Grateful for my friends,
Grateful for my family,
And other blessings.
Grateful for my friends,
Grateful for my family,
And other blessings.
It is a given —
A baby takes all you give,
And gives you back joy.
Loaded and ready to go,
Appeared to have a good start,
Then flashed a code E3,
Thus began my woe;
The washer required a $600 part
Plus labor expenses charged hourly.
Instead of wasting my dough,
I took an old go-cart,
Piled in all my dirty laundry,
Like a furious bat,
I raced to the local laundromat,
STAT . . .
I’ll be parked here for a while,
Feeling like I’m in exile,
Until there’s no more unwashed pile.
Just one day
Is not enough to say,
Thank you for keeping danger at bay
From lands so far away.
Always grateful . . .
To all the war veterans
The bash is a smash,
So much laughter and banter,
Endless libation and flirtation.
Ghouls gone wild . . .
Dracula dares to juggle for muggles,
While the mummy enjoys stuffing his tummy,
Leaving Frankenstein alone to zip through a line.
Ghouls gone wild. . .
There’s Michael Myers bragging his blade is sharper than Freddy Krueger’s,
Off in a corner is Pinhead trying to hook up with the walking dead,
And here’s Chucky who’s nobody’s doll and way too ugly for the cabinet of Dr. Caligari.
Today’s Halloween, when ghouls gone wild.
Backdrop image: Pixabay
Deep through the gnarled trees sits a shack with a broken door and half a roof that only a select few know even exists, and they never get a chance to talk about their experience. Every Halloween, a path appears to young trick-or-treaters, who follow the carved pumpkins lining the walkway up to the small porch decorated with homemade ghosts. The rundown shack is transformed into a cozy, brightly lit cottage. A smiling woman promptly greets them and invites them in. No one has ever solved the mysterious disappearances, although from years past there used to be a story behind them.
The story begins with an ailing woman believed to be practicing the black arts. A large cauldron hangs on a hook in the fireplace that dominates her small house. Whispers about her started when she would bring strangers into her home, but no one sees them leaving, or being out and about. But then again, no one has really befriended her to know the intimate details of her life.
Though what happens inside her private shelter is unknown, many have heard groans of agony that go on and on. Because the village comprises of people barely getting by on their own, they lack the energy to investigate the disturbing sounds. If they can see their kinsfolk, then all is well in their own world. The witch at the other side of town can do what she wants as long as she stays away from their business. In their thinking, better them (the strangers) than us.
One night, 10-year-old Caleb decides to sneak out to explore the cause of the whisperings about town and the whining that can’t be explained as the wind. Any warnings made to him by his parents and friends are not enough to keep him away from learning more about the woman they describe as a conjurer.
Creeping up to a murky looking window on the side of the so-called witch’s cottage, Caleb rubs the sleeve of his jacket on a lower corner of the window. His eyes widen when he sees the woman bent over someone down on the floor. From his vantage, he only sees a pair of legs encased in torn pants. An unholy wail penetrates through the thin walls. The woman seems to overpower the struggling person, whose helpless kicking eventually ceases, along with the lament. Suddenly, his surrounding is too quiet. Caleb feels the hair behind his neck prickle, as if someone is watching him. He turns around. Seeing nothing, he returns his gaze to the window. He yelps in surprise when his peering eye directly meets a dilated pupil. Fear overcomes him, as he tries to shake himself loose.
“I see you, boy.” The cackling is too close to his ear. Unable to move, he feels hands grab him.
“I seize you . . .” More cackling follows as he is carried inside the house.
“Help!” Caleb finds his voice, as the woman shuts the door and places him on a cot.
“So you want to know what goes on here, do you?” The woman’s face is a blur as Caleb’s eyes tear up from realizing his folly. Rotting smell around him makes his eyes water even more. He still cannot comprehend how he was detected.
“Eye saw you,” she says, as if reading his mind. “But Eye is getting old, so you came at the right time.” She laughs some more, as the boy’s last thoughts wonder what she means.
The next morning, Caleb’s house turns chaotic when his family notices his absence. Their efforts prove fruitless even when their friends and neighbors help search the neighborhood. The only place left to look is in the vicinity of “that woman’s house.” Feeling assured that their large number will protect them, they march to the witch’s little dwelling. As they approach the humble looking house, they hear someone chanting inside. Those facing the door start pounding on it, but the chanting continues, while the angry crowd is ignored.
The lack of response from inside makes someone in the group speak up, “Let’s just tear it down.” The crowd pounds harder until the door finally cracks open. When they barge in, Caleb’s mother weaves herself in and gasps, “Those are Caleb’s night clothes!” A child-sized shirt and matching pants are strewn on the floor, but the only person in sight is the homeowner, who continues to chant and smile at the crowd without any concerns.
“What have you done to my son?” Caleb’s mother shouts at the woman, but is hesitant to touch her as the woman doesn’t look right in the head.
Between Caleb’s clothes as evidence of his possibly being been there and the woman’s lack of communication, the frustrated crowd decides to be the judge and jury. They pull the woman outside and threaten to hang her if she doesn’t reveal Caleb’s whereabouts.
The woman only laughs and says cryptically, “He has a good eye. He makes a good watch.” She continues to laugh as they place a noose around her and give her a final warning to talk or die. Her laugh turns to a gurgle as the rope tightens and someone kicks the chair from under her feet.
A stillness settles on the crowd as they realize what they’ve done. Amid the crying of Caleb’s family and friends, the crowd disperses to go back to their homes. Since that day, no one has ever spoken of the event and nobody has dared return to the woman’s place.
As years have passed, an eyeball wedged on a tree across from the old shack continues to behold the transformation that happens every Halloween. A single tear drop falls for every trick-or-treater trapped inside the hovel.
Meghan sighs as she sees the night slipping away too soon. Almost ten in the evening and she still has no date. She swipes the photo to the left, but soon changes her mind and swipes it to the right. She reads the brief profile of the guy she decides to pursue: “Enjoys anything that rocks — rock candy, rock climbing, and hard rock. Rock me hard!” She snickers at the last sentence.
“Oh yeah, baby,” she thinks to herself.
She texts him: “What flavor rock candy you like?”
Seconds later a response comes back: “Cherry”
She texts back: “I’ve got on cherry lip gloss.”
“Yum,” flashes on Meghan’s iPhone screen.
“I wish I was somewhere listening to hard rock now,” she types in, hoping to get something going soon.
“You’re playing my tune. Want to hang out?”
Meghan likes that and keys in, “Sure . . . when?”
“Let’s face time,” he messages back and adds his number for her to call.
“Cool,” Meghan thinks as she punches in his number.
A toothy grin dominates Meghan’s phone screen. She catches her breath as her eyes rake over the green cast of the face with bulging eyeballs and stained teeth that seems to take on a countenance that doesn’t look human at all. As soon as her brain registers the freaky visage, a scream escapes through her lips, now quivering from repulsion. Laughter from the screen erupts just as instantaneously.
She throws the phone across the room, screaming and hearing the laughter. She realizes she’s just been goblined*.
*Goblined – when a person gets startled, surprised, or freaked out by a goblin; usually occurs when a person least expects it. These are Halloween times . . . the countdown begins . . .