Sometimes it adds so much to your wellness to briefly get away from it all and have some fun with escapist entertainment. So, just for a moment, leave the dumbbells on the rack and the running shoes by the front door. I give you my tale of terror, just in time for the scariest month.
We were late, and it was dark. We could have ridden our bikes down those three long streets, but it would have taken far too long. We didn’t want to risk being grounded again.
We paused momentarily as the leaves rustled on the ground, stirred by the crisp October breeze. The full moon had cast a ghostly spell of luminescence on all of us. I remember the fear on my friends’ faces as I said, “It’s gonna be quicker. Let’s cross the field.”
In our town, it was an unwritten rule: No one crossed the field at night. Especially not after IT happened on that notorious night years ago.
It happened on an evening only days before Halloween. And this particular date – when we were deciding our next move – was said to be the anniversary of that fateful day.
But we were 10 years old, and we were almost men. We were all together and too old to believe in ghost stories. We decided to do it.
We rode. It was only a half-mile to cross.
And then something happened. One of our tires hit a mysterious object and went flat. The noise of the puncture was like a demon being released into the chilly air. Everything seemed to stop, except for our pounding hearts and our racing thoughts.
We couldn’t leave anyone alone in this place. We had made some headway across that forbidden land. We convinced ourselves that the tire incident was just a strange coincidence. Yup. Just a strange coincidence.
Slowly, we walked our bikes together as our eyes darted over the darkened landscape.
Then we saw it. A shadowy figure moved toward us. We ran with our bikes to the wooded area next to the field. We hid behind some bushes and looked out. It wasn’t there anymore. Where did it go?
And then we heard it howl. A coyote? A wolf? We looked in all directions. Then silence.
After many moments of frozen fear, we felt it. Something hit one of our heads. We screamed and ran with our bikes. We had to get out of the field.
I hit the ground, and my face was covered in dust. It got inside my mouth and, so help me, it tasted like death had entered me.
The guys helped me to my feet, and as the eerie smell of retreat wafted heavily over us, we ran with those bikes all the way down those streets back to our neighborhood.
We arrived home late and got in trouble. It didn’t matter. We had made it back alive.
We’ve often wondered. Had our fear just made us jumpy that night? Or was it something sinister that we experienced – just as we were told it happened on that fateful night years before? We will never know for certain.
But to this day, the three of us have never again tried at night to cross … the field.
Happy Halloween and beware of the fields in your life during this spookiest of seasons!
This fright night is brought to you by that guy with cauldrons of creepy cackles. That maestro of monsters is Ron Blake, and he can be found at firstname.lastname@example.org.