Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers
by Mike Mayak
AUTHOR’S NOTE: The draws for the December 2024 Flash Fiction Draw Challenge (last one for this year, more coming in January 2025) were A Romance set in a Haunted House involving Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers. Here’s what I came up with…
“Put the sleeping bags over here,” I said to ‘Berto.
“That’s right by the door, there’ll be a draft,” ‘Berto said.
“Yeah, but we’ll be able to run out of here if anything happens!” I said.
“And if we don’t run out we get five thousand dollars,” he said grinning. “Apiece!”
‘Berto Alvarez and I had entered a contest to spend the night in a local supposedly haunted house. The house they picked was perfect; an old Victorian at the end of a road at the edge of town surrounded by trees and grass. It looked like something the Addams Family would live in.
Nobody who had rented the house had stayed in it long and none of them had gone into much detail other than “ghost.” And they didn’t mean something off social media.
“Okay,” I said, setting the backpack and cooler on the floor of the living room. “It’ll be dark soon, glad we have the camping lantern in case the lights go blooey.”
“And a nasty wind kicks up in the middle of the house.” ‘Berto said, glancing at the strip of orange light from the thin, glass brick window to the side of the door.
“Hey, I need to check in,” I said, pulling out my cellphone and punching the radio station’s number. “Yeah, this is Mark Kauffman. We’re at the house. It’s about sunset and we’re kicking back. See you tomorrow morning.”
And I’ll punch somebody in the nose if anybody from the station rigged something, I thought.
In the dim light we looked around the old living room. Covered-up couch, bricked-up fireplace and even a small stained glass window covered in cobwebs up near the top of the chimney. The stairway leading upstairs was wider than the trailer I’d stayed in the previous summer. To one side of the stairway was a long hallway leading to a room that looked brighter. Probably a kitchen.
“Okay,” ‘Berto said, running a finger on the grey sheet covering what must have been a living room couch. “Let’s have a look around and then hunker down for the night.”
“Sounds like a plan.
There was a thump from down the hallway.
We looked at each other.
“What the hell was that?” I said.
“Rubber baby buggy bumpers. Rubber baby buggy bumpers,” ‘Berto said.
“Wha?” I said.
“It’s something my Grandma got me to do,” ‘Berto said. “She told me whenever I got scared to say ‘Rubber baby buggy bumpers’ and I wouldn’t be scared anymore.”
“Does it work?” I asked.
“No,” ‘Berto said.
“Let’s go down that hallway” I said. “Glad I brought this.” I pulled a metal baseball bat out of my bag.
We walked down the hallway, my grip on the bat tightening when we heard the thump noise again.
“Rubberbabybuggybumpers,” ‘Berto whispered. “Rubberbabybuggybumpers.”
The kitchen was nice sized with lots of windows that made the room bright even in the dusk. The appliances seemed about twenty years old but that was new for this house.
“Looks like they upgraded the kitchen after the Munsters left,” ‘Berto said.
“Yeah,” I said. “And zoinks, Scoob, there’s the refrigerator.”
The refrigerator let out a thump.
We broke into sighs of relief.
“That thing’s about 25 years old,” ‘Berto said. “And it still works.”
“Not for long, judging from the sounds it’s making.” I said. “While we’re out and about, lets check what’s upstairs.” I grinned at ‘Berto. “Maybe a nice, cozy bed?”
“Or a very strange bed,” ‘Berto said.
“Wanna grab the camping lantern?” I said as we walked down the hallway.
“Don’t need it,” ‘Berto said flicking the flashlight app on his phone on and then off.
We barely glanced at the living room as we walked up the huge staircase. The upper floors were dark. Curtains drawn. No beds.
“Let’s find a restroom,” I said.
We looked into what might have been a spare bedroom but had been used as an office. In the dimness we saw an old desk like my grade school teachers had used hanging up near the ceiling.
“What’s it doing up there for?” ‘Berto asked, shining his flashlight beam around.
We both saw it at once; the desk wasn’t attached to anything, it was floating in mid-air.
We barreled down the stairs.
“Rubber Baby Buggy Bumpers!!!” ‘Berto yelled.
I didn’t have to go to the bathroom anymore.
‘Berto hit the ground floor, swerved past the big couch and all but slammed into the wall. He stood there in the dim light feeling the bare wall, in a near panic.
“The door! Mark, the door’s gone!”
I rushed up beside him and stared. The wall looked grey and bare. I felt where I had seen the door earlier,, beside the long, thin window with the thick block glass.
“Gone…” I breathed. “We’re stuck here in this…wait a sec, where’d our sleeping bags go?”
I stepped a few feet away, past the corner to our left. On the other side was the door with the little window with our sleeping bags where we’d left them, still rolled-up on the floor. And there was another couch to the other side of the stairs.
“Got mixed-up in the dark,” ‘Berto said. “Easy to do, you know. Scared and all. And those big stairs….”
“Yeah,” I said. My heart was pounding. I glanced around. We’d been in a near-panic and it had gotten darker. But didn’t the house look bigger somehow?
“Hey,” ‘Berto said. “I gotta thank you. You’re the one with the level head.”
‘Berto was a couple of inches shorter than I was. Nonetheless I was looking into his brown eyes and I leaned in and kissed him. We held for a moment, then broke away.
“Wow,” ‘Berto said quietly.
“Yeah.” I said.
We’d met in college, we’d been just friends who were both in the LGBT student group. We would go out for coffee and talk about which guys on the teams we thought were hunky and kid around about how we were never going to get involved with each other. In that dark house, we were suddenly involved. And judging from Berto’s smile neither one of us minded.
“Money or no,” ‘Berto said. “I think…”
“…we should get out of here.” I finished.
I reached for the door. The knob wouldn’t move. I tried again.
It turned in my hand.
“I’m heading through the kitchen window!” ‘Berto said.
“Right behind you!” I said.
“Hold up!” The door swung open. Mr. Sanders from the radio station was standing there, looking worn out. We stopped and stared.
“There’s been a big mistake,” he said. “Somebody at the station. Anderson and his damn handwriting. You’re at the wrong address. The house you’re supposed to be at is over on Carlson street, not here on Carstairs. How did you get in here anyway? That key wouldn’t open this door…”
“The door was unlocked,” ‘Berto said. “We figured you folks left it that way and were going to spring some spooky stuff on us.”
“No way.” Sanders said. “Our insurance wouldn’t cover you being in this old place. You couldn’t pay me to spend one night in this house.”
We looked at each other smiles spreading across our faces.
“And the contest is still on. Grab your stuff and let’s get out of here.”
It only took a minute to grab sleeping bags, cooler and lantern. We stood on the porch and kissed as Sanders got into his car, parked in front of ours in the long driveway.
“Hey Mark,” he said between kisses. “How about we use the money…”
“After we spend the night in that house…” I said.
“”Snuggled up together,” ‘Berto said. “And then we use the money…”
“After taxes,” I said, kissing him again.
“Yeah, and rent some crummy apartment so we don’t have to stay in the dorm?”
“I like that idea,” I said.
As we drove away I glanced back. In the dim light the house with its windows for eyes and big porch for a mouth seemed to be smiling at us.
—end—
AUTHOR’S ADDENDA: Okay, longer than usual but I had fun! And it’s a Christmastime ghost story! And ‘Berto Alvarez and Mark Kauffman appeared earlier in my story “A Heated Event.” https://authorjeffbaker.com/2023/09/09/september-2023-flash-fiction-draw-challenge-story-is-a-heated-event-by-mike-mayak-jeff-baker-september-8-2023/
——mike
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