 I never really knew my grandmother growing up. My father rarely spoke of her. While other kids were getting cookies and toys from their grandparents, I only got silence. I'm sure my mother's parents would have made up for it had they been alive. Sadly, they were not. And if my father had a dad, I certainly never heard of him either. The only reason I know I had a grandmother is the summer I spent with her when I was 16. It was also the first and last time my father said anything about her. My mother wants you to spend the summer with her. He said, after picking me up from school, I barely buckled my belt. I did a double take because as far as I knew, I didn't have a grandmother. Is this like a euphemism for something? I asked eventually. You wish, he laughed, pulling out of the parking lot. She is real, and I wouldn't dream of even suggesting you to go visit if it weren't for the college fund. What college fund? I asked immediately. My mom had gotten sick when I was younger. She'd gotten better by the time I was in high school, but for a long time every cent we had went into fighting her illness. My parents were neck deep in debt and the likelihood was they'd never get out in their lifetime. Their credit was shot too. I was applying for scholarships, but very aware that I'd probably have to take out student loans if I wanted to continue my education. And even then, it was possible college was just out of my reach. Your grandmother isn't. Dad tapped the break as we rolled up on a red light. Welfie, exactly. She's frugal. She contacted me last week to let you know she'd set up a college fund for you. I've seen the numbers. It's real. I just... He stopped talking when the light changed. It gave me a minute to process. So what's wrong with her? Is she like an axe murderer or something? I was joking. At the ripe old age of 16, I never could have imagined what was wrong with my grandmother and her home. No. It's just that she's not a very agreeable woman. And dangerous. Not as far as I know. Just very, very selfish and eccentric. I assumed dad had no idea just how eccentric grandma really was. Although in fairness, it wasn't just that. Either way, I'm sure he never would have let me stay there if he'd known. He just wanted the best for me. I thought about it for a few hours and eventually agreed. A couple of months with a relative I'd never met before wasn't the ideal way to spend my summer, but all my friends were going away to camp anyway. So I figured it wasn't a huge loss, especially since my family couldn't afford camp. Grandma didn't seem particularly excited to see me, but she was even less excited to see dad. She didn't even acknowledge him when he dropped me off. Looked right through him as if he didn't even exist. Me, she didn't bother to introduce herself first. She just turned towards the house and waddled up the steps, the end of her faded floral nightgown swaying around her knobby knees. Your room is in the back one on the left. Guest bathrooms across the hall. You'll go to town to pick up dinner at five. I'll leave directions. She paused just before she entered the house and gave me a beady-eyed little look. You can drive, can't you? She croaked. Uh, yeah, I replied, following her up the steps and into the house. It was ancient, but clean enough. The wallpaper was yellowed, and the whole place smelled musty, but there was no mildew or clutter or anything that I could see. Good. Lights out at eight. You can do whatever you want as long as you stay in your room. I don't want to hear a peep out of you until morning. Clear? She dropped into an overstuffed chair by the TV and reached for the remote, frizzy hair standing out all over her head. I stared at her speechless for a little bit, wondering why the hell she'd want me to come if she didn't want to hear a peep from me. What the hell did she expect me to do while she ignored me all summer? I stood there for an awkward minute, at least hoping she'd explain why it was she'd summoned me to this poldunk town in the ass end of the country. A place even the grass was running away from judging by the look of the lawns we'd passed by in the way in, but her eyes remained locked on the TV. I don't know what she found so riveting about an ancient rerun of unsolved mysteries, but I also wasn't knocking on 80s door, so I reminded myself of the money and took my bag upstairs to see what rustic comfort I'd be enjoying for the next two months. The hallway was narrow and felt at least two inches shorter than any other hallway in existence. I had to duck the light fixtures on my way to the last room on the left. On the way, I passed what I presumed to be the master bedroom and the guest bathroom. The door to the room across from mine was a jar. I peeked in, leaning in an awkward angle to do it and caught a glimpse of a big bed with a flannel duvet and a basket. It sat on the foot of the bed, wicker, big, about the size of a chest. Looked like it had seen better days. The top was the natural wheatish color of reeds or dried grass, but the bottom had been stained a deep mahogany color that I associated with rust and oil. Weird. The dad had warned me, so I shrugged it off and shouldered my way into my personal abode for the near future. It was dusty. That was about all I could say for it. The bed looked like it had been old in the 70s and the blankets were the thin, stiff kind, not even a comforter. No posters, no pictures. Just a lamp, the bed, and the dresser. I dropped my suitcase on the top of the dresser and dragged all the coverings off the bed. Looked like grandma hadn't even bothered to clean before demanding my presence, so I spent my first evening in that house doing laundry in a pea soup green washing machine. There was no dryer. I had to hang it all from some satellite dish looking deal. Thankfully, it was pretty hot outside. I was able to go to bed without suffering damp sheets and humid blankets. Grandma didn't say two words to me the whole time, not even when I brought dinner back. She ate hers in front of the TV. I ate mine in the kitchen and then went to bed. That was when shit got really weird. I assume it was about nine or ten way earlier than my usual bedtime, going by the fall of the moonlight across the room. The window faced east, so I knew it couldn't have been too late yet. I wasn't sure what had woken me at first, but as I laid in the dark watching the square of moonlight creep across the floor, I heard it, a shuffling, rasping sound as if something were being dragged. I sat up in bed, listening to it get closer and closer until I could swear it was right outside my door. Grandma, I called softly, tossing the covers off. Are you okay? In my groggy state, my first thought was that the old woman had fallen and was trying to get help. I was halfway to the door when I heard a voice on the other end of the hall yell, Shut up! I froze with my hand in the air, looking at the door in quiet disbelief. Whatever it was, it was right outside my door. I was torn between ripping it open and confronting whatever was out there and diving back into bed. My hand shot out, but instead of opening it, I jammed the knob in and twisted it, locking the door. I retreated to bed afterwards, watching the door until the wee hours when I heard the shuffling and dragging retreat back down the hall. I confronted grandma the next morning. She was already downstairs, flipping some eggs in a griddle that looked like it predated the house. What the hell was that last night? I demanded. The old woman refused to answer me. The only response I got from her was, I told you not to make a peep. You better listen tonight. I nearly called my dad to pick me up right then and there, but I wasn't sure what was going on yet, if I was in danger, if it was something simple and explainable that I'd laugh at myself over later. Just because I couldn't fathom what yet didn't mean there wasn't a rational explanation for everything. I spent the day in town picking through one tear down record store and trying to meet some people. I wasn't having much luck with that and it was getting towards time to pick up grandma's dinner. So I decided to head back a little early on the way home. I passed a ramshackle building slightly larger than most of the ones in town and spied a bronze plaque beside the doors. Boredom and curiosity compelled me to go read it. Civil War Museum, it said, right beneath the town's name. I tried the doors, but it was locked, so I moved over to one of the windows and peered in. Through the grime, I saw what looked like some kind of weird canoe with a window on the top and a bunch of similar looking baskets to the one in grandma's house and clustered together. There was a table across the way with a weird saw and some ice pick looking things on it. If there was a plaque or explanation, I didn't see one at the time. And after a minute or two of looking, I gave up and continued on my way home. Once again, grandma didn't greet me when I came through the door. It had only been a day, but I was already getting used to her odd behavior, used enough to it that I started talking to her without really expecting a response. Not much to do in town. I remarked, crouching to inspect a collection of records lined up neatly beneath an old cabinet. Everyone sure does seem to be into these, though. I wondered if any of them had been my dad's while I ran my fingers over him. I pulled one out at random and put it back when I didn't recognize the artist. I saw the museum today. It was closed, but I looked in one of the windows. I saw a basket that kind of looks like the one upstairs. Pawpaw's basket. She interrupted me with a croak. That's Pawpaw's basket. I looked at her over my shoulder, startled that she decided to speak to me. Like dad's dad? I questioned. She gave me a look of pure disgust, but at least she looked at me for all of 10 seconds before she went back to her episode of Unsolved Mysteries. Dumbass kids these days. Don't know nothing. She grumbled. I sighed and threw up my hands. Okay, grandma. I muttered, wandering into the kitchen to grab the old truck keys. I'm just going to go pick up dinner then. I rattled into the parking lot of what appeared to be the only dining establishment in town about five minutes later. I probably didn't even need the truck. I could have walked just fine, but it would have been a half hour longer and I wasn't sure how the old bat would react if her dinner was late. I hopped out, leaving the keys on the dash like I saw in every other car and headed inside to pick up our order. Not that she'd asked me what I wanted. The lady behind the counter was nice though. Fifty-ish with curly blonde hair and a friendly smile. She had my order ready for me when I walked up. Hey, sweetie, you settle in it all right? She asked as if she'd known me my entire life. For a minute, I let myself picture what it would have been like had she been my grandmother. Instead of the nasty old curmudgeon I was sharing a house with at the moment. I guess that's one word for it. I sighed. I know not much to do in town for a kid your age, especially with all the others headed out for summer, must be pretty hard to stay entertained. She smiled sympathetically at me. Yeah, it was only the second day and I was already running out of things to do. I grabbed our order and started for the door, only to stop after the thank you left my lips. I'm not sure what compelled me to ask, but I turned back to her and said, Hey, do you know what those big baskets in the museum are about? The Civil War Museum? How'd you see those? That's what they used to transport the amputees back in the war. If they happened not to survive, they just pop the lid on the sucker and send him back home like that or bury him if it was too far. Suddenly I felt a little sick, might have had something to do with the stains I was picturing on the bottom of the basket. You okay, hun? She asked, looking concerned, I'm sure I was pale as a sheet. I managed to nod and ran out of the diner before she could ask any more questions. Driving home in a fog, eccentric, dad called her. She was living with what amounted to a damn casket in the house, in the room across from mine. That was it, I was out. Officially done with grandma's bullshit on her house, I decided she could keep her college fund. I parked the car in the drive and carried the food in, dropping hers on the couch beside her and heading straight to the kitchen to call my dad. Of course I'll come get you, Sam. Dad responded after I told him what was going on. Just sit tight, all right, I'll be there as soon as I can. But it occurred to me that it was a five hour drive. Even if dad didn't hit an ounce of traffic on the way here, he still wouldn't arrive until well after 8 PM, grandma's curfew. I had to believe that she had a reason for setting that time, even if she wasn't going to share that reason with me. Dad, wait. I didn't want anything bad to happen to him, if he happened to come into the house in the middle of the night. I took a breath and continued. Come get me in the morning, okay? I'll be all right for one more night. You sure? He asked. Yeah, it's not dangerous, just really creepy. I said quickly, trying to convince myself as much as him. All right, but if you change your mind, you call me and I'll head down immediately, okay? Dad said. I agreed, said I loved him, and hung up. Grandma was standing in the kitchen doorway when I looked up. I nearly left my skin. You're the spitting image of him, you know? She announced, louder and clearer than she'd ever been. I clapped a hand to my chest and tried to get my blood pressure under control. Look just like him at that age. Who? I said after a second, kind of dreading the answer. Somehow I knew she wasn't talking about my dad. Pa, pa. She said, shuffling back to the couch. Thanks, I thought. Thanks for that. As if this whole thing wasn't creepy enough, she had to go and throw that out there too. Crazy old lady. Basket case I almost muttered to myself and then shuttered because now I knew where that phrase had come from. I was going to bed and I wasn't coming out until dad came to get me in the morning. I didn't even tell her good night when I went up the stairs. I locked my door and made sure everything was still in my bag and I sat down on the edge of the bed to wait. The minutes felt like hours. I watched the sun disappear and the moon began to rise. I would have waited outside if there had been anywhere to wait. Sick with dread and trembling with anticipation. I considered climbing out the window and down the tree outside, but I had no way of knowing if the ghost and I was fully convinced that shit was haunted at this point could leave the house and even less interest in finding out. So I stayed put and listened to the door creak open, the floor thump and the dragging begin all the way up to my door. And this time there was whistling and a smell, the stench of infection and rot. It filled the room until I had to bury myself in blankets to shut it out. It sat out there right outside my door and whistled to me all night long. The same tune over and over and over. And with each refrain, I heard more whimpering at first and then sobbing from sobbing to screaming. And from that to ear splitting explosions. I heard men crying out in guttural wrenching anguish. Someone screamed and pleaded for their parents, another begged God to help them. And through it all, the whistling, I still can't listen to it. To this day, rally to freedom reminds me of that putrid scent of death and decay and sweet, earthy wicker. Just hold on, I kept telling myself when I felt like I couldn't take it anymore and the horror of what I was hearing would break me. Just hold on, dad's coming, dad will be here soon. It was that knowledge that helped me keep the tenuous hold on my sanity until dawn when the noise and stink faded into only whistling again. And then the scrape of wicker on wood back across the hall, dad came upstairs to get me. I was too exhausted to leave on my own. It felt in some ways as if I'd had to physically hold myself together. Grandma was sitting on the couch when we left. She barely looked up, didn't even bother to say goodbye. A few months later, I received a bank notice in the mail informing me that it had been changed over into my name and I was required to sign off on the change. I almost missed the tiny slip of paper tucked in behind the notice. A thin note that only read, paw paw says, it was nice to meet you.