The following is a true story, although I have changed the names of individuals to protect their privacy. I hope you find it as enjoyable to read as I did to write.
My aunt recently passed away. As it is in most families, sometimes the passing of loved ones rekindles relationships and friendships with our relatives from our childhood and the bygone days of our youth that have long ago ceased through the passage of time. Such is true with a cousin of mine. Although we were quite close as small children, through the ensuing years, as is often the case, time has slipped through our fingers, and we had drifted apart. As I reflect upon that time in my life, however, it only seems just a moment ago that my cousin, Katy, and her brother, James, were visiting with us as they did every summer . . . but that seeming "moment ago" has turned into three and a half decades.
It was always a time of great joy and excitement whenever James and Katy came to visit us in our small town home in central Illinois. You see, they were from the big city of Chicago, and we all looked forward to them coming to stay with us for those two weeks each year, for inevitably something invigorating, something adventurous, something glorious, was bound to happen . . . or so we thought. My recent correspondence with my dear, cousin Katy has brought back a plethora of memories from those days of yore when thrills, exploits, and youthful, foolish indiscretions awaited us just around the next corner. Katy reminded me recently that one of the things she used to love most about coming to our house to see us as a child was how we used to scare her so! But as she was quick to add, it was such a delicious and such a delightful fear at the time, as it came from our holding seances and walking the table.
Although I hate to admit it now, my family had been drawn into all the hype and mania that had swept the country at that time when vampire Barnabas Collins of Dark Shadows fame was all the rage, and we found ourselves conducting seances just as we had seen them conducted on our favorite daily soap opera. (We actually got to meet Jonathan Frid, the man who played Barnabas Collins, in person in our town one day as he was coming out of a restaurant located on our town square. Our little farming community had a theater that brought stars to our part of the world every summer where Broadway plays could be performed and the actors could hone their skills, and Frid was the lead actor in a production of Dial M for Murder that September. I am delighted to report that he was a very nice, kind man, and he took the time to speak to all of us. We even had our picture taken with him and a story of our encounter was ran in our local newspaper, as well as the paper from Decatur, IL. This was indeed a great thrill and honor for a small boy from a small town in central Illinois!)
Yes, it is true that we had veered into territory that is best left uncharted, and Katy would become so frightened, and more often than not her evenings would end with my mother and two sisters accompanying my young cousin, as the tears of fright streamed down her face, upstairs to their bedroom for the night . . . albeit, a night with the lights left on! – and this is the true story of one of those times.
We did, indeed, put the fear into cousin Katy on many, many occasions, but believe me when I tell you this, we put the fear not only in her but in ourselves and the entire neighborhood of kids (and their parents, I might add) as well!
I will never forget one evening when, in our foolishness, we were holding a seance, and my cousin, James, was given the honors of officiating over our efforts at necromancy and seeking (for some unknown reason) the wisdom from those beyond the grave that dreary gloaming as dusk was falling about us. It was not too long before James could be heard pleading, cajoling and begging for those spirits from beyond the grave, "Please, spirits, give us a sign of your presence!"
Well, no sooner had those words left his lips to hover in the shadowy air above us, air that was filled with the aroma of our burning candles, than there came an immediate rap, rap, rapping upon our front door!
Boy, oh boy, did the screams ever fill that desolate room, especially those emanating from my brother, Paul, who was two years older than I! I could feel my own heart within me thumping away, and when I looked down at my chest in the gloom, wondering how my heart could be beating so swiftly, so loudly, and yet still remain inside, I saw it pounding against my chest! Once the screaming and shrieking and crying had subsided after what seemed to be an eternity trapped in utter horror and dread, truly believing the spirits had been provoked into anger over our disturbing their rest, and wholly convinced they were coming to get us right then, and right now! (I believe I was hoarse the next day from my own bout of screeching), we finally summoned up enough courage to face our dire fears, and we ever so slowly opened the door as it creaked upon its rusty hinges . . . and what did we find? Was it a ghoul we feared standing at our door, the remnants of its burial shroud hanging languidly over what was left of its decomposing flesh? Was it the decapitated corpse we just knew was on the other side of that door, carrying its blackened head next to its decaying, putrid body?
No, what had come to disturb our proceedings into the realms of the nether world was none other than the mother of some neighborhood kids who lived down the street from us, and who had come to journey and foray into the dark underworld with us. As she peered timidly within the confines of our shadowy living room which had been transformed into what we thought was a portal for the dead, she asked in a quiet, stammering voice, "Are Bill and Bobby here?" Oh, what blessed relief was felt by all!
Can you picture what that scene must have been like from her perspective? Can you imagine what must have been going through her mind? Just visualize, for a moment, as she walked quietly down the street that evening, traversing the block from her house to ours, finally arriving at the house where her children were supposed to be, her children to whom she had given birth, and to whom she dearly loved, the same children she had entrusted into our care, safety and protection, and what does she find? She found a house darkened with only the dimly flickering of candlelight visible from behind the drawn curtains! And when she simply knocked upon the door she found herself greeted by the sound of blood-curdling screams piercing the night that seemingly would not cease!
To be honest, to this very day I am surprised she ever let those boys back into our house again!
No comments:
Post a Comment