I’ll Tell You a Story

When I was a kid, I always looked forward to Halloween. It was the one time we could get candy and enjoy the candy, fruit, and other things put into our bags. In our case, we used pillowcases.

We had no concerns about people doing bad things to the goodies that went into our bags. We not only went to people’s houses but also to the supermarkets, and they joyfully passed out candy to us.

It was fun to go up to the homes and scream, “Treat or Treat!” The parents were just as excited as we were. All the homes participated and made children feel special.

The one place I hated was passing the cemetery. I swear I could hear muffled sounds, and sometimes, I saw shadows of movement. As an adult, I know it was my imagination, but it was all very real.

We had collected enough goodies, and we would rush home, spread gains in piles, and start eating. My mother would have to tell us only to eat a little, which would make it last longer. We didn’t always listen.

One year when my mother thought I was old enough to babysit, my mother went out on a date. It was after we returned from trick or treating. She sent my brother and sisters to bed and told me I could watch television for a couple of hours, and then I was to go to bed also.

I was watching what was considered scary movies in my day. Horror movies back then had actors like Bela Lugosi as the Vampire, Lon Chaney as the Wolfman, and Boris Karloff as Frankenstein.

Today, you would laugh at what we thought was scary, but I became frightened sitting alone in a quiet house. I decided to prepare for bed. It meant walking in the dark to get to the stairs, where there was light.

I know there was no one in the house but my siblings and me, but I swear, I heard footsteps on the stairs. I threw the covers over my head and waited. It seemed my heart was going to break through my skin from beating so hard and so loud.

When nothing happened, my heart slowed down, and I fell asleep.

At some point, I awoke to creaks on the stairs. This time, I got the stick we used to prop up the window and stood behind the door. When the door knob started to turn, I was poised to strike.

The door slowly pushed open as a head went its way in. I brought the stick down and stopped just in time to keep from hitting my mother in the head.

The lesson my mother learned was to call out before entering the door of a closed room.

Well, that’s my Halloween story and the end of my thirty-one days of journaling. I will still journal sometime, but I am ready to share more articles and tips with you.

Next month, I will participate in the National November Writing Month, and I might share some of that writing here for you to read. In the meantime, beware of the ghost and goblins, and look before you bash someone’s head.

So, until tomorrow, please stay safe, and keep the faith.