RANDOLPH STREET
2bed/den.w.frpl/new HWF/NEG.

On a brisk October day, the Realtor showed us several properties. The chill seemed to permeate each house, like they were built of paper. “I have one more in the Bellake vicinity on Randolph. A 50 year old secluded tudor with 3 beds, 2 baths, new hardwood floors, and den with fireplace. One of a kind!” she said. The house was awesome. A warmth greeted us even before the Realtor opened the door. The color scheme, grounds, m-wah, perfect.

Our loan was approved and we moved in on Friday, the 13th of December. I was leery about the date, but didn’t want to fall to superstition about something I knew would bring so much happiness.

Oddly, in mid- winter we had a flight of termites. Adding to that day’s unwanted excitement, I got nauseous and vomited. Don ran toward me with the first thing he found, a placemat. “What does your Mom say? Bad things happen in two? Guess these are our two,” he said. I felt a pang of fright when I corrected him, “No Hon, bad things happen in three.” Simultaneously, we looked at one another with mirrored blank expressions. After more nauseous episodes and a touch of insomnia, a visit to the Doctor confirmed I was pregnant.

The ides of march brought a snowstorm. Don called to say he’d spend the night at the office. “It’s real bad in the city Dora. With budget cuts and what not there won’t be a hell of a lot of plows goin’ through.” I hung up feeling pangs of loneliness. Just as that thought passed, I felt floor boards move beneath my feet. Come on girl. What’s wrong with you?, I thought. I cuddled in the window seat surrounded by pillows and dozed off. When I awoke, it was morning. The new day’s arrival gave me a clear head and I decided the events of the night before were part of a nightmare. I went down, put up the fireplace and made tea.

The snow was accumulating rapidly and another foot was expected before passing through. I spent the morning crocheting and writing in my log. I missed television and wished line repairs would be made soon.

When I walked into the dining room I gasped at the sight of a damaged floor and screamed when I saw the table had moved a good five feet from where it stood the night before. I called Don’s office several times, but couldn’t get through. I tried his cell number but the same recorded message repeated itself, ‘all circuits are busy. please hang up and try your call again later.’ I realized that was no dream last night.

Later that day Don came home, he was frozen; paying no mind to his needs I hysterically recalled what happened. Grabbing my hand he said, “Last week I was watching t.v. and the floor looked different, so I got up to look,” he paused, “I noticed larger spaces between the planks as well as some damage, but I figured maybe I just never noticed because the scatter rug was always there.” He nervously pulled on his eyebrow hair and continued, “I think we’ve got a problem here.”

Suddenly, part of the floor split and planks were angled about a foot in the air. We were terrified of the unknown and even more terrified of the reality. Continuing episodes made wrecks of us. What could we do? Even with the damage, who would believe us? We couldn’t even find what was causing it. Jokingly, our own parents asked what we were smokin’. Based on their response and the thought of eventually selling, we decided to say no more about this phenomenon.

The episodes were more frequent and dramatically threatening. I pleaded with Don to leave with me. “Look, we’ll stay in the car until the roads clear, please Don!” He got our coats and grabbed some food. While walking toward the door, we felt movement under our feet. Within seconds, the floor’s pitch was so high, it brought memories of the rolling barrel in the funhouse when I was a kid, only this was no fun. It was impossible to walk or crawl any further.

A brown course-haired ball rolled across the floor. High pitched sounds were followed by an explosion of hundreds more coming from the floorboard cracks. Within minutes, the corner of the room looked like a mound of fur.

“Oh my God Don. What are they?

“Don’t know, but from everything we’ve seen, I think they’re huddled together between both floors and living in that area,” he said pointing. “I also think they’re harmless to people. They’re not after us.” He gave his eyebrow a gentle tug, “I know a way to get rid of ‘em. It’s risky, but we gotta do it.” Afraid of what would come next he continued, “i’m gonna start fires on both floors and we’re gonna burn ‘em baby,” he yelled. “That’s crazy!” I screamed, “the whole house will go on fire.”

He ran into the garage returning with two garden hoses. “I’m gonna pipe these through the windows.” He tossed me a damp towel, “here, cover your nose and mouth when the fire starts,” he said. I watched as he stood knee deep in snow lassoing a hose through the second floor window. He threw the second hose into the den. “Hey, we gotta do something. This can’t go on.” I prayed he knew what he was doing.

The fires were set and within seconds the hoses went off and the flames extinguished, leaving the air filled with the stench of burned hair and particles of flying fur. Don’s plan worked! I made my way to the window and inhaled fresh snow air, and rubbed my tummy letting baby know everything was okay.

At summer’s end we celebrated the birth of Lana, replaced the floors and sold our house. On moving day, one of the movers commented on a bulge in one of the cardboard boxes . . . .