Where Am I?

The Halloween moon fought the clouds for position while the wind blew the night around in hearty punches. A storm was brewing in Kansas. In the basement of a darkened farmhouse, a light was burning. “Yeah, ‘it was a dark and stormy night and as she sat in the old haunted house’—sure beans! It was dark and it was stormy, but haunted? Give me a break!” These thoughts bombarded Janie as she picked another shirt out of the basket. “It was such a stupid thing—just a small thing—not really a lie—more like a joke.” Janie took a swipe at the rough cotton shirt as a big tear slid down her fourteen-year-old face.

Life had been a bad siege, actually. There she was, down in the old basement, ironing a humongous basket of shirts instead of bobbing for apples at the church Halloween party. It had really started when she and Sharon, her best friend since nursery school, had stopped to watch the new arcade being built on Main Street. It was exciting and kind of sleazy with its neon lights and dinging bells on the pinball machines. There were peep machines and even a turbaned dummy who gave fortunes to those with a quarter to throw away. The girls were in the eighth grade at Abbeyville Junior High and the year was 1957. Nothing much ever happened in Abbeyville. There were the games at Abbeyville High, church socials, the Fourth of July picnic, and, oh yes, on Friday night, old Mr. Holt would open up the picture show and the next installment of the Cisco Kid would flash on the screen while everybody threw their popcorn in the air and sucked on their Black Cows. “But really, we’re too old for that,” the girls had complained to their moms just last week. “And now, here we are—being treated like babies.” A sob burped through her chest. “Everybody at school got to go to the Penny Arcade—nobody was going to the movie that Friday night,” she answered that small voice in the back of her head. “It was no use asking Mom. She said only trashy girls hung out in arcades, you know, the ones with the pierced ears?”

They would probably have dropped it except for that stupid Eddie. When he heard that they were going to the movie and not to the arcade, he and all of his stupid friends began calling them goody-goodies and virgin goddesses. She could still see his goofy face. “What a jerk! This is his fault,” she thought. They had to do it then—they simply had to. Their plan had seemed perfect: they would get out of their parent’s car, after being carpooled to the Flag Theatre on Main. They would walk up to the ticket window just like they were going to buy a ticket and then, here’s where it would get tricky—after Dad in his Dodge “Spitfire” drove off, they would sneak down to the arcade and be back in time to be picked up. It sounded perfect! Except for one thing—they hadn’t counted on Mr. Rumsey, who just happened to be walking his dog that evening and just happened to look into the arcade and see them, and then he just happened to mention it to Mom the next day at the grocery store. “And then boy howdy—was she mad!”

“And now,” Janie thought, “here I am ironing in the basement of this old house and Sharon is in town sitting in her room. And where is everybody else? Why, at the church Halloween party, of course. Mom and Dad and my ‘perfect’ big sister, Shirley, are probably bobbing for apples and laughing at poor old Janie, left at home doing the ironing.”

“Don’t mess up my stuff, you little toad,” Shirley had yelled as she flounced out the back door earlier in the evening.

Janie sniffed. “Well, there goes my life—stuck here in this creaky old farmhouse. Like that shutter that just started banging—why does anybody want to live on a farm anyway?” And then, as if in answer to her own question: “The floors creak and it’s drafty, for Pete’s sake. And it’s twenty miles out in the sticks! Sharon’s family got to move into one of those ranch-style homes in Abbeyville, but not me, oh no! I hate this place, I hate my life!” And with that she kicked the basket full of ironing just as a gust of cold air swirled around her feet. “Somebody must have left the kitchen door open,” she thought. “It is kind of spooky down here. Maybe I’ll call Sharon.” The grounding rules were—absolutely no phone calls. “But really, how would they know?” she thought as she dialed the number.

The phone barely rang once before Sharon whispered, “Hello.”

“Hey Shar, it’s me. Happy Halloween!”

“Don’t remind me,” she whispered.

“Hey, why are we whispering?” Both exploded into gales of nervous laughter.

“I would get sent to the moon if Dad caught me on the phone,” Janie boasted.

“Me too.” The wind crackled down the chimney into the basement, puffing dust into the air.

“Gad, it is Halloween. It is so spooky,” Janie nervously laughed.

“Hey, I’ve got one for you,” Sharon said. “It’s a doozy. You’re gonna flip your wig! Somebody escaped from the loony bin tonight—can you believe it?” The loony bin was Larned State Hospital, a hospital for the mentally ill located in south-central Kansas about thirty miles away from Abbeyville. “I guess this guy is a murderer—honest—he killed his own mother!”

“Geeezzz, thanks Shar—just what I was wanting to hear,” Janie trembled.

“Don’t worry,” added Sharon uncertainly, “he’s probably miles away by now—don’t you think?” Janie had always been the gutsy one, dragging Sharon along on her escapades. The house was still as the storm seemed to calm down. The girls sat there thinking of the killer out there wandering through the darkness. “What was that?” A soft breathing sound came over the line.

“Janie, are you doing that?” A nervous laugh.

“Doing what?” Janie’s heart stopped.

“Can’t you hear it?” Both held their breath but there it was. Somebody was on the line.

“Who are you?” This time it was Sharon who took the lead. “Is that you, Jim?” Sharon’s little brother was always playing jokes on the girls—what a squirrel! “Speak up, Jim, if that’s you. This is not funny! I mean it!” Anger mixed with fear shot out of Sharon’s mouth. But the breathing only got louder.

Janie took a breath. “Who is there? Who?”

And then the dreaded answer: “Wouldn’t you like to know, little girlies,” growled an unfamiliar voice. “But don’t worry, old Frank is going to have a little fun with you tonight.” Silence.

From out of somewhere, Janie croaked, “Where are you? I mean, which house?”

“Aha, that’s the catch—I know where you are. Where am I?” With that he let out a screech of laughter and the wind joined in, rocking the old house.

“Was he here?” Janie couldn’t tell. “Was that him or the wind?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, one of you is going to get lucky tonight. Your kitchen is just full of knives—long, skinny ones and great big sharp ones.”

“Whose kitchen?” Janie felt her body go stiff and her voice trembled. “Sharon, is he there?” But Sharon did not answer. The breathing had stopped. The wind picked up and the creaking of the old house drowned out the beating of her heart. An idea: the iron! She turned it up as high as she could and backed as far away from the door as the cord would allow. Time slowly passed. “Was Sharon dead?” The arcade floated away. She loved her life. “Shirley was the best sister ever.” Why, she even took her to drive-in movies when she had a date. “Mom and Dad were old fogies but I love them so much—please, please, somebody help me,” she silently pleaded. A siren sounded from a long way off. “I’m dreaming,” she thought. “I died and they’re coming to take me away.” Then slamming doors and crashing bodies. Shouts and pounding feet echoed through the house as Mom and Dad stampeded down the basement steps. “My baby, my baby, you’re safe!”