Arvin Cowboy
Life in Rural Arvin in the 50's
Real Name: David L. Norris Gender: male Member Since: June 17, 2007 Last Signed In: April 21, 2009 Profile Views: 411 Blog Views: 1526 Walking to the Library Mr. Barle and the Hearing Aid Trick-or-Treat The El Rancho Theater The Law of Supply and Demand The Contact Lense Locking your Doors Arvin's First Community Center The 500 yard Dash Accident Momma and the Pillsbury Poppin Biscuits July 07 August 07 September 07 October 07 November 07 December 07 January 08 February 08 March 08 April 08 May 08 June 08 July 08 August 08 September 08 October 08 November 08 December 08 January 09 February 09 March 09 April 09 May 09 June 09 July 09 August 09 September 09 October 09 November 09 
RSS 2.0    Share!
|
|
|
The Ghost in My Garage
The Ghost in My Garage
In the winter of 1952 when I was only 6 years old, our garage at 301 Grove Street, caught fire destroying the garage. It also destroyed our family 1946 Plymouth car and my brother, Leo’s Servic-Cycle, which was a cross between a motorcycle and scooter that had a leather drive belt to power the rear wheel rather than the customary chain and sprocket. He had purchased it from Houston Townsend, a family friend, who eventually owned the Arvin Barber Shop, across from the Wrights Dry Good Store on the east end of Arvin in the 1960’s.
Fires, especially ones at night, are very traumatic to small children and I was no exception. My family stood in our backyard, watching the garage burn. My mother held me in her arms as I clutched tightly around her neck with my arms, still in my pajamas, with sleep in my eyes. We watched as the Arvin Volunteer Fire Department fought the blaze. The Sheriff provided traffic control for the endless stream of cars with headlights that drove by to gawk at our loss. Red and yellow flashing and twirling lights illuminated all of the buildings, as they flashed or spun, lighting up the faces of my Mother and Father from the dark. It highlighted their concerns that the gas tank would explode or that the fire would spread to our house or to our next-door neighbor, the Harmon’s garage.
The fire cracked and popped and even though the walls toward our house and the alley were made of concrete block, the heat was intense. I felt searing heat to the back of my pajamas. My cheeks were rosy to the point of sunburn by the time the fire was extinguished. The smoke was thick with the smell of burning cedar shingles and red ambers drifted high into the night sky.
There was one window on the house side of the garage, where you could see the fiery turmoil going on the inside. You could see a sea awash with the light from the flames and shadows dancing about. Looking at this I was sure that I saw someone peering out from the window, but he could not come out because we were standing there. He had his arm up on the centerboard of the window and his skin on his face was already ablaze. Of this, I was positive! No one ever exited the only door that they could have come out during the blaze and I was sure they had not made it out of the inferno.
Finally, the fire was put out and only a few firemen remained to perform mop-up actions in case the fire reignited. We went back into our house to return to bed. Our house, hair and clothes all smelled like a wood and cedar shingle fire. My mom instead went to the kitchen and made her coffee and a big bowl of sugar popcorn for everyone. The firemen were invited in, one at a time to warm themselves and to have coffee and a snack. I don’t know if any of us got any sleep for several nights thereafter. I could not sleep by myself for weeks afterwards. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the flames and that person standing at the window.
The next morning we went out to survey the destruction. The roof had collapsed, as had the large double-car garage door. Dad’s 1946 Plymouth stood silent where it had been parked, no glass in any of the windows, nor any interior left. The gas tank had not exploded because my Dad had filled it the day before the fire, so the gas simply burnt, fueling the fire. There was little paint left on it and the surfaces had already begun to rust from all of the water that had been sprayed onto the fire. Leo’s Servic-Cycle still stood on it’s kickstand in front of the workbench, the underside of which, I had used as a playhouse, when my friends came over, by draping quilts over the edge that my mother had sown. The timber was black and charred, smelling of a humid wood fire. Everything you touched left a smudge on your hands and in your heart.
No human bones were ever found, as the debris was removed. The exact cause of the fire was never determined, but no one could convince me that I had not seen someone peering at me from inside the garage that night. I could still see him standing there, with his arm up on the window board, looking, looking and trying to figure out how to get out from the blazing turmoil without getting caught.
After analyzing the structure, it was determined that the concrete walls were still sound and the insurance company rebuilt the garage and they helped us buy a 1952 Dodge car to replace the one that was lost. Leo’s Servic-Cycle and my memories were not replaceable. The odor of the burnt cedar shingles lingered for months after the fire, in every drawer and closet in our house. Life returned to normal and I also eventually to my own bed, but I was never able to convince my soul, that there was not a ghost living in the garage. No matter how hard I tried, I could not go out to the dark garage at night. My Mother or brother would have to walk out there, turn the light on, and look, before I would venture out of the house.
Our house had a central hallway that started at the living room and lead off to each of our three bedrooms, along with the bathroom. It also housed the central floor heater and a closet. At the end of the hallway was my parent’s bedroom that had a window, covered by a shear curtain, which looked out across the backyard to that same garage window. Each time I walked down the darkened hallway at night, I would spot light and movement in the garage through that window. I was convinced that there was someone there! Both of my parents and my brother made numerous trips out to the garage to look around, never finding anything.
One night, my brother and I were both standing next to the floor furnace in the hallway to warm up and Leo saw my ghost in the window. The shadowy figure was definitely there! When you raised your arm and waved, it he waved back with the arm on its opposite side! If you bobbed and weaved to escape his view, he would also try to hide from our view by hiding behind something in the darkened garage. If you were sneaky though, you could catch him peeking over the garage window ledge to see where you were. This freaked my brother out and he called our Mom and Dad to come see the ghost. Strangely enough, the ghost had also called his family to look at us. This is when my Father figured out that we were looking at our own backlit reflections from the light cast by the television in the living room, with the window in the garage serving as a mirror.
Sure enough, if you waved at him, the reflection waved back at you, which I did every time I walked down the hallway at night to prove my Dad’s theory and this relieved my mind somewhat. Convincing your mind with common sense is one thing, but convincing your soul is quite another. For years after that, I would exit my back door of the bedroom, sprint diagonally across the backyard at top speed to reach the garage door, where I would reach my hand around the jamb, and turn the light on. From the corner of my eye, as I ran, I would catch sight of the ghost also running for the same doorway, but I had a head start on him.
After all, everyone knows that ghost can only attack you in the dark, so I was safe to go into the garage after I turned on the lights. I finally managed to control my fear, but if I returned tonight, I bet the ghost in the garage, much older now, would be there to greet me with a creative game of peek-a-boo.
THE END
4 comments from 4 users
1
posted by
sagefever
on Jul 22, 2007 at 04:37 PM
Great Story! That made me remember the sharks.As a child every swimming pool I encountered had become infested with sharks~that only I could see. The Bakersfield Country Club pool,the "big one" , was particularly good for this~the waters were a dark green,those sharks very hard to see.I believe around 6 or so the sharks began to fade,replaced by more adult sensibilities.But for a time they made me quite the fast swimmer.Thank you for the story and the memories.
posted by
Rettchr
on Jul 22, 2007 at 06:03 PM
Great story -- thanks for sharing it with us. Why don't you enter it in the writing contest for the Kern County Fair? (See Robert Price's article from July 10th.) posted by
ceeceehowell
on Jul 22, 2007 at 06:04 PM
AMAZING!! Thank you for a remembrance of childhood, whether your own, or mine, I don't mind, but the glimpse of yesterday is more than appreciated:-) posted by
msemilyh
on Jul 23, 2007 at 01:56 PM
great story, thanx for sharing.
1
 Loading Stories
Advertisement |