Mr. Enikselom's Giving House

Knock-Knock

I rolled to my side.

“Ouch!”

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

I drove my knuckles deep into my tailbone—the only method that works my muscles awake.

I felt something cold. Whatever it was, stuck to the back of my thigh like a plastered piece of chewed gum on a park bench.

The thought of stale gum trapped in my bedsheets made me cringe. I reached down and peeled off a dime.

“How’d that get under there? My husband must’ve emptied his pants before laundry again. I’m so tired of finding his loose change in random places.”

I walked downstairs to see who was at the door. I looked out the peephole, not seeing anyone right away.

I opened the door.

A small envelope sat on the door mat.

“TO: MR. SHANNON ENIKSELOM”

“E-nik-see-lom,” I tried sounding the last name out. I spit, attempting to add a German accent, if that’d make it easier to pronounce.

I shook the envelope. There was no return address. I couldn’t bring myself to break the serrated seal—it felt important, perhaps a book. “This must belong to the last homeowner." I shut the front door and walked to the kitchen.

“So much work needs to be done,” I huffed.

My husband Charles and I moved in one month prior. We snagged the house for cheap. The longer I lived in it the more I understood why it was sold, AS-IS.

The house wasn’t in terrible shape but the previous owner engaged in questionable behavior. There were unexplained molasses-like stains on the ceiling, goop on the cabinets, and a weird, metal contraption in the backyard. Not to mention, a breaker tripped any time I used the iron and microwave at the same time. Sometimes, while lying in bed at night, I could hear electricity spark inside the walls.

“One day, I’ll tackle this interesting house,” I declared.

I started my morning coffee, making sure not to use any other small appliance at the same time; I didn’t want to risk an electrical fire. While fixed on the invigorating aroma of roasting coffee beans, I heard a scratching sound from under the house.

“What the heck is that noise?”

I paused the coffee maker, to focus my hearing.

The scratching grew louder.

“Oh-no!” I panicked. “We have critters!”

“Hey Jess, I’m home!” Charles, back from his early-run, kissed me good-morning.

“Na-Na-NO! Don’t you dare turn that thing on, we could blow up!” I snapped, as Charles reached for the microwave.

“My mistake, I forgot we can’t use small electronics in this house, he sneered.”

“By the way, we have raccoons under the house,” I pointed toward the floorboards.

“What? Jessica, you’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m serious, I heard them scurrying this morning!”

“The same way you hear electricity talking through the walls and pipes knock back at you, when running hot water for too long?” Charles teased me.

“I know what I heard, I’m not making things up,” I barked back.

“It’s probably your wild imagination. That’s how we ended up in this house. You were convinced our last home had ghosts in the attic.” Charles rolled his eyes.

“Please don’t bring that up,” I shook my head. The memory of ghosts made me shudder.

“Forgive my lack of sensitivity,” Charles kissed my forehead, “moving isn’t cheap. We can’t keep running away from things that make you uncomfortable,” he winked. “So, what are your plans for today?”

“I was thinking of working in the yard,” I confidently announced.

“You? In the yard?” He laughed.

“Yes, I am very capable of working the yard. Plus, I’d like to use the new shovel Dad bought as a housewarming gift.”

“Why on earth did he buy us a shovel? Did he think we’d mine for gold?”

Charles walked away to start his workday. He ran a day-trading business from home.

I ignored Charles’ snide comment.

“I’ll show him I know how to use a shovel.”

I decided to tackle the yard-work adventure after I finished my coffee. There was a weird root that ran from the front of the house to the back, causing a set of pavers to shift.

“That’d be a good place to put that shovel to use—"

_________

“Hello neighbor, did your package arrive?”

I looked up from the three-inch hole I dug.

“Mr. Enikselom?” I questioned. I squinted at a silhouetted man standing at my driveway. I hopped over the hole to grab the package from my porch. “Yes, Mr. Enikselom, I have your package,” I confirmed.

“You can call me, Anderson,” he took the package from me. “How are you settling into the new house?” Anderson eased in closer, inspecting the hole I had been digging.

“Things are going good. I’m tackling yardwork— maybe some kitchen DIY, later.” I moved in front of the hole, to protect it from his prying eyes.

“That’s great to see a sweet face emerge from that house. The last owner never came out and when he did, his nose was buried in some book, scribbling away like a mad scientist. He was a peculiar fella, too bad he passed away.”

I gasped. “Did he die inside the house?” The thought of ghosts haunting my home didn’t sit well.

“I don’t think he died in there, but he left a ton of junk behind. Last I heard, he fell off a ladder while building a metal spaceship in the backyard. Anyway, I noticed a package delivered this morning and thought I’d pop over to make sure you got it.” He read the package out loud, 'To: Mr. Shannon Enikselom' —so that was his name. Well, you can toss that, he’s dead in the dirt!” Anderson handed me the package and walked away.

I scowled at Anderson’s insensitivity then gulped at the potential hauntings from Mr. Enikselom.

I returned to the hole. By now, the root was severed but I kept on working. Something was drawing me to dig. While digging deeper, something shiny blinded my eyes. I set the shovel down and peered into the hole. It was a collection of quarters, easily four dollars’ worth.

“That’s odd, how did Charles’ change get down here?” I continued looking for more change but nothing appeared.

I grew bored of the hole and decided to move into the garage. I began organizing Mr. Enikselom’s clutter: rusted nails, weird screws, and exotic tools.

Then I noticed a mason jar filled with murky water.

“Gross, what the heck is in that?”

Again, something shined at me.

I shook the mason jar like an enchanted snow globe. A collection of pennies revealed themselves. With my yard gloves still on, I opened the mason jar.

“What’s that smell?” I held my breath and reached down to pull out one dollar worth of pennies.

The putrid stench sent me fleeing into the house.

While washing my hands clean, I looked around the kitchen.

“Why is it so dingy?”

The thought of living with Mr. Enikselom’s explosions made me squirm. Who knows what’s splashed on these walls and cabinets. The mason jar proved he was up to something weird.

“I can’t live like this,” I hurried. I reached for a screwdriver and began taking off each kitchen cabinet door—for a deep clean.

I was on the last hinge when another shiny object caught my eye. A perfect stack of nickels sat at the very back of the cabinet shelf.

I swooped the change and threw in my pocket–to count later.

“Jessica, what are you doing? First the yard, then the garage, now the kitchen? You’re gonna kill your back.”

“Don’t mind me, Charles, I have to get this done at once.” I twisted the screw driver like a mad scientist, head fixed on my work.

“You’re on your own with this nonsense.” Charles scoffed and rushed back upstairs to avoid my mania.

I didn’t need Charles’ help. “If I want things done right, I’ll have to do it myself!”

Entranced cleaning the cabinets, which seemed to lure me in, I noticed a familiar sound. I pressed my ear to the kitchen floorboard, to follow the scratching.

Suddenly the sound of electricity zipping in the walls and clanking of the pipes overpowered my senses.

“What on earth is happening?”

I ran to the wall, firmly pressing my ear against it. I followed the noise to the crawl space opening. The noise grew louder. I opened the crawl space door. A stale gust of air hit my face.

“Am I going crazy? Am I the only one who can hear this?”

I shined my cell phone light down into the darkness. Five planks of wood nailed together made a makeshift ladder. I swallowed. The thought of ghosts returned, but my curiosity descended me down the ladder.

“This has to be a prank!” I laughed. More change was revealed; quarters, pennies, dimes, and nickels perfectly lined. I followed the path of coins to the corner of the house.

There was a peculiar man-made mound of dirt. With only three feet of clearing from the dusty ground to the crawl space ceiling, I hunched my back like an old lady.

Something called me to the dirt, just like the front yard. I began to dig with my bare hands. I easily dug out another twenty dollars’ worth of change. I scurried back up the ladder, and returned with the shovel. Again, I became entranced. I dug at the mound, fixed on the idea that a hidden treasure would be discovered, just like Charles said.

I worked what felt like hours.

CLINK!

I hit something wrapped in plastic.

“OH-NO, please don’t be Mr. Enikseloms’ body!”

I pulled up an old grocery bag from the heavy dirt. Whatever was inside, was small and slender.

I held my breath, unsure of the contents. I slowly peeled the bag open; a black book with Mr. Enikselom’s name embossed on the cover.

I opened the book. Drawings of tree roots, kitchen cabinets, mason jars, recipes, metal greenhouse frame, and mathematical configurations were revealed. I thumbed to the very back, searching for a key to decipher the scribble. It was a personal letter from Mr. Enikselom:

“My voice lives in this house. I will talk through its walls. The pipes and electricity will speak my truth and the ground will scratch until you listen. I will reward you each time you follow the call of the house. This house will give you everything you’ll ever need. All you have to is listen where it’ll lead you next.

Best Wishes,

Mr. Shannon Enikselom

1 9 9 5 7 4 3”

I closed the book and hid it under my shirt for safe keeping.

Later that evening, I laid in bed thinking of the odd day.

“Are you done with your crazy escapades, Jessica.” Charles clicked the light off.

I didn’t have the energy to tell him the wild book discovery. Plus, he never takes me seriously.

“Charles, I found forty-three-dollars’ worth of change today,” I shared.

“Wow, maybe this house is worth something after all!” Charles loved money.

I waited for Charles to fall asleep, before I opened the black book again. While reading Mr. Enikselom’s perplexing numbers, ‘1995743’ my eyes grew heavy. I fell asleep.

“JESSICA! WAKE UP! WAKE UP! MY TRADE HIT!”

I rubbed my eyes open to Charles jumping up and down.

“Jess, I made a trade on a dud gaming platform months ago and it hit last night. I made nineteen thousand, nine hundred fifty-seven dollars!”

“Charles it’s so early, what are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you say, you found forty-three dollars’ worth of change last night?”

“Yes,” I hesitated.

“With your coin treasure and my trade, we made a combined total of TWENTY THOUSAND DOLLARS!” Charles gleamed.

Mr. Enikselom wrote those exact numbers, 1995743, in his little black book.

I squeezed the book close to my heart, ready to listen to what the house would tell me next.