Lost and Found

We didn’t speak of it.

It was just known.

6130 Bakers Road was off limits.

The house lain neglected for 20 years.

What must have been, at one time, a handsome structure, seemingly abandoned by its owners and forgotten by time. Traces of sunny, yellow paint, had long peeled off the fascia boards, leaving small patches in their wake. They caught the light of the midday summer sun.

At night, behind the curtains you could see lights flicker on and off, leaving the enigma of 6130 more pronounced. Some said it was the scene of a gruesome murder. Some said it was a bomb shelter. Other said that Old Widow Maureen still lived in the home. Alone, after all these years.

It was the summer of 1995. “Waterfalls” by TLC was playing on every walkman and CD player in town. I had just turned fourteen.

It was a slow town and we all knew each other since before we could skate down the paved, red-brick sidewalks.

The boys and I played baseball in the field adjacent to 6130 but the air was never completely at ease. We always wondered; was Old Maureen watching us? The house seemed separate from the world around it; In a snowglobe, forgotten by time.

The day was hot and Stuart, “Stu” for short, stopped the game from his spot on the pitchers mount.

He called out to the twelve of us:

“Hey guys, it’s just too damn hot. Let’s catch the ice cream truck and get popsicles?”

The agreement was unanimous and we quickly left.

It took us exactly fourteen minutes to find Stanley’s neon pink ice cream truck. The carnival music emanating from it could be heard far and wide; A beacon to the hot and hungry boys and girls of Old Orchard Beach, our middle-of nowhere town in Southern Maine. Mid-popsicle I jumped up.

“I forgot my baseball at the field guys. I need to go back.”

“I gotchu, Daniel. Let’s make it quick,” Stu quickly bounced up and we were off.

We chatted easily as we walked back to the field.

“Hey man, I think I got a summer gig working at the Palace Playland. I can get you in if you want? They have me fixing ticket machines in the arcade. Some hotties workin’ the cash registers.”

I knew that Stu wanted to work at the amusement park this summer so he could bump into Janet. I hadn’t quite figured out what I wanted to do this summer.

“Nah man, I’ll let you know.”

When we reached the field, it was empty. Our footsteps in the red earth lightly brushed away by the wind, but still vaguely legible. Stu said he was heading out and left home. The sun had started to set, and the cool, salty air started to blow in from the ocean to the east. I turned around for one more look. I liked that ball, It was a birthday present from my dad a month earlier. He was away often and it was nice to have a bit of him with me.

The ball was nowhere in sight.

I had given up, a little heaviness in my chest and started to head home when from the corner of my eye, I saw it. My baseball lay stoically on the front porch of 6130.

How it had gotten there? I don’t know.

Without a second thought I opened the front picket-fence of the property. It was really getting dark now and I’m not going to lie, I was scared.

The lights in the house were off as per usual. Prickly weeds had claimed the front yard path. The decaying iron mailbox near the front porch lay wide open, exploding with tattered mail.

Four wooden steps led up to the front porch. I took the first step, the wooden tread cried at my weight.

I paused.

The street was abandoned.

I was completely alone.

My breath danced visibly in the cool night air. Heart punding. Thump thump. Thump thump. I inhaled quickly and held it in.

I stepped up fast: two, three, four.

Leaning quickly, I was about to grasp my ball when the lights came on behind the white, lacey curtains of the front door. A dark figure behind them moved closer. The door knob twisted—

It wasn't a run. It was much more swift. I nearly flew out of there. I jumped those four stairs all at once and got the hell out of there; leaving my cherished ball behind. I didn’t turn back. Not once.

————————-

We are a fishing town. That’s what my dad does. And his dad did before him. Weeks, sometimes months, he’s out there on rough seas. My mom is the anchor of our family. It’s the three of us most of the time: mom, Laila and me. Laila was ten that summer but as sharp as a tack nonetheless.

We sat for dinner around the table, leftover lasagna on our plates.

“Dan, whats the matter? You look mad,” Laila asked.

“Im ok Laila, nothing to worry about, just some stuff.”

“what stuff?” mom chimed in.

My cheeks burned and I felt foolish as I said it, but I didn’t know what to think;

“I lost the ball dad bought me. It’s at Old Maureen’s place and its haunted. I can’t get it.”

Mom looked at me, her eyes crinkled with compassion but the way she moved changed.

“Honey, that house is not haunted. I’m not even sure anyone lives there anymore. Just got pick up your ball tomorrow.”

I felt braver suddenly and responded:

“Mom, what happened with that house? Why Is it abandoned and who is that lady?”

She paused for a moment and gulped down a bite of lasagna.

“Darling, im going to tell you a story.

A long time ago, there was a famous chocolate factory in this town. The owners had discovered a new way to extract the flavors from the beans and the cakes they created were lauded all over the world. They were on the way to becoming the most famous chocolatier in the USA. Their specialty was a lavish triple-chocolate layer cake, which was said to be unlike anything anyone had ever tasted at the time.

Then the War happened.

The owner was a brave man who happily went to fight in Germany with his son, alongside him. He left his lovely wife and daughter behind to run the factory until they would return. But they never did. Both were killed by the Germans. The widow’s anguish drove her mad. She threw herself off the conveyer belt in the factory and died.

Maureen, her daughter, never fully recovered. Eventually, the factory was shut down. Maureen hasn’t been seen much since.”

My mother paused, it felt like there was more, but she said nothing.

I was bursting with more questions, but mom started to clear the table and I knew that was my cue to get ready for bed. I had resolved to return to 6130 in the morning to reclaim my ball. The house wasn’t haunted after all… so there was nothing to fear. Right?

The next morning, my white ball had moved. It was no longer in the corner of the porch: Rather in the center of the front door mat – near something, I couldn’t quite make out from so far away.

I moved closer and found the ball near a white, milk glass cloche. I bent over carefully and lifted it to find a slice of the most scrumptious chocolate cake I had ever feasted my eyes on.

On the cream-colored plate was also a small, silver spoon.

I slipped the baseball in my pocket and picked up the plate off the floor.

One small bite couldn’t hurt.

The spoon sliced the moist cake smoothly and I lifted it to my mouth.

It was unlike anything I had tasted. The dark cocoa melted away to reveal hints of vanilla bean and citrus notes. It couldn’t have been more than a minute until the slice was devoured.

I put the plate under the cloche and in its original position. I knew it had been meant for me.

I turned to leave and stopped.

I needed to thank her. The ghost or whoever it was that left this for me.

Lifting my hand slowly I knocked three time on the old oak door.

No answer. Maybe I knocked too softly?

Three more knocks. Harder this time.

There was no answer and I turned to go.

I hadn’t made it off the porch when I hear the door open behind me.

A cracked, soft voice spoke:

“Daniel, I am so glad you liked the cake. Do come inside.”