Clip-Clop
Clip-Clop
Clip-Clop
THUNK
I told my mother not to bring home strange things. Does she ever listen?
That’s a firm no. Those were the sounds in this house after she bought a baby’s cowboy boot at thrift store and brought it home. She placed it in the hall, next to a foam skull. It was, after all, October.
I could hear the voice of a child at night as it would walk around in that hall. My bed was right against the wall, so I could hear every clop of its one boot.
It made such a funny noise because there was only one boot. The sound was the thing hobbling around wearing only one shoe. I mean seriously. Who buys only one shoe?
It wasn’t just my imagination or a spot of mustard. When the hallway carpet started winding up bunched up feet from where it was originally placed told me this specter was more of grave than gravy.
Finally, having had enough of the thing—and replacing rugs and picking up that skull—I had my mother put it in her room. This calmed the spirit like a charm. It’s just now I wish we could do something about the ghost of the child who wears the bright red Mary Janes she bought yesterday.
