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Saturday
Oct312009

Me and Old Frankenstein

I still get scared when I think about my rural Tennessee childhood Halloween nights.  Our grandparents told terrifying hair-raising ghost stories, and we memorized and believed every word.  "Tell us again! Tell us again!" we would beg, and their eyes shone with pleasure as they repeated the old tall tales of their ancestors. Halloween afternoon after school, Mama took the old sheets off the bed, cutting out holes for eyes, and voila! We were GHOSTS...or at least we thought so, until we all piled out of our houses and noticed that every other trick or treater was a ghost too, waving their arms under the safety of their own flapping sheets.  But nooo, Daddy would whisper gravely, no, they might be real ghosts.  On Halloween, he'd say, the graveyards open and all the ghosts climb up out of their graves.  We were suitably terrified, holding Daddy's hand tightly as we warily walked by the other "ghosts."  As Mama and Daddy said, you just never know who is the real ghost and who's pretend.  We carried our old cotton pillowcases for hauling the homemade candy-apples, caramel popcorn balls and Kraft caramels, bobbed for apples and went to the elementary school "Spook" House (it was just spooky, not gory).  Somehow it was all so elegantly creepy, always a bit cool outside, with crisp autumn leaves spinning around in the road, every night sound making you look over your shoulder, wondering if someone was going to jump out and "get" you.  The evening would end with a marshmallow roast around a bonfire, and it was the best thing in the world.  Halloween was a marvelously wicked night, and every last kid drank in the annual other-worldly atmosphere as if it were Lucifer's own nectar.  Worn out, our whole generation melted into an over-sugared and anxious sleep, but not before repeating careful prayers, cautiously looking under the bed to make sure nothing else was going to "get" us, insisting that Mama keep the bedroom door cracked, in case we needed to make haste to her bed.  But I don't think any of us would have been brave enough to leap from the covers, instead hollering and carrying on until Mama came in to shoo away any left-over ghosts and stroke our heads into dreamless sleep.

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Reader Comments (9)

I so understand your writing. I know we must have grown up so different but there is something there. Another great post Leann.

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