As a cool autumn breeze sweeps the dried, crispy leaves across my path, that day becomes so vivid again.
As a cool autumn breeze sweeps the dried, crispy leaves across my path, that day becomes so vivid again. It was long ago. We were about twelve then. Bumpy and I were inseparable. Friends to the end, we'd always say. Bumpy's real name was Kevin, a big, ruddy faced Irish kid, who'd earned the nickname with his nervous habit of repeatedly bumping into you as he stood and talked. Nevertheless, he was a good and loyal friend. Little did we know, that friendship would soon be tried and tested under the most unexpected of circumstances.
The Wellington house was quite a fixture in our neighborhood. Located at the end of our quiet cul-de-sac, it stood in all its menacing, Gothic glory. It was huge and frightening, and the stories about it had haunted and entertained neighbors for many years. Folklore had it that the house's current sole occupant, Althea Wellington, had murdered six members of her family there, many years ago, long before any of our current neighbors had settled into this area. She had made the preposterous claim that a demon had manifested itself to her in the house and commanded her to carry out the gruesome crimes. Anyway, they say that she was found insane and spent some fifty years in an institution and was released, only to return to the house to live the life of a recluse, a morbid curiosity, an outcast of sorts. Needless to say, we would always be sure to steer clear of the place at all costs.
After years of dares, Bumpy and I were determined to do it this time. Halloween was coming up and we'd been through this a thousand times before. We'd hatched the plan in complete privacy. Heck, if our parents were to find out that we were planning to Trick or Treat at the Wellington house, they'd have our heads, for sure. I still don't know why we did it. Maybe we just wanted to do what no other kids had the nerve to do for so many years. Maybe we just wanted to impress some of the girls at school. Maybe we were just a couple of stupid kids, looking to pull off some daring, childish prank. Whatever the case, Halloween came and there we were, pacing around, trying to muster up the courage to carry it out.
While scores of fellow Trick or Treaters watched in awe from a safe distance, Bumpy and I took our final deep breaths and began to walk up the eerie cobblestone walkway towards the nightmarish mansion. My legs were trembling as I took each reluctant step, a million excuses to turn back going through my mind. Bumpy was silent, the reddish color disappearing from his face as he walked. My heart began to beat much faster as I tried to catch the deep breaths through my cheap, paper mask. Before we knew it, we were there on the rickety, ...
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While scores of fellow Trick or Treaters watched in awe from a safe distance, Bumpy and I took our final deep breaths and began to walk up the eerie cobblestone walkway towards the nightmarish mansion. My legs were trembling as I took each reluctant step, a million excuses to turn back going through my mind. Bumpy was silent, the reddish color disappearing from his face as he walked. My heart began to beat much faster as I tried to catch the deep breaths through my cheap, paper mask. Before we knew it, we were there on the rickety, wooden front porch. There before us was the majestic wooden door, a huge brass knocker, like something out of the movies, dangling from it. This was it, I thought. There's no turning back now. Without uttering a word, Bumpy and I looked at each other, and I began to knock.
After three hard wraps and no answer, I must admit that I was relieved. We had gone further than any other kid in the neighborhood, but miraculously we were spared some horrible fate. Bumpy and I looked at each other and let out a simultaneous sigh. We turned towards the street, anticipating our coveted hero's welcome from the other kids when we stopped dead in our tracks at the creaky sound of the massive door opening. We turned around, my eyes almost closed in anticipation of what terrifying sight I was about to behold.
To our utter shock and surprise, we were greeted by the sweetest looking, most pleasant little old lady one could imagine. Slight and petite, she wore her graying hair in a neat bun and in a lovely, soft voice, she apologized for the delay in answering the door, as she slipped packets of candy, so eloquently into our shopping bags. She had introduced herself as Althea Wellington and assured us that there were no strange goings on in her home, contrary to the stories that had gone around for years. We likewise introduced ourselves, and pleasantly surprised, enjoyed a brief, friendly conversation with her. We thanked her, and respectfully excused ourselves as she retreated back into her home.
Bumpy and I couldn't believe what we had just witnessed. The whole thing was just rumor. Just vicious, cruel, ignorant rumor. We had exposed a fraud against a sweet, old harmless lady and we were determined to get the word out. We weren't afraid anymore as we stepped down off the porch onto the cobblestone walkway, confident and eager to spread the news. That's when I heard the faint tap on the window next to the door. It was coming from inside the house and it was loud enough to make me turn around.
What my eyes were about to witness has stayed with me ever since and it will stay with me for the rest of my life. It is part of my everyday thoughts, my dreams and my fears. I think I saw it before Bumpy even turned around. It was hideous, like something out of a nightmare within a nightmare. A grotesque, horned, scaly head with eyes of fire and long, dripping teeth had replaced the pleasant, friendly face of Althea Wellington! Still wearing the house dress she had greeted us in, the thing raised its clawed hand to the window as if to beckon us back inside. It was everything evil and everything that is bad. I never knew the intensity of fear before that day. My legs were in motion before I could summon them, and I was off and running. Bumpy froze in total shock at what he had seen and I could remember myself screaming to him before he knew enough to run. We ran and we ran, and we never looked back. We ran until we literally dropped in an old, abandoned field, just a block away. I remember embracing my trusted friend, and I remember the silence we shared, unable to even speak of the horror we had just witnessed. It was over now. We had to collect ourselves, we had to think straight. I could swear that Bumpy had urinated on himself, the wet stain rolling down the leg of his costume. By nightfall, we had come to terms with the incident, or at least we thought so. We had decided not to tell anyone of what we had witnessed. After all, we were forbidden to set foot anywhere near that house and the story would surely get back to our folks. It was better left unsaid, a terrifying tale untold. It surely would change us, and I know I'd never look back on my childhood without it looming there, bigger than life. True to our word, Bumpy and I cruised through our teen years and into adulthood without telling a soul.
So many years have passed since that day. I still see Bumpy when we get the free time between juggling our careers and families. He prefers to be called Kevin now. And when this time of year comes around and we're sitting alone in some pub sipping a quiet beer, we find ourselves back on that porch on that Halloween night. The Wellington house is gone now. Torn down a few years back. A small shopping mall sits there now. I guess progress doesn't care about legends and folklore, or old haunted houses. I walk by there sometimes when I'm around the old neighborhood. As a cool autumn breeze sweeps the dried, crispy leaves across my path, I want to tell a tale that is better left untold.
The End
