Bad Moon Rising
(Halloween Hallow)
There is something about Halloween that conjures
a deep yearning for the saccharinity of childhood. The smell of damp leaves
that have fallen leaving the once lush trees barren only accentuates the urge
to look back. As a candy-craving tot (and as an adult), I loved and looked
forward to dressing up for All Saint’s
Eve. My earliest memory is rushing straight home to stuff myself inside a
hot as the Hades of Hell plastic Dingbat costume,
complete with a suffocating mask. My parents thought it better for me to sweat
bullets while trick or treating than to come home with a face full of smeared
make-up. Less mess for them I guess, never mind my almost dropping dead in a ditch
from heat stroke in the height of October. Dummies. What am I saying? I
probably begged them for the costume. It is possible that it was on sale so
cost was a determining factor thanks to frugal Father Mine, or it was the only one that would fit
me. Take your pick. Memory is a funny thing.
Halloween belonged to me and Way Cooler
Big Sister. Even though she was probably too old to trick or treat, she was
responsible for taking me around the neighborhood. My Mother entrusted her with
her overzealous youngest, it was more like a chaperone deal for her, but for
me, it was thrilling to go running all over Cow Bay with her, alone without
adult supervision. I always felt like I was getting away with murder. Pardon
the pun. Without fail, no matter my costume, Way Cooler Big Sister always dressed as a bum. She fashioned
her last minute disguise from old clothes, towels, and bed sheets; smeared her
face with gunk and pulled a nubby winter hat down over her ears. When I was Ding Bat, when I was a pirate, when I was a punk rocker – her? A
bum. One year, to the delight of My Mother, I went as a bum too. Zero dollars
spent!
It was the same every year. Come home
from school, practically vibrating with excitement. I’d come through the side
door and Way Cooler Big Sister would have newspaper spread all over the kitchen
table for pumpkin carving, such a gloriously ghoulish ritual. We’d spend a
little time dragging the nub of pencils into the orange flesh to create our
designs and then she’d cut a top on each and we’d start cleaning. The gooey
pumpkin guts felt cold and criminal squishing through our fingers. We cackled
our way through every disembowelled pumpkin we incised. Once our pumpkins were
finished it was time to eat. My Mother would always make something quick and
easy on the day, Kraft Dinner to share, tomato soup and grilled cheese,
something we could gobble down in a hurry. It was hard to sit still at the
table, waiting for my supper, I was always so anxious to get dressed up. Way
Cooler Big Sister and I shared the massive and brightly lit bathroom mirror
while we readied ourselves. Her reflection was heads taller than mine but I
gleefully stood beside her and put myself together, watching her transform
herself into the same boring old bum from the year before. No matter, I loved
that tradition. We’d stop for parental inspection, pose for a picture, grab our
pillow cases, and head off for the main event – junk!
Walking to the first stretch of houses
she reminded me to watch out for eggs. Back then, you had to be on guard for cars
speeding by hurling warm eggs at random candy-seekers. Luckily, we were never
struck and thank flaming Beelzebub we
didn’t because she would have gone bat shit on their asses. She pretty much
knew every hooligan in town. That might have saved us. Back then, when you
knocked on a neighbor’s door a morsel if you didn’t say trick or treat you got diddley squat until did. By the end of the
night, we were sick to death of uttering the phrase but we pillaged the whole
bay stretch until our cases were so heavy you’d think we were dragging a dead
body behind us. I’d usually get weary on the way back home and plead with the
Village Hobo to carry my bounty. She’d refuse until I agitated her enough. I
was always relieved when she grabbed the pillow case from my weakling arms. Her
huffing and puffing in annoyance all the way home was worth it.
The best part of Halloween isn’t even
the long arduous task of collecting the treats but getting home, scarily
flushed, stripping out of your costume, and collectively dumping our loot,
spread all over the living-room floor. We’d sit cross-legged and assess our
sugary glut and trade each other for favorites. I traded her licorice for
Tootsie Rolls. My Mother hovered hoping to score a few candy bars. I always
gave her my caramels much to Way Cooler Big Sister’s dismay. Once I got a full
size Mars bar and I gave it to her. One year while organizing our stuff I
popped a candy kiss in my mouth. It was so tough and gooey that it sucked a
loose tooth right up out of my gum. I could feel the air hit the empty pocket
and fill with saliva. It scared the living daylights out of me so naturally I
swore. My Mother was not pleased. Way Cooler Big Sister joked and asked me how
I planned get money from the tooth fairy if it was stuck in a wad of candy. I
told her easy, I’d just set it on my night table. She shook her head and told
me if it wasn’t under my pillow I wouldn’t get any money. Me, the gullible
goblin, thought long and hard for a second and then proceeded to nibble all the
candy from around the tooth. She busted out laughing and stopped me. She said
she was just kidding, “And by the way,
there’s no such thing as the Tooth Fairy.” Evil Sorcerer. It is bad enough she
took Santa and the Easter Bunny from
me, she couldn’t leave me the Tooth Fairy!? Happy friggin’ Halloween.
And, without fail, once we were tucked
in good and tight, tummies aching from one too many samples of our rampage, she’d
relay the story about the Ouija board. The same Ouija board they all hid in the
furnace room from Father Mine who despised
them and would brain anyone stowing one away in any house of his. I used to
hide in there now and then if I got myself in a bit of hot water. I’d see it
there, out of the corner of my eye, in its dilapidated box with the broken
corners, daring me to come closer. No friggin’ way. Not after what happened the
time Way Cooler Big Sister and Rock Star Brother brazenly used it to summon the
dead.
They were in our basement in Cow Bay,
sitting in the middle of the floor near the pool table. Way Cooler Sister said
the room was dim and quiet when the each placed their trembling fingers on the heart-shaped
wooded planchette. Way Cooler Big Sister said Rock Star Brother was terrified
of becoming possessed by a demon but was curious enough to risk it. Supposedly, they asked a series of
questions and the planchette moved under their fingers to signify yes or no
answers. And then, according to Myers Family Lore, the two small basement
windows lit up with violent flames and the face of a burning girl appeared. Way
Cooler Sister said it scared the living shit out of them. They packed it up
like bats out of hell, put it back in the furnace room where they found it, and
never spoke of it again. I know for certain Way Cooler Big Sister carried a
belief and a fascination for such things but I don’t know if Rock Star Brother
does. Even after the experience he had in the living-room late one night.
Rock Star Brother, while still hanging
at home, came home late from a gig. He took a beer into the living-room with
him, sat down in the rocking chair next to the bay window, turned on the TV to
unwind before sleep. Staring aimlessly at the TV, it took him a minute to realize
the curtains had started blowing up and almost straight out by where he was
lounging. He moved to go shut the window and then froze. Our bay window back
then didn’t open. There was no air source to lift the curtains in such a way,
no vent, heater, nothing. In a jolt of holy
shit and disbelief, he powered everything down and put himself to bed. I
bet you ten bucks if you asked him about it now, he either wouldn’t remember or
admit it happened if it did. He almost shit his pants. I remember him re-telling
it like it was yesterday, the wide of his eyes, talking with his hands. Way
Cooler Big Sister asked him if the window was on fire. He cut his eyes at her,
the expression spoke louder than words. She laughed and laughed and laughed.
***
Since Halloween is tomorrow, I thought I’d
use it as an excuse to spin another little tale for my creative non-fiction
project. I miss Kelly at Halloween. She decorated and loved passing out treats
to the kids and often mingled with the neighbors. Save my kids, as in the ones I look forward to, I hate passing out candy. I can’t explain why but it has never been
my thing and I didn’t have to worry so much about it because she was down at
the door willingly. Hannah will be here tomorrow so I told her if she’s staying
the night, she was in charge of passing out the treats except for my favorite Littles.
Stay safe this Halloween. It’s supposed
to rain in this region but I hope it is a mere drizzle at least for the kids.
In propinquity,
Nic
No comments:
Post a Comment