That May evening I, Geraldine Fincher, biked down my grandparent’s long driveway. Almost 6:30 PM, the sun still shone brightly, warming me in my t-shirt and shorts. Feeling the wind in my hair gave me a great sense of adventure: something I felt that every eleven year old deserved. Sandy, St. Augustine dirt crunched slightly as I spun around and began pedaling up the driveway again. Beyond a fence, several of my grandparent’s goats watched me, their heads moving back and forth comically as they stared. Embracing the moment, I started singing a Bon Jovi song I once heard on the old radio my sister and I shared. Singing at the top of my lungs, I made up most of the words because the radio often transmitted so much static that one could barely understand any of the lyrics. Seeing my brother running towards me, I skidded to a stop.

Six year old Jeremiah, his cheeks red, asked curiously, “Geraldine, whatcha doin’?”

Smiling, I tousled his hair. I really liked that kid. “You always have been my favorite little brother, Jeremiah,” I said, evading his question.

He beamed, apparently forgetting his place as my only little brother. “Mama says it’s time for chores,” he told me, remembering his errand.

Nodding, I pedaled toward the garage. Living on a farm required lots of work. We had to milk goats, collect eggs, and gather vegetables. Parking my bike, I sighed. School had let out only two days before, and I already found myself bored. If only I lived somewhere exotic like Belize or Timbuktu! I would have loads of adventure and no tedious farm work to complete. Looking upward, I saw that the sun had started to set, and a few stars twinkled in the sky. Shutting my eyes, I made a quick wish: I wish that something exciting would finally happen to me…soon! That night I looked for the answer to my wish, hiding my disappointment when nothing unusual occurred.

At noon the next day, my older sister, Maggie, walked into our bedroom. I sat before our mirror perfecting my scowl: something I believed would come in handy someday.

Maggie stared at me for a moment as I squinted my eyes and twisted my lips to create the ideal glower.

Shaking her head, Maggie said, “Gerry, it’s time for lunch.”

No matter how many times I corrected her, Maggie still called me by that infernal nickname; I did not answer.

“Gerry, did you hear me?” Maggie asked, raising her voice a notch.

I continued to scowl into the mirror. How I loved egging her on like this!

“Geraldine!” Maggie shrieked.

Pasting an angelic smile on my face, I turned on the stool to face her.

“Oh,” I twittered, “Hello, Maggie. Did you need something?”

“I’ve been trying to tell you to come eat!” Maggie said.

Turning back to the mirror, I studied my complexion. “Oh, I thought you were talking to someone named Jerry,” I answered.

“You’re impossible!” Maggie retorted, walking out the door in a huff.

Jumping off the stool, I ran down the large staircase.

My grandmother had prepared grilled cheese for lunch. Everyone in town knew of Grandma’s grilled cheese, and many kids would often trade their entire lunch for one half of a grilled cheese sandwich that Grandma had sent to school with me. Once everyone seated themselves and Granddaddy prayed, we dug in. Multiple conversations began around the table, but I turned my attention to Granddaddy when I heard him say something about the staircase.

Noticing me listening, Granddaddy winked at me and asked, “Have you heard the noise, Geraldine?” He never called me Gerry, and I loved him for it.

Curious, I asked, “What noise, Granddaddy?”

“The noise the staircase makes,” Granddaddy answered, his eyes twinkling, “It almost sounds like singing.”

Of course, I thought, this is the answer to my wish! The staircase is haunted! Imagination running wild, I asked Granddaddy, “When does it sing? And what does it sound like?”

“I heard it last night,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “Almost sounds like an opera singer.”

“Dudley,” Grandma scolded, “Don’t be ridiculous!” She turned to me, “Eat your sandwich, Geraldine, and don’t pay him no mind.”

I finally started eating, but Granddaddy had already planted the seed.

That night I heard it. My heart raced as an eerie sound filled the bedroom. Glancing at a snoring Maggie, I walked slowly out the door. Reaching the top of the staircase, I looked around. Darkness made it impossible to see past the first three steps, but the noise traveled up from the bottom of the staircase. As I listened, I noticed that the singing would occasionally cut out for a few seconds. Finally, I roused my courage and crept down the stairs. Upon reaching the landing, I scanned the area quickly, seeing nothing amiss. I heard the noise coming from the right of me. Creeping toward the strange sound, I suddenly realized where it came from! Space between the end of the stairway and the front wall of the house made a small cubbyhole where Jeremiah and I enjoyed building forts. Walking toward it, I peered around the corner into the small space. There, on the floor, lay…the old radio.

Eating breakfast with Granddaddy the next morning, we reviewed “the details of the case.” I had already interviewed key suspects (specifically Jeremiah, Mom, and Maggie), and I had the mystery pretty much sorted out.

“So,” I told Granddaddy, spooning some grits into my mouth, “We know that Jeremiah toted the radio down the stairs when he was building a fort Friday.”

“Right,” Granddaddy confirmed, “Pass the toast.”

Handing it to him, I mused, “But who turned the radio on last night?” I looked up when Granddaddy cleared his throat.

His eyes twinkled, and he smirked. “Well,” he said, not answering my question, “Did I tell you about the gate that keeps on opening itself?”

Maybe I did have an exciting life after all.