Ghost stories from the attic

What’s that noise?

Upon hearing the spine-tingling sound, those were the words which spilled from this rising seventh grader’s quivering lips after clutching his cousin Freddie by the hand.

Ouch!

The amiable teenager with black-rimmed spectacles slowly pried himself free from my excruciating death grip.

“I’m pretty sure that was our bedroom door,” speculated Pam Price as she shined the flashlight in my general direction. “Considering we left the windows open downstairs, a cool breeze must’ve blown through the room causing the door to suddenly shut; so, you don’t have to worry about the boogeyman dragging you off into the abyss.”

That’s not the noise I was talking about.

I heard it too.

Someone or something is lurking in the shadows near the back window.

While on our semi-annual excursion to Grandma and Pappy Price’s abode along the western edge of the Empire State, my big brother John and I felt like a couple of cats on a hot tin roof as Uncle Fred’s oldest shared one of her favorite ghost stories during a stellar sleepover in the attic of their two-story colonial on the outskirts of Buffalo.

With the sun reflecting off the small waves and ripples on Lake Erie as it slowly dipped over the horizon earlier that same evening, the blond-haired minister dropped off his two oldest offspring at their favorite cousins’ home on Palmer Avenue in Kenmore, New York – the very same house which their paternal grandparents occupied before moving to Grand Island the previous spring.

“It seems really strange that youn’s live in this house now,” I conveyed upon entering through the main entrance. “Due to the fact that Grandma and Pappy Price had lived in this house since before we were born, I’ve always assumed they bought it after moving here from Duncannon, Pennsylvania back in 1962.”

However, I was dumbfounded upon realizing it was a rental property.

“Just wait until you see what we’ve done to the back bedroom,” responded Freddie Price, Jr. while leading these excited striplings up the L-shaped two-tiered wooden staircase. “Since it’s so ginormous, Pam and I decided to split the spacious room down the middle; so, we have plenty of guest rooms when all the Pennsylvania cousins and their parents visit for the holidays.”

Since the partition is still intact, it looks pretty much the same with one exception – the four sets of bunkbeds have magically disappeared.

Immediately after dropping off their overnight paraphernalia inside the Bobbsey twins shared sleeping quarters – the bedroom where this hungry little gobbler had spent every Thanksgiving weekend since he was knee-high to a grasshopper – the rambunctious crew scampered back downstairs as they made their way through the front foyer and into the spacious kitchen for some ice-cold moo juice and delicious chocolate chip cookies.

Hang on to your hats, boys!

“We have an unexpected surprise for you,” divulged the rising junior when glancing over at the gridiron baller and me on the opposite side of the Formica table. “After much thought and contemplation, my brothers and I decided it would be fun to have a sleepover in the attic; so, we won’t disturb our parents by carrying on until the wee hours of the morning.”

Do you remember camping out in the backyard with Uncle Carl?

“How could I ever forget that plot twist,” I snickered after wiping cookie crumbs with a napkin. “When we were trying to go to sleep, Pappy Price and my dad came outside and scared us half to death; but the joke was on them since they were standing in the exact spot where we had just taken a leak behind the tent.”

The look on their faces was priceless!

As soon as this talkative bunch washed down the last bite of cookie with one more gulp of homogenized milk, they quickly raced one another back upstairs to change into pajamas and brush their teeth prior to the once-in-a-lifetime event; whereupon they scurried into the five-year-old’s bedroom – the former bedchamber of the General Mills employee – at the front end of the house which had the attic access staircase.

“Oddly enough, I’ve never actually seen the attic,” I admitted once entering the large bedroom. “However, I do remember our favorite uncle running up there to get something before coming right back down; but then a slight breeze slammed the access door shut causing us both to jump out of our skin.”

Isn’t Danny afraid to go up there?

Are you kidding?

He was the first one to drag his sleeping bag up those stairs.

One by one, we played follow the leader while creeping up the creaky staircase to a darkened attic with moonlight streaming through a dormer window on the backside of the house.

In the distance, we could hear the wolves at the Buffalo Zoo howling at the moon.

It was the perfect night for tall tales and ghost stories.

With a box fan positioned in the front window, it created a cross draft making the stuffy attic a little more bearable on a hot summer evening as we reclined on the five sleeping bags laid out in the shape of a pentagram for the first of many tales from the crypt.

Not long after the oldest of the bunch began with one of her all-time favorite hair-raising accounts, a ghastly sound from the corner had everyone on edge as a shadowy figure dressed in a ghillie suit – camouflage clothing – came to life causing blood-curdling screams loud enough to raise the dead.

Having sufficiently given these terrified adolescents a mild heart attack, Uncle Carl revealed himself while rolling on the floor laughing until he nearly wet himself.

How did you get into the attic?

“While you guys were changing into your pajamas, I snuck up here to plan my covert operation,” he explained.

“Hold the phone,” stammered the bright-eyed middle schooler prior to realizing his youngest sibling was a keeper of secrets. “So, my little brother knew you were up here the whole time; and he never gave you away.”

I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!

I think that title belongs to me since you’re a bunch of monkeys.