Story-A-Day #354: All Hallow's Eve

ALL HALLOW'S EVE

Skeleton hands scratched at the window, trying to claw their way in.  Tommy pulled the blankets up closer around his neck, willing himself not to roll over in bed and face the ghastly ghoul that was trying to get into his room.  He swallowed hard, and squeezed his eyes shut tight, then tried to take a few deep breaths to calm down.  He focused on the nightlight, the superhero that radiated a soft yellow glow designed especially to dispel all things that went bump in the night.  With vengeance.  It wasn’t working.

The sound came again, a sinister scritch, scritch, scritch, at the window.  Tommy gulped and reminded himself that he was practically twelve now, too old to be scared by the creatures in the night.  He slowly rolled over, turning towards the window, as a wave of reluctant dread washed over him.  He knew that the Boogeyman was out there about to crash the window and drag his body out into the night.

Through the window, the moon grinned brightly from behind a veil of wispy black clouds; a gleaming white crescent that filled the upper right hand corner by the gently fluttering curtains.  There was nothing else out there but the moon, and the clouds, and the silhouetted shadow of the big maple tree in the front yard.  A flickering shadow drew Tommy’s wide-eyed and he almost leapt right out of his skin as his room filled with the familiar sound: scritch, scritch, scritch.

Tommy dropped his head back onto his pillow, a sigh of relief rushing from his tensely clenched chest.  It was just the tree branch rubbing up against his bedroom window in the light October breeze.  Not a skeleton, or a witch, or a vampire.  Just a tree.

He always got antsy at this time of the year, no surprise really, but it was understandable.  It was Halloween, All Hallow's Eve.  It was the one night of the year where monsters crossed over from the realm of the unreal and into the real world.

It was the best time of the year, and even though Tommy was scared, he wouldn't trade the feeling for anything.  It was a good feeling knowing that anything was possible.  Even the most horrible and ghoulish aspects of a twelve-year-old's imagination.

Halloween really was the best day of the year.  He would trade a sleepless night for a bit of terror any day of the year.  It made him feel alive.

He cast a quick glance at the glowing visage projected onto his bedroom wall by the grimacing jack-o-lantern that he had placed on his desk and smiled.  There really was no better day than Halloween.

Story-A-Day #353: Ghouls and Ghosts

GHOULS AND GHOSTS

She didn't realluy like this time of year.  It was to macadamia.  Or macabre, maybe, she always got the two words confused, but either way, the whole Halloween thing was just nuts.

Why would people rejoice in such horrible things.  Monsters and ghouls and ghosts?  It makes no sense whatsoever as to why someone would want to embrace those horrible fictions.

She was more of a Christmas person for sure: peace on earth, good will towards men.  Even Valentine's Day was better than this horrible excuse for a holiday.  Was she wrong to think that a day that centred around a celebration of love and desire was better than one that focussed on ghouls and ghosts?  Not a chance.  She would hedge her bets on a giant bunny delivering eggs before she would hedge those same bets on black cats and goblins and witches and ghosts.

Even the more innocent aspects of the holiday ritual seem despicable.  Stabbing a pumpkin and chopping into to pieces?  What is that about?

That is what she had always thought until this very day...

It wasn't at all like it was in the movies.  She didn't meet and instantly fall in love with a vampire who sparkled in the sunlight.  That series was as close as she got to watching a "horror" movie.  But really, it wasn't like that at all.  No, this was different.

She was sitting in the foyer of her deceased grandparents' house when there was a knock at the door.  At first, she figured it was someone collecting for Amnesty International, but when she answered the door, she realized that everything she had formerly believed was false.

Halloween was meant to be the time where the doorways between the land of the living and the land of the dead were at their most susceptible to crossing over.

All of a sudden, it seemed quite possible.

Story-A-Day #352: Innards

INNARDS

It's all part of the process.  And it looks digusting, but the rewards are worthwhile.  The stringy pulp is no good to anyone, but when you gut a huge pumpkin to carve it into a jack-o-lantern, remember to save some of the seeds.  Better still, save the bits you carve out; the negative space that becomes the eyes, nose, mouth, ears, or more intricate design you have selected.

Those extra pieces can become a great soup and are delicious baked with a bit of brown sugar.

The real gold mine though, is the seeds.  They are inconspicuous, even innocuous on their own, but once you have stripped them from the clinging innards of the pumpkin, they become the real treat.  It might seem gross, but that is what Halloween is supposed to be.  It is a day where we celebrate the ghoulish and the ghastly.

Digging through guts should be a pleasure.  Princesses and superheroes have no place in my Halloween.

My Halloween has always been about the scary side of things.  The things that go bump in the night.  Digging through a pile of gourd guts should be a revelation and a part of the greater celebration.  And again, the end result is always more than worthwhile.

Once you have extracted the seeds from the stringy guts of the gourd, you are ready for additional torment - you get to wait.

Let those seeds dry out, saeson them, and then bake then in your oven.  You will not regret the result.

Mostly, make sure that you relish the sensation as your fingers run through that slimy, stringy pile.  Each seed should be a small victory.  Digging through those innards is something you should carry with you from your youngest days and pass on to your youngest children.

It is all part of the process, and a part of the greatest day of the year.

Story-A-Day #351: Betsy

BETSY

Those were different times.  You probably wouldn't get it because your version of the '50s only exists in your mind based on what you have seen in the movies, but things really were different back then.   Sure they were simpler and more honest, but it was more than that.

When I was growing up, we had to work hard every day just to get by.  I'm not going to tell you that I had to walk ten miles through the snow to get to school every day and that it was uphill both ways, but things were definitely harder.

I remember saving up my money for years so that I could buy my first car.  Why did I want a car so badly?  Because of Rita Granger.  She was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, a radiant redhead, and when I did get my car, I wanted to make sure it would be a worthy chariot for my belle.

I had a problem with my plan though.  The problem was that Rita had no idea that she was my belle.  In fact, she had already sidled up with Tommy Coughlin.  He was what you might call a greaser, which wasn't really a bad thing back then, but he had a great baby blue car that he had been driving since he was fourteen.  He called that car Betsy and he was the envy of every guy I went to school with because of that car, but for me, it was all because of the beautiful Rita who clung to his arm.

When he crashed his car on Route 7, it devastated the town, but no one more than me.  Rita had been with him at the time, and she was thrown from the car.  She did not survive.  Neither of them did.

I spent a lot of time out there on Route 7 trying to figure out how my life had all gone so wrong.  I know it sounds selfish, I was still alive after all, but on the inside, I did not feel like I was.  Something had died inside of me that day as well.

I wound up buying Tommy's wreck and told everyone I planned to fix it.  I never did though.  Instead I spent all my time out there on Route 7, wishing for a way to change what had already transpired.

I still go out there every year on October 28th.  On those cold autumn nights, I sit by that bend and wait, and every year, without fail, thesame thing happens.  Everything falls silent and then the roar of an engine fills the night.  I sit there patiently and wait.  the roar grows louder and then two dots of light appear.  It's Betsy.  She roars past the place where I sit and Rita waves delightedly as the race past my spot.

There is no crash this time though, she just disappears.  It's the damndest thing, but it gives me a sense of peace seeing her as she was back then, full of vibrant life and promise.

I'll be there again tonight, waiting for my fleeting glimpse of what could have been.  I'll sit there in the cold and wait for Tommy and Betsy to deliver me my last vision of what I lost all those years ago.

Story-A-Day #350: Full Moon

FULL MOON

I've waited too long.

It was such a nice day, especially for October, and I guess i thought I could make it last.  I thought I could drag this day out just a little longer, make this a day to remember for years to come.  It will be of course, just not for the reasons I would like.

You are my world.  I mean that.  I love every aspect of you with all of my being.  I wish that were enough.  As the sun slowly sinks into the rippling lake though, I realize that loving you is not enough.

It was a great day though.  We woke up next to each other, kissed, and made love.  Is there a better way to begin a day?

We eventually crawled out from the tangled nest of sheets and showered together.  I made you breakfast: bacon, eggs, french toast, and freshly squeezed orange juice.  You laughed as I picked the eggshells out of the french toast batter - because I have to do it every time.

We spent the afternoon wandering around town, stepping into shops and planning out future purchases that we would make.  It was a delightful morning and we followed it up with a delightful afternoon.

We went to a matinee at the old theatre and held hands in the dark while the old second run print flickered on the silver screen before us.  We had an early dinner after that and proclaimed our undying love for each other once again while we waited for the bill.  And then we wandered out into the dying afternoon and made our way to the beach where we dipped our toes into the cold autumnal waters.

It is always like this when we are together, a blissful passage of time and simple moments that feel like they are the most significant experiences one could have.

You look at me now, and proclaim your undying love once again, but this time I know it cannot be true.  I feel the itch at the back of my neck, the rising hackles of a dog.  I have waited to long, and unfortunately for you that means nothing good.

I am not like other men.  I can feel the full moon creeping up over the horizon, and when it does, I will not be a man at all.

I am sorry, my dear.  I did not mean for this to happen.  I love you with all of my of my being, but my being is fractured.  There is no way this could possibly end well.

I would tell you to run, to flee to safe place, but the full moon is almost upon us.  Unfortunately, we have run out of time...

Story-A-Day #349: Happening

HAPPENING

Do you remember this place?  It doesn't look like much now, but it used to be quite the happening location.  People would come from miles around to hang out at this very place.  they would have a meal or maybe a few drinks.  rthey would dance and celebrate and ebrace the small moments in life.

People were happy here and then it all burnt to the ground.  All those dreams, all that promise, all that happiness, engulfed in huge pillars of smoke that greyed out the sunny October skies.  It was a tragedy for sure.

The official report claims that it was a simple kitchen fire, but most people know better.  Most people know that there is more to th story than that.

It happened in the late eighties, a time when the subculture was slowly becoming the mainstream.  There were whispers in town that the real cause of the fire might have been a little more sinister.  You remember those rumblings?  They were everywhere because people were trying to assign context to the tragic loss of a happy place and the 8 lives that were contained within it.

The biggest murmurs attributed the blaze to a satanic cult.  Why not?  Those pesky satanists were all over the news at the time.  Hell, they even made it onto Geraldo.

You were young the, but you remember the exhileration and excitement that came with thinking there might be devil worshipers in your own backyard.  Of course now, 20 years later, you are able to accept that the very thought of that being the actual cause is nothing more than rediculous media fueled conjecture.

You know that a black robed cult was not responsible.

As you stand beneath the rickety arch, the monument to that place, you remember that day.  You remember striking the match that lit the barrel of rendered fats and fryer oil.  You remember stepping back into the trees and watching the flames explode theough the old wooden structure.  You remember the screams, and the agony, and the complete terror on the faces of the few who did make it out safely.

You remember that moment and you smile.  Not for Beelzebub, or Satan, or Lucifer, but for yourself.

Except that you weren't really there at the time were you?  You were probably snuggled up in bed playing with your My Little Ponies at the time.  You just like to think that is how it happened because it puts you in a moment that would define who you have become.

You know that you are not a good person and putting yourself into this vignette gives you a reason for the dark black knot that lingers in your core.  Putting yourself in that moment helps define your wayward missteps over the past decade.  It helps define the monster you feel within.

By affixing yourself to that tragic moment in time, you hope to alleve the sensation that it will all be happening again.  And it will, and it is...

Story-A-Day #348: Fun House

FUN HOUSE

You think you know what is coming, but you have no idea.  Really.  It shocks me how naive you can be when it comes down to what we are doing.  Sure, on the surface, it seems like we are just another transient distraction designed to pull you from your mundane daily existence, and yet here we are again - camped out in your town and happily ensconced in your favourite park.

Naturally, our little attraction is here to give you pleasure; to you and your entire community.  That's why we are here today, and for the next few days, to provide a distraction from the asinine mediocrity that you have grown accustomed to.

What you need to know now though, is that we are ready to decimate all that you have ever known.

Here is the thing, we don't care about you specifically.  We are not concerned about your needs and wants.  What we are interested in, is your soul.

What is your soul worth to you? How much would you give to maintain the essence of who you are?

Think hard about that.  It is not a trick question.

How far would you go to maintain the essence of who you are today?

However far you think, it is not far enough.

We are here for you today, and we will be there for you tomorrow.  That is our place in this world.  We are harbingers of a new era and in our wake, we leave burnt out towns full of apathetic human shells.  You can run, but you can never hide.

Welcome to the fun house...