All right, everyone! The epic final conclusion to the final misadventure is finally here! Mighty fine!
How appropriate we should read a ghost story on Friday the 13th. Spooky.
They next day was a blur. When Beau woke up at seven, Dutch was already downstairs drinking his coffee. They didn’t talk much, they just drank until the pot was empty and they were forced to begin their day. From morning until night, they spent it fixing loose boards, cutting down dead tree limbs and removing spiders from the premises. Beau wasn’t sure why, but Dutch had been in a weird mood all day. He wasn’t talking much, he wasn’t joking around, and most the concerning, he was not threatening Beau’s life. Maybe he just didn’t get enough sleep. By the time they both stopped their work, it was dark outside. They ate sandwiches for dinner and once they realized how exhausted they were, they decided to go straight to bed. It was about nine o’clock when they went upstairs. They said good night, shut their doors and collapsed into near-comas.
A few hours later, Dutch was jolted awake by the sound the door slamming downstairs again, then footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned on his lamp immediately, but this time he found it hard to move. He knew that the wind hadn’t knocked a limb onto the roof last night. Someone had been in the house, and turned on all the lights downstairs. And whatever did it was back, and was now upstairs. After a moment he heard a door close. Dutch tried to calmhimself. Maybe it was just Beau? He finally found the courage to move his legs. He stood up and moved slowly to his door. He cracked it just barely to peek into the hallway. It was dark, but it looked clear. He swung the door open and stepped forward into the hallway. He quickly opened Beau’s bedroom door, entered the room and shut the door behind him. Dutch pressed himself firmly against the back of the door, as if to barricade someone from getting in. Dutch looked over to the small twin bed, he now felt sorry for tricking his friend into. In it, Beau was sitting straight up, his eyes were wide.
“Beau,” Dutch said simply.
“Yes, Dutch?”
“Were you just downstairs?”
“Why, no, Dutch,” Beau’s eyes grew wider, “I was actually just wondering the same about you.” Dutch swallowed hard and looked down. He stared intently, as if trying to read words on the floor.
“Maybe now is the time to tell you that last night, when I went downstairs, I wasn’t the one who had turned on all the lights. Somebody else had.” His voice was hoarse.
It was at that exact moment, as if on cue, that a music box began playing in the room next door. Dutch leapt across the room, landing on the bed next to Beau. They grabbed hold of each other, as if they were each a raft and they were going down on a sinking ship. They sat silently, one of them keeping an eye on the door while the other looked to the wall from beyond the music was coming. I’m not sure how long exactly they sat there. Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once in that moment. Finally, they turned to look at each other. Without words they knew they couldn’t just sit there forever. With shaking hands, Beau unzipped his sleeping bag and they both stood up. Still holding onto each other, they crept across the room. They both held their breath as they opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. They slid their backs against the hard wood walls, because they were too afraid to leave them exposed. When they reached the door to the little girl’s bedroom, Dutch swallowed dryly and said a prayer under his breath. He reached for the knob, twisted and pushed it open.
The room was dark and empty. They scanned the area without moving; their eyes were searching, but they weren’t completely sure what for. Then they saw the music box on a corner shelf, sitting among a long line of dolls, which became less innocent, seemed more possessed in their petrified state. They moved as one, slowly across the room, constantly throwing glances over their shoulder. Once they finally reached the music box, the music slowly came to a halt. The silence allowed them to hear something they had not noticed before, fingernails scratching on the wall behind them. Dutch jumped and turned around. Beau also jumped, but arranged himself firmly behind Dutch, using him as a human shield. In front of them was a large mirror. It looked like it was the only one left unshattered in the entire house. But that was not the strange thing about this mirror. No, the strange thing about this particular mirror was the pale young girl looking back at them from it.
It’s not every day you look straight into the face of a ghost. Most people would be out of there in a matter of seconds, but Beau and Dutch weren’t the brightest of men. They stood, petrified in their places. Beau’s mind began to race. He thought of everything they had gone through those past few days and before he knew it his mouth was running.
“I told you buying this house was a stupid idea,” Beau whispered, still unable to move his legs.
“Shut up!” Dutch forced out, his voice cracking.
“No. Honestly. This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot, Dutch.”
Well that did it. Dutch turned around, “Well I’d like to see you come up with any better ones.” He barked.
“I will!” Beau snapped.
“Fine!” Dutch yelled.
“Get out.” The girl whispered Beau and Dutch spun around in horror. Somehow, for a moment they had forgotten the girl.
“Uh… What?” Dutch asked carefully.
“Get out!” The ghost screamed.
And that was it.
“Yes ma’am!” Beau said, tipping an invisible hat. And then they flew out the door. They ran down the stairs and out the door. They never looked back.
Back in the house, the girl giggled. The door which held the large false mirror opened and she stepped out from the closet. Mr. and Mrs. BonHeight suddenly appeared at the bedroom door.
“We got another one, Grandpa!” The girl jumped up and down.
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Sweetheart!” Mr. BonHeight smiled.
“That makes seven. How many more people are we going to fool?” She asked, scrunching her face.
“As many as we can get to agree to move in as-is and without refund!” Mrs. BonHeight laughed. They all sat down on the bed. Mr. BonHeight put his arms around his wife and his granddaughter.
“It’s a tough world out there. You have to get by doing what you can.” He told them.
Out on the road, Beau was driving their old beat-up car as fast as it could go. Where? They weren’t quite sure yet.
“Hey, Beau?”
“Yeah, Dutch?”
“What do you think about askin’ your dad about getting us some jobs over at the factory?”
Beau stared through the windshield, taking in the dark road.
“I think that’s the greatest idea you’ve had yet.”
How appropriate we should read a ghost story on Friday the 13th. Spooky.
Once again, I implore you to check out the blog of Beth Arnold (Alias: Bethington Quagmire Jones) here. "Basically it's just a place where I share my art, writing, crafts, recipes, etc. It's
a place for the creative-at-heart." Who in all good conscience and owning a heart with a thirst for a creative outlet, can say no to that?
And now, ladies and gentlemen, I give you:
The Final Misadventure of Beau and Dutch
by Beth Arnold
They next day was a blur. When Beau woke up at seven, Dutch was already downstairs drinking his coffee. They didn’t talk much, they just drank until the pot was empty and they were forced to begin their day. From morning until night, they spent it fixing loose boards, cutting down dead tree limbs and removing spiders from the premises. Beau wasn’t sure why, but Dutch had been in a weird mood all day. He wasn’t talking much, he wasn’t joking around, and most the concerning, he was not threatening Beau’s life. Maybe he just didn’t get enough sleep. By the time they both stopped their work, it was dark outside. They ate sandwiches for dinner and once they realized how exhausted they were, they decided to go straight to bed. It was about nine o’clock when they went upstairs. They said good night, shut their doors and collapsed into near-comas.
A few hours later, Dutch was jolted awake by the sound the door slamming downstairs again, then footsteps coming up the stairs. He turned on his lamp immediately, but this time he found it hard to move. He knew that the wind hadn’t knocked a limb onto the roof last night. Someone had been in the house, and turned on all the lights downstairs. And whatever did it was back, and was now upstairs. After a moment he heard a door close. Dutch tried to calmhimself. Maybe it was just Beau? He finally found the courage to move his legs. He stood up and moved slowly to his door. He cracked it just barely to peek into the hallway. It was dark, but it looked clear. He swung the door open and stepped forward into the hallway. He quickly opened Beau’s bedroom door, entered the room and shut the door behind him. Dutch pressed himself firmly against the back of the door, as if to barricade someone from getting in. Dutch looked over to the small twin bed, he now felt sorry for tricking his friend into. In it, Beau was sitting straight up, his eyes were wide.
“Beau,” Dutch said simply.
“Yes, Dutch?”
“Were you just downstairs?”
“Why, no, Dutch,” Beau’s eyes grew wider, “I was actually just wondering the same about you.” Dutch swallowed hard and looked down. He stared intently, as if trying to read words on the floor.
“Maybe now is the time to tell you that last night, when I went downstairs, I wasn’t the one who had turned on all the lights. Somebody else had.” His voice was hoarse.
It was at that exact moment, as if on cue, that a music box began playing in the room next door. Dutch leapt across the room, landing on the bed next to Beau. They grabbed hold of each other, as if they were each a raft and they were going down on a sinking ship. They sat silently, one of them keeping an eye on the door while the other looked to the wall from beyond the music was coming. I’m not sure how long exactly they sat there. Time seemed to slow down and speed up all at once in that moment. Finally, they turned to look at each other. Without words they knew they couldn’t just sit there forever. With shaking hands, Beau unzipped his sleeping bag and they both stood up. Still holding onto each other, they crept across the room. They both held their breath as they opened the door, and stepped into the hallway. They slid their backs against the hard wood walls, because they were too afraid to leave them exposed. When they reached the door to the little girl’s bedroom, Dutch swallowed dryly and said a prayer under his breath. He reached for the knob, twisted and pushed it open.
The room was dark and empty. They scanned the area without moving; their eyes were searching, but they weren’t completely sure what for. Then they saw the music box on a corner shelf, sitting among a long line of dolls, which became less innocent, seemed more possessed in their petrified state. They moved as one, slowly across the room, constantly throwing glances over their shoulder. Once they finally reached the music box, the music slowly came to a halt. The silence allowed them to hear something they had not noticed before, fingernails scratching on the wall behind them. Dutch jumped and turned around. Beau also jumped, but arranged himself firmly behind Dutch, using him as a human shield. In front of them was a large mirror. It looked like it was the only one left unshattered in the entire house. But that was not the strange thing about this mirror. No, the strange thing about this particular mirror was the pale young girl looking back at them from it.
It’s not every day you look straight into the face of a ghost. Most people would be out of there in a matter of seconds, but Beau and Dutch weren’t the brightest of men. They stood, petrified in their places. Beau’s mind began to race. He thought of everything they had gone through those past few days and before he knew it his mouth was running.
“I told you buying this house was a stupid idea,” Beau whispered, still unable to move his legs.
“Shut up!” Dutch forced out, his voice cracking.
“No. Honestly. This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had. And that’s saying a lot, Dutch.”
Well that did it. Dutch turned around, “Well I’d like to see you come up with any better ones.” He barked.
“I will!” Beau snapped.
“Fine!” Dutch yelled.
“Get out.” The girl whispered Beau and Dutch spun around in horror. Somehow, for a moment they had forgotten the girl.
“Uh… What?” Dutch asked carefully.
“Get out!” The ghost screamed.
And that was it.
“Yes ma’am!” Beau said, tipping an invisible hat. And then they flew out the door. They ran down the stairs and out the door. They never looked back.
Back in the house, the girl giggled. The door which held the large false mirror opened and she stepped out from the closet. Mr. and Mrs. BonHeight suddenly appeared at the bedroom door.
“We got another one, Grandpa!” The girl jumped up and down.
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Sweetheart!” Mr. BonHeight smiled.
“That makes seven. How many more people are we going to fool?” She asked, scrunching her face.
“As many as we can get to agree to move in as-is and without refund!” Mrs. BonHeight laughed. They all sat down on the bed. Mr. BonHeight put his arms around his wife and his granddaughter.
“It’s a tough world out there. You have to get by doing what you can.” He told them.
Out on the road, Beau was driving their old beat-up car as fast as it could go. Where? They weren’t quite sure yet.
“Hey, Beau?”
“Yeah, Dutch?”
“What do you think about askin’ your dad about getting us some jobs over at the factory?”
Beau stared through the windshield, taking in the dark road.
“I think that’s the greatest idea you’ve had yet.”
The End.
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