Willow House Chapter 6

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 Sometimes Texting Is Not Enough

       I take the stairs two at a time to my room. I need my cell phone! I can’t wait to tell my best friend Daleni where I spent the first Monday of summer! 

     I had ended up sleeping next to Tommy until Mom shook us awake at 4:30. I haven’t taken a nap in forever, and I since I was out so long, it’s pretty suspicious. Thankfully, the quilt had aired itself out by the time I laid down, and I don’t think the extra scrubs in the tub are going to be necessary.    

     I text, “Hey! You’ll never guess where I was today!”

     Four minutes and 17 seconds later she responds, “Where?”

     In my opinion, texting can sometimes fall a little flat. I want to build suspense.

     “Where do you think?”

     Two minutes and 9 seconds later I receive another text: an emoji eye roll. I don’t want to lose my audience.

     I text, “I was at the Witch House.”

     “Which house?”

     “Yeah!!!! The Witch House!”

     “No. I mean which house?”

      Oh. I thought she had misspelled witch, which was weird because I had just spelled it for her.

     “The haunted house on Willow Street.”

     “WHAT?!?!?!?!”

     There we go. That’s the reaction I was looking for. I dial her number because capital letters were not going to be enough for me.

     “You’re making that up!” she says, as she answers her phone.

     “No. It’s true.” I’m trying to sound way cooler than I feel.

     “Dios mío! How did you end up there?!”

     I should probably stop here and explain that ‘Dios mío.’ means basically, ‘oh my gosh!’ 

     Daleni’s parents are from Cuba. Daleni was born in this country and speaks perfect English. Her parents try. They still have accents and say things funny sometimes, but I can mostly understand them. Her dad cranks up the Cuban music on the weekends, and her mom makes the best food ever. I try to learn a new word every time I go over there, so I’ll be able to ace Spanish when I get to high school. Daleni’s going to take French. I don’t know how she’s going to do it. If I tried to remember vocabulary for three languages, my head would explode. 

     I begin by telling her about my mom pulling up to Mrs. Hallovich’s curb this morning, like it was nothing.

     “That’s crazy!’” she says. “What did you do?”

     “I had to stay there for the whole day! What choice did I have?”

     “Oh my gosh, Ella! Oh my gosh! Were you scared?”

     “Are you kidding? I thought I’d never see you again! But, I had to be brave for Tommy. There was no way I was going to let anything happen to him.” 

     “Oh my gosh, Ella! Tell me all about it.” 

     So I did. I told her about the overgrown porch that was like a mouth swallowing us up. I told her about the cauldron, and the fireplace in the kitchen, both big enough to cook people. I told her about the fountain with the cursed swan frozen in time. I told her about the greenhouse, but I might have made it sound a little less spectacular, and I may have told her that there were poisonous plants growing in it, and well . . .  some of them probably were. I told her about the bird who lives there and never dies. I told her about the carriage house and how spider webs covered everything, (not too much of an exaggeration) and how the carriage looked like it was built for the devil’s own horses.

     “And Mrs. Hallovich? Is she as awful as we always thought?”

     I have to take a moment. I have only told Daleni bad things. I haven’t mentioned the blueberry scones, the colorful fish swimming through the greenhouse, or the fact that I felt like Cinderella sitting in that big black carriage. I have left out a lot. Saying Mrs. Hallovich is awful would be taking things a little too far. I may stretch the truth but I don’t lie.

     “I think she put a sleeping spell on us,” I say, and I certainly do have my suspicions. “But she won’t get away with any evil plans while I’m around.” 

     There. I avoided that question as best as I could.

     “Oh, Ella. Do you have to go back there again?”

     “Tommy and I have to go there every day this week. Heather Marker isn’t home from college yet.”

     I hear Daleni’s mom calling her in the background. “I’ve got to go,” Daleni says. “Mima needs help setting the table. Are you still coming over this weekend?”

     Daleni’s having a sleep-over on Friday night to celebrate the beginning of summer. Mandy Lewis and Melanie Hawkins are coming over too. We call them the M&Ms. Mandy’s okay, but Melanie and I don’t get along that great.

     “Yeah, I’ll be there,” I say.

     “Talk to you later. And, Ella?”

     “Yeah?”

     “Que tengas buen suerte.” (Good luck) “Call me tomorrow when you get home.”

     I press the end call button and google ‘when were cars invented?’. The answer I get is not entirely clear. It’s somewhere in the late 1880s but people didn’t really start owning them until the 1920s. I take the year we’re in now, subtract an age I think Mrs. Hallovich might be. I guess 70 even though I don’t think she’s that old. That puts her birthday in the early 1950s. There were surely cars on the road by the time they would have taken their sleigh rides. Yes. Mrs. H. is definitely losing it.

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