Stinetinglers 3, page 2
“Trust me. You won’t have time to explore it all in a week,” Mom said. “Philip is one of the most amazing people you will ever meet.”
“You’re a collector, too, Lou,” Dad said to me. “So you and Philip will get along fine.”
I collect comic books and old video games that no one plays anymore. The game cartridges are piled up on shelves in my closet. I’m not sure why I collect them. I just like the way they look.
Ella and I were nervous about staying with our uncle. We’d never met him. But the stories Mom and Dad told us about him made us eager to get to his house.
Our little dog, Taffy, was coming, too, so we wouldn’t have to miss her while we were away.
On Saturday morning, Dad took Ella and me to the train station. We found the right track, and he said he’d stay with us till the train arrived.
Taffy was restless inside her carrying case. I told her she was going on a very exciting vacation. But I don’t think she understood.
“Oh. I almost forgot,” Dad said. He pulled something from his jacket pocket and held it up to us. I squinted at it. It was a little green leaf, flat inside a plastic square holder.
“It’s a four-leaf clover,” Dad said. “Philip used to carry this with him everywhere. It’s a good-luck charm. He really believed it brought him good luck.”
“Four-leaf clovers are very rare,” Ella said. “That’s why finding one is supposed to be good luck.”
Ella is a nature freak. She knows stuff like that.
Dad tucked the good-luck charm into my jeans pocket. “Be sure to give it to Philip. He’ll be happy to see it again.”
The train roared into sight. We hugged Dad. I picked up my suitcase and Taffy’s carrying case. When the train squealed to a stop, I followed Ella into the compartment.
Taffy is such a good dog. She slept the entire way. I played a bunch of games on my phone. And Ella read a book about people who survived a tsunami. My sister loves real-life scary stuff like that.
About four hours later, we climbed off the train at Skyway Station in Red Falls. Uncle Philip was waiting. A big smile spread under his heavy beard as he recognized us.
He was a big man, very tall and wide. He had long, straight white hair down almost to his shoulders. His face was nearly covered by his beard, but his green eyes glowed as he hurried toward us.
He wore a red flannel shirt under baggy denim overalls. His boots were ragged and scuffed and thudded loudly on the wooden platform. “Ella and Lou!” he exclaimed. His voice boomed over the sound of the train rolling out of the station.
He hugged us, a powerful hug, then gazed down at the carrying case in my hand. “You brought your dog,” he said. “Good. Mrs. Gaskell loves dogs.”
He explained that Mrs. Gaskell was his housekeeper.
“You’ll love her,” he said, picking up our suitcases and starting to lead us to his truck. “Sadly, I have to go away for a few days. But don’t worry. Mrs. G will spoil you. You’ll be very happy.”
Ella and I sat beside him in the cabin of his pickup truck. Taffy’s carrying case bounced in the back as we rumbled over bumpy country roads.
It was a short ride. The house came into view between clumps of tall trees after about ten minutes. The house was tall and stood in a deep pool of shadow. The tall trees blocked the sunlight.
I saw a wide front porch. Dark windows up the front, with black shutters. Some of the shutters were tilting at weird angles. A wheelbarrow lay on its side near the porch. Tall weeds covered the front yard, swaying in a soft breeze. A mailbox on a pole tilted to one side. The lid hung open. I could see it was jammed full of mail.
As he carried our bags to the front door, Uncle Philip caught me staring at the weed-choked yard. “I’ve been working on my collections,” he said. “Not much time for yard work or house repair.”
He stopped and turned to us before opening the door. His green eyes moved from Ella to me. “You need to be careful,” he said.
The words brought a chill to the back of my neck. “Careful?” I repeated.
He nodded. “The house is old and falling apart,” he said. “Lots of loose floorboards, I’m sorry to say. And missing stairs. And, of course, it’s very cluttered. I think you will find my collections interesting. But they are piled everywhere, and they take up a lot of space.”
“We’ll be careful,” Ella said. “No worries.”
We stepped into the house. Philip set our bags down and led us through the front hall to the kitchen. I saw two suits of armor in the front room, standing side by side, as if they were guarding the stairway that led up to the second floor.
A tangy aroma floated over the room, and I realized I was hungry. “Mrs. G is roasting a chicken for dinner,” Philip explained. “She wanted to make a special welcome dinner for you.”
He pointed to a large painting on the wall. I squinted to try to figure out what it was. Dark swirls of brown and gray all mushed together.
“Your great-grandfather painted that,” Philip said. “Lou, did you know you’re named after him?”
“In England, they call the bathroom the loo,” Ella said. “I always thought my brother was named after that.”
Doesn’t she know the most interesting facts?
Uncle Philip laughed at her awful joke. I didn’t.
“What’s the painting supposed to be?” I asked.
Philip shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t make heads or tails of it. But I thought I should hang it since Lou painted it.”
“Well, hello,” a voice called.
We turned to see a white-haired woman enter from the kitchen. She was wiping her hands on the front of the apron she wore over a long gray dress. She had a round face, very red, as if she was sunburned, and bright blue eyes that moved from Ella to me.
“Mrs. G, here are Ella and Lou,” Philip said.
“Well, who else would they be?” the old woman snapped, a smile spreading across her face. She rushed forward and wrapped us both in a hug. Her bare arms smelled like chicken.
Taffy started to bark. I let her out of the carrying case. She ran all around the room, sniffing furiously.
“Better keep an eye on her,” Philip said. “Some of my collections are very fragile.”
“Your brain is very fragile,” Mrs. G told him, and she chuckled at her own joke.
“She has a sharp tongue,” Philip told us. “But a heart of ice.” He and Mrs. G laughed at that one. I could see they enjoyed teasing each other.
Mrs. G’s smile faded. “We don’t get many kids here,” she said. “I’m going to take good care of you. But I do hope you’ll be careful. The house is so old, and Philip has cluttered every inch with his junk.”
Philip’s eyebrows flew up. “Junk? You dare call a lifetime of work junk?”
She ignored him. “You won’t believe what you’ll find here,” she said to us. “Enjoy your exploring. But do stay out of the basement. It’s very dangerous down there, no kidding.”
We had an awesome dinner of chicken, mashed potatoes, and a vegetable pie. We sat around a long wooden table in the dining room. Mrs. G was a good cook. I don’t usually like vegetables, but the pie was very tasty.
Uncle Philip told us story after story about our ancestors. They were terrible stories about accidents and bad luck. It seemed a lot of unlucky things happened to people in our family.
He told us about our great-uncle Felix who was blowing out his birthday candles, caught fire, and burned to death. And great-great-aunt Edith, who fell asleep in the bathtub and somehow disappeared down the drain.
And great-great-grandfather Walter, who won thousands of dollars in a horse race and was trampled to death by the winning horse. And Aunt Willa, who choked to death trying to eat a live pigeon.
Mrs. G rolled her eyes. “Don’t you just love his stories?” she said sarcastically. “He never stops.”
“They’re all true,” Philip said, rising up from the table. He wiped chicken grease off his mouth with a napkin. Then he pointed at Ella and me. “That’s why I warn you to be careful.”
He said he had to go. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He gave us a wave and disappeared from the room.
Mrs. G brought in a chocolate cake for dessert. I waited to hear Philip’s truck start up. But it never did. Through the dining room window, I could see it sitting in the driveway.
How did our uncle leave the house? I wondered.
* * *
We spent the next day exploring the house. We found a closet filled with old board games from fifty years ago. Ella and I spent a few hours playing them. But we had to stop because my sister is a bad sport and gets very grumpy whenever she loses a game.
The floor of another room was covered in large metal things. We tried to figure out what they were. Mrs. G stepped up behind us and solved the mystery. “Those are animal traps,” she said. “Your uncle is afraid of all kinds of animals, and he collects traps to protect himself.”
“Weird,” I muttered.
“That’s a good way to describe Philip,” Mrs. G said. “I’d stay out of that room if I were you. Those traps can snap your leg off.”
I heard a dog barking, and Taffy came running down the hall toward us. “Taffy—get back!” I shouted. Ella slammed the door to the traps room shut.
The loud bang startled the little dog. She started to whimper until Ella picked her up and petted her.
The next room had racks of clothing. We walked between the racks and realized they were all uniforms. Old-fashioned army and navy uniforms. They were all colors. Some had medals across the front. A shelf had a long row of hats with purple plumes standing up on them.
“Like from an old movie,” I said.
Ella held her nose. “They smell old,” she said.
The next room was bare, no furniture or collections. But the four walls were covered in photographs. “Oh, wow, Lou,” Ella said, stepping into the middle of the room. “All photos of burning buildings. Why would Philip collect burning-building pictures?”
I shrugged. “Beats me. This house is like a museum of the weird.”
Ella shivered. “This is creepy,” she said. “Let’s go back to that game room.”
So we returned to the game room and played old board games till dinnertime.
* * *
The next morning, Mrs. G made us delicious oatmeal for breakfast, along with waffles and maple syrup. Ella and I usually just have Froot Loops, so this was really special.
We were nearly finished eating when I gazed around. “Where’s Taffy?” I asked. The dog usually stayed under the table, waiting for someone to drop some food on the floor.
I looked under the table. No Taffy.
Ella and I walked around the kitchen and out into the hall, calling her name.
“Are you looking for the dog?” Mrs. G called from another room. “I let her out in the yard to play. She seemed very bored.”
Ella and I hurried to the back door. Taffy never likes to be outside if we aren’t with her.
We stepped into the yard. The morning sun was still red and low in the sky. A soft breeze blew the tall weeds in the yard from side to side. I saw Uncle Philip’s truck still in the driveway.
“Taffy? Taffy?” we both called to her.
She knows her name, and normally she comes running.
“Maybe she’s behind the garage,” Ella said. “Or over by those trees.” She pointed. “Taffy? Taffy? Where are you?”
We stopped when we heard a scraping sound at the side of the house. We turned—and saw Taffy digging in the weeds. She had her head down, and her front paws were furiously tossing up dirt.
Ella and I stepped up behind her. “What is it?” I asked. “What are you digging?”
I dropped to my knees and gently pushed the dog aside. Then I lowered my hands to the dirt and shoved some clumps out of the way.
“Whoa. Taffy found something,” I told Ella.
She leaned over me. “What is it?”
I dug my hands into the dirt and wrapped them around a large object about the size of a football. I tugged it up and brushed dirt off it.
“It’s some kind of statue,” Ella said. “A little statue. Is it wood?”
“Yes. It’s made out of wood,” I said. I brushed dirt off its face.
“Yuck. It’s ugly,” Ella said. “It looks like an elf or something. But its face—”
I gazed at the face. Evil eyes and an angry scowl. A short, pointed beard under its chin. “Why would anyone bury this thing here?” I asked.
“Because it’s so ugly?” Ella replied. “Are those horns on its head?”
“I think so,” I said.
I climbed to my feet. Taffy stared up at the thing and started barking. I wiped more dirt off the front of the little coat it wore. “Let’s show it to Mrs. G,” I said. “Maybe she’ll know what it is.”
We found her in the kitchen. Her eyes bulged when she saw what I was carrying. “Oh, merciful heavens!” she cried. “Get that imp out of here!”
“Imp?” Ella and I both said at once.
“That’s Magoo the Malicious!” she sputtered. Her face turned even redder than usual. “Bad luck! Very bad luck!” She waved with both hands. “Quick. Put him back where you found him. We don’t want bad luck in the house!”
Ella and I squinted at the little statue. I think she and I were thinking the same thing. Mrs. G must be very superstitious. There’s no such thing as an imp that brings bad luck.
“Bury him! Bury him! Before something terrible happens!” Mrs. G cried, frantically waving her hands.
I carried the statue out the kitchen door. Ella followed. “You’re not really going to bury it, are you?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No way. We have to show it to Philip. He’ll tell us the truth about it.”
We waited for Mrs. G to leave the kitchen. Then Ella and I sneaked back into the house and carried the wooden imp upstairs to my room. I slid it under the bed so Mrs. G wouldn’t find it.
“Let’s take Taffy for a walk,” Ella said. “I don’t want to explore any more weird rooms today.”
“Good idea,” I said.
I started down the stairs. But my shoe got caught in a ragged bump in the carpet. I toppled forward.
“Nooooo!” I fell headfirst and screamed all the way down the stairs.
Pain shot through my body as I landed on my right side. I heard a crack and felt a sharp stab of pain run down my arm.
Before I could stand up, Mrs. G was leaning over me, her face red with alarm. “What hurts? What hurts?” she cried.
I tried to raise my right arm, but the pain made me scream. She helped me to my feet. “Merciful heavens. Let’s get you to Dr. Reiner, Lou. That wrist is swelling up.”
She helped me into the front of Uncle Philip’s truck. Ella squeezed beside me. We backed down the drive and onto the road.
“Did you bury that bad-luck imp?” Mrs. G asked, swerving to miss a deer leaping across the road. “Did you do as I said?”
“Y-yes,” I lied.
I didn’t want to tell her the truth. I knew that imp wasn’t the reason I tripped.
Dr. Reiner was a soft-spoken old man with short white hair, a friendly smile, and square eyeglasses perched on the tip of his nose. He sent us to a lab across the street for an X-ray. When it came back, he studied it.
“Well, Lou, you’ve had a bit of bad luck,” he said, tsk-tsking as he gazed at the X-ray film. “You broke your wrist.”
I groaned.
“But the good news,” he said, “is it’s a single fracture. It should heal in a couple of weeks.”
I walked out of his office with a hard cast halfway up my arm.
“Could have been worse, my boy,” Mrs. G said as we crossed the parking lot. She started to open the driver’s side door of the truck—then stopped.
“Oh, good grief,” she uttered. “A flat tire.”
We waited an hour in the hot sun for a guy from the local service garage to come replace the tire. Mrs. G kept shaking her head. “We’re having a bad day.”
It was afternoon by the time we got home. I expected Taffy to be waiting for us by the door. But she wasn’t there. “Did we leave her in the yard?” I asked Ella.
Ella didn’t have time to answer. Mrs. G’s shrill scream roared in our ears.
We went running to the kitchen to see her holding her head with both hands. Her eyes bulged as she stared at the mess. A thick, lumpy flood of food and brown gravy ran down the front of the stove and formed a huge, steaming puddle across the floor.
“I—I left the stew on the stove!” she cried.
It took nearly an hour to mop up the horrible mess. We helped as best we could. When we finished, the floor was still sticky but the stew had been wiped away.
Ella and I went out the kitchen door and called to Taffy. But we didn’t see her out there. Back in the house, we shouted her name down the halls. No Taffy.
Ella had tears in her eyes, and I had a sick feeling in my stomach.
Did Taffy run away?
Ella grabbed my hand. “We have to talk,” she said.
She pulled me upstairs to my room. Then she closed the door behind us.
“I don’t believe in bad-luck imps,” she said. “And I know you don’t either. But we’ve had nothing but bad luck ever since we dug that ugly wooden statue up.”
I nodded. “I know. I know,” I said, rubbing the cast on my arm.
“So, just to be safe…” Ella started.
I was already reaching under the bed for it. “We’ll bury it back outside,” I said.
I handed it to Ella. She hid it under her T-shirt, and we made our way downstairs. We were almost to the door when the statue slipped out. Ella made a grab for it. Missed.
The imp landed on the top of her foot with a loud thunk.
Ella gasped and dropped to her knees. The statue bounced behind the door.
“Help! I need help!” Mrs. G cried, stumbling into the room. “I just spilled scalding hot tea down my arm. Owwwww. My skin is burning! Merciful heavens. We have to go back to Dr. Reiner.”
The doctor was surprised to see us again.
