New Friend?

It was the summer of 1969. My family had moved into a townhouse in Anne Arundel County in Maryland. It was in a new housing development. The other houses in the tract looked pretty much the same. They most likely resembled a colonial home, as per the imagination of the developer if attempting to imitate earlier times. There were woods in back, that had not been touched as yet. But I figured their time would eventually come, in order to make room for more housing developments.

I was seven years old. I lived with my father, and second wife of about 2 years. The house was had an upstairs and downstairs. My bedroom was in back, and overlooked the woods in back. My stepmother warned me about going into those woods. She said there were kidnappers there who might take me away. I had no clue what a "kidnapper" was. But she implied enough for me to be scared of them all the same.

After some time of settling into our new home, it was fall. And I started First grade at the local elementary school. I was semi excited about this new beginning in our life. I hoped things would be different now.

The new year started off smoothly enough. I enjoyed my new school. And our weekends were fairly idyllic. I played with my toys, took care of our cats Tabby and Socks. And they loved me too. The funny side note to that story, is that we were under the impression they were both male cats. But one day, we noticed Tabby's belly looking low to the ground. Upon inspection, my stepmother noticed Tabby was a girl. And what a way to find out. When the kittens were born, My stepmother and I were part of the process. I remember how disappointed I was when upon birth, they all resembled baby mice, and not the fluffy kittens I was used to seeing. She explained to me, they would look like that when they got a little older. But I enjoyed the experience, and what she taught me in the process. This was when she was in her "better periods", as I would call them.

These times would most often come about when she and my father argued. These times would happen about every couple of weeks. And typically on Friday night. My father would leave for a day or two for a "cool off" period for them. Then he would return. This would often be celebrated with a dinner out or some other treat for our family. And each time, maybe "this time" would be the last time, I hoped.

But no such luck. The "bad times" seemed to happen more frequently. I know also they argued as far as I could tell, was mostly concerning money. I know there were times that lunch for school was not always predictable. Sometimes there was enough in the fridge to throw something together with. Sometimes there wasn't. In those times, my father had lunch money for me. Sometimes he didn't. And the first few times of "My father forgot my lunch money today" worked. But it stopped, as this became more of a habit. In time, my grades at school suffered and the teacher was becoming more frustrated at my "daydreaming", or "lack of attention" in class as she called it and "refusal to follow directions". In those days, teachers were not trained so much, in looking into anomalies in the home to account for unusual student behavior.

And the fights between my parents became more frequent. My anxiety was due to many things in my environment. I sometimes wonder now though, if the house carried bad juju of it's own as the saying goes. What came first in our case, the chicken or the egg. Was the negative energy in the house already there when we moved in. Or did we bring it in with us. I guess I will never know.

Almost like clockwork on a Friday night, their fighting started in. Needless to say, Dad left. When he was gone, I usually stayed home. My stepmother didn't like to be left by herself during these times. She often kept to her bed, while I took care of our meals such as they were. I even slept in bed with her at night as well. One night as we lay in bed, she announced out of the clear blue;, "I'm leaving". I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "What" I asked, hoping I was hearing things. "I'm leaving", she said. "Can I come too", I asked. "I said I'm leaving, she said. Processing all of this, "Where are you going", I asked. "I don't know", she said. Either did I . Dad had the car. Not only that, she had no friends she could go to. I knew I would be all right. But I was worried about her. But as she had her mind made up, there wasn't much I could do. She rose and packed a small bag. I kept thinking she would see the folly of this plan, and change her mind. Or even telling me she was kidding would have worked. But no. It wasn't long before she closed the front door behind her.

I laid there a while, unsure of what to do. I had to go to the bathroom a few minutes later. The bathroom had long counter with two sinks, that had a door on either side. One door led directly to my parent's bedroom. The other one led to the hallway close to my bedroom. Both doors were open to my best recollection. As I sat on the toilet, a strong wind suddenly blew through my parent's room. It was so strong, that it knocked the plastic pill container laying on the counter, onto the floor. I felt suddenly cold. As a child who had only lived on the East coast up to now, I knew cold. I had played in the snow, and threw snowballs while waiting for the school bus. But this cold, was like no other I had experienced before. I felt it clear to my soul. And it made the little hairs on top of the little hairs on the back of my head stand straight up. After peeing, I don't even think I washed my hands and ran to bed as fast as I could. I got under the covers and prayed the whole thing was my imagination.

Just when I thought the whole thing was in my head, or just a momentary thing, I heard a noise over and over again. The best description would be a door being opened over and over again on metal that had been long overused. I closed my eyes, praying this too was in my head. Then I thought I heard someone saying my name. "Jenny Kelley, Jenny Kelly" it began saying over and over again. I finally answered to my hesitation. I didn't want to, but it seemed to be the only to shut it up whatever it was. I cleared my throat, and stuck my head out of the blanket an inch. "um here I am. Who are you" I asked. "Jenny Kelly", it said. The voice was childlike. "Help me I'm stuck. Please pull me out of the wall." I was not about to complete this errand. I had no desire to actually see who and what this was. "Uh no. I don't want to", I said. "How did you get in there anyway", I asked. I think the being answered me. But I'm not sure what he said. At any rate, their dilemma made no sense to me. Upon conversing with this being some more, he sounded like a little boy to me. He asked me again to pull him out of the wall. Attempting to stall him off the subject some more, I asked, "Who are you". A minute later, he answered, "I'm John Franci's ghost. I asked him again to make sure I heard him correctly. And that was it. The word "ghost" was enough for me. If I had even thought for a nanosecond of helping him, that idea was now off the table.

To keep him off the subject of what I was unable to do, I told him about school. I asked him if he had ever gone to my school. He said he had never heard of it. I eventually got around to my parents fighting, and my father being gone. "Now my mother is gone too," I said. After all the anxiety of the last week, it felt good to have even a remotely friendly ear. "I can see your mother", he said. "She's in the woods". Oh no. I said. "Is she all right?" I asked. "There are kidnappers there you know", I said. Just as I was going to ask him if he knew what they were, I heard a noise in the house. "Whose that?" I asked. "Is she coming back?" He answered, "Let me go see. But first, I need for you to get under the covers. " "But why?" I asked. "Just do it." he said. "Something bad could happen if you don't". I pulled the blankets over my head. A minute later, I felt the same cold wind blow over me accompanied by a loud whooshing sound. "Well that was easy. I guess he didn't need my help after all", as I fell asleep.

A little while later, my stepmother was home gently shaking me awake. "Sweetie I'm home. Why were you under the covers" she asked. I thought of telling her what happened, but changed my mind. I was tired. And I figured she would figure it was just another of my "stories" as she and my dad liked to say. I asked her where she went. " I didn't go far," she said. " I went to the store and came home. I was relieved she did, as I fell back to sleep.

That was about fifty years ago. I live in California now. I have married and have had a son and daughter since then. We have a nice home. And for the most part, I have lived the American dream as it were. But I sometimes in the wee hours of the night, I think back to that time. And since then, I still have trouble sleeping in darkness when I'm alone. And I still wonder about the little friend John I wished learned more about. Was this a child who had died at an early age. If so, what from? If this had indeed been an actual living person, he would never experience growing up, graduating high school, falling in love, raising a family, or having a career or home of his own. I still wish sometimes I had gotten to hear his story. Maybe I will find out someday.