Entry # 24

Hotspot

By Rob Holliday

“Are you sure,” asked her husband. “I mean, those smudges could be anything.”

“Yes, Mr. Bell. I’m sure. I’ve had it reviewed by the top radiation oncologists in the country. I’m terribly sorry for this,” replied the salt and pepper haired doctor with kind eyes.

She sat there, the ongoing conversation muffled by the cotton ball shock that muffled her hearing. Again? This can’t be right. Yes, of course it’s right. Did you think it would simply go away? It’s not a scolded dog, it’s cancer.

The doctor continued, “We wanted to be sure because our treatment options are…limited, thus the reasoning behind the PET scans. And you can see here,” indicating the printed images of her body lit up with fluorescent glow, “this hotspot here is more than likely the genesis location for the metastasis, these smaller hotspots are simply where the growth has become more aggressive.”

Her husband leaned in, an urgency in his voice, “So what do we do now? You know that funds aren’t a problem, so where do we go from here?”

She watched her husband and the doctor have a polite conversation about her impending death. Granted, her husband spoke in hopeful terms and the doctor replied with gentle candor. She stood up to leave and both men stopped talking.

“I’m ready to go now. Doctor, can we come back again to discuss what options I do have? I’m feeling a bit…overwhelmed.”

Both men stood. “Of course Mrs. Bell. I’ll consult with my colleagues and we can have a follow up discussion tomorrow or whenever suits you best. Of course, we’d like to provide you some time for making decisions so the sooner you have the options, the sooner we can begin to plan our way forward.”

She replied, unable to focus on his face, “Thank you. We’ll return tomorrow.”

She turned to go as her husband spoke with the doctor in muted tones. “Milton, please, we can discuss this more tomorrow. I’d like to go get some ice cream.”

Her husband shook the doctor’s hand and turned to his wife near the door to leave. “Of course, sugar, I’m sorry. Thanks again, Doctor, we’ll see you tomorrow.”

They left the office, their hands intertwined. They arrived at the convertible coupe, the top still up. “Milton, let’s put the top down, it’s nice enough, don’t you think?”

“So long as you won’t get chilled, love, it’s fine with me. Let me get the blanket from the trunk.” He opened her door for her, shut the door and went to the trunk. He retrieved the ultra suede and fleece blanket and got in the car and tucked her under the blanket. He fired the engine, a throaty growl coming from the exhaust. She laughed out loud.

“My, I’ve never noticed how wonderful a sound that is. That rumble that just says, ‘Let me out, I’m ready to run’. Let’s go for a drive today. Can we do that?”

“Of course. What about ice cream?”

“Yes, that too. Let’s drive down the coast and stop at our pier for ice cream, hmm?”

“You got it.”

He popped the roof locks, stepped out for a moment as he retracted the roof and secured it under the tarp in back. He hopped back in and backed up the red 1952 Jaguar C-type with a goose to the gas and transitioned to drive, letting the wheels spin a bit, gravel rocketing away. He glanced at her, admiring the girlish grin on her face. She looks 17 again. Oh to go back and be that age again.

He maneuvered through town and made it to the seaboard highway and let the motor open up. The sky offered azure blue with a golden orb, clear and crisp. He leaned over to her, she turned her head to him and he pecked her on the lips. “I love you”.

“I love you too.”

They glanced back and forth at each other, savoring the day, preserving each look in their minds eye as a snapshot for all eternity. He looked back to the road to see the 50-ton Peterbilt rig storming down on them, the driver drifting with fatigue.

He caught his breath as she offered a near paralyzed gasp and turned the coupe sharply to the right, both of them closing their eyes as the grill of the truck beared down on them.

They opened there eyes and found themselves careening onto the shoulder, his reaction to shift to neutral and steer back toward the road before catching the guardrail and plummeting over into the Pacific. The car came to a jolting halt, both of them catching their breath. They turned to each other.

“Oh my gosh, dear, are you okay” from each to the other. “Yes, I’m fine.”

They paused and both laughed out loud. “Wow, talk about a day of extremes, worst luck, best luck, “ she offered.

He smiled at her resilience. “Still want that ice cream?”

“Yes. And now you have to buy me two scoops and jimmies on top, just like we did at the boardwalk back home.”

“You got it.”

He checked his mirrors with a small laugh and gunned the Jag back out on to the highway. They arrived at the pier as the sun slipped beneath the covers of the horizon for another evening, the pier lights magical.

“Well, I’ll be. It’s nearly deserted. Lights are on though, should be able to get that ice cream still.”

They walked arm in arm together, her head on his shoulder as they strolled down the pier toward the ice cream house. Drawing only a couple strange glances from passersby, they knew their romance was anachronistic. They didn’t care. Nor did he care about the strange look from the young man who served her the two scoops of ice cream with jimmies. They strolled to the end of the pier and sat down together, watching the sun’s final glimmers as the night sky rolled out a starry carpet, the shy moon waiting for its turn.

She offered him a bite of her ice cream, which he gladly took. He offered some of his butter pralines and cream, from which she took a healthy bite, leaving a milky swipe on her nose. He touched it with his napkin, leaving her clean. He didn’t notice the bloody mess it left behind on the napkin. Nor did he notice the other couple leaving the end of the pier in a hurried step, glancing back at them as they left.

“I guess this generation has forgotten romance, they simply don’t see enough of it,” he reflected.

“You’re right. But maybe some of them will learn. Who knows, after seeing us, maybe they’ll think more highly of it, you think?” she inquired in reply.

“I don’t know. We can hope. But in the meanwhile, I’d just like to enjoy our ice cream. I love this spot. Do you remember…”

“Of course, I do. It was right here that you first told me you loved me.” She leaned in for a kiss, which he obliged with chaste vigor, she still his cherished love. She didn’t notice the gore he left behind on her lips but took another bite of her ice cream instead.

“I think this would be somewhere I could stay forever, Milton. But only if you’d stay too, of course.”

“You couldn’t drag me away from you or this place. Forever it is.”

Back up the highway, a young officer collected up the papers caught in the brush along the guardrail.

“Hey Billy, whatcha got?”

“Found some papers, must have flown out of the car. Looks like medical papers of some sort.”

“Well, see if it has a name on them, check for two. Not sure how easy it’s going to be to identify them once we get the wreckage untangled from that semi rig. Too bad about the car, this was a classic. We got a partial plate and looks like a man and a woman in there, but that’s all for now.”

“Yeah, here it is. Josephine Bell. And… emergency contact, husband Milton Bell.”

“Alright, I’ll call it in. And check for any doctor’s or such, maybe there’s someone we can call.”

“Yep, right here. Doctor Ted Yates, oncology at All Saints. Man, look at this, the diagnosis. You think they felt anything when the rig hit? May have been a blessing in disguise I suppose.”

Diagnosis: Recurrent pancreatic carcinoma, stage IV. Prognosis terminal, expectancy 1-3 weeks.

Entry # 23

Marker

Bump!

Bump!

The noises woke him up from a dead sleep and that wonderful dream. What a nice one it was too with that brunette who was so damned hot! The sun, the water, sailing along and making love on the deck. Hmm hmm! He smiled a few moments as his thoughts revisited the dream.

Even better, in the dream he didn't have any gray hair which was so nice. Wish I could have that in real life.

Bump!

Hearing the sound again caused him to sit up in the bed and look around the room. The French doors into the bedroom looked just like they did earlier in the day except for the hallway shadows.

I've got to get some curtains for those doors soon.

That was something the realtor had mentioned when he was looking at the house he remembered. After several weeks waiting for the closing it was one of the things he didn't focus on. Somehow they went from looking charming to something that was kind of disturbing especially with that applique spider web  attached to them.

Getting up Josh went to the window and looked out. Nothing was there! The October chill however was very noticeable, he had to get a bathrobe soon.

First night in a new place, I'm sure I'll get used to it and what in the hell is making those noises I'm hearing?

Making his way back to the bed he heard it again.

Bump!

Bump!

The hair on his arms and the back of his neck stood on end. This was definitely getting on his nerves. Rousing himself from the bed he made his way over to the window once again. An eerie feeling came over him, his stomach twisting within him. Just before he reached the window he heard the sound once again.

Bump!

Bump!

Pulling the curtain back he peered out of the window. Noticing the branch blowing back and forth eased his concerns. Seeing it hit the window casement eliminated it almost completely for the moment. He let the curtain fall back in front of the window then he headed back to bed.

Sitting down on the edge of the mattress he still felt on edge. His stomach hadn't quite completely calmed down yet. Willing it to stop churning just wasn't working.

Bump!

His ears pinpointed where the sound was coming from this time. Groaning, he rose to his feet and stepped over to the window to look out again. Man, this is getting tedious!

Pulling back the curtain he was seeing some kind of glowing ball that was floating. It faintly lit the concrete of the driveway and the light fog. Attention riveted, he watched it float on by. He wanted to go out to touch it but yet was frozen in amazement. Slowly, it moved along to the garage door and then over the privacy fence.

Josh stood there a few minutes to see if anything else would happen but it didn't. Mystery temporarily solved he went back to bed. Laying down he fell into a dreamless sleep for the rest of the night.

Waking to a bright shining morning the events of the evening were still fresh in his mind. Dressing quickly he went out to the driveway past the plastic carved pumpkin by the door. He followed the path of the glowing ball to where it went over the fence. Peeking over it to the other side he now could see something that he didn't notice when he looked at the house.

Why didn't I see those before?

Row upon row of grave markers greeted his vision. The graveyard was accented by the fall colors of the trees surrounding it. He realized he might have quite a few more rather unwelcome visitors if he stayed.

Why did I have to move in the day before Halloween? Is it too late now to get out of that contract?

Entry # 22

The Time Travel Jeep

by Stephanie Karfelt

It is so weird coming back to my hometown. The Laundromat is now an art gallery. Abstract zombie nudes are displayed facing Main Street, next to Rockwellian oil paintings of apple trees. The corner store’s become an upscale coffee shop full of white people with dreadlocks. Sipping my skinny, non-dairy, salted caramel latte, I’m torn between nostalgia and caffeinated bliss. The Jeep struggles as I mercilessly accelerate, running a yellow light. I laugh. Norman, Ohio has gone hipster. Never saw that one coming.

Forgetting to slow for the railroad tracks the Jeep bounds recklessly over, the satellite radio cuts out in the middle of White Stripes. Coffee splatters over my sweater. I wipe it off with a sleeve. Blotches now dot it. The family will notice. They’re going to be checking me for crow’s feet, and taking bets on whether I’ll ever marry again or just get a cat.

Oh, God. My heart sinks into my stomach. I shove the coffee towards the cup-holder, spilling it all over the console. I don’t care. A four-lane highway now takes up what used to be a farm and Gram’s house. I yank the steering wheel and the Jeep skids into the parking lot of a brand new gas station. I park about where Gram’s rose bushes used to be. Leaning my head against the steering wheel, I know I shouldn’t have come here. Gram died in a nursing home three days ago. Seeing the house gone makes it worse, like she’s been erased. I miss her. Selfishly need her advice. What would she tell me to do? She wouldn’t, she’d feed me spice cake and tell me to get a cat.

Static AM music scratches from the speakers. MC Hammer’s ‘U Can’t Touch This’. “Not even,” I slap the dial, silencing the radio. What is wrong with the satellite radio? I didn’t hit the railroad tracks that hard! Then everything changes. The gloomy overcast day is suddenly full-on sunshine. Blinking against it, I try not to see that the gas station is gone. I’m parked in the middle of a half dead rosebush of mammoth proportions. The backside of Gram’s butterscotch colored house is in front of me. Most of the leaves are off the Maple tree, and the yard needs raked. There are clothes hanging on the clothesline even though it is the end of October. I’ve had a stroke. Oh my gosh, I don’t want to have had a stroke. I’m too young for a stroke.

I nab my keys and root for my cell, coffee drips from it. I clean it with my doomed sweater, and slide it into a pocket. Swinging the door open, I get one leg out before it rebounds in Jeep fashion, against my leg. The smell of Maple leaves mixes with a familiar scent of baking, Gram’s poppy-seed cake. My eyes tear up and I slide out. I’ve had a stroke, I’m dead and this is heaven. Norman, Ohio is heaven. Never saw that one coming. I slam the door shut. Thorns jab through my pants, snagging the material. Automatically I stuff my keys into my pocket, and pat the other making sure I didn’t forget my phone. Like I’m going to be using it here. Is there cell reception in heaven? I’m about to test this theory when Gram comes around the corner of the house. She stops and stares at me. She’s alive and healthy, wearing her green housedress with her stockings rolled around her ankles. It used to be the in thing, back in the day, she told me that once.

“Lizzy? Is that you?” The sound of her voice makes me cover my mouth and start to cry. That’s my grandmother!

“Why did you park in the backyard? Elizabeth Marie, get out of my rosebushes! Those were my Mother’s! I brought a clipping with me….” Back in…carried in a handkerchief.... I echo the lecture inside my head. I remember this one! “Move it! What is wrong with you?” she grouses. I run across the yard and hug her hard. She smells like mint julep shampoo and laundry soap, like Gram, she pushes away and frowns. Her perceptive grey eyes are exactly as I remember, I don’t even care that I’m dead.

Poking me right in the middle of the chest she asks, “Why aren’t you at work? You’re gonna get fired.”

“Gram? I…” I trail off, what do I say? I’m dead, we’re dead. Doesn’t she know? Why doesn’t she know?

“What’s wrong?” she’s frowning. “You look so…tired,” she finishes diplomatically.

“I’m on my way to a funeral.” I touch her.

She makes her “tsk” sound, grabbing my arm. “Want a piece of poppy seed cake? You look skinny.” She’s my favorite person ever. We round the corner of the house and her old rat terrier comes barking. I’m not in heaven. Duke would never have made the cut. I still have the scars he gave me last time I gave him a bath. Bit me right on the nose. Duke died…I try to remember, it was before Gram started to forget. She opens the screen door and her cat wraps itself around my legs, purring. It died long before Duke. The wallpaper in the kitchen is outdated. Gram takes plates out of the cupboard and cuts the familiar poppy-seed cake. I can never make it like hers.

“Will you give me the recipe for this?”

“Since when do you cook?” she teases.

“Jon always loved it when you made it. He said it wasn’t the same when I make it.”

“Who?”

I almost answer, almost say ‘Jon, my husband who died,’ but can’t. My gaze moves to the kitchen table. Gram’s Scrabble board is set up. She always spent hours a day playing Scrabble by herself, trying to talk one of her many visitors into a game. Next to it is the newspaper. The front page has an article about the dawning of the computer age. It’s dated October 31, 1990. I was eighteen years old in 1990. I sit down at the table. Gram slides a slice of cake at me.

“Now who died? You didn’t tell me you were going to a funeral this morning.” I lived with Gram in 1990. Am I in heaven? Or 1990? It definitely can’t be both, I remember 1990.

“And whose car did you park in my rosebush?”

I take a bite of her cake. Maybe 1990 is heaven.

“Gram, do you want to play Scrabble?” Her smile lights her face. I’ve missed that smile, she forgot it years ago. Scooting her plate towards the Scrabble board, she warns, “Mix up the letters before you pick them. No cheating.”

Time slows. Gram puts ‘Oxter’ on the board, pats my hand and gets up to make tea. I’m leaning towards heavenly 1990. Then a car pulls into the driveway. Tearing out from under the table, Duke conks his head on a chair, barking like the idiot he is. I’d forgotten he did that! I think I’ve missed him too. Jumping up and down, he wets a bit. No, I didn’t miss him. Standing, Gram plunks letters on the board and gives me her Scrabble victory smile. Obovoid.

“Is that really a word?” I try to check if it is really a word on my cell, but there’s no reception in Heaven, or 1990. The dog barks so loud, I go to the door and look outside. It’s my Uncles. I shove through the door and we hurry outside.

They’re digging in the trunk of a convertible. I remember this car! Slamming the lid, they look at me. I stare back at them, suddenly not sure. These are my Uncles, I decide after a minute. Except they’re young, and good looking. My stroke theory makes a comeback. It can’t be normal to think your Uncles are attractive. Definitely a stroke. Duke is jumping up and down, nipping at my handsome Uncles. Gram holds onto the railing to step off the porch.

“Go move your car!” she orders me, explaining. “Lizzy parked in my rosebush!”

I dart forward and kiss her. She grins.

“You better not have wrecked my flowers.”

I race for the backyard and Duke chases, snapping at my feet. We both hop into my Jeep. He starts licking the spilled coffee off the console. I don’t care why or where, I’m glad I’m here. I slam the door shut and everything disappears. The sunshine is gone and I’m staring at the Quik-Fil gas station again. My cell rings in my pocket. Automatically I dig it out and answer. It’s my sister.

“Lizzy? You’re late, the funeral started! And Uncle Nick is telling everyone you stole Duke and lied about it for years. I said I took that dog to be put to sleep myself. Do you think Alzheimer’s is genetic?”

Slowly I turn to look. Duke shows me his teeth. Not exactly a cat. Never saw that coming.

Entry # 21

Silence 
(Short Halloween Story)
By: A.H. Browne

He awoke in the middle of the night. Unaware as to what had awoken him. Looking around his room yielded no results as to why he should have been woken up. 
Casting sleep aside, he threw the covers to one side and got out of bed to use the bathroom. As he came back, he realized something was wrong. Something inside him—an alarm—went off. He didn’t know what. He couldn’t figure it out. There was something though. Something not right. 
Silence. …
It was silent.
Too silent.
It was the middle of the night. But… this was different. It shouldn’t be this quiet. Something was off. 
The power in the apartment. It was not on. 
No big deal, he thought. Probably just a power outage. 
He walked over to the window and looked out. The whole neighborhood seems to be out.
Walking towards his battery powered radio, he turned it on.
Silence…
What the hell is going on? He thought to himself, a little unnerved. 
There was something else though. Something else that was bothering him. Something not quite right in his apartment… 
Where were his dogs? He owned two large cumbersome male Dobermans. They weren’t under his feet as was normal. Those logs always blocked his pathway to the bathroom and refused to move during the night. He always managed to trip over them. But they weren’t in his apartment. So where did they go? 
He wandered around the entire apartment; he didn’t see them anywhere. Calling their names yielded no results. This wasn’t like them. They hid from absolutely nothing and always were by his side. But where were they now?
No electricity. ... 
No dogs. …
No radio. …
Complete and utter silence surrounded him.
He grabbed his keys; a flashlight—checking to make sure it worked; and walked out into the hallway. Locking the door he went into the hallway to find his dogs and figure out what was going on. 
They weren’t in the hallway or anywhere to be found; by once again, calling their names. 
But the neighbors’ apartment doors were wide open. … All of them. As many as he could see up and down the hallway. 
He knocked on the nearest neighbors’ door and walked inside, calling their names, flashing the light around. 
No response.
Their electricity was off just like had been in his apartment. He couldn’t find their cat; calling its name produced no hairy glob running to greet him. 
He walked into the bedroom still calling out to them—as well as their cat. Pushing open the bedroom door, he saw. …

Nothing. 

They weren’t in their bedroom. They weren’t anywhere in their apartment. 
He went back into the hallway; continuing to walk through the hallway and each apartment as he came to them. No electricity in any of them. Using his flashlight produced no help in finding people hiding in corners, animals scurrying underfoot; nothing. 
No animals.
No people.
No electricity.
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
Where did everyone go?
What happened to the electricity?
What the hell is going on?
He walked out into the cool night air of the city. There was nobody outside. There was no electricity as far as the eye could see. 
He walked into the middle of the street as his flashlight gave out. He banged it against his hand a couple times, but it was done for. 
As he stood there—glancing up and down the street—a slight fog slowly crept quietly along the street.
Silently it slid in along the street as it came ever closer to him. He stood watching, unsure of what exactly was happening. Unsure of what he should do, but remaining transfixed on what was coming his way. 
The fog seemed to grow thicker as it enveloped him. No longer able to see through it, he felt something cold and slimy glide along his body, grabbing at him as it gathered around him. …

Then it was gone. 

A horn blared at him from the street as a car slammed it brakes to avoid hitting him. 
“What’s your problem?! Get out of the damn street you crazy jerkoff!!” The driver shouted at him as he jumped onto the sidewalk near his building and out of the way; dropping his flashlight into the street as he did. 
He looked around to see lights on, people walking the sidewalks, and everything was … back to normal. 
He looked around, trying to figure out what had happened. People simply walked past him as they went about their nightly stroll. He could see nothing amiss. 
He turned and headed back to his apartment. He reached for the door handle to his apartment building, but it wasn’t there. He looked around as an ear shattering scream broke the silence. It seemed to surround him, causing him to quickly cover his ears with his hands as it grew in pitch and became deafening. He saw absolutely nothing when he looked around. There were no buildings; no street … nothing. 
The fog appeared again as he felt something running through his fingertips—that were pressed against his ears—and down his cheeks. He pulled his hands away and saw blood. 
The scream continued to pierce his brain as the fog enveloped him once more. Unable to run, unable to make a sound, he was helpless as he felt the thousands of slimy cold hands wrapping around his body. The screaming only increasing as the hands tightened their grip. … 



She awoke in the middle of the night. Unaware as to what had awoken her. 

Entry # 20

Halloween Tackle

By Gregory Hart

When I was a kid, I was almost scared of everything that goes bump in the night. The best analogy that I can give you is that of me being like Shaggy and Scooby Doo but without all the eating. Hahaha!!! Anyway there was one Halloween where I dressed up as a ghost and usually my mother was the one who took me trick or treating while my dad gave out the treats to those who came to our house. But this night was going to be different because my mother happened to get sick and she was the one left to give out the treats, while my dad took me trick or treating. He didn't know all the houses that I normally went to so we ended up going to all the houses in the area. So needless to say, I got a lot of candy that year.

There was this one house that went out in the Halloween decorations and with the tricking part of Halloween and me and mom always knew this and because I scared easily when I was a kid, never stopped at the house. Well my dad stopped at this one house even after me telling him not to stop there. After much convincing on his part, I finally caved in. I was thinking at this point, what harm would it do me? Boy was I ever wrong in thinking that.

I get out of the car and begin making my way up to the door, spooky lighting and music playing in the background somewhere. The front yard has an oak tree and in front of the oak tree was a raised flower bed that would now go little pass my knees. I had to pass this flower bed to get to the house.

Unknown to me, the owners of the house had raked up a lot of leaves from the tree and put them into a pile behind the flower bed. In the pile, they had covered someone up underneath them. I'll come back to this bit later. As I continued up towards the house, I heard a bunch of leaves being rattled. I stopped and looked around me, satisfied nothing was wrong, I continued on to the house.

Two steps later, I heard the noise again. This time I stopped and took my time looking around again but this time looking in the tree branches themselves, thinking that a cat or some animal was in it making the noise. When I didn't see anything, I naively continued on to the house for the candy. Here's where the pile of leaves came in. I took two more steps and the next thing I realize is Dracula is coming out of nowhere and he was heading for my direction.

Well, I screamed and began running away from the house. Not only was I was running away from the house, I was running away from the car as well. From behind me I heard the owner yelling at me Hey! Come back here! Don't you want your candy! Needless to say, at this point, I didn't care about the candy. All I was thinking was HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO GET OUT OF HERE WITH A MADMAN CHASING ME AND TO HELL WITH MY CANDY!!! I kept going and wasn't going to stop for anything, including for my dad who was now calling for me to come back to the house.

I would have left the yard too if it wasn't for someone tackling me to the ground to get me to stop running. I was kicking and screaming so hard for them to let me go all the way up to the front door of the house, which come to find out it was my dad who had tackled me. He and the owner of the house spent the next five minutes or so trying to calm me down and explain to me that it was all a joke and there was nothing going to hurt me. 

Well after everything was said and done, my mom had a kick out of telling my dad to listen to me the next time when I said I didn't want to stop there. One thing was certain; he never took me trick or treating again after that. It's one of those memories that I'll never forget. As for all that candy that was still in my bag, it was a miracle that I never lost any as hard as I hit the ground when I was tackled.

Entry # 19

Just One Night

By Amy McNamara Fraher

It was a crisp night; the wind howled, not a single star in the black velvety sky, and yet the moon appeared as if it was gigantic orange ball. The month was October, the month for ghosts and ghouls, the month that celebrates the day of the dead, the month that some say is brought on by Satan; but for most it is the month for sweet, yummy, and oh so delicious holiday known as Halloween. From the very first day of this wonderful month; and for some it may start even earlier than that, the ideas of costume and decorations start to unfold. Children began to concoct just who or what they want to be, the layout of their path of which houses have the best treats, the practicing of saying that perfect phrase, “Trick or Treat… Please”. Adults climb into their attics, basements, and garages to collect their desired yard ornaments; may they be spiders, witches, zombies, or just a typical pumpkin. Lights and cords alike are strewn across the yards, devious carvings of the pumpkins displayed by the front door, “Beware of the Dead” signs entail the walkway, and as for the entry way – the pit of all things good – is usually donned with a fall-like wreath or a wickedly decorated welcoming of some sort.

Welcome to the world of Halloween! Or as Emma liked to call it, Welcome to the world of the “best-est” holiday ever! Well with the exception of Santa Clause and Christmas… Emma was seven years old, Emma loved candy, and most of all Emma loved Halloween. To go to the local outlet store and gaze at costume after costume, her mind changing every time she saw one that had a pointy hat, which donned glittery wings, that came with a tail and cat-like ears; the decisions that had to be made. Does she carry the typical pumpkin container, does she bring her pink pillowcase that she used last year that held tons of candy, or does she pick something new? The right container says it all in regards to candy volume; no candy too small due to it getting lost in the shuffle, no candy too large since that is valuable wasted space. Now that Emma had just the right costume, just the right container, and with her dad’s helps finding just the right path; her goal was to get the most candy ever in the few hours that Halloween existed!

As the clock strikes with the small hand on the six and the big hand on the twelve it is show time. Emma dressed head to toe appearing as a young vampire; her costume existing of a long black silky dress, and a matching long black silky cape with red on the inside, her hair twisted back so you could see her pale white skin and blood red lips enclosing her white vampy teeth, her hands adored black spider rings, with the final touch of a small rubber bat riding shot gun on her left shoulder – Buford was his name.

“Dad, it’s time! I don’t wanna be the last kid out the door! Dad!” Emma shouts.

As Dad grabs himself a flashlight and Emma’s red glow stick he replies with the usual “I’m coming! I’m coming!”

Out the door they go, pre-drawn map that Emma herself drew of the neighborhood in one hand and a black plastic cauldron in the other hand, with Dad trailing behind. As each house was approached Emma prepared for her moment; cape on straight… check, teeth in correctly… check, cauldron positioned in left hand (right hand was for ringing the doorbell)… check, all systems were a go!

“Trick or Treat! Please…” Emma proudly says to the elderly woman sitting on her porch swing, of course making sure her goody basket was duly noted.

“My, just look at you, it seems I have been visited by a mystical creature of the night,” noted the elderly woman, and just as she noticed Emma’s costume Emma noticed the two mini snicker bars placed in her bucket. Emma said her farewells and moved on.
After going from house to house and neighborhood to neighborhood, her pointy black boots were beginning to hurt her feet; not only that but Dad was seeing wear and tear on his as well. Emma couldn’t wait to get home and dump out all her goodies on the table, she would divide them into various categories like “the good stuff” (candy bars, starbursts, and twizzlers) “the grandma candy (the kind that the elderly have had around forever and none dares to eat), “the chewies” (gum, tootsie rolls, caramels), “the teeth breakers” (lollipops, jawbreakers, and fireballs), and finally the strangest items left were “the no-eat-ums” (Halloween pencils, Halloween erasers, and small silly toys… like MORE spider rings).

As Emma and Dad approached the house the street was filled with many visiting children seeking their own treats. Mom and big brother were handing our infamous popcorn balls out to a devil, a witch, and two princess fairies.

Emma went into the house and kicked off her boots, you could hear the swoosh of her bucket emptying onto the floor followed by squeals of delight.

“Emma, did you get me any Kit Kat bars? Emma…” Mom asked.
When Mom received no reply, she went into the living room to find Emma fast asleep amongst all of her Halloween treats; probably dreaming of more spider rings.

Entry # 18

This Old House

By

Paul Freeman

The old house looked the same, all crumbling mortar and rotten timbers, even the overgrown ivy appeared no different. He allowed himself a self-satisfied smile, who would have guessed, he thought to himself, that he would come back after all these years and buy the old heap. His eye was automatically drawn to an upstairs window, a dark gaping hole in the off-white wall.

Somebody had boarded up the front door and downstairs windows, they needn’t have bothered, nobody from around here would set foot inside the place. He remembered growing up in the area, none of the kids would come near this place, even the bravest of them were petrified of the old house. It was still considered ‘the old house’ back then, he smiled as he remembered.

The place was haunted, they said. ‘Don’t go down there or the White Lady will get ye.’ Some swore they had seen her, looking out from that top window, dressed in white. There were countless sightings and rumours, ‘walk three times around the house at midnight, on the night of a full moon and she’ll appear,’ they said. ‘Old Mick saw an English man do it back in the fifties. The man was never seen again.’

All nonsense of course, superstitious rubbish. He believed it as a kid though. He even thought he had seen her himself. He had accepted a dare to go into the house, he didn’t want to but he was thirteen and there was a girl to impress, he could not turn down the challenge. He got as far as the front door when he heard a creak, he imagined a rope swinging from the rafters, when he looked up there she was. Her white gown floating in the breeze. She was staring at him, two black pits for eyes, that look turned his insides to ice. He ran and ran, to hell with impressing girls. He cried all the way home. He could laugh now.

They even had a name for the ghost, Mary McGuire, maid, married and widowed all in one day. The story goes; it was during the Irish civil war, the Irish rebels had fought the British army to a standstill and a ceasefire was declared. The Irish sent a contingent to London to negotiate a peace treaty, that treaty resulted in the island being divided, twenty six counties were set free, six remained under the control of the British. This sparked a civil war between pro-treaty and anti-treaty factions. Setting brother against brother, father against son. Ironically the pro-treaty side who formed a government used British guns against their former comrades.

The story doesn’t say which side Mary McGuire’s new husband fought for, only that on the evening of her wedding he was called away, there was an ambush and he was shot dead. So, a widow on her wedding night. They say she was distraught upon hearing the news and was found hanging from the ceiling of the bridal chamber the next morning. Every night since she comes down off the rope and comes to the window searching for her lost love.

He shivered at the memory of the old ghost story. She’s going to have to find somewhere new to live, he thought to himself, his construction firm had big plans for this place and there was no room for ghosts in the new development.

He kicked in the door and stepped inside into the darkness. It smelled of decay and neglect, the staircase in the hallway was rotten away, even the ceilings had gaping holes, he could see right through them. It’s about time this place was demolished, he thought.

He heard a creaking noise, a shiver ran down his spine. He felt a breeze on his face, he swung around his eyes opening wide in shock. He couldn’t breathe, his chest felt as if someone had stabbed him in the heart with an icicle.

Falling…falling…blackness.

*****

The old house looked the same. The estate agent felt an odd, unpleasant sensation every time he came out to the place.

“So what happened to the previous owner?” A voice interrupted his thoughts

“It’s a strange story, he was a local lad, made it big up in Dublin with his own construction company. He came back here a few years ago with big plans to develop this site into a shopping centre. Then he just disappeared,” the estate agent answered the young couple.

“How very odd,” the woman said.

“Hasn’t been sight nor sound of him in years. The company just want to get rid of the place now,” the estate agent shrugged.

“Well that’s to our gain so, we really like this village and plan to start our family right here,” the man said, smiling at his wife.

“Well, she’s all yours, come by the office later and we’ll sort the paperwork.” They shook hands and the estate agent left the couple to wander around their new property.

As he walked from the overgrown garden he glanced back. What was that in the window? He knew all the old stories about the house, every local did. He wondered should he have said something to the new owners… and have them laugh at him for spouting such superstitious nonsense? He shook his head at his own foolishness and with a wave left them to it.