The Mortifying Mortons

 

 

“Remember, Bertie, you only get one chance to make a first impression,” Mom said, after she parked in the gigantic driveway. “So don’t blow it.”

I still hadn’t caught my breath. Mom had called Howard as promised, and he assured us there were no wolves in Pennsylvania. Naturally, that made me despise Howard even more. It was like the world was spinning out of control, and Mom couldn’t see it. I was desperate to shout, “This is NOT a fresh start, Mom. Bad-bad stuff is about to go down!” But there was no way she would’ve heard me. She had been driving the last five hundred miles under the influence of great expectations.

When Mom opened the car door and stepped onto the pavement of Howard’s driveway, she was glowing. Where I was jam-packed with dread and nightmares, Mom was overflowing with hopes and dreams.

And just like that, I knew that our first impression was not going to go according to her plans. I was about to blow it––big time. It’s like when an adult tells you to not cry before they tell you a sad story, and then they tell you the story and you cry anyway. Some things, like sad stories causing tears, and me screwing things up, are pretty much automatic.

During the long drive I made a solemn vow to loathe Howard Morton and anyone connected to him. So when the front door of the house flung open and Howard bumbled out, waving and smiling, I hated him immediately. I could not believe that my mother planned to marry that big bozo. Tabitha and her little brother, Mac, appeared next. They looked different now, in person, than they did during the video chats I was forced to endure when Mom and I lived in North Carolina. I hated them, too.

I crawled out of our car. Wanted to crawl back in and lock the doors.

Howard kissed my mom and gave her a tight hug. The tornado inside my gut spun faster. Howard let go of my mom and smiled at me. He patted me on the head. “Welcome to my house, Bernice, which is also your house now.”

The tornado rose from my belly and into my throat. I hate it when people call me Bernice, even though it’s technically my legal name. Bernice is an old lady knitting socks in a rocking chair. Bertie, on the other hand, could be the name of a rock star or a movie star or even a musical prodigy. Someone way more spectacular than Bernice.

“Mr. Howard?” I said. “Since I believe honesty is the best policy, I got to say two things. One: There are wolves in Altoona. And two: Your house is definitely not my house.”

“Bertie, that’s so rude,” Mom said, jabbing me with eye daggers. “Apologize to Howard this minute.”

“Not necessary,” Howard said, grinning and tossing an arm around Mom’s shoulders. “First day jitters and all that. I’m good. Trust me, I have them too. And it’s just Howard, Bernice, not Mr. Howard.”

He said it again!

I wanted to accidentally stomp on Howard’s foot. Instead, I fetched Leon from the car. That was when a chill passed through me and prickled my skin.

But it was worse than before. I felt a deep pang of loneliness that did not seem to be my own particular brand of loneliness, that heartache I got when I worried that everyone I loved would eventually abandon me like an unwanted dog or cat left on the side of a road. It hurt me, right down to my bones.

Have you ever seen a person at a store or some other place who was oozing so much loneliness or sadness that some of the ooze splashed onto you, and you felt sad or lonely, too? It was that kind of situation. I felt like I had taken on someone else’s loneliness, which did not make a lick of sense. The people around me were happy, it seemed.

When I thought things couldn’t get any worse, they got worse.

Without asking my opinion, Howard had decided that Leon would live inside a kennel in the backyard. One of the first things I did at my “new house” was put Leon in the kennel. He would be outside and alone, like a bad dog sent to dog prison for his many shoe chomping and peeing-on-stuff crimes.

Setting Leon down, I whispered in his ear, “Heads up, buddy. We are not meant for this place. Hopefully, Mom will see that, too. But Howard has got her under some kind of spell. We’ll give her a week, maybe less. Before this coming Sunday, we’ll be busting out of here. When you hear me say the words monkey butt, get ready to run for daylight. That’s when we’ll make a break for it.”

Leon farted. It’s his way. And it meant he agreed with my plan.

I had just left the kennel when my dog jumped up and started barking. I looked at where Leon’s eyes were aimed, across the yard, and saw nothing, no animals or people. Not even a lightning bug or a moth.

“What are you barking at, Leon?” I asked. “The shadows?”

He kept yipping. I looked closer and saw the strangest thing. There were footprints in the grass like someone was walking away from the kennel. But again, no one was there.

That was the first time I felt a strange taste in my mouth, metallic and mushy. Imagine eating a stack of ten Pringles potato chips flavored with fear––it tasted just like that. I stood there breathless, shaking, and watching footprints bending the grass, moving toward the wooden fence. Seconds later the gate creaked open, even though no one had opened it. The gate closed––on its own, it seemed––and an unseen hand pushed the latch into a slot, locking in Leon and me.

My body flew into full losing-it-mode. “Help-help-help me!” I screamed, before I could think about whether screaming was such a hot idea. Even though I was with Leon, I didn’t feel safe. He’s not exactly a guard dog. Leon could be easily bribed into silence with Milk-Bones, and not even the flavored ones that come in multiple colors. Nope, Leon was a sucker for the basic brown ones.

Mom and Howard and Mac and Tabitha came running from the front yard.

“What’s wrong, Honey?” Mom said, throwing a protective arm around me.

I checked the fence and the grass. Nothing freaky was happening. Whatever was here, was gone now. Even Leon had stopped barking.

Howard and his kids and my mom stared at me, waiting for an explanation. What could I say? My proof had walked away. So, I just pointed like an idiot and stuttered. “I … I saw … well … I thought I saw a snake, but it was just a stick. Sorry for the false alarm.” When I had to, I could lie pretty good.

Howard smiled.

“Poor thing, you’re shivering. It’s no wonder. A big move is never easy. By tomorrow morning you’ll start to feel like yourself again, just watch.” Reaching out, he patted my head again. That was twice now. He would pay.

Howard and his crew, including my mom, walked off. Watching them go, I wondered if the weird stuff had really happened.

“Think, Bertie. Figure it out.”

Counting on my fingers, I replayed the last hour. The inexplicable evidence I’d seen and felt. I wanted it to make sense.

“One, I’m dead tired from the long drive.

“Two, my heart is shattered from leaving my father and my friends.

“Three, I’m seeing double from all the bizarro things that started after we passed the Altoona sign. The wolf thing, the warning whisper thing, the metallic taste thing, the frozen chill of a not-my-loneliness feeling thing.

“Four, I don’t believe a single word of what I’m saying.

“Five, this is real, Bertie! You totally had a close encounter with … what? A ghost? An evil spirit? Or some kind of Hogwarts banshee, or a fallen angel, or a demonic phantom …”

CRACK.

Behind me, a twig snapped.

Shrieking in horror, I spun around.

It wasn’t a phantom or a banshee, it was Mac. His big eyes blinked up at me.

“Do you always talk to yourself?” he asked.