The Halloween Season

Darlene Pritchett stood back and admired her front porch. She'd just finished decorating for the autumn season, and she was proud of the cute handmade scarecrow that she had placed in a wicker chair next to the door.

She felt justifiably proud of her work decorating for the holiday season. A light breeze gently ruffled her auburn hair and she shivered slightly as she felt its coolness. The autumn decorating was a tradition and she silently reflected on it. Ten years she had lived in this house and ten years she had decorated for the autumn season. Ten years she had dug out these same scarecrows, and black cats. and witches. and these…these stupid orange and black colors! Ten years she had carved these messy, stinking, heavy, dirty and repulsive pumpkins jack-o-lanterns! Ten years without fail her husband, Ben, had said, “Darlene, honey, it’s getting late. Don’t you think you’d better get started on the decorations?” And “Darlene, we don’t want to be the last on our street to decorate. Why don’t you get the decorations out and get started?” And ten years she had answered him with the same response, “I'll do it when I get good and ready!”

Well, this year was going to be different! She had removed two boards on the porch and replaced them with a small trapdoor. Underneath it was a grass rope noose that ran through pulleys into the ceiling. There in the attic was a spring-loaded catapult. Additionally, the boards in the roof had been removed with only the roofing materials left in place. Then, on the roof she had installed two 12 gauge shotguns with weights attached to trigger wires that would be released when the catapult was activated causing the shotguns to fire shortly after the catapult was released. The shotguns were loaded with rock salt. The last item was a sign hung over the front door that simple read, “I hope you enjoy the decorations.”

At five o’clock, Ben came walking up the sidewalk. He saw the sign, smiled and smugly thought to himself, “Well, Ben, you’ve still got it. You have manipulated her once again, even after she swore that last year was the last, to once again decorate the house like your mother and first wife did. Ben, you’re still king of this castle.”

Stepping onto the porch, he was just ready to call her name when his big foot fell through the little trapdoor. In a flash, he felt the grass rope tighten around his ankle and he was jerked upward through the ceiling and unceremoniously deposited onto the chair of the catapult. Before he could gather his senses, he heard the click as the mechanism released the spring on the catapult and was suddenly hurled toward the roof. Covering his head with his hands and arms and fully expecting to be slammed against the inside of the roof, he was surprised to sail right through the roofing material in a graceful arc. Then, at the apogee of the arc, the first shotgun fired and he felt the stinging of the rock salt against his backside. Two somersaults later the second gun exploded and again he had that familiar burn he had recently experienced. Then, the asphalt of the street rushed up to meet him as he landed in a pile.

Leaping to his feet, he ran down the street as quickly as he could, not daring to look back. He knew he would never, ever go near that Pritchett house again!