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Books About Life on a Farm Written Especially for People Who Like to Read! "Highly recommended reading." The Midwest Book Review Reviews & Readers' Comments |
LeAnn R. Ralph Rural Route 2 Author E6689 970th Ave. Colfax, WI 54730 (715) 308-6336 |
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by LeAnn R. Ralph Every kid has one, I think - a place he or she is certain must be haunted by ghosts. When I was growing up on our west central Wisconsin farm, the basement was my "haunted place." Now, to be perfectly honest, nothing ever jumped out and grabbed me when I was in the basement by myself. It's just that the place was dark and damp, and I thought it was definitely possible "something" lurked under the shelves where Mom stored her canning. Or maybe behind the potato bin. Or perhaps on the other side of the washer and dryer. For a few years - especially during the time my friends and I enjoyed scaring each other with ghost stories - I dreaded the occasions when Mom would ask me to fetch potatoes or a jar of dill pickles from the basement. Like she did one cloudy autumn day after I'd just gotten home from school and no one else was in the house. "Go downstairs and get some potatoes for supper, will you?" Mom asked. She handed me a pan - the one we referred to as the "potato pan" because long ago my mother had figured out that it would hold just enough potatoes to make the right amount for a meal. I swallowed hard in an attempt to steady my nerves. "O-k-kay," I stammered. Mom looked at me sharply. "Something wrong?" she asked. "N-n-ooo," I said. "Are you cold?" I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. "Are you getting sick?" she asked, frowning. I shook my head. "No, I don't feel sick." "I guess it IS a little chilly in here. We'll have to fire up the wood stove this evening," Mom said. "For right now, though, why don't you put on a sweater. You'll feel even colder down in the basement." I went upstairs to find a sweater. Better to let Mom think I was cold than for her to know the REAL reason for my chattering teeth. I knew if I told my mother that I suspected ghosts inhabited the basement, she'd never understand. A few moments later with my sweater wrapped tightly around me, I picked up the pan and headed for the basement. Now - not only did a variety of spiders think the basement made a fine home, but the small, high windows admitted only a tiny bit of daylight, too. Especially on a day like today when it was cloudy. And then there was the occasional mouse or bat who found its way inside. Not to mention that I knew the basement was old because the house had been built by my Norwegian great-grandfather in the late 1800's. And old, dark basements constructed of 18-inch-thick hand-cut sandstone blocks are always haunted. Aren't they? At the top of the steps, I flipped on the overhead light. The dark basement waited below. I moved down the stairs slowly, pausing every step or two to listen. What was that rustling sound? I willed my pounding heart to stop beating quite so frantically. Okay, just the wind. I hope. In time, I reached the basement doorway. Of course, if I could have convinced myself to step INTO the basement, turning on the light wouldn't have been a problem. But no. As far as I was concerned, standing at the foot of the steps and reaching around the corner to fumble for the switch seemed like a much better idea. After what felt like a very long time, I finally found the light switch. And then the basement wasn't dark anymore. Well - not AS dark. There were still plenty of shadows and places where the light didn't reach. I took a deep breath and ran across the basement to the potato bin in the far corner. Now came the next hard part. I had to lean down and grope in the bin to find the potatoes. And that meant there'd be many long seconds when I couldn't look behind me. Using both hands, I threw potatoes into the pan - waiting, waiting - for the feel of an icy, ghostly touch to settle on the back of my neck. Clutching the pan of potatoes, I spun around. Nothing there of course. Now I had to get back across the basement. (Running, by the way, was definitely more difficult while carrying a full pan of potatoes.) Without pausing, I reached out and shut off the light - and then I ran up the steps, certain that if I looked behind me, I'd see I wasn't alone "H-h-here's the potatoes," I panted. "You must have run up the steps again," Mom commented, as she sat at the table, both hands plunged into a dish of hamburger to mix in eggs, cracker crumbs and milk for making a meatloaf. The smell of freshly-cut onion lingered in the air. "Yeah," I replied, "I like to count the seconds to see if I can go faster than I did the last time." I unbuttoned my sweater and hung it over a chair. "Not cold anymore?" Mom asked, setting the bowl aside and reaching for a washcloth so she could wipe her hands. "No. I'm not cold anymore," I said. "Boy, I remember the times I used to run up those steps when I was a little girl," Mom said. "Don't laugh - but I used to think there were ghosts in the basement." She smiled. "Wasn't I just about the silliest little kid you've ever heard of?" I looked at her for several long moments. "No, Mom," I said at last. "I don't think you were silly at all" It took a couple of years, but eventually I got over the idea that "something" lived in the basement. Too bad, in a way, because once I realized that the only inhabitants were spiders (and the occasional mouse or bat), a trip downstairs to fetch potatoes or dill pickles wasn't nearly so interesting. Even if it was a whole lot easier on my blood pressure. |
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