Devonne Brown

“Listen,” said Janice. She whispered to draw attention to the sound she wanted Jeanette to hear. She didn’t like to hear crying alone. “Where’s Paul and what’s he doing?”

“What am I listening for?” Jeanette answered her in the same hushed tone. She looked at the ceiling. “I hear birds? And footsteps?” Both women focused on the light fixture on the kitchen ceiling. Janice squinted when she listened. It wasn’t birds, it was crying. Dammit.

The Oxley House, just placed on the National Registry of Historic Places, opened at four o’clock this afternoon to visitors, The Grand Opening, a party, people rsvped.

“Jeanette, everything was perfect. Now we have a sound. A ghost sound, don’t say a word about it to anyone. Ever,” Janice didn’t speak above a whisper. 

“Shhh…” Janice scratched her head with both hands. “Walk softer, Paul, your footsteps sound like elephant feet crashing down the hallway.”

“Why are we whispering?” Paul mimicked her whispers. “And I do not sound like an elephant. The soles of these shoes are fine leather. They do not crash. They glide. The sales lady said so. They don’t even squeak when they’re wet,” said Paul. He got a bit indignant and louder but Janice never let him rise above a mid stage whisper rant.

“What do you hear, besides your own mouth running? Listen,”

Lightning flashed and thunder cracked. Paul looked at her, still whispering,  “Are you serious right now?” 

“There it is again, listen,” this time Janice had their attention. They all heard the child cry. With great big eyes and their mouths in great big Os, they looked at each other and back up to the light fixture. The sound started there, then moved with sad, stomping feet to the top of the stairs and wailed. 

“What do we do?” asked Jeanette, she could almost be heard. 

Both Paul and Jeanette shrugged their shoulders. Janice looked at her watch as another bolt of lightning struck outside. It was close, the thunder was loud and fast. It was four o’clock. Time for the grand opening, though she didn’t think guests would arrive, it was her duty to unlock the door to welcome them, wails and all. “We unlock the door,” Janice said. She was nearly audible. She moved down the hall when the crying and the upstairs footsteps began to pace.

Wonderful, appetizers, champagne, and a show.

Janice wasn’t the only one nervous about opening the Oxley House to the public.