Tapping at the Castle Grave By: Adele Griffin
Jeffrey MacDonald is currently in prison serving three consecutive life terms for the murders he committed in 1970 of his wife, Colette, and their two young daughters while they were sleeping in their home at 544 Castle Drive, Ft. Bragg, an Army base in North Carolina. But in 1975, when my family moved in around the corner from the MacDonald house, it was still officially an open case.
You didn’t have to read the headlines, though, to know that the MacDonald house was different. For one thing, it was a crime scene under investigation. Which meant that nothing in the house had been touched since the night of the murders. In hushed voices, neighborhood Moms would pass along details “… plates and cups still on the table … smashed a hole in the wall … a tiny handprint … ” And on a street alive with blooming gardens, jetting sprinklers, and Tupperware parties, 544 Castle was the one residence where the blinds stayed down, the lights stayed off, and weeds sprang from gaps in the walkway.
While nobody “officially” talked about it, rumors daisy-chained from older kids to younger kids. Eavesdropping on my teenaged babysitter was how I learned that the mother plus both girls had been beaten and stabbed—though the dad had escaped, and the killers (at the time, the theory was that it had been a Charles Manson-style crime) were still “out here.” We called it “The Murder House,” and a major truth-or-dare win was to trespass the property and collect proof—a toadstool, maybe, or a bunch of tiny white starflowers that grew wild at the MacDonald’s front stoop.
At age five, I was too young to fully understand the tragedy of the murders. I just wanted to see a ghost—and I couldn’t imagine anything sadder than sister ghosts. While some of the older kids quaked, I hoped to catch the sound of sobbing, or an unearthly whisper-whisper. And then, after an afternoon Southern thunderstorm that turned the air muggy and fragrant, I decided to pay a visit all by myself.
This was the year I liked to wear my tap shoes, for the satisfying click-clack-click they made on the macadam. I clickity-clacked down Shaw Street and then shortcut the large open field to Castle. The grass was slippery, I slid and skated, and as the house came into view, my eyes searched for something: a wraith, a face at the window before—yank! twist!—my breath popped from my lungs as I suddenly tripped and fell flat on the wet grass. The front tap of my shoe had caught in a rain gutter, and now my shoe (plus foot) was wedged between its iron bars. Confusion gripped me; the more I struggled to free myself, the sharper the pain. Nobody was nearby, and the gargle of guttered rainwater all at once sounded more eerie than any romanticized ghostly wailing.
I cried for my mother, for anybody, and in a new, blinding panic it crossed my mind that maybe the house wasn’t finished, maybe it needed to swallow up another girl, and its stillness and its silence actually had been its secret waiting for me. And now I could scream myself hoarse, but I was no match for its will. After what seemed like an eternity but was probably closer to a couple of minutes, I found my solution, to unbuckle the shoe strap and extract first foot, then shoe, from the grate. And then I ran back to 207 Shaw Street as fast as my shaking legs could take me.
My ankle was fine—not even a sprain, but my trauma didn’t mend as quickly. I never returned to the MacDonald house, and my stomach wrenched anytime I heard new gossip about it. In those few moments, I’d come closer to understanding its tragedy than any neighborhood dare could galvanize. I’d heard the sound of ghosts in my own unheard cry for help. Even to this day, I associate 544 Castle Drive with a memory that is perhaps more appropriate to the horrific events that transpired there—the raw, helpless terror of entrapment, with nobody to rescue me, or even to hear me scream.
Adele Griffin is the author of a number of books for young readers, most recently The Julian Game (www.thejuliangame.com), a novel about cyber-bullying.
The Julian Game by Adele Griffin Publisher: Putnam Juvenile (August 26th, 2010) Reading Level: Young Adult Hardcover: 208 pages All new girl Raye Archer wants is a way into the in crowd, so when ice-queen Ella Parker picks her to get back at her ex, the gorgeous Julian Kilgarry, Raye is more than game. Even if it means creating a fake Facebook identity so she can learn enough about Julian to sabotage him. It's a fun and dangerous thrill at first, but Raye hadn't counted on falling for Julian herself and igniting Ella's rage. As Raye works to reconcile the temptress Elizabeth with her real-life self, Ella serves up her own revenge, creating an online smear campaign of nasty rumors and trashy photographs. Suddenly notorious, Raye has to find a way out of the web of deceit that she's helped to build, and back to the relationships that matter. Adele Griffin's riveting novel explores the issues of generation Facebook: the desire to be someone else, real versus online friends, and the pitfalls and fallouts of posting your personal life online for all the world to judge.
Prize:
- 1 winner will receive a signed copy of The Julian Game and a Picture the Dead t-shirt.
Rules:
- You must be at least 13 to enter.
- Name and email must be provided and counts as 1 entry.
- Extra entries are possible and links must be provided.
- Contest is US ONLY and ends November 5th.
- Once contacted the winner will have 48 hours to respond with their mailing address.
- The form must be filled out to enter.
- Thanks so much Adele for the amazing story and book and shirt donation!
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