On a Wet, Cold Halloween Night(Updated)

Autumn is now in steady motion, moving forward toward Halloween and Thanksgiving.  Are you ready for them? We need some fun, don't we?

To answer what seems to be a common question:  1.Yes I have written quite a few books. And 2.. the following story is true and happened to me at about age 9 or so. Question 3.. no  you cannot know the titles because they are ghost written by me and I sign a non disclosure contract. Yes, they are published books.

This painting is by Tom Shropshire and captures the feelings of Halloween very well I think. Every neighborhood had a house that was considered creepy or forbidding and kids were afraid to trick or treat there.. yet they did!

One particular Victorian house in our neighborhood had one light eerily glowing down the long central hallway. The front double doors' glass panes allowed a complete look down that long corridor by the side of the stairs just to the left of the parlor.  It lead back into the kitchen as all the hallways in our neighborhood did. On the wall by the stairs was a stained glass window just as in my own house but, everything here seemed frightening to us. The sameness didn't seem to matter.

 No one ever seemed to be home yet curtains blew in the wind, leaves seemed to rustle extra loudly in the yard and the sound of an owl could always be heard there at night. From time to time you could see someone moving across the window in the upper floors. As you walked up the stairs to the porch  to ring the old fashioned twisty door bell key the wooden boards creaked badly. The brring, brring sound of the doorbell key never brought a soul to the door and none of us ever  saw anyone come in or out of that house.

No one bothered us one cold, wet and windy Halloween night when we circled  round to the backyard through the rusty swinging wrought iron gate.  

  The backyard was filled with trees and vines that may have been lovely in summer but now, on that windy,wet, cold night it seemed forbidding, dangerous, ominous.  Hanging vine became long fingers entwining in  hair as we passed by.  I remember almost screaming but I kept quiet for fear of discovery .    Mr. owl was settled up in a drooping old oak hooting forlornly at us as we moved through the little winding path to a gazebo which housed a single solitary pumpkin with flickering candle inside. It's twisted smile grimaced at us as we stood gawking with wide eyes.

We whispered to one another about that pumpkin  and its owner when all of a sudden the back door slammed with a ferocious bang that sent us running for our lives to the street out front.

The next spring I paid more attention to that yard as it could be seen easily from another friends bedroom window. It was lovely and filled  with flowering trees and bushes. But on that one night, it had been the scariest place on earth.