“I’ll bet it’s that goony paper boy coming to collect,” said Marian.
“He’ll go away if we don’t answer,” said Alan. “That always works.”
The knocking persisted just as they were being told it was another normal day in Gotham City as Commissioner Gordon and Chief O’Hara were—
— Knocking again. Louder this time.
“Alan? Marian?” called Mom, “will one of you answer the door? I’m in the bathroom.”
When Alan looked at her and didn’t move, Marian angrily slammed down her popcorn and stomped over to the front door, really ready to chew that paper boy out. How could anyone come around when Batman was on? You did not knock on their front door on Batman nights, and you sure didn’t do it tonight of all nights, when the Green Hornet and Kato were going to be on! Whoever this was had better have a good reason, or Marian would...well...she’d sure do something, you could bet on that.
She had to fiddle with the deadbolt for a moment, and then with the stupid, stupid, stupid chain lock, but then it was off and dangling and the front door was wide open —
—and she was staring at Boris Karloff. She knew it wasn’t really Boris Karloff, but the man who stood on their front porch looked enough like him to make her shiver for a moment, wondering if she hadn’t woke up in the middle of a horror movie.
The man looked her up and down a couple of times, cleared his throat (it sounded like he really needed to hawk up a loogie), and spoke. “Would you be Marian?” “Yes sir.” “Your mom at home?” “Yes sir.”
“Would you mind gettin’ her for me?” His voice was like rusty nails being pulled out of old and warped wood. It gave Marian the creeps.
She turned to call and saw her Mom standing in the doorway to the kitchen, an expression on her face that told Marian not only did Mom know who this man was, but that he was a Big Deal. You Stuck Around for Big Deals. Marian’s mother wiped her hands on a small towel, but when she was done she didn’t put the towel over the back of a chair or lay it on the table; she just let it drop to the floor.
Marian walked over and picked it up, but Mom took no notice. By this time Alan was standing by the door, looking at Mr. Karloff.
He wore an old floppy brown hat, straight-legged grey pants, dusty boots, a collarless green shirt with sleeves rolled up to the elbows. He was carrying a small suitcase. Mom said nothing for what seemed the longest time, and Marian found herself becoming afraid of this man, who looked at them through the reddest eyes she had ever seen, and even from where Marion was standing, the smell of tobacco and iodine was overpowering. His skin was all scratched and stained, like a piece of old leather left out in the sun too long. Marian looked at Alan, then to Mom, who was breathing very slowly, the strange expression on her face suddenly gone, replaced by nothing at all. “Glad I found you at home,” said Mr. Karloff. “I worked day shift at the plant now,” said Marian’s mother. “Days, huh? I’ll bet that makes it nice for the kids here.”
“I always have time for them,” said her mother, which seemed to hurt Mr. Karloff in the doorway; his eyes started blinking rapidly and the hand which held the suitcase shook a little. Marian was just plain scared now. She looked more closely at Mr. K. and noticed that one of his eyes was half-closed, a deep cut on its lid, covered in iodine. “I been in the V.A. hospital,” he said. “I suppose you know that?” “I heard about it,” said her Mom, shaking.
From the living room Robin exclaim, “Holy hornet’s nest, Batman!” Piss off, Boy Wonder. “You look good,” said Mr. K. to Mom. “You look like hell.” And that’s when it happened.
Marian had never seen anything like it before. Mr. K. took a deep breath, turned as if he was going to leave, but then he seemed to spot something outside of the house that scared him. A lot. Enough to make him not want to go outside, and for the first time Marian realized that she wasn’t alone in feeling this way; maybe everybody once in a while looked out their front doors or windows and saw something that scared them, things that maybe even weren’t there most of the time but you saw them anyway. Maybe this old man could see something out there, maybe in a tree or behind a bush or a parked car or even in the shape of a cloud, but he saw it out there, he sure did, and he didn’t want to walk out the door to face it, so he let his suitcase slip out of his hand and drop to the floor, turned back around, and without looking at Marian’s mother started to speak.
His voice came out in low wheezes, fizzling in and out like whispers do. “I only got about twenty dollars to my name right now and I was just wonderin’ if...if you would mind terribly loaning me a couple of bucks. I ain’t had me a thing to eat since about noon yesterday and I’m a bit hungry. I can’t use this money for food ‘cause it’s got to go for a room of some kind. I wouldn’t be bothering you otherwise honest. If it ain’t too much trouble would you let me sleep on your sofa, just for tonight, until I can find me a room at the ‘Y’ or something? I haven’t been feeling too good lately and don’t got the energy to go stompin’ around town tonight looking for a place. I’d much appreciate if you’d lend me a hand for the night. Whatta you say?”
His last few words were so soft Marian could barely understand what he was saying, so she looked up at her mother but Mom was staring down at her feet like she did when she wished things weren’t happening, so Marian reached up and took her hand.
“Close the damn door and take your shoes off,” said her mother, turning away and wiping something off her face. “I’m just getting ready to fix us some hamburgers.” Marian wondered why Mom was telling Mr. K. that, because they’d just finished doing the supper dishes; they’d already had hamburgers.
Mr. K. was taking his boots off when Mom turned lack around.
“And I don’t want hear any of this shit about you getting a room at the ‘Y’ or anything like that. If you help out you can stay here as long as you like. Just don’t get in my way too much.” She turned back into the kitchen, then called over her shoulder: “And I don’t allow liquor in this house. Read me there?”
“I read you,” said Mr. K. He looked at Alan and Marian, tried to smile, raised an eyebrow, and released a breath that sounded like he’d been holding it for years. “So,” he said, “you two are Alan and Marian, huh?” “Yes sir,” they both replied. “Don’t you all be cablin’ me ‘sir’, that’s too formal.” “What should we call you?” said Alan. “I’d be your grandfather, boy. ‘Grampa’ will do just fine.”
The next few weeks were a great time for Marian and her brother. Grampa taught them how to play Poker, how to make meatloaf and homemade bread, told them stories about how he fought in the war, helped with the dishes, and even did a lot of extra work on the house for Dad. Eventually Mom allowed Grampa to buy some beer, but only in a six-pack and only once a week. This seemed to make Grampa happy because he and Dad could drink while they were playing cards and smoking cigarettes. Marian really liked her Grampa, and so did Alan, but neither of them understood why Mom wouldn’t talk to him more. When they finally asked her she just shrugged her shoulders and said, “It’s of no concern to someone your age.”
Grampa began getting some kind of checks in the mail shortly after he came to stay, but he never spent any of the money on himself— aside from a six-pack and a couple packs of cigarettes; he always gave a lot to mom, then spent the rest on Marian and her brother. Clothes, records, a new board game, whatever they wanted. And he always had such wonderful stories t:) tell them.
Toward the end of his first summer with them the card game became less frequent and he took to watching television. His favorite show was Hee-Haw and, even though she and Alan hated it, Marian would watch it with everyone else. Grampa seemed to enjoy having company while he sang along— always off-key— to the country music songs.
By fall all he did was go shopping once a week. He couldn’t help Dad much with the house for some reason, and Mom wouldn’t let him cook because she said he needed his rest.