorboards ,  and landed on the landing safely. 

When I made it to the garage,  the noise was horrible. The dogs were viciously barking, their teeth bared  wide and slobbering, straining their collars and pulling on their chains rattling them loudly, they looked rabid almost, ready for the kill. But what terrified me were not my dogs, but what they barked at in the night. 

There was nothing. They were barking at nothing.  Not a cat nor a rat, nor a shadow in sight.
At first, I brushed it off, the dogs were just being crazy I thought. There was nothing there, right?

But I just couldn't leave it alone.
Perhaps it was morbid curiosity.  Maybe I just wanted to be absolutely sure. But either way, I found myself drawn to that space.
I stepped forward, not bothering to sneak, hearing my step so very loud and clear in my own ears in spite of the barking.  As I drew closer to the space, my heartbeat grew more palpable, with every beat drying a bit more moisture out of my mouth.
I reached out, swiping at nothing.
I nearly laughed.

Strange I thought, I suppose I kind of expected something to be there. With the mystery dispelled, I turned around. 

And then again I heard a step.
I paused, for just a brief moment, my entire body stiffening with anticipation. I became painfully aware of how quiet it was. The dogs had stopped barking, instead their heads bowed close to the concrete floor. Even outside, not a thing could be heard, not even the wind. It was as if all of night was holding its breath alongside me. 
The only sound was my heartbeat quickening to a roar in my ears.
All of a sudden , I felt a tingle up my spine. 

I ran as fast as I could, every hair on my body standing on end, feeling...something following behind me. It was slow, but loud with heavy footsteps that slapped against against the wooden floors, the sound being beaten into my skull. Even though it took its time, it always felt like it was right at my heels, ready to drag me away.  

The moment I reached my room I slammed the door and locked it as quickly as I could, not caring if my mother would hear me .I leapt into my bed  and wrapped myself in my blanket not daring to take my eyes off the door for a second. My breath still eluded me, and my heart felt like it was going to burst.

It stopped for a second when I heard the door again. I was certain I had locked it. But here it was opening, revealing nothing but endless void behind it.  

I wanted to cry but all that came out were shaken whispers as I sat shivering watching the door. I waited for it to come. I waited the whole night.  

But it never came. 

At some point I had passed out, between the warm morning hours and the dawn, and my aunt would find me, so cold and so shaken and pale, she feared I might have been dead. 

As she shook me awake, I immediately hugged her for comfort. 

"Oh you scared me, little one.", she said. "You were so white and pasty, it was like you had no blood!"

It took a while for me to reply, as I indulged in her  warmth and the sun. She laughed as I did. Her cozy laugh that shook me with her being and cast all my fears away. 
"Was it all just a dream, Auntie?", I had asked finally. 

"But, little one, how could you dream if you did not sleep?", that wise old lady asked back. 

Wide eyed and taken aback I had asked.

“How did you know?” 

And so my aunt ever the mischievous creature smiled a knowing smile.

“Well I did dream” she said.
“It was a silly little dream about a gardener who had lost his shoes.  He walked up to me all awkwardly stepping.  And so I had asked. 'What's wrong with your feet old man?'

And the old man replied, 'I lost my shoes so I borrowed this child's.'   Now, that's not right I thought.  No old man should ever be stealing the shoes off a child. I took off my own dream shoes and handed it to the gardener,  and without missing a beat I told him to git! Who're you to take the shoes of a little boy? And he just scurried on away”

“But I did not see  a gardener last night.” I said. 

“Well what did you see?” 

I answered as honestly as I could. 

“I saw a ghost!” I said. 

And  she laughed  her big  laugh  as  she  held me  tight again, an earthquake of utter joy. When she pulled away, she pulled me up and pointed through the door.  

“Go on  and  look   down there.”.  she  told   me. “There's something funny down that way.”

Listening to my auntie's words,  but still  afraid and shaken, I crept out of my bed slowly. Taking quiet steps towards the  door, with every step I took, I would look back to  see if my auntie was  still there, giving a little wave. And she would be smiling, reassuring me as I inched forward.

When I reached the door, I saw nothing. There was nobody there in the morning light. It was quiet but I was sure there was nothing, for I  could feel nothing creeping up my back. But as I turned to look back at  run back to my auntie, I tripped over something.

Wincing slightly, I looked back and found  my slippers, the ones that I had lost, placed neatly outside my door. They were covered in cold soil and grass clippings. 

And I found myself laughing, laughing my heart out till it I was on the floor in tears.  

My auntie was right.  It was funny.  She was always right now that I think about it.
Ah, that was so long ago. I have not laughed like that in many years. And I have not seen her in twice as many.  I had left that old town a while back, when my hair was still dark and short.  It is long and grey now.  And it is my knees not my floorboards that creak.
My eyes fog behind glasses, and my mind is not what it was. Perhaps that whole story was made up. I have no way to truly tell.  But one thing is for sure.
I miss her dearly. 

I am much older than she was now. I have no children to tell this story to. Nobody to scare witless one cold dark night. Nobody to call me Pumba and ask why.  I tell this story to the ghosts that I hope can hear me. 

I live alone with one little dog and a small chubby litter of kittens I had found on the sidewalk.  And I can hear them baying and mewling at nothing, on this otherwise silent moonless night. 

And so I creep, barefooted, on cold wooden boards, listening, trying to stay as quiet as I could out of respect. 

When I reach the garage  where all the little animals stay, I find the door wide  open, yawning into the dark. I do not wait this time. I step forward towards the mouth of the night. 

Standing before nothing as the animals fall dead silent. 

And just as before, I feel a tingle up my spine.

But I do not run. These old bones can't anyways. Instead I just smile and hold out my hand towards empty darkness. And  all of a sudden I feel a  warmth pressing something cold and metallic into my palm.
It's my house keys.

I begin to laugh, feeling the tears falling from my eyes as I catch a whiff warm chocolate cookies in the air. 

“Welcome home, auntie” I say softly.