Ghost Shadows (6 page)

The beads of sweat had now formed rivulets running down his face as well as the center of his back. Wyatt could feel his heart start to beat faster in his chest. He involuntarily gripped the steering wheel tighter although his palms were so wet he could barely maintain his hold.

Then he saw the car was definitely crossing over into his lane; Wyatt was certain of it. He could hear the steady thumping in his brain as his blood pulsed rapidly though his body. It grew louder by the second, sounding like the foot pedal of a heavy-metal drummer, high on some illegal substance, manically slamming against a bass drum.

Wyatt felt a sudden pressure in the middle of his chest as if someone twice his size had just sat on top of him, trying to crush the very life out of him. He felt a sharp pain coursing down his left arm. The world around him started to fade and grow darker. He could scarcely hear the thudding of the rumble strips over the pounding of his heart. The last thing Wyatt saw were the headlights of the suicidal maniac's oncoming car heading straight for him.

***

 

“Damn shame,” the township patrolman said to the state trooper in frustration.

“What do you suppose happened?” The trooper inquired.

The patrolman explained, pointing to the woman standing outside of a minivan, which was halfway off the opposite side of the highway and wedged down in the culvert.

“That woman over there said she was on her way to town to get a coffee before taking her two kids to daycare. The two kids are OK as well, thanks to their car seats.

Anyway, she said she was driving along when suddenly that car crossed the double yellow lines into her lane, heading right for her. Luckily, at the last minute she managed to turn sharply to her left and just miss getting hit. The driver of that sedan went off the road, down into the culvert, rolled over once, and slammed into a tree. It appears the driver was killed instantly.”
 

The trooper asked, “So what are you thinking? Heart attack?”

“Most likely,” the patrolman replied. “He is the right age, overweight, and his skin appears to be dusky in color, likely from lack of oxygen.”

“Well,” the trooper replied. “I suppose that lady and her two kids are lucky she was able to get out of the way at the last minute. Otherwise we would have a real mess to clean up. This is bad enough.”

The patrolman said, “Yeah. Every time something like this happens I realize just how vulnerable we are, when the only thing separating us from disaster is a painted double-yellow line.”

“I agree.” The trooper replied. “Kind of makes you not want leave home in the morning.”

 

 

Conscience is no more than the dead speaking to us.

—
Jim Carroll
 

 

Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind.

—
Jim Morrison
 

 

Not a single one of the residents of the quiet upscale subdivision of Wellington Estates understood why it was that their reclusive neighbor, William Elverson, divorced, age forty-eight, hated Halloween with such a passion. And because of Elverson's less than outgoing demeanor no one ever managed to feel close enough to the man to ask him why that might be. Or perhaps they simply didn't care enough to try to discover the answer. But it was nonetheless obvious to everyone in the neighborhood that Elverson detested the holiday.

Every year, the entire subdivision went all out to make the holiday a festive event with elaborate house decorations including lights, props
,
and even a few animatronic displays. Some lawns were adorned with large cheerful-looking inflatable cartoon-like decorations. Others took a more sinister approach having chosen to transform their frontage into frightening graveyard scenes. Ghosts, ghouls
,
and goblins abounded, as did various incarnations of vampires, werewolves, zombies, famous Hollywood
slashers
and every monster imaginable.
 

A few of the residents even went to the next level of Halloween enthusiasm and converted their large two and three-car garages into makeshift haunted houses, complete with billowing gray fog
and
movie quality scenery with frighteningly realistic makeup and stereo sound effects. As a result on Halloween night literally hundreds of revelers walked through the development with their children, turning the entire
neighborhood into one big Halloween party. As the word spread, families from other neighborhoods made the pilgrimage to see what new ideas the folks managed to come up with.
 

But not William; he would never do a single thing to participate in the annual festivities. In fact, most people couldn't help but notice how every year on the evening of October thirty-first
,
when every other house in the neighborhood was aglow with Halloween decorations, William's house was cast into darkness and his car was nowhere to be found. Ironically, in many ways the lack of decoration and the solitary darkness surrounding his home on Halloween night often made it seem more frightening and more sinister than even the most elaborately decorated property.
 

William's absence likewise did not go unnoticed by the various kids of the neighborhood, especially those who were of the more malicious ilk. These creatively nefarious juveniles took the letter of the law when it came to “Trick
o
r Treat” and felt
that
Elverson's obvious absence and snubbing of their favorite holiday granted them carte blanche to play whatever pranks they could imagine and even commit minor acts of vandalism on the man's property.
 

These hoodlums rationalized that if William had chosen not to be home on Halloween night to offer them treats then it was their right and perhaps even their duty to play any tricks on the man they deemed appropriate. As a result, Every November
first
William awoke to find the trees in his front yard draped with long, flowing streamers of toilet paper. On more than one occasion William had returned to his property Halloween night to find his doorbell had been taped down in the ringing position and the window to his storm door had been coated with soap-streaked vulgarities obviously added by some of the more daring of the neighborhood kids.
 

And on one unfortunate occasion, the legendary flaming bag of poo had been set afire, fortunately on his concrete walkway so no real damage could be done to his home. That particular incident ended up being more symbolic than effective and in reality was an exercise in futility, since William never was home to rush from the house to stomp out the fire, completing the gag.

If the people of the neighborhood would have taken the time to get to know William better, they might have possibly had a better understanding or at least an appreciation for his avoidance of the holiday. They would also know why he had been avoiding the holiday every year since he was just a child. But then again, William Elverson was not the type of person who cared enough to know or associate with any of his neighbors. He was a quiet, reclusive
,
and antisocial man who tended to keep to himself. Even the neighbors living right next door to William knew very little about him.
 

Elverson's lack of congeniality was largely the result of his melancholy disposition. Even before his divorce, he and his wife had been less than sociable, but since the split, he had become more of a loner and a recluse. This made him seem an oddball of the neighborhood.

This aspect of his personality however, had little to do with
h
is displeasure with the Halloween season. That particular dislike was the result of an event
that
was much more horrifying and completely life changing. William had only been eight years old when an unspeakable tragedy had occurred, altering his personality forever.
 

William, who was known back then as Billy, and his best friend, Jimmy Jenson
,
had been trick or treating in their neighborhood on that fateful Halloween night forty years earlier. The two young boys had been friends forever
,
so it seemed, and every year they anxiously awaited the arrival of Halloween, which had been one of their favorite holidays.
 

The two boys enjoyed dressing in costumes and pretending to be someone or something they were not, as all kids did. They also loved and anticipated filling their sacks with candy and treats. Although they had participated in the trick or treat ritual for as long as they both could remember, that particular Halloween night was a very special time for both of them.

It was the first year the boys' parents had consented to allow them to go from house to house
unescorted. In the past, one or both of their parents had always gone along with them, waiting by the curb not only to protect them from any of the larger kids who might want to steal their treats but as a warning to the homeowners that they would be checking their boys
'
treat bags and the candies before either of them would be allowed to eat any of it. There had been reports in the newspapers over the previous years about treat tampering
,
as well as urban legends of razorblades in apples and laxatives injected into chocolates and other such horrible acts. The presence of the parents was to serve as a deterrent to any such abhorrent behavior.
 

The lack of parental accompaniment that year was a significant turning point in both of the boys
'
young lives as it indicated they were no longer considered little kids but were now big boys
;
old enough to trick or treat on their own. This was especially important to Jimmy
,
who had been burdened with a very noticeable speech impediment—what many of the neighborhood children referred to as “baby talk
.
” He said his Ls and Rs like Ws as in “Maawy had a wittle wamb
,
” sounding a lot like the cartoon character Elmer Fudd. He had been going to special speech classes at the elementary school to try to break him of the speech defect, but progress was slow going. Billy didn't mind the way Jimmy talked because Jimmy was his best friend.
 

On that particular Halloween night, young Billy was dressed in a homemade pirate costume and Jimmy wore cowboy getup, complete with red felt hat and neckerchief. Billy had thought Jimmy's costume was a bit too young looking for him and did nothing to help him shed the baby image, which haunted him because of his speech. But they were best friends and as far as Billy was concerned, if that was what Jimmy wanted to wear then so be it.

Th
e
night had been a very successful one for the both of them as they had been making a good haul and their candy sacks were bulging with treats. Billy was tired and wanted to go home, but Jimmy was excited and wanted to try one more house before calling it a night. He pointed down the street
,
indicating he had found his final target for the night.
 

The house
that
Jimmy had chosen was the last house at the end of a street, which dead-ended at a vacant lot. Beyond the lot lay the edge of a local forest, cast in shadow beyond the glow of the streetlights.
 

Billy was reluctant to approach the house because it appeared to be a ramshackled wreck in such dire disrepair; he doubted anyone actually lived there any longer. They did notice
,
however, there was an inviting light glowing on the paint-chipped ceiling of the dilapidated front porch, which was a signal all kids immediately recognized as the universal beacon of welcome for young costumed children on that most mysterious of nights.
 

The two boys approached the front stairs apprehensively, Jimmy taking the lead and Billy following a few cautious steps behind him. Billy suggested, “Jimmy. I think we should skip this place
. . .
it sort of gives me the creeps. Something just don't feel right about it.”
 

“Aw
,
c'mon,
” Jimmy insisted
.
“Stop bein such a baby, Biwwy. Theao ain't nothin wong with dis pwace. Pwobably some owd guy wivves here oa somet
h
in wike dat.” Billy had been so accustomed to hearing Jimmy speak with his baby-like quality, that he had understood every single word the boy had said, even though he doubted others
 would
have.
 

Ignoring Billy's protests, Jimmy boldly walked up to the rickety front door and knocked hard on its surface several times. The door seemed to rattle in its frame and the broken front window tinkled from the vibration as if threatening to fall
out
and come crashing onto the porch. When he didn't get a reply, Jimmy knocked yet again, harder.
 

Eventually, a gruff-sounding voice called out, "What d'ya want?" The tonal quality of the voice, a man's voice and a sinister sound
that
seemed to lie just beneath the spoken words, made Billy quake with fear. The voice sounded very wrong and Billy got a strange sensation in the pit of his stomach. But Jimmy
was
not intimidated in any
way by the strange tone
and
simply replied, "Twick oa tweet, Mista
.
"
 

For a moment, nothing happened. Billy pleaded with Jimmy to leave the place and head home. He even considered turning an
d
running away himself, but his feet felt
 
 heavy like they sometimes did in bad dreams. Then, before he could do or say anything several things occurred in a matter of just a few seconds. Billy saw these horrifying things played out as if watching a movie in slow motion. Suddenly the overhead porch light switched out, plunging the boys into total darkness. Before their eyes could completely adjust to the sudden blackness, and before they could even consider turning and running, the front door burst open inward with a rattling bang, the already cracked glass shattering and falling in a tinkling rain of shards somewhere inside the
house
.