My Halloween Memories (Melissa Robbins)

Halloween is my second favorite holiday. Columbus Day has the first spot. Oh, I jest. It's Christmas.

Anyway, I grew up in the northeast where Halloween was hugely popular. Every year, my family would pile into our gray station wagon and drive along the windy road through the woods to Butler's Orchard. Sitting in the “way back,” my sister and I looked out for the ghosts and witches hanging from the trees.

Soon the woods gave way to a large opening where hay bales and pumpkin sculptures abounded. Pumpkins were painted and dressed as famous characters. I remember Snoopy laying on his doghouse as being my favorite.

After admiring the sculptures, my family rode a hayride to a large field where everyone could choose their perfect pumpkins. Serious business for my family. Round and fat? Long and skinny? My sisters and I always wanted the biggest pumpkin we could find.

Before leaving Butler's Orchard, we stopped at the Farm Market for other fall supplies. They had the best apples and apple cider. The funny shaped gourds amused me. Mom would select small pumpkins to make pumpkin pie. It amazed me that she could get pie filling out of a pumpkin.

The big day was just as special. Dad carved the pumpkin and Mom had our costumes ready after spending hours making them. I can remember being a mouse, scarecrow, pirate, angel (twice), witch, and a Cabbage Patch Kid (showing my age with that one).

Every house gave out candy and my sisters and I attacked every one. Okay, maybe not every house, but it was not from lack of trying.

I still dress up for Halloween. I do it for my kids. Nodding head. I want them to love Halloween as much as I do. I may even sew a costume or two.

As writers, we create our own worlds that come alive on paper. Halloween allows those worlds and words to jump off the page. Hmm. My sisters are writers too. I wonder if there is a connection between a love of writing and a love of Halloween.

One October Night

A friend and I had an interesting experience one October years ago. We were in our late teens and had just arrived at a weekend retreat hosted by a church camp. It was dark, and while the immediate area where people were arriving was lit, the edges where there were woods and a creek were rather creepy. I looked up and happened to glance at a cabin set on the creek at the edge of the woods.
"Hey, I said to my friend, "What are those two guys doing out there?
They look like they have some kind of light suits on."
"Wow, those are awesome, let's go see."

We walked toward the two guys, noticing how they were standing. One had his profile to us, leaning against the doorpost of the cabin with one foot propped up on the doorpost, knee sticking out. The other stood next to the first, feet shoulder length apart, arms akimbo. They looked like they had bright white neon lights from head to toe. All we could see was the lights, no features.

At that moment, another friend ran up to greet us and we stopped to talk for just a moment. When she ran on, we both looked out toward the cabin and the guys were gone.
"C'mon, let's go see what they were up to," I urged.
With eager curiousity, we hurried to the cabin. As we drew closer to the door, we both slowed down, then stopped in confusion as we saw the padlock on the door, the cobwebs covering the door, the uttter evidence that no one had been there for quite some time. I felt a weird skittering sensation up my back, realizing that whatever we had seen, it wasn't two guys from the camp standing in the doorway.

We retraced our steps and walked toward the cabin again, hoping to see again whatever we had seen. We saw nothing. We have our own conclusions about what we saw, but it was a very strange experience.

When a Stranger Calls (Penny Rader)

I grew up in the country. Lots of farms around. Very few actual neighborhoods. I attended a really small school. One day a mom asked if I’d consider watching her kids every day after school for a couple hours. I didn’t want to commit to an every day thing until I’d spent time with the kids so I agreed to babysit while the parents went out.

Did I mention I lived out in the country? Well, the B’s lived even farther out in the boonies. In a tall, multi-storied house all by its lonesome. Didn’t know this until Mr. B and I pulled into their driveway.

Everything started out okay. Met the kids. They were cute. Mr. & Mrs. B headed out the door. Before too long I heard a “thwap, thwap, thwap.” I probably didn’t mention that I’ve always been something of a coward. I was never going to be one of those nightgown-clad heroines who foolishly went down into the dungeon to see what the noise was. But…since I was the babysitter I had to suck it up and check it out. I drew a deep breath and forced myself to search for the source.

Thwap. Thwap. I peered around doorways. I had a hard time hearing the noise because my heartbeat was reverberating throughout my entire body. Several rooms later I finally found the culprit – an open window and a banging window shade. Whew! Crisis averted and my heart slowing back to its normal rhythm, I closed the window and headed back downstairs.

You know how they always tell kids to not tell strangers your parents aren’t home? But they don’t really tell you what to do in that situation? What’s up with that anyway? You probably guessed what happened next. Um-hmm. The phone rang.

Me: “Hello?”
Stranger: “May I speak to Mrs. B?”
Me: “Uh…she’s busy.”
Him: “I really need to talk to her.”
Me: “She’s really busy and can’t come to the phone.”
Him: “Okay. Let me talk to Mr. B.”
Me: “He’s busy too.”
Him: sigh
Me: waiting…hoping he’d just leave a message.
Him: “This is Mrs. B’s brother. I’ll just come over.”
Me, inside my head: Aaaaack!!!
Me: “Wait! Please don't come over. I’m the babysitter. Mr. & Mrs. B aren’t here."
Him: “Just tell them I called.”

Did I mention that my imagination sometimes goes into overdrive? That call freaked me out and I was absolutely certain some raving lunatic was on his way over to murder, ravish, and pillage, but I could not show my fear in front of the kids. So, I calmly got them all into their jammies and settled in their beds. Then I planted myself in the corner of the couch, squishing myself down under a quilt until I was as small as I could make myself. To anyone watching I would appear to be watching the TV, but actually, I had one eye on the front door and one eye on the picture window.

There are lots and lots of noises in the country. Spooky noises. Tree limbs smacking windows. Wind shaking just about everything. Howling animals. It’s enough to give a 13 year old girl a heart attack.

Boy, was I relieved when Mr. & Mrs. B got home. (Though there was a moment of extreme panic when that door opened!) The next day I called and told Mrs. B that I wouldn’t be able to take the every day babysitting job. (In my head I added or any other babysitting job!) My excuse: I had too much homework. She believed me. Her kids had tons of homework, too.

Yep, I’m a wimp. And I hate babysitting. And I still don't know what you're supposed to tell people when they call and ask for the parents.

~~

Do you have any scary experiences you'd like to share with us?

Fears Come In All Sizes And Types

I thought long and hard and missed my day yesterday to blog due to farm hell. But now we're finished with harvest and everyone can go back to their own corner, I'm ready to proceed.

What I was thinking about was the horror of election time. Characters are shredded, points are made, and the electorate would like to put ear muffs on the kids.

However, over the years I've been growing ever more aware of things around us not being as I thought they were. Imagine that. As my eyes have been opened and the area behind my ears dried out, I realized that a lot of people don't vote. Then I kept my ears open and discovered that unlike what the news-people will tell you, that it isn't voter apathy that keeps people from voting, but fear; fear of the unknown, fear of making a fool of oneself, and fear of making a mistake. So, I started talking to people, one on one, why they didn't vote--exactly why. Many didn't know how or who to ask. Many didn't know how to decide. Many felt too stupid. I realized that what we needed to help us conquer our fear is a little basic information:

Let us start with how to vote.

To register to vote:

Go to your local driver's license renewal location or your county clerk's office.

You can register as a party member (Democrat, Republican, Communist, whatever your pleasure) or

You can register as an Independent, meaning you're registered to vote, but not declaring a party. If you don't declare a party, you can't vote in their primary--just the general and special elections.

Now you're registered. What next? Call your county clerk, tell them where you live, and ask where the poll will be set up for you. Usually, you are informed by mail. A poll is a place to vote. It can be a school, a government building, or the living room of someone's house.

On voting day, go to the poll, between the hours of 7 AM to 7 PM (hours may change to more but never less) and vote. Some areas allow early voting. Again, call your county clerk and ask if it exists in your local area and how to go about it. There may even be mail-in options.

How to vote? The machines, papers, or whatever necessary to do the job changes regularly. There is always an explanation at the polls on how to use the equipment and someone there to answer any questions or demonstrate them. It is very ok to ask. Ask several times if you need to. Like I said, the equipment changes regularly enough that even a season voter has to ask questions.

What to vote? Ballots or explanation pages are set on tables so that you can read and understand them before actually entering the voting area. They are there to be read by anyone.

How to decide what to vote:

You decide that too. If, when you get into the room, face to face with the ballot, and all of it makes no sense, then finish it without making marks and turn it into the poll lady as if you did. No one will look at it. They can't by law. We have secret ballot in this country. It really is secret. No one sees it except to count from it. Your name is never on a ballot unless you're running for office!

Are you too stupid to vote?

No! You may not be comfortable choosing a president. Fine, don't vote that section. You might not be comfortable voting on a judge position. There is nothing that says a voter has to vote on every issue or even every race on a ballot. If you have a strong opinion on whether your neighborhood needs a new swimming pool and that is one of the issues, then vote your yes or no vote! If you have a little time before voting day and want more information, then look a question up. For example; this November we vote on whether we want to change our wording in our state constitution to clarify our right to bear arms in the state of Kansas. On this one, if you believe it to be an independent, a personal right, then vote yes. If you believe it to be a militia or military right, vote no. Oddly, this has been unclear in our state since before the first world war ended in 1918! You are also free to NOT VOTE on this issue even though you might on others. There are other issues on your ballot that might not be on mine in a different district. Ballots are individualized for each district depending upon the needs of those people (electorate). Some things on the ballot are the same for all Kansans. One would be the choice of president. The governor, state attorney general, state treasurer and many more are open for voting on when the terms of the individual offices are up or someone has left office.

Other voter items are on local school board members, mayors, city councilmen, and even sometimes whether to put in a stop light at a specific location. Don't keep yourself from making local decisions that make a difference in your every day world, because you wish to stay out of the state and federal decision making.

Does your vote count? Every vote counts. I've had to count them. We strung them on a huge curved needle with a heavy string attached to it and a button on the other. As each ballot was counted and looked at by six people, the ballot was strung on the string to keep from accidently counting a ballot twice. The people counting votes are from several parties, no party is left alone with ballots. Ballots are never left with only one person in attendance.

CAUTION: No one is allowed within a certain distance of a polling area to influence you to vote a certain specific way. This is illegal in most states. Report it.

A weird little question: Do you know how long/big the constitution of the United States really is? It will fit in your shirt pocket with room for an ipod and takes a half hour to an hour to read.

I hope this little bit of information helps dispel the biggest fear of the season--our electoral process. If you think this info doesn't fit with a writerly life, think again. What the government does sways the mood of the people. As the mood of the people goes, so goes their money. As the money of the people go, we writers want them to buy what we sell. What romance writers sell is hope. If the people prosper, they buy retail. If the people do not prosper, they go to the library. We need the people to prosper, vote accordingly.

Ghost Girl

This story is being retyped as it was told by an adult in her own words. It is written in the oral tradition of storytelling:

“It was a dark, cool night in the fall of 1978 in the state of Oklahoma. On the outskirts of Midwest City, a group of girls were enjoying a slumber party full of junk food, games and silly stories of boys. They were camped in the den of the fairly new home and the parents of one of the girls were on the other side of the house, watching a “made for TV” movie.
There were two houses on the unpaved road of this newest neighborhood being built in the rural area. The only lighting outside came from the full moon. Street lights had not been added yet and the large ditch that ran on one side of the road had not been completed as well.
Close to midnight, the girls heard laughter and squealing outside. They stumbled to the only window in the room, pushed aside the curtains and looked outside. They couldn’t see at first, so one girl instructed another to turn off the lamp so they could see what was happening.
It took a moment, but it dawned on them that the only other house down the road was having some type of party as well. Lights were turning off and on from the upstairs floor of the two-story home. Suddenly, a lone girl, the same age as the girls watching from the den window, careened from the back of the house. She was clad only in a long, white pajama gown. She ran onto the front porch and they could hear her yelling, “Let me in! Let me in! You win!”
As the group of girls continued to watch, one looked out the window in the other direction. The illumination of the moon beamed down on the road and the figure of a man appeared in the ditch and walked slowly down the street toward the two-story home. Directly behind, a car followed, so slowly that it didn’t seem possible that it was traveling at all. The car was very old and dark. It was impossible to tell if someone was inside or not. She whispered to her friends and they all turned to witness what she was describing.
The girls watched as the car and man grew closer to their house. The man in the ditch suddenly stopped, turned and stared straight into the eyes of the girls viewing from the window. They could make out that he was elderly, yet it was as if they could see through him! He had a long beard, and was wearing a suit jacket and slacks, but the clothes seemed outdated.
They squealed and shut the curtains and fell to the floor. They looked at each other in fright and wondered what to do? They didn’t want to tell the parents of the home in fear they would get into trouble for “making up stories.” Instead, they waited a few minutes to catch their breath and it was then they realized the shouting of the girl down the street had stopped. It was only a matter of seconds when this had all occurred.
The one brave girl sat up and drew the curtain apart a bit to look outside. The house down the street had grown dark, and the man and the car were gone!
Terrified, she sat down and told the other girls what she had seen.
They were too scared to leave the den, so they crawled into their sleeping bags and shivered until one by one, they fell asleep.
A few days later, the little girl walked into her own kitchen and overheard her parents talking about an article in the newspaper. There was a story of a cold case of a missing girl. She had disappeared in the 1950’s and had never been found. The feature stated she had been kidnapped in a dark sedan by an elderly man. The little girl leaned over the shoulder of her father and saw the portrait of the same girl she had seen that night at the slumber party – the one who had been begging to be let into the house!
When the little girl explained what she had seen, the father looked at her and laughed.
That wasn’t possible, he explained.
Why not? The girl had asked.
Because the other house on the street was unoccupied. No one lived there. It was still being built.
But I saw the girl! And the car! And the old man! She tried to explain. The lights were on in the house, she continued.
The father just shook his head and muttered something about “imaginations” and continued to read his paper.
The little girl walked away in defeat, knowing that her story was not to be believed by any grown-up, but she knew what she had seen.
To this day, the missing girl was never found.”

This is the tale I narrate to my students every year at the beginning of the Halloween season. I teach them about story telling in the oral tradition and then I continue to recount stories throughout the month.
I enjoy closing the blinds and darkening my room. The students seem enthralled and they are truly spooked when I tell them this was a TRUE story and not made up.
Why?
Because I was the little girl in the story who witnessed this whole scene. I was ten years old when I lived in Oklahoma and it was my first experience of the paranormal.
It would not be until I was sixteen years old and two of my friends and I decided to play with a game called the Ouija board. Big mistake. Big. But that’s another story……

HONEY, HONEY, WHAT WAS THAT? Becky A

Warning! Only for those with intestinal fortitude who don’t mind getting seriously creeped out!

Have you ever noticed when friends and family do you a favor, or hook you up with a great deal, that it often turns out not? Why is that? Why is it that the people who are supposed to love you the best, often get you in the worst messes? Mine was a house way back in the day when we were still renting. Not the same one that Fang appeared in though. His was better.

This was the house from hell. They could make a movie about it. It didn’t look like the house from hell. There were no signs or omens. We simply had no clue. I guess that’s what we get for trusting family.

We only had one child back then, our daughter who was around two at the time. She had her own twin bed in her own little room. The first indication that we picked a loser was when we turned the furnace on. I went to check on her that night to find the room filled with noxious fumes. I pulled her out of bed and began opening windows. We got that fixed but it was only a warm up. Let me rephrase that, the house had no insulation. We froze our you know what's off all winter, but I digress.

At night, we would often hear noises; strange, skittering sounds. Not much at first so we thought it was just from being in a new place. You know, that old line about the house “settling”. Some nights I suspect we slept through it but eventually it was bad enough that we knew something majorly weird was going on. An intermittent rustling soon joined the skittering, and paper sacks began moving during the night. If we got up to check, there was nothing obvious to the naked eye.

One night I finally reached the very brave, very disgusted, or totally stupid mark. I’ve never been sure which. I went to bed prepared with a flashlight. When the noises got going full swing, I leapt out of bed, flipped on my light and ran full tilt into the living room/kitchen area. To my horror I realized that something was crunching under my feet and that the floor was moving under my wavering beam. I turned the kitchen light on just in time to see hundreds of cockroaches running for cover. These weren’t your normal wimpy German variety. These were the King Kong of Cockroaches. They averaged two to three inches in length and were armor plated. Thus the crunching as I ran across a living carpet of moving targets. I kid you not.

I didn’t know whether to scream, puke, or pass out. Passing out would have landed me on said floor so that was definitely out. I opted for the scream. At least I think I did. I don’t actually remember the rest of that night. My mind refuses to let those memories resurface.

I do remember the next day when we confronted the landlords, our so-called friends. They denied ever having roaches in their rental. Since they lived next door to us, I found that hard to swallow. They also inferred we must have brought them with us (NOT) and refused to do anything about it. Our beloved family members just steered clear of us for awhile.

Interestingly enough, after discussing our unwanted guests several times, they decided to sell the house. Since we had killed off a dozen cans of roach killer by then, I suppose they figured the new owners wouldn’t notice until it was all over but the screaming.

If you want another moral for this disgustingly icky story, try this:
Don’t listen to your friends and family. Or, always wear shoes when you get up at night. (: O

ps: I'll be out of town Fri.-Sun. so will get back with you all later. I'm expecting to read some of your truly creepy stories when I return. Happy hunting!

ITSY BITSY SPIDER . . . by Becky A

October brings to mind the beauty of multicolored trees, the crispness of crunchy leaves under foot, plus cool shivery weather. Along with the chilly air come images of Halloween: spooks, witches and ghouls galore. I’m not impressed by ghosts, vampires or Freddy Kruger. The real scary stuff comes straight from nature itself. You know, those snakes, spiders, bats and bugs that show up in unexpected places. Like our homes.

I could tell you the story about when my hubby found a three foot snake in our closet. He was terrified of snakes. Guess who got to pick it up and haul it outside? I don’t like snakes, but I can deal with them. Or, the time the neighbors asked my spouse to remove another three footer from their house. I carried it half a block and released it into a nearby field. Snakes feel icky. That’s the only way I can describe it, but they are doable.

I’ve never been around bats much but I’m pretty sure I would freak if one landed on me. I prefer to keep my blood, thank you. Bugs are here to be squished, period. I don’t care how much good they do. But then we get to spiders, yuck!

The one time I decided to be merciful to a spider, it came into my bedroom via my laundry. It was sitting on my clothesline one day and I said, “If you will leave me alone, I will leave you alone.” The little sucker ended up under the covers with me and bit my left calf in the middle of the night. Now, I didn’t feel it bite me. I did feel it crawling up my thigh. I flipped back the covers and swatted the then unknown culprit and went back to sleep. Two days later, I knew I had a problem. I proceeded to crawl around on my hands and knees until I found the shriveled little corpse. Yup, it was a brown recluse. Stupid spider! After a round of antibiotics, much prayer, and liberal doses of garlic infused olive oil, problem solved. I then spent many days vacuuming every corner repeatedly to get rid of all his little friends that had come with. Aacckk!

That's still not my most memorable spider story. I saved it for last. If you’ve got a better one, then I want to hear it. Here goes:

Getting up in the middle of the night and stumbling into the bathroom, I kicked something with my bare little tootsies. Flipping on the light, expecting to see a stuffed toy, I nearly came unglued as I stared into the big beady eyes of the largest spider I had ever seen up close and personal. It was the green, gray and tan colors of dried grasses. The body and legs were covered in spiky hair, and its overall appearance was of a tarantula. Its size was too, about five inches across. I’m going to go out on a limb and declare it was a tarantula. What kind? The, I’m not ever going to the bathroom in the middle of the night again, kind. Needless to say, after doing a very brief heebie jeebie ick dance, I ran screaming for my spouse.

By the time he pried his eyes open and arrived at the scene of the crime, the humongous and hairy nightmare was gone. I made him do a thorough search while I watched from my elevated vantage point. I stood rigid with fear in the middle of the bed, every light blazing. When all efforts failed to locate the creepy crawler, we determined that it must have come through the space around our sink drain. A full half inch between pipe and drywall was apparently enough. Stupid spider!

My spouse, satisfied that the problem was solved, crawled back into bed and resumed snoring. I considered bashing him over the head. We may have solved how it got in, and we may have run it back out. But, if it came in once, WHAT WAS GOING TO STOP IT FROM COMING IN AGAIN??? There was no way I could sleep now. My vivid imagination provided lovely pictures of it crawling into our bed or snuggling up to my helpless babies. Not to mention taking a bite to try out its super duper deluxe fangs. So, I did what every other intelligent, capable, and hero deprived wife does. I got out the duct tape and proceeded to seal that sucker into the wall.

Do I care if it looks ugly? NO! Do I care if my beloved has to pull it all off to fix it correctly? NO! Do I care that we are still living in a rental? NO, NO, and NO! Will I think of that stupid spider every time I get up to go to the can in the middle of the night? YES, YES, and ick, YES, at least for the next 20 years or so.

Now, for the moral of the story: Be careful. Be very careful when your tootsies go bump in the night. What you thought was a stray sock or stuffed toy, may be something very large and hairy, just waiting to make your acquaintance.
(Evil laughter-hahahahahahahaha!)

PS: I’ve decided to name him, Fang. Now tell us all about your favorite “pet”.