The Voice of Caroline

Chapter 1 - The House on Piedmont Street

For the record Gordie Burnside never wanted to move.

According to his dad it was a non-negotiable requirement.

Like having to go to school or brush your teeth.

He didn't have to like it, but he did have to do it.

But what kid would want to move from Florida to Virginia? No more weekends spent at the beach or Disney World or pool parties (not that Gordie got invited to very many). What did Virginia have to offer? Arlington Cemetery, the Battle of Antietam, Mount Vernon. Not exactly every kid's playground.

            Being thirteen was hard enough without being the new kid. And that wasn't even counting his obsession with comic books, socially awkward tendencies, or the fact he'd be living with this eccentric grandfather whose favorite activities include drinking beer and telling stories about the time he served in Vietnam. Spoiler! It was unpleasant and dirty, not to mention smelly!

            Apparently, this was going to be a fresh start for them. Something Gordie's dad insisted they needed after losing Gordie's mom a few years ago from ovarian cancer. Gordie was all for fresh starts. But did it have to be in Virginia? With Grandpa Arnie? He had never been good at making friends and this certainly wasn't going to do him any favors.

            And if all that wasn't enough. The house he would be living in was haunted! Well allegedly but it wasn't exactly an incentive to invite people over.

            He was doomed, pure and simple.

            And there was nothing he could do about it.

They arrived on a Sunday. One week before school would start.

As Gordie's dad Peter parked the truck in the driveway Gordie looked out the window and saw his grandfather standing on the porch. A beer in one hand and his newspaper in the other. He wore brown slacks, a Hawaiian shirt, and a baseball cap. He didn't look happy, and Gordie shared that sentiment.

Haunted or not, the house was old. Built; in 1906 it looked about the same now as it did then. The outside surprisingly wasn't that bad. It had two big bay windows in front and a nice long porch in the corner of which hung a swing. Gordie could remember when he was younger sitting on that swing with his grandmother drinking lemonade and watching the people passing by. Of course, she had died too. But she was old, so it didn't hurt so much when Gordie thought about her. The house was a mint green color with faded yellow shutters. The porch was off white and in dire need of a new coat of paint but was otherwise in good condition. The garage was unattached and mostly housed whatever junk his grandfather hadn't been able to store in the basement as he was unable to drive anymore.

Gordie got out of the truck and slammed the door shut.

"What's that you're wearing?" his grandfather called.

Gordie looked down at his Captain America T-shirt and cutoff jeans. Here we go again he thought. Grandpa Arnie loved making fun of Gordie's fashion sense or lack thereof. Particularly, his obsession with superheroes and comic books.

"Clothes," was his unsatisfactory response.

"Don't upset him," his dad whispered on his way to the back of the pick-up.

"He started it," Gordie whispered back.

"How are you dad?" his father called.

            Grandpa Arnie took a sip of his beer. For seventy-five he looked pretty good. Oh, sure his hair had thinned out and turned white, but he still had those impressive sideburns, a trademark to their namesake. Grandpa Arnie always said the worst time of his life was when he was in Vietnam. Not because of all the fighting and blood or crappy food but because he'd had to shave off his sideburns so as soon as he got back, he started growing them again and have kept them unruly ever since.