The Arrival
I am way too old for a babysitter. The problem is my little brother. Mom doesn’t want to pay me what I’m worth to look after him.
“Eight dollars an hour is more than half of what I make,” she says. “Make me that offer again when you have more years under your belt and I have more money in my wallet.”
I don’t get it. I'm ten years old! I can make a grilled cheese sandwich, change a diaper, and dial 9-1-1. What more is there? I try once more to argue my case, but it’s no use.
“I have no time for this, Ella. Get a move on! We’re going to be late.”
So, Tommy and I are fed, washed, dressed, and combed. The diaper bag is packed. We are in the car with seat belt and car seat buckled, clipped, snapped, and tugged into place. My mom has put in half a day of work, and we haven’t even pulled out of the driveway. This is so unnecessary.
Tommy sits to my right in the backseat. He will be two later this summer. He is teething and always wears a bib tied around his neck to soak up slobber. It’s gross, but he’s a happy kid. He jabbers and gnaws on a cold plastic pretzel. I grab his free hand and hold onto it. Tommy likes me to do this when he’s nervous.
I wish I knew where we were going. Last summer we were still in our old house, and Mom wasn’t working. Needing a babysitter is new to me. Just as I’m about to ask how long this drive is going to take, we’re pulling up to a curb.
NO WAY! “Mom! Tell me you’re not leaving us here!”
“Of course not. I just pull up in front of random houses when I’m running late.”
This is no time for my mom to be funny. Not when I’m gazing up at the old, dark mansion that everyone in town calls Witch House! No one comes here on purpose.
“Mom! You can’t do this to us!”
“Eleanora, enough! Mrs. Hallovich is a wonderful lady.”
“You’ll never see us again!”
“I’ll see you at 4:30. Now help me with Tommy’s buckle.”
I let go of his hand, reach over and press release. “Sorry, Bubby. If I could drive, we’d be out of here.”
Mom lifts Tommy out of his seat. I grab his diaper bag and follow her around the car and up the front steps. The bushes are so overgrown that the porch seems more like a cave, or a giant mouth hanging open just waiting for food to walk in. I’ve never been this close to it. My friends and I always cross to the other sidewalk, and from there we can see the top of a rocking chair through the thick bushes and weeds. It never stops rocking, even though no one sits in it. Now, it’s only two feet away from me, and I admit it’s not rocking. I know it’s because my mom is watching.
She shifts Tommy over to her left hip, reaches out, and twists a small, tarnished, brass key that makes a dull ring like an old-fashioned telephone. She looks down at me. “Everything will be fine, Ella. It’s only for the first week of summer and then Heather Marker will be home from college to watch you guys.”
I’m super excited about having a college person spend the rest of the summer with us. Most of my friends stay with grandparents who don’t want to do anything fun, or they go to day camps where they make picture frames from popsicle sticks. Lame. I wish I was at day camp.
“Stop fidgeting,” Mom says.
Am I fidgeting? I’m freaking out! This really can’t be happening! I’m seeing my life flash in front of my eyes. Everyone knows this house is haunted. Everyone talks about it. Part of me doesn’t want to die, and part of me can’t wait to tell my friends I was here!
I’ve seen Mrs. Hallovich a few times from the other side of the street. She always smiles and waves, and we smile and wave back because we’re afraid that if we don’t, she’ll cast a deadly curse on us. We refer to her as ‘the Witch of Willow Way,’ but only where she can’t hear us.
Mrs. Hallovich opens the door. It’s big and heavy and creaks. (Of course it does). I’m surprised by the smell of cookies that flies out and hits me in the nose. But, why should I be surprised? Isn’t that how children are tricked into the oven? I’ve heard that story before.
She smiles at my mom. She looks thrilled, and why shouldn’t she? Mom just showed up with a two course feast!
She claps her hands like a child and oohs and aahs over Tommy. Then she turns her intense, green, laser-beam eyes on me.
“This is Ella,” my mom says.
“Nice to meet you,” I say. If I live through the day, I don’t want to be in trouble at 4:30 for being rude.
“Come in! Come in! Welcome to Willow House!” Mrs. Hallovich says, as she throws her arms wide and steps back. Mom goes first, but as I step into the entry behind her, I catch a whiff, under the cookie smell, of something that reminds me of my basement.
“I’ve been busy making scones,” she says, and to me she adds, “do you like scones?”
I wonder what the heck scones are.
“The kids will love them,” my mom says. “You didn’t have to go to any trouble.”
“No trouble at all.” Mrs. Hallovich opens her arms and reaches for Tommy.
I’m thinking this will be awkward because Tommy doesn’t like strangers, but there he goes, reaching right back to her. The next thing I know he’s snuggled up nice and tight against her, like she’s his grandma or something.
Mom leans in and gives Tommy a kiss, right on his slobbery cheek. “I can’t thank you enough for helping us,” she says.
“I’m happy to have little ones around for a while,” Mrs. Hallovich says, and gives me a smile so sweet it’s terrifying.
They continue to talk for a minute while I’m checking the place out. There’s a lot of dark wood and peeling wallpaper. A huge chandelier above my head looks like it would be awesome if someone sandblasted the dust and cobwebs off of it. A wide staircase leads up to a landing that splits off and continues up in two different directions. I’ve only seen stairs like this at the city courthouse. I didn’t know people actually had them in their homes. There’s a huge stained glass window on the landing. Not much sun can get through the dirty glass so it’s hard to tell the colors, but I think it’s a weeping willow design.
I hear my name.
“Ella should be able to answer any questions you might have. Tommy is a great napper. Usually goes down for a couple hours after lunch. Everything he needs is in the diaper bag.” Mom points to the bag at my feet.
“Don’t worry about anything. I’ve taken care of plenty of children,” Mrs. Hallovich says.
I’ll bet she has.
Mom is looking at her like she’s some kind of super-hero. Then, she leans down, gives me a kiss on my forehead, pulls me close, whispers “be good” into my ear, and is gone.
Here we go.
“Let’s go into the kitchen, children.”
I’ve got nothing better to do, so I follow.
There you have it folks! If you're interested in reading more, stay tuned.
Thanks for stopping by!
For chapter 2 click here
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