The Glickman House

It stood on the edge of town, what used to be called Prosper Hill, empty and run down somewhat from what must have been a glorious past. My Father loved walking by the Glickman House as a boy and I did my share as well. The history dates back to the end of the last century and the beginning of the Victorian era.

As I grew, I became interested in History and Architecture, like my Father, but mainly in the History of everything. I read anything I could get my hands on. While the other kids were outside playing, I was inside reading.

The Glickman House is supposed to be haunted. I do not know if that is true or not, but most of the kids in town would not go onto the property where the house sat. An estate that includes some fifty acres easily. Old gardens and water features, now overgrown and busted, manicured lawns once surrounded the house and there is plenty of woods, dark and creepy.

Three stories tall with an attic on top, not counting the tower. A basement and sub-basement sat underneath and there is talk of hidden tunnels radiating outward. Who knew for sure as nobody had been inside the place for almost Forty years. Not since the last family member had died and he was rumored to be around a hundred years, but nobody knew for sure.

I had taken many pictures of the house over the years with my old Kodak camera. None of the kids in town went by the place on Holloween, none except for me. This year a storm blew above us with lots of Thunder and flashes of light across the sky. A few raindrops did little to dampen the spirit of the day.

My Mom thought I was nuts for not going out trick-or-treating like the other kids. With my good teeth and oily skin, candy I did not need. Instead, I stood across the street from the Glickman House, surprised more windows had not been busted out this past year. The wind through the trees sounded like someone moaning. It was kind of spooky, and I liked it. Is that strange?

As I stared at the house a flash of light appeared in one of the upper windows. Was someone in there? Or did old Jake Glickman return from the grave to haunt the house as he claimed to have said in one of his last gasps of breath?

The light moved from window to window as if someone was searching for something. Antiques? Valuables? As the light moved, I heard a whisper. It was my name—Maxwell Thistle. The whisper was soft and constant, never changing the tone. I wondered if it wasn't some of the town's children picking on the weird kid again. It wouldn't be the first time.

In the distance, the lonely sound of a train whistle floated on the breeze. The train must be crossing Johnson's Bridge about now. The bridge was built many years ago with the backing of Eric Johnson, the big man in town at that time. Once destroyed by a flood, it was rebuilt stronger in the months afterward.

My curiosity got the better of me and I decided to finally enter the property and maybe even the house. I searched all around me, but nobody is in sight. One step at a time I cross the street under the broken street lamp up to the raw iron fence and the gate frozen shut all these years. I did not think I could move the rusty hinges, but the gate opened easily as if they had been well-oiled. Not a screech whatsoever

As it opened halfway I paused, still thinking someone must be playing an evil trick on me. Stepping through onto the overgrown lawn chocked with weeds, some living and more dead, my footsteps made not a whisper of sound. Every step I take, I hear that whisper, Maxwell Thistle. Passing the water fountain in the middle of the yard, it shook, and I feared it would shatter apart flinging it's pieces in every direction. Thankfully it stopped shaking one step beyond it. Talk about weird goings on.

Twenty feet from the front porch my head still searched around me. Nobody, just the moaning wind and my whispered name, Maxwell Thistle..Now I stood at the bottom of the steps leading up. One foot after another I tested each step before putting my full weight on it, and I did not weigh much at all. The louder my name became. Soon the massive teak front door waited.

Reaching out with deep breaths I touched it. It opened on it's own. No well-oiled hinges here. The screech is loud like a clap of thunder. Then the voice rose in pitch for the first and only time.....WELCOME! MAXWELL THISTLE!

Do I step inside or turn and run for my life? And if I do take that fateful step would it be my last?

Throwing caution to the wind I take the step beyond the threshold. At first, nothing happened, then the door slammed shut behind me making me jump. I am not afraid to admit it surprised the heck out of me. Dust swirled through the air disturbing the cobwebs. As it settled on everything a breeze sprung up swirling it around again. I tried to cover my face as best I could, but still coughed and wheezed.

.Finally, I was able to breathe normally again. I took out my flashlight, I had come prepared just in case. Turning it on I looked around me, but mainly at the front door that now seemed to be locked or frozen in time. Who knew if I could open it again? The entrance hallway spread out beyond me. The greeting room opened to my left and I poked my head inside for a quick look. Covered furniture with lots of dust, what furniture was left anyway. At the end of the room a fireplace I could have stood up inside of.

Returning to the entrance hallway a closed door to my right had to be the study if the floor plans I had seen were true. I tried the door and it gave me a little resistance at first, but soon I had it open enough to slide inside. The Oak floors here were still in good shape and I liked the contrast between here and the Marble floors of the entranceway. Floor-to-ceiling Mahogany paneling still showed some of its past luster. Bookshelves once packed full now only had a few remaining books. It made me sad for a moment.
.
I tried the light switch next to the door. No surprise the electricity was off. Probably a good thing considering the age of the house. Sweeping my flashlight around, the main piece of furniture, the Cherry desk, still stood in its usual place. I could only imagine what it must have been like to sit behind it and gaze about the room in its heyday. Dust covered everything. Except for the chair, which was as clean as the day it was brought into the room.

As I stood there looking at it, the seat pressed downward as if someone had sat down. The master of the room...The whisper came again..Maxwell Thistle. Welcome To MY Home!

I was speechless which was unusual for me.

"Who are you?"

"You already know me. My grandson Jake gasped his last breath in this house. I Am Jonas Glickman...I built this house!"

"So, it was not you searching from room to room upstairs?"

"Of course not. I am Spirit! How would I hold that light thingy in your hand, my Lad?"

"What do you want of me?"

"Your help! Don't you think I wouldn't notice all the times you stood across the street there staring at the house? And finally, you took the courage to cross the threshold of the front gate. I need that courage."

"For what?"

"To save My House!"

"Save it from whom, Mr. Glickman?"

"Thieves and Lawyers!"

"Weren't you yourself a Lawyer at one time?"

"Young man. Just because I was one at one time does not mean I liked them. Will You Help Me?"

"How?" I wondered out loud.

"See who is upstairs and get rid of them, before I do . The mess would not be easy to clean up. Now go!"

The seat went back up to the way it was when I first came into this room. Looking normal and still free of dust or cobwebs. A sound from the floor above me made me look to the ceiling. Who was that? I went back out of the room to the stairway leading up from the entranceway. I shined my light on the steps. Not one footprint showed. Whoever is up there did not come this way. Must have been the back servant's stairway.

Slowly I went upward, not know what I would find once there. A picture once hanged above the landing. Wonder who it could have been? The family? Mrs.Glickman? Maybe just Jonas Glickman? I would probably never find out. Not anytime soon anyway.