Ambrose forced a smile and followed her inside. When the door closed behind him, he instinctively turned to the corner to hang up his coat and hat. But of course, his mother’s coat-tree was gone. So was her wallpaper. So was she.
“Would you like some coffee, sir?” the woman asked.
Ambrose didn’t want coffee, but he wanted to be left alone to gather his thoughts. So, he agreed to a cup of Vanilla Hazelnut (whatever the hell that was) and thanked the woman for her kindness. Mrs. Reese followed the woman, who introduced herself as Jill, into the kitchen, chatting up a storm about neighborhood property values.
Ambrose walked through the living room. The fireplace was still there, but the carpeting on the floor was torn up, revealing the hardwood underneath. He remembered when wall-to-wall carpeting was a sign of status. How proud his mother was when his father’s raise made the carpeting affordable. He was sure that Jill was just as proud of her hardwood floors because he had learned that what is old is new again. He wondered if someday when Jill became an old lady and sold her house the status would already have changed back to carpeting, and the new couple would laugh at the old people’s funny hardwood floors.
He heard the floor creak behind him.
Ambrose turned quickly, expecting to see Jill with the coffee. But no one was there. Just the empty house and the sound of his own breathing. Ambrose saw that Jill had chosen the west corner for the sofa. His mother preferred the east for the evening light. Back when the focus of a living room was living. Not television. He remembered when his father brought home their first black-and-white television. His mother thought it meant the end of the world.
Ambrose, can we watch a movie tonight?
Sure, David. Find a good one.
His little brother would get the TV Guide and pore through it. This was years before people could get anything they wanted anytime they wanted it. Kids had to work for a movie, and the movies were more sacred somehow because of it. David would read every line of that TV Guide, trying to find a good movie to please his big brother. That’s how Ambrose Olson got to see Dracula, The Wolf Man, The Mummy, and of course David’s all-time favorite, Frankenstein. David would see Frankenstein any chance he got. He must have gotten the book out of the library a hundred times. Ambrose finally broke down and planned to buy David his own copy for Christmas, but David only wanted to read the library’s copy for some reason.
So, Ambrose got David a baseball glove instead.
When the movie was over, David was usually asleep. Ambrose would scoop him up and carry him upstairs to bed. That is, until David started having nightmares about things a whole lot scarier than Frankenstein’s monster.
Ambrose heard the floor creak upstairs. He didn’t want to go up there. But he had to see the room again. His feet started to move before he was consciously aware that he was going. He grabbed the banister and forced his knees to forget his age.
Then, he started to climb the stairs.
The Sears portrait of the family that Mom bought on layaway was gone. Pictures of Jill and her husband on a family trip stood in its place.
Ambrose, I’m scared.
Calm down. There’s nothing in your room.
Ambrose reached the top of the stairs and walked down the hallway. Every step of the hardwood floor creaked. Ambrose stood outside David’s bedroom. The door was closed. The memories flooded back to him. David yelling, kicking, and screaming behind that door.
Don’t make me go to bed! Please don’t make me, Ambrose!
David, there is no witch in your room. Now stop, before you scare Mom.
Ambrose opened the door to his brother’s old bedroom. The room was empty. Quiet. It was already set up as a nursery. Ambrose could smell the new yellow paint. The lumber and drywall from the renovations. Ambrose looked at the crib sitting against the wall. The wall that David used to draw on. There was no more wallpaper. No more terrifying drawings of his nightmares. No more ranting and raving from a mentally ill child. Just a lovely nursery for Jill and her husband’s happily ever after instead of a bedroom covered with crayons and madness.
Mom, he needs a psychiatrist!
No. He just needs a good night’s sleep.
Dad, he hid under his bed for two days! He is talking to