“What do you mean?”
“Well, you see, the General’s someone who died on the property over a hundred years ago in this thing called the Civil War. You ever hear about the Civil War, Eddie?”
“No.”
“Well, I’ll explain it to you someday when you’ll understand better. But all you need to know right now is that the Civil War was this war that took place way back when our country was split in two halves—a northern half and a southern half. This property was part of the southern half back then, and the General was fighting for the southern side, and he got hurt really bad in this big battle nearby and they brought him here to try and fix him up. They couldn’t, though, and the General ended up dying.”
“No fooling, Grandpa?”
“No fooling, Eddie. There was a different house on the property back then that got burned down. But the General ended up dying right here where we’re sitting.”
“No fooling?”
“Nope.”
“So the General really is a ghost, then?”
“I’m afraid so, Eddie.”
Edmund swallowed hard. “Is he buried somewhere out back?” he asked. “The General, I mean—near Batman, maybe?”
“Naw. They took his body away. Probably buried him in a cemetery near where he lived. But I guess his ghost decided to stick around all these years.”
“Does he live in the attic now?”
“No. In the cellar. That’s why you’re not supposed to go down there and mess with my stuff unless I’m with you. The General is scared of me, you see. Won’t bother you when I’m with you, or when I send you down there alone to fetch me something.”
Edmund was silent—thinking, terrified.
“You don’t need to be scared, Eddie,” said the old man. “The General ain’t a bad fella if you don’t piss him off. Just nosy most of the time. Likes to poke his nose into your business. Especially when you’re sleeping—but only when you’re really tired and when it’s hard for you to wake up.”
“You swear you’re not making this up, Grandpa?” the boy asked. “You got that look on your face like you do when you and Rally is fooling me. Like that time you told me you guys caught a shark in Randolph’s Pond but then when I told you sharks couldn’t live in fresh water you and Rally said that you was only fooling.”
“I swear I’m not fooling, Eddie. You’re too smart a boy to fool. Besides, I would never fool about someone like the General. The General is one dangerous fella when he wants to be. Can make you do things in your dreams that you don’t want to—or at the very least he can scare you real bad. He’d never try that shit with me, though. Yeah, he’s scared of me cuz I’m bigger and stronger than he is—doesn’t dare come into my dreams cuz he knows I ’d kick his ass. You see, Eddie, only I can control the General.”
“The magic words,” Edmund said suddenly. “
“Ssh, Eddie. Remember, you’re not supposed to say them magic words out loud.”
“But you said the General is too strong for me. Will you help me with the magic words? Will you come into my dreams and kick his ass like you do in yours?”
“You’re really that afraid of him, huh?”
Edmund swallowed again.
“All right,” said his grandfather. “I’ll tell you what, Eddie. Next time the General starts messing with you I’ll come in there like I told you and I’ll say the magic words and that’ll chase the General away. Okay, Eddie?”
“Thanks, Grandpa!” said the boy, and he flung himself into his arms.
It was about two years later when Edmund learned of the medicine and began to make the connection between it and his visits from the General.
Claude Lambert kept the medicine hidden someplace in the cellar. Even as a child Edmund thought this strange, as it was labeled just like the jars and bottles in the workroom. M-E-D-I-C-I-N-E it read in big block letters that looked just like the letters with which he had written his name in the dirt behind the old horse barn.
Edmund couldn’t remember if his grandfather had taught him to write the E-D-D-I-E or if he had just picked it up from spending time with him in the workroom. However, Edmund
“What’s that?” the boy asked.
“Special medicine,” said his grandfather. “You don’t remember ever seeing this?”
“No.”
“I gave it to you a couple of times when you was little and your mother was still alive. I been giving it to you now and then in your food without you knowing. When you was hurt or sick or afraid of something so as to make you feel better. Like that time when you stuck your finger in the grinder. I gave it to you in secret then, but you felt better in the morning. Remember that?”
“I think so,” Edmund said. He’d slept like a rock that night, if he remembered correctly. And his finger felt a lot better in the morning—
“But now,” said his grandfather, “you’re a big enough boy that you can take your medicine straight without me keeping it secret. Your mother and Uncle James got the medicine when they was kids, too—James, more so. Your mother usually refused it; liked the pain better, I guess.”
“You’re not mad at me for fighting then, Grandpa?”
“Naw,” said Claude Lambert, taking a spoon from the drawer. “I’m not mad at you, I’m proud of you. Other kid did something to piss you off, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he probably deserved it then.” The old man poured the medicine. “Fighting is good for you, Eddie. Gotta learn to take your licks as well as give ’em—but only when someone gives you shit. Never go picking fights, understand? Ain’t no grandson of mine gonna be a bully. You ain’t one of them bullies at school, are you, Eddie?”
“No, sir.”
“Good boy. Just like your uncle. Next time we go visit Uncle James, you can ask him about how he used to be when he was your age. He was a fighter, too. A good one.”
Edmund didn’t really like his Uncle James. In all the years he visited him at the prison with his grandfather, James Lambert never looked at him directly—would only tighten his lips and raise his left eyebrow now and then to give the boy a once-over. And he hardly ever spoke; would only nod his head on the other side of the visitor’s glass as the old man talked, and always ended by asking if his father brought his chew.
“What he do to get in jail?” Edmund asked.
“I’ll tell you when you’re a little older,” his grandfather said, smiling. “You take this medicine now, Eddie. Only a spoonful. Never too much, never too often. It’s bad for you if you have too much too often. And it tastes shitty, too, but pretty soon the back of your head’ll be numb and you’ll forget all about the kid with the jump rope. Best of all, when you wake up in the morning the pain will be gone.”
Edmund sniffed the spoon. It smelled a little like the licorice smell that was in the den sometimes when Rally was around. But it also smelled like Pine-Sol, Edmund thought, and tasted even worse—although he had never tasted Pine-Sol.
But Edmund swallowed the medicine anyway, and pretty soon his head felt numb just like his grandfather had promised. They sat together watching TV for a while. Then, a blink forward in time, and Edmund woke up in the dark. He was in his bed, under the covers, and it was really late—he could tell by the feel of things around him. His head was no longer numb, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as before.
But now something different was bothering him. Edmund thought long and hard, staring up at the ceiling. He couldn’t see the ceiling, but he knew it was there. Just like the thing that was bothering him.
Then it came to him.
