“And
here are your rooms,” the woman of the house-turned-bed-and-breakfast said as
she led Family of Four up the stairs.
These people reeked of city, she thought, but seemed nice enough.
“Ooh,”
Family of Four said in unison after the owner unlocked the door to what
formerly had been her and husband’s bedroom, rest his soul. He would have expired a second time if he
knew that strangers would be tromping regularly through his sanctum sanctorum,
she knew – she also knew that money was money.
“You
can have the main bed, Mom and Dad,” the owner continued, leading them past the
renovated bathroom and the newly installed entertainment center. “You, miss,” she said to Daughter, “can have
the spare bedroom.” She pointed to the
twin bed in what used to be a walk-in closet.
“And you, young master,” she guided Son to a large alcove with a daybed
and a door to the attic stairs, “you can have the haunted bedroom.” The little girl ghost wearing 1800s farm
clothing and sitting on the daybed gave Son a wave.
“Oh,
man,” he groaned. “I always get the
haunted bedroom!”
* * * * * * * * * * *
“On
your right, you can see the miles and miles of cabbage that this area is famous
for,” the tour guide said, directing the attention of everyone on the bus over
to the fields ripe for harvesting.
“Almost
makes you want to reach out and grab one,” Mom joked to Dad.
“If
you did, I think the dog would kill you,” Dad replied. The dog that had been barking after the bus
for five miles showed no sign of letting up or slowing down.
“Any
questions so far?” The tour guide
asked. Daughter raised her hand. “Yes?”
“Do
they have to pick up all those cabbages one at a time?”
Adult
chuckles at kids’ darnedest questions rumbled through the passengers.
“They
had to way back when, but not anymore,” the tour guide answered. “Today, there are machines that gather all
the plants and everything’s sorted out later.
In fact, we may be able to see one – yes, there it is!” She pointed towards a farm up ahead. The bus slowed so everyone could see the
cabbage plants being sucked in and debris being blown out of a very large harvester. The farmer operating it looked over at the
bus.
“Wanna
lend a hand with this? I’m just about to
pass out!” He yelled at the group. As the bus drove off, they could hear him
say: “None of the cabbage sold around here is local!”
“Who
wants to go shopping?” The tour guide
asked this very loudly. All of the adult
women and two of the men raised their hands – everyone else, including the bus
driver, slumped in their seats.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Having
circled the local artisans’ shops for the second time, Family of Four wanted to
call it quits but it was not time yet for the bus to depart with all souls
aboard. Daughter and Son’s attention soon
was captured by a little barnyard off the main path while Mom and Dad followed
them close behind: there were a few sheep and some chickens wandering aimlessly
around the enclosed area. While the
children stood at the fence gazing at the animals, a parrot perched on a nearby
tree spoke.
“It’s
rude to stare,” it said.
“Ooh,
it spoke!” Son said, pointing to the
bird.
“It’s
rude to point,” the parrot said; Son lowered his hand. “They don’t like you,” the parrot added.
“What?” Daughter asked.
“They
don’t like you,” the parrot repeated. “They
only want you to feed them. If you keep
standing there, they will charge at you.”
The
children turned back to the barnyard; all the sheep and chickens had stopped
whatever they had been doing and now were staring at the two children.
“All
right, kids, let’s go back to the bus,” Dad said as he herded the family over
to the shopping center. Looking over his
shoulder, he saw a sheep lick its lips.
* * * * * * * * * * *
In
the bed-and-breakfast that night, Family of Four tried to sleep with the
howling wind and the driving rain bombarding the house. For a moment, Mom saw a tornado funnel form
in the distance before dissipating; during its brief life, it had begun to head
their way.
Son
huddled in his daybed when he heard a “Thump!” above him. Freezing in place, he then turned to the
little girl ghost, who shrugged with an “I dunno” look on her face.
“Mom! Dad!
Someone in the attic’s trying to kill us!” Son suggested.
“Let
me see now,” Dad said; he was obligated to walk into danger while Mom stayed
behind to guard the offspring. Dad took
out a flashlight and broke the lock to the attic door, figuring that the damage
was a small price to pay in case there really was a prowler up there. After climbing the stairs, he glanced around
a bit and mainly could only find some old quilts, discarded cable lines, and an
Elvis Presley impersonation kit. He
started to descend when another “Thump!” made him turn around sharply. His flashlight revealed the owner of the
bed-and-breakfast, sitting in a rocking chair facing the attic window; he
earlier had mistaken her silhouetted form for a lumpy scarecrow. As he watched, she dribbled a basketball,
making the “Thump!” sound again. Dad
slowly backed down the stairs, never taking his eyes off of her, and secured
the door as best he could.
“What
was it?” Mom asked; Son, Daughter, and
the little girl ghost were huddled around her on the bed.
“The
owner was just dribbling a basketball in the attic,” Dad answered.
“Oh
good,” Mom said. “OK, kids, back to bed!” The little girl ghost complained the loudest
of the three.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Family
of Four checked out of the bed-and-breakfast that morning, finding it hard to
look the owner in the eye so that Dad forgot to give her extra money for the
broken lock. She watched them leave,
relieved that she was alone once more and glad to continue assuming that no
one could get into the attic – her one method of soothing herself during
thunderstorms had the potential to freak some people out, she knew.
As
Family of Four drove out of town to return to their mundane lives, they passed
a sign on the road reading:
“Thank
you for visiting our town – you really have never experienced anything quite
like it.”
