I dreaded Halloween. Every summer when I was a young child, I would start counting the days to the worst night of my year. I looked forward to waking up on Nov. 1 because I knew I would feel tremendous relief.
Our house was out in the country in Spanaway, near Tacoma, so on Halloween night Pop would drive my older brother Donald and me to a housing development a few miles away. We had to wear the same costumes every year — I was a witch and Donald was a monster. In the dark it was hard to see out of the little holes in the thin, plastic mask.
Pop dropped us off at the end of a block of houses where he would park our mint green 1961 Rambler and read the newspaper. Donald and I went door to door collecting candy, then crossed the street and walked back on the other side. I wasn’t afraid of the dark and it didn’t bother me to see the most gruesome costumes or displays — but many times, we had trouble finding the car in the darkness, and it wasn’t long before we were both crying. The inside of our masks would get wet and uncomfortable with rain, sweat and tears.
When we finally found the car, we would quickly stop crying and Pop would direct us to the next street or drive us to a new block. Candy was a consolation. We counted it, recounted it and arranged it in all possible ways. But I knew it wouldn’t be long until next fall, when doom would set in again.
At around age 10, I started looking forward to Halloween. But my father’s steadfast rule was: no more trick-or-treating after age 11. Going door to door to get candy was for younger kids, he said. Maybe if Donald and I had explained things to my father, a reasonable man, he may have let us go out for another year or two. We were raised not to complain so we never revealed our earlier fears of getting lost and abandoned.
The Creature
As much as I feared Halloween as a child, it did not compare to the terror I felt one night when I was about 16 years old.
A new couple moved in next door, and the wife started telling me about reports of a large wild beast or creature roaming our neighborhood and coming down driveways at night. No one really knew what it was and she didn’t have enough details to describe it, but a clanking sound was always heard when it was around, as though it had escaped and was dragging a chain from its collar.
My neighbor’s story immediately put a damper on evening outings with my horse, Brandy. I was a member of the Colts and Fillies drill team and we practiced in the evenings at a big arena more than a mile away. After practice I rode Brandy home. Then he needed to be unsaddled and fed, which became too unnerving for me to do alone — now that this creature was lurking in the darkness.
The solution turned out to be simple: my brother. But I had to pay him. For weeks, Donald would accompany me to the unlit shed behind our house where my horse was kept, and I would give him a dollar or two. I knew he couldn’t possibly protect me, but it was comforting not being so alone and vulnerable. Maybe he could be a witness to whatever was out there.
One night Donald wasn’t with me. It was dusk when I got home, so I hurried to put Brandy away. Then I ran as fast as I could for our front door and stepped onto our asphalt driveway.
I heard something and froze with fear. It was a very distinctive clanking sound. I looked up and saw the Creature coming straight at me.
The sound that came next was sudden and unexpected: a long, eerie wail. I had never heard anything like it, but it was coming out of my mouth. My lips formed a tight “O” shape so my screams were muffled and ghostly. My feet were also dancing up and down uncontrollably. This was all involuntary and I could not stop.
I locked eyes with the Creature and realized he was our paperboy. He was riding an old Stingray bike with a loose chain. But my wails went on until I finally separated this nightmare from reality. This boy was in my class. I would have to face him the next day. I mustered up some apology for “wailing” at him but he would no longer look at me.
He dropped his bike and walked up to our porch to collect for the newspaper. I wanted to explain to him that I wasn’t crazy and the sound I was making was as unfamiliar to me as it was to him, but he seemed intent on getting away as fast as he could. When my father opened the door for him, I slipped inside, thankful that no one seemed to notice the commotion going on outside.
I never told anyone about the Creature. It was years before I even told Donald. I will never know what possessed my neighbor to make up this story. She was twice as old as I was. Maybe she didn’t make it up.
Today, I can’t be outside in the dark without being a little uncomfortable. My childhood Halloweens and the Creature are always lurking in my subconscious. I just can’t see what’s out there.
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