Stories From Under A Bootheel (Rants, Laughs, and Tears)

Chapter 7 My Dad Part 2 Trick or Treat

   "Oooooooooo." The eerie sound left the cemetery and traveled down our street, but we hadn't heard it yet. It was just past dusk, just dark enough to be spooky. It was the eve of All Saints' Eve which is the creepy way to say the day before Halloween. I was across the street with my new neighbor Larry discussing the merits of smoking cigarettes. Okay, we were lighting small twigs and pretending they were cigarettes and that we were cool. We were hidden in some large bushes where we had made a sort-of cave to conceal our illicit smoking.  

To add to the chilly mood, we were exchanging scary stories. You know the ones thirteen-year-olds everywhere tell. The escapee from the insane asylum with the hook for a hand, seeking revenge on thirteen-year-old boys, and last spotted in our neighborhood. The reason for the lunatic's fixation on thirteen-year-olds varied and may not even be addressed. The age and sex of his victims could also vary, but coincidentally was usually the exact same age and sex as those listening to the story. Little did we suspect the real ghost story of which we were about to be a part.

My sister came running into Larry's yard calling for us. I figured my mother had sent her out to bring me in for the evening. We quickly extinguished our twigs and emerged from our hideout.

"Did you hear that noise coming from the cemetery?" my sister asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

Larry was new to the neighborhood and had no experience living next to a cemetery. He just gave me a questioning look.

I had lots of experience living next to a cemetery and more importantly lots of experience living with my family. I gave my sister a knowing look and said, "Maybe we should check it out?"

We headed reluctantly down the street towards the cemetery constantly exchanging nervous glances and without saying a word. My sister led the way and Larry brought up the rear scanning in every direction. I'm sure he had no idea what to expect.

The cemetery was one of the oldest and largest in town. There were several treelined roads for access to all parts of the cemetery.  It was the playground of my youth and I knew where all the unique graves were. There were some that predated the founding of the town. There was an actual Edgar Allan Poe buried there but not the famous one. There was a headstone for someone lost on a downed submarine. We called it the submarine grave. There was all manner of headstones and above ground crypts that served as our jungle gyms. There were even two small mausoleums we used as forts. I doubt the inhabitants minded our play and I suspect any ghosts probably appreciated the lively company. The playground of my youth is now the resting place of most of my family and so many of my friends, but I digress.

We entered the cemetery and just as we passed one of the larger monuments, we could hear a ghostly moaning coming from it. Larry turned toward me with a wide-eyed look. Suddenly from behind the monument, this white sheet comes running straight at us making god-awful sounds. Despite the sheet completely covering him, I knew immediately it was my dad. I swear Larry jumped ten feet straight up and was fifty yards away before he realized my sister and I were trying to call him back. We were laughing so hard, I'm sure Larry thought we were insane.

This is why all my friends thought my dad was great. Of course, they didn't have to live with him.

Halloween was a favorite holiday. Although I don't remember my parents ever taking me out trick or treating. I'm certain I never had a store-bought mask or costume. No, it wasn't about going door to door for treats for me. It was all about the tricks.

In junior high we had a new young math teacher Mrs. Dennis come to town. Her husband had been transferred to the local Air Force Base and she had started her practice teaching at our school. All the guys drooled over her. I refused to be influenced by her looks and coquettish nature. No, I loved her for her mind, at least that is what I told myself.

As young teens are prone to do, I felt the need to show my affection for her by pranking her house on Halloween. A group of us guys put pillow cases on our heads and headed out on this sacred night to visit our favorite teachers' homes to show them how much we cared. We were armed with toilet paper, crazy foam, and tic tacking apparatus. I will explain tic tacking shortly.

The pillow cases were not because we were pretending to be ghosts, that would have been childish. We were pretending to be Klansmen. Understand, that we really didn't identify with the Klan. We knew they were evil so for us it was no different than dressing up like the devil. We did have enough sense not to go anywhere near the black part of town.

Unfortunately, when we got to my math teacher's house, we found they had gone out for the evening so tic tacking was out. Others had also beat us to the toilet papering of her trees. We had to content ourselves with putting crazy foam on her front door handle. She later told us her husband was the recipient of that gift. He did not appreciate it, but Mrs. Dennis said she thought it was funny. That made my day.

Now as promised, an explanation of tic tacking. In my father's youth, putting mules on top of school buildings and tipping over outhouses with and without occupants were not uncommon pranks. Another common prank of his day was called tic-tacking. I suspect no one now remembers this clever trick. Most people today think tic-tacking refers to a skate board stunt or a practical joke with breath mints.

My father taught me the fine art of tic tacking. It requires a bent pin, a spool of thread, and a piece of violin rosin. The target house must have metal screens. On Halloween, you tie one end of the thread to the head of the pin. You attach the bent pin to the middle of a screen on the target house's window. You roll the spool of thread out until you are far enough away to hide in nearby bushes or behind a tree. You pull the thread tight and then begin rubbing the rosin up and down the taut thread. The thread sets up small vibrations that are transmitted to and amplified by the metal screen resulting in very eerie sounds filling the house whose occupants are at a loss for what the sounds are or where they are coming from. The fun is watching them when they peek out side to see if the sound is coming from outside the house.

There is no real moral to this part of my story. I just wanted to provide my grandkids some lessons on how to go about enjoying Halloween and show them how both my father and myself relished this tradition. Remember, forever fulfilling fun is existence's essential element.