We have experienced them. A moment that does not fit our construct of reality. A puzzle piece that does not fit the opening for it. We think linear, but the moment is outside the lines. I had one of those moments when I thought, regarding our ‘Leave It To Beaver’ house in the suburbs of Chicago, ‘At least we have a good house this time.’ I was 3 or 4 years old. What was my frame of reference? What was I comparing it to? A thought that has remained unexplained to me and has stuck with me for my entire life.

I visited the University of Oxford a few years ago. When I entered the Library, I felt I had been there before. Now, the Oxford Library did not remind me of any Library I had seen nor read about. MJ Aaron, Jonathon, and I had visited London previously, but not Oxford. Yet I was overwhelmed with the feeling that I had not only visited the Library before, but the University. I felt at home.

I have known many people of faith who say they have seen angels and visions. I have not. My faith’s empirical reality is seeing Christ in other people.. Yet the feeling of familiarity and place has struck me on more than one occasion. There was a candidate for Chancellor of Southern Illinois University at Carbondale that I knew the moment I met her. We had not met, but somehow we had. I knew I must help her where I could. I understood she was right for our campus. I am a bit of an introvert, but I reached out to work for what I understood our people needed.

As the Assistant Superintendent of our department, I was told by one of our crew leaders that a member of his Malaysian student custodial staff had seen a ghost in Anthony Hall. The young woman had been checking to ensure that she had turned off the lights and locked the doors on the third floor of Anthony Hall, which began as a women’s dormitory named for Susan B. Anthony in the early days of the last century. The student saw a woman dressed in a white blouse and a dress to her feet sitting in a chair with her hair in a bun on the back of her head. When the strangely dressed woman did not respond to the student, she left in fear. The custodial crew leader took me into the attic of the renovated former dormitory and showed me an old photo of the women who stayed in the building. There were women all dressed in white blouses and dresses to their feet with their hair in buns on the back of their heads…

So we search for answers when we do not know the questions. Who are we in the grand theatrical production of life? Are we learning as we go, or do we come with a carpet bag full of experiences? As we look upon our surroundings, what evidence do we have that our neighbor is seeing the same things that we are seeing? Scientists tell us that our brains make sense of the molecules and atoms that make up everything our eyes see.

Could it be that once in a while, we get a peek behind the Veil? Is there another reality or dimension walking alongside us? Perhaps we have the occasional visitor from the other side of the Veil. Maybe they wonder about the unexplainable moments as we do…

Today has the ambiance of fall the heat of summer. Ten to fifteen degrees hotter than normal. Perhaps this is the new normal. My birthday month is in view. I see on Facebook that many of my classmates are 68, but I have yet to achieve that age. I remember when I thought 40 was old. I am becoming addicted to the long walk. My goals for the day were reached in one fell swoop. As the day progresses, I exceed my goals and my iPhone tells me that I am a good boy. Mylo and I like to be told we are good boys. He gets a spinach leaf for a reward. My reward is internal.

Signs are everywhere. The holidays are here. Jennifer and Jonathon have both been published in Grassroots Magazine. We all go to the Readings. They are a big event. My phone just announced that I have exceeded my walking goal. I am a good boy!

The baseball playoffs are coming tomorrow. The Cubs are in. Happy day in the Brooks home. Brooks Pond is shining. Mr. Beaver is building his dam. He is singular of purpose. He knows winter is coming. The Bullfrog Quartet is resting this afternoon for their evening performance. There is more peace than war. There is a lot of war. Some leaders would have us believe that our cities are war-ravaged. Of course, only one political party has the problem of war-ravaged cities. Where is the voice of Wisdom in the cacophony of hate? The Bullfrog Quartet will sing of peace. They laugh at the clownish antics of humans.

Halloween has become a celebration of life in the midst of hate. Children getting free candy and the innocence of youth. Frankenstein, the creation of the real monster, Dr. Frankenstein. A misunderstood creation who liked kids and the occasional cigar. Frankenstein’s Bride was also misunderstood. A woman of refinement who spoke up for herself. She loved an elaborate hairdo. Frank often stole away for a while to enjoy a good cigar or his pipe. He considered the vagaries and vicissitudes of his human neighbors. Why did his creator scream, ‘He’s alive.’ Frankenstein did not think his being alive was so extraordinary. After all, he had been alive before, and now he was back. Frankenstein thought, ‘I am back in the ballgame again.’ The Cubs needed a hitter. Someone who could knock it out of the park.

Now the latest Cub is walking to the plate,’ Harry Caray intoned. ‘Frank N. Stein has the determined stride of Babe Ruth,’ Harry Cary said. ‘Mr. Stein must be 7 feet tall,’ Harry Cary continued. ‘The bat looks dwarfed in his big green hands,’ Harry observed.

‘I have been told that his shoe size is 22,’ Steve Stone added. ‘Frank was a bit miffed that he could not enjoy his favorite cigar before his turn at bat,’ Steve Stone continued. ‘Mrs. Stein can be seen in the dugout screaming instructions for her beloved husband. Steve laughed. ‘She called out for him to zip up and spit out his tobacco chaw,’ Steve observed wryly. ‘I am told they had to go to London to stretch his cap with one of the only antique hat expanders left at an antique London Hat Emporium, Steve observed. ‘Wait…Frank N. Stein has signaled for a time out and has motioned for his manager, Wednesday Adams, to come to Home Plate,’ Steve said.

‘Well, Steve, it appears that Wednesday is giving Frank a cigar and he is lighting it with aplomb,’ Harry Carey noted. ‘I am telling you I have never seen a look of determination like Frank N. Stein has as he waits for the pitch,’ Harry exulted. ‘Holy Cow, it is a grand slam…Cubs Win…Cubs win…

The Old Man enjoyed a reflective Sunday in the Woods. Listening to C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity was a delight. A folksy discussion of what it means to be a Christian. That is folksy from a renowned academic and author who knew how to write for the common among us. The Audible Package is over 30 hours and contains five of Lewis’s books.

My high school class is celebrating its 50th reunion on Saturday. I remember graduating like yesterday. I knew I was moving from my home the next morning. I wondered what I would become. So it goes. Becoming is the road we are on. I knew on that hot evening in 1975, I wanted my life to center around Christ in some form. Nothing had stirred my imagination like the Bible. The Desire Of The Ages had come to live with men.

I listened to the popular Christian song The King Is Coming by Bill and Gloria Gaither and felt inspired. There was something beyond the Veil. I garnered many friends in church. In those halcyon days, I felt accepted by everyone. When I began attending church, it was predominantly attended by older people. I have a love for old folks, now my people to this day. The clock turns swiftly.

A circular saw is peeling its trade in the distance. MJ says I am good at spackling. I told her I did a lot of it during the 9 months I worked on building our church as a teenager. I did everything from spackling to applying tar to the outside walls of the new basement. I worked alongside Dear Departed John Green on many occasions.

For years, my work colleagues thought I was a preacher. I seldom mentioned scripture, but must have looked the part. My boss in custodial told me that if we were contracted, I would be fine, as I could go preach. He also told me I should have been a philosopher. I see grey well. Everything is not black and white. If Christ judged us in black and white, we would be in a bit of trouble. As I often told colleagues in Building Services who wanted me to discipline their coworkers, if the shoe were on the other foot, they would not feel so vengeful.

Humility is real. I remind myself daily to not think of my accomplishments more highly than I deserve. I have been helped every step on the path to becoming. From liver and eggnog to the Old Man in the Woods, I remain a servant. As a child, I asked for wisdom. I am still asking…

We live in a leadership community of Headstrong and Cocksure. Right is right and wrong is wrong, and never the twain shall meet. We are often mystified by our own lives, yet certain about the lives of others, especially when they are wrong. Perhaps we have missed the point of the exercise.

Jennifer reminded me of how awful liver and eggnog must have been. Neva J believed in the efficacy of both. Iron deficiency was foremost in the minds of parents in the 1960s. Liver every week was the panacea. Eggnog with a raw egg in the mix made me wretch. Hence, I disposed of it when I got the opportunity. Neva J garnished it with nutmeg, which did not improve the flavor. I liked hamburgers, especially from Moo & Cackel. In those halcyon days, you could purchase five for a dollar. I could have eaten them all, but had to share. I knew some pasty-faced kids and wondered if they were consuming their weekly allotment of liver. I recall visiting Dr. Montgomery in Harrisburg, where the cigarette smoke was thick in his office. The doctor smoked while he was examining me. All adults smoked at least some cigarettes. It was a rite of passage. The professionals smoked pipes, and the working folks smoked cigars or cigarettes. Some folks chewed tobacco but it was hard to tell until you looked at their protruding cheek. Those folks who did not smoke wondered as to their chosen vice. There were many unsaid and unseen things done behind the barn.

Neva J and I made Ballon Wine. It was a joint project that we enjoyed. We placed a balloon across the open gallon jug, and when it inflated, we knew it was wine time. We kept the wine jug in the basement in the dark and cool climate. We drank it in juice glasses and thought sublime thoughts. Neva J smoked Salem cigarettes and swore she did not like them, but that adults smoked some. The menthol was advertised as being safer than the Pall Malls or Luckys, which were unfiltered. Salem Menthol cigarettes were supposed to be good for your throat.

Grandma A swore by a medication called Lydia Pinkham. A cure-all for women and their female afflictions. You can still purchase Lydia Pinkham today on Amazon. We gathered at Grandma A’s house on Monday nights. Neva J’s sisters, Wanda Vema and Guelda, Neva J, and me. During the holidays, I would quote from memory the Night Before Christmas. Often Aunt Wanda would comment that she did not feel well as she was, ‘Just a flowing and flowing.’ Grandma A went to the medicine chest for Lydia Pinkham.

Cousin Billy was a master organist. The best I have heard. He practiced daily. Billy had two subjects: the Organ and Universal Monsters. His sister Brenda thought he was weird. Brenda loved Neva J. They bonded and talked for hours. Brenda babysat me on Friday nights, and we watched scary movies together. Brenda talks slowly like her dad, Bill. When asked a question, Bill would run his tongue between a gap in his lower teeth, and the questioner wondered if there would be an answer forthcoming. Bill had been a soldier in Germany in World War II. It was said by the family that Bill had killed a German but that he would not speak of it. Uncle Bill loved my dad, whom he called Junior. When Junior spoke, Bill was enraptured. Junior had fought in World War II in the Pacific. Neva J suspected that Junior had been too friendly with the Island Women. This was before their marriage. Junior was a bit rakish and a bon vivant. He rode a Harley motorcycle and wore a motorcycle hat. He carried a gun without a license. He rode my tricycle with a grin of glee.

Junior believed in Spare the rod and spoil the child. He would hold one of my hands, and we went on a macabre merry-go-round with him swatting me with his leather belt. This sounds like child abuse now, but was perfectly acceptable and encouraged for we malcontent kids of the ’60s. One day Tommy stole my pencil, and I came over to my third-grade desk to retrieve what was mine. The teacher told me I should be paddled and that she would do so if she ever caught me engaging in fistycuffs again. The next day, Tommy stole my pencil again, and in walked the teacher. I knew I was in for Corporal Punishment. However, I was comforted with the sure knowledge that Neva J would kick her ass. The teacher was saved from an ass kicking by issuing another stern lecture.

Another day for the long hike. I love it when I reach my walking goal early in the day. I have been walking for health most of my adult life. As a child, I bicycled. Now I seek mystery in the Woods. Friday still revs my engine. Both in school and my career, Friday was special. Friday night was a movie at the Orpheum Theatre. We Eldorado kids were ready for release. This time of year was good for a Creature Feature. Friday nights were prime for monster or science fiction on TV as well. At a tender age, it seemed that scary movies were very close to reality. I remember seeing The Birds and wondering about its deeper meaning. I still do. Movies shadow our lives. The parallels are significant. After seeing Frankenstein or Dracula, the weekend seemed open for possibilities. There was a fight between good and evil. Dracula could be held at bay by seeing the cross. Dr. Frankenstein was the real monster. Could there be a Mad Scientist in Eldorado?

Friday was the forward in the book of the Weekend. It was too cool for a Pounds Hollow swim but not for Halloween planning. I drank coffee from the large brown ceramic cup made in an electric percolator. The richer the burnt coffee I drank, the more excited I was for the adventure of discovering the hidden. Discovering the Secret. Adults knew secret things that I did not. They spoke in whispers behind closed doors. Their eyes betrayed their understanding. There was a hidden world beyond the Veil. Friday night afforded time to investigate as Sherlock Holmes and Watson. There was a hidden book of secrets. Now there were precious hours to discover it.

Some kids always looked sad. Did they not have enough iron in their diet? Did they not have liver once a week as I did? Did they not drink eggnog with a raw egg every morning as I did? That is the mornings that Neva J did not leave the kitchen long enough for me to throw the vile mixture out of the back porch door. What were the adults laughing about after I went to bed? Was there a secret comedy that they unleashed after I retired for the evening?

Teachers rarely revealed their human side. Mostly, they were prim and proper, speaking as if they read from a script. The Script was a bit boring. We kids were just people in miniature. We understood much more than they realized. When they connected with us, it was revelatory. They had hopes and fears and bills to pay. Some pumped gas in the summer. My Social Studies teacher did not seem pleased. Mr. Watson was a kind teacher who connected with me as a human. He was interested in what I was reading and what I thought about the narrative. Mrs. Baker talked with me as an equal. She liked my writing. She spoke of her life at home. She wanted to take a vacation, but her husband was not warm to the idea. Mrs. Baker had a historic knowledge of Eldorado that was unparalleled.

Hillary Clinton wrote a somewhat maligned book, It Takes a Village to Raise a Child. She was right. Egg nog and liver do not do it all for a kid. Fridays offered the opportunity to study the mystery. Why was one of the best jobs in Southern Illinois coal mining beneath the ground? Who decides if a student is more inclined to succeed at University, and who should pursue the vocational trades? Was there really a headless man at the State Fair?

Travel intrigues me. Seeing something I have not seen before. Learning customs different than mine. We visited the catacombs in Sicily. Dead bodies were close enough to touch. They were dressed in their best costumes. Some women in their wedding dresses. A lothario in his top hat and tails. A baby so perfectly preserved that she looked like she was sleeping. What is life? What is beyond the Veil? Did the bodies in the catacombs know?

The Old Man has become accustomed to passing people while they stare or drop their heads. Today, two women smiled and waved. Friendly brightens the day. I noticed that when I visited Manhattan, thousands of people passed by without making eye contact. Many are deep in their thoughts. Some are a bit afraid. Modern life has brought us fear. We hear often about our enemies and seldom about our friends.

Halloween is approaching. The Monsters are planning a Halloween party. ‘I think this year we will have rides for the kiddies,’ Frankenstein said with a grin. ‘A hayride and an apple bobbing contest,’ Frankenstein continued. ‘I do love to bob for apples, I have won the contest three years running,’ Frankenstein noted. ‘I have a special technique,’ Frankenstein explained. ‘I wear my President Kennedy mask until the moment that it is time to bob, then remove it just before we submerge our faces in the water,’ Frankenstein laughed. ‘The shock on the children’s faces gives me just enough time to get the largest apple and win,’ Frankenstein winked. ‘Mrs. Frankenstein says that I have an unfair advantage, but I think not,’ Frankenstein chortled. ‘Mrs. F loves to bob for apples, but her high hair gets in the way of the bobbing bowl,’ Frankenstein wryly observed. ‘One time she bobbed before me and knocked off my Kennedy mask early, spoiling the surprise,’ Frankenstein said.

‘I love a good sack race,’ Mummy said. ‘I do well in the sack as it reminds me of my sarcophogas,’ Mummy observed. ‘Also, I do not trip over my mummy wrappings,’ Mummy grinned. ‘Chet beat me last year in the sack race, but he had the advantage of gliding to the finish as the Lost In Space Robot,’ Mummy frowned. ‘I asked Chet for a redo, he responded, ‘That does not compute.’

‘I make a mean Blood Punch,’ Dracula announced. ‘I spike it with Grey Goose Vodka, everyone is happy after a tumbler or two,’ Dracula laughed. ‘The kids especially enjoy the Grey Goose as they are not accustomed to the benefits of Vodka,’ Dracula observed. ‘After the Punch I enjoy playing Old Maid Cards with the kiddos,’ Dracula said joyously. ‘We eat candy corn and popcorn balls, then we take a nap due to the Grey Goose,’ Dracula said with a shrug of his shoulders.

‘I wonder why we get such a bad rap,’ Wolfman asked. ‘We want to let the children not fear,’ Wolfman added with a toothy grin. ‘I understand why there is fear that some people are not good,’ Wolfman reflected. ‘We are the Storybook Monsters who will never harm you,’ Wolfman advised. ‘We have fears just like you, like the dreaded silver bullet, Wolfman observed. ‘I suppose wolfbane as well,’ Wolfy said, as Wolfy is his preferred name. ‘I come from a long line of good people who have the peculiarities of the full moon blues,’ Wolfman whispered. ‘I go to church every Sunday and sing in the choir,’ Wolfy said. ‘I enjoy fancy walking sticks and three-piece suits,’ Wolfy reflected. ‘I read history at Oxford,’ Wolfy noted. ‘I am different but not bad, only painted that way by many,’ Wolfy said sadly.

‘You all are a bit much, Wednesday said as she entered the Halloween Party Planning Meeting. ‘We are not the normies and we are comfortable in our skins,’ Wednesday proclaimed. ‘For instance, Thing is but a hand, but what he can do with that hand,’ Wednesday observed. ‘Thing saved me many times from peril,’ Wednesday informed. ‘Thing communicates fluently through sign language and is the most insightful Thing that I know,’ Wednesday explained. ‘The Normies are who scare me,’ Wednesday said. ‘Their masks do not fall off in the apple bobbing bowl,’ Wednesday continued. ‘The Normies hurt and destroy people for blood sport and their own gain,’ Wednesday observed. ‘Innocent people believe their lies as they wear sheep’s clothing but underneath are wolves,’ Wednesday said with a glint in her dark eyes. ‘My Normie Neighbor was robbed of her inheritance by a church, which is a cult that promised her riches and reward if she would give her small savings to the preacher,’ Wednesday said with passion. ‘Avarice and vice murder and mayhem follow their government,’ Wednesday said with a tear coursing down her cheek. ‘We plan a fun Halloween Party with no hidden agendas while the real monsters wait at the gate,’ Wednesday announced.

The fall rains continue. Rain and shorter days are my forte. It is just over a month until my birthday. I can not recall when I did not enjoy rain and the ambiance of Autumn. The heated passions of summer give way to the cool considerations of fall. I received an L.L. Bean fall or winter shirt. It is a flannel with snaps and a leather pocket cover. It is in the antique style. I saw my dad wearing shirts like that in the ’60s. A time when clothes had character, one for each. The limbs have been falling in the Woods. Large enough to knock the person under them out cold. We live with the unknown as our companion. I often told MJ that we must take as many vacations and road trips as our budget allowed so that Aaron and Jonathon would have memories of the family events. We journeyed to interesting places and still do. Travel broadens your perspective. You meet people different than you. You hear many perspectives on life. No one solution fits all. I have always been a history student. The American Presidency fascinates me. I love stories. Stories fuel our lives. Each day, we walk through a story. We are in the middle of a narrative that has not revealed its ending.

Wisdom is lost on its children. The patently obvious is accepted as truth without a search for the prose. The picture before us and the likes or dislikes or hearts rule our understanding. Many folks are taking medication just to survive what is a chaotic time. There is a lot of fear. We peer around the corner to see what is coming. Will we be politically correct, or will we follow our hearts?

Simplification of compassion is not possible. If our brothers and sisters are those who are like us, we have missed the point. The sick mind and heart seek revenge for perceived wrongs. As a manager/administrator at Southern Illinois University, I quickly learned that not everyone likes me. I told the Director, along with his staff, that my goal upon assuming the leadership of the Building Services was to make our enemies our friends and our friends love us. He smiled wryly. I proceeded to do exactly what I said I would. We need longer tables to invite everyone to the feast.

We live in the eye of the hurricane. We must be peacemakers. Progress is incremental. Let us reason together. Let us seek the elusive wisdom. We happy folk look outward instead of inward. Who needs us? How can we help? I love our little Presbyterian Church because it is constantly asking these questions. Not the church of exclusivity. Do not enter here if you are the right political party or color. ‘Come all those who are burdened and heavy laden.’ Jesus invited us to take his yoke upon us and learn of him as he was meek and lowly of heart, and we would find rest for our souls. He said we should learn from him. Christ loved humanity in all of its human condition. The Bible tells us that all of our righteousness is but filthy rags. We are all alike. As badly as we want to believe we are elite and set apart, we are part of a magnificent creation that is noted for its repeated failures.

So we think not all is well. Not so fast. We can not see too far around the next corner. Shall we treat those in need just like we want to be treated when our turn in the barrel is next?

The fall rains are coming. They are moving from the west. On New Year’s Eve, we eagerly watch the ball descend in Times Square. The significance lies in the fact that a New Year has begun. In reality, a New Year starts for us each morning. Our lives are what we make of them. ‘We are the masters of our fate and the captains of our souls.’ No one can live our life for us. The good, bad, and ugly rest on our doorstep. They call to us as we enter or leave our homes. The ingredients for a wonderful layer cake are before us. It is up to us to bake it. Age slows us down, giving us more time to think. Thinking is a beautiful experience. We seek a manual for living. An instruction book that gives A-Z for the path of life. A book that does our thinking for us. It is hard to find the instruction manual on TV. Many voices that have thought about what they are going to say and how it serves their agenda.

‘Immigrants are stealing our jobs,’ TV Newscaster intoned. ‘People who do not live according to our interpretation of the Bible and our religious dogma are not true Americans,’ the TV Newscaster continued. ‘We must save the Republic and return it to what the founding fathers intended,’ the TV Newscaster said passionately. ‘The Old Time Religion of acceptance and grace does not apply in this pitched battle,’ the TV Newscaster advised. ‘Our leader must be in the mode of King David of the Old Testament,’ the TV Newscaster demanded. ‘
God’s love is conditional, and we, the chosen, will decide who gets it,’ the TV Newscaster said. ‘We seek a theocracy, not a democracy,’ the TV Newscaster advised.

The Old Man marveled at the peace of the Autumn Woods. The Old Stones spoke to him. They said Come and rest awhile beneath our shelter. The Stones have seen many travelers. People with worries and cares have stopped by for a visit. Some carried backpacks of sadness. Some held satchels of joy. All were on the joint journey. We share the Journey. No matter our politics or religion, we are going in the same direction. At the heights of our revelries in our halcyon days, we are no different than our brothers and sisters. For a season, we are kings of the county. Money and plans have no end. Then we wake up old. Education and understanding did not perform as wisdom. We wanted Wisdom and got rhetoric as a weak replacement. We focus on turning the crank of the money machine faster. The holidays and birthdays were nice, the love pricked our hearts with the question, Is there more? Our mentors betrayed us. They sold us schemes that made them rich while we remained in poverty. We looked to the stars of sports, Hollywood, Religion Politics for answers to life’s persistent questions. They promised us they had the answers. When we sought our heroes, they had moved with no forwarding address.

The Bullfrog Quartet is tuning their instruments. Their rich bass voices are more needed than ever. They hope the humans do not destroy their home. ‘There is room for all of us,’ Papa Bullfrog said. ‘We are in the Garden of Eden,’ Pappa Bullfrog continued. ‘What a gift we have been given,’ PBF whispered. ‘Nothing shall hurt or destroy in all of my holy mountain the Bible says, Pappa Bullfrog quoted. ‘Think about what you hear and see and say,’ PBF said. ‘We are the words of our mouth and the meditations of our hearts,’ Pappa BF noted solemnly.

The Weaver weaves a beautiful rug. Slowly and carefully over each pass of the loom, the multicolor creation forms. It is difficult to visualize the finished product; it requires faith.

Yesterday I had two phone conversations with friends. Phone call conversations seem to be so rare for many of us these days that I thought the topic …

Call Me

The Old Man walked in the Autumn Woods. Grateful earth is enjoying the fall rain. MJ is downloading the entire Outlander television series. Jennifer and Annelise recommend it highly. The cloudy, cool skies are inviting. The summer has been marked by politically charged rhetoric, and the sweltering temperatures have intensified the conversation. Now we rest and regroup. Time to plan and reflect on the past. We think about where we have been and where we are going. What is our purpose as one of billions of humans that God has created?

The Old Man waits for fall. Born in the fall, a week before Halloween. Autumn has many pleasant memories. I remember walking with cousin Brenda to my first day of school at Hillcrest School in Eldorado. It was a new world after moving from Chicago a week or two prior to school opening. We lived in a haunted house on Illinois Avenue just across from the high school football field. We sat on the wrap-around front porch and watched the football team play. My cot was in a utility closet. I climbed onto the cot from the open door. There were several fireplaces in the old Victorian House, and when they were not lit, it was cold. The first morning, Neva J found a dead rat in the claw-foot bathtub. A coal furnace was in the basement. The fire would burn out at night. Mornings were frigid. A covered well was in the backyard. Sounds emanate from its murky depths. We shared the haunted house with my aunt Wanda and her family, who were uncle Bill and cousins Brenda and Billy. I had a bit of a crush on Brenda as she was so nice to me. Billy was a bit of a strange duck. He loved monsters. He collected Monster Magazines, which were a going item in the early ’60s. Billy particularly liked the Universal Studios Monsters. Frankenstinen, Dracula, and the Wolf Man, as well as the Creature From the Black Lagoon. The Mummy was also a subject of discussion.

‘This year the Halloween Party will be at my haunted house,’ Billy B announced. ‘I have the latest Universal Monster Magazine and Universal Monster Masks for all of the participants,’ Billy B exulted! ‘We will bob for apples and arrive at the Haunted House on a hayride from Raleigh to Eldorado,’ Billy B said. ‘We will begin the hayride at Raleigh’s Haunted House, which has a candle in every window,’ Billy B continued. ‘For the ride, we will drink apple cider,’ Billy B announced. ‘Wear your jackets and navy caps for the cold bite in the air,’ Billy B cautioned.

‘Look what is coming down the road,’ Jane said. ‘It is a man riding a horse, but I can not see his face,’ Jane continued. ‘Oh my goodness, he is holding a Jack-O-Lantern under his arm, Jane said with fright in her voice. ‘Them Headless Horsemen are beckoning us to follow him,’ Jane observed through her semi-covered eyes. ‘The Jack-O-Lantern is laughing,’ Jane said in a whisper.

‘Welcome Frankenstein said to the Holiday Revelers.’ Mrs. F and I have been eagerly anticipating your arrival. Frankenstein continued. ‘Could I interest you in a Dirty Martini?’ Frankenstein asked. ‘We also have cigars for your enjoyment,’ Frankenstein said with a big smile. ‘We have been pursuing the Universal Monster Magazines and trying on the Masks,’ Frankenstein laughed.

‘A most exciting development occurred just before you arrived on your Hayride,’ Mrs. Frankenstein said. ‘We heard the scratching from the covered well and opened it to find Thing,’ Mrs. F laughed with joy. ‘It seems he has been captured in the well for over 100 years and is so happy to be with us this Halloween Party,’ Mrs. F continued. ‘Thing is a member of the Addams Family, and Wednesday Addams has joined us this evening for the festivities,’ Mrs. Frankenstien said with a wink. ‘Thing has some card tricks to show us,’

‘Hello, you pitiful examples of human flotsum and jetsum,’ Wednesday said to the assembled party attendees. ‘I almost did not come for fear that this would be an example of faux fear that normies believe is scary,’ Wednesday said. ‘I knew I must be here for my dear Thing,’ Wednesday said. ‘Place your assigned mask over your head and adopt the creepy personality of the face,’ Wednesday proclaimed. ‘No one will leave here as they came,’ Wednesday promised.