If you're creepy and you know it, clap your hands!
Vol. 14
Have you bought enough Halloween candy yet?
The giant and I had a bit of Halloweenie shopping over the weekend, but it took some effort. Why are stores dragging their feet? School supplies should be kicked into a clearance heap by now to make room for Halloween.
Hobby Lobby doesn't carry Halloween décor, but they have aisles of Fall stuff out. Target barely had a whisper of Fall, just little things in the front bins and one display of pumpkin spice cereals, but I searched for anything Halloweenie and came up with a package of Pillsbury break-apart sugar cookies that have a pumpkin design. I haven't had ready-made cookies in years but these are pretty cute.
At Home had this Halloween pillow that I grabbed because Halloween+Shakespeare is a win, and I found a three foot long pumpkin spice- scented witch broom, and that's hanging on my office wall now.
I know my part of the country doesn't get all the Fall stuff as quickly as maybe New England does, but I hear some Vegas and California grocery stores have their Halloween candy stocked already, while all I've seen so far are bags of Brach's caramels. Know what time it is? Time for me to throw a hissy.
Phobia of the Week!
Cucurbitophobia is the fear of pumpkins. Yes, apparently this exists. Mostly triggered by a general fear of spooky Halloween, it can also come from a pumpkin-specific trauma. We've all been there.
As you can imagine, someone with this phobia has a mighty difficult time during the Halloween season. If you have an Arthur Spooner in your life, try not to scare them into the hospital. Halloween might be a good time to put that demented old circus monkey to work sorting the junk drawer.
Have a Creepy Cup of Coffee
By “creepy” I just mean special Halloween and Autumn editions that have cool labels, horror tie-ins and Autumn flavors. It's a big deal, and hoarding now is one way to celebrate the season all year.
I drink all levels of roasts, but I also look forward to seeing the Autumn blends arrive, the pumpkin, maple or spiced flavors that taste like the season. Look through these specialty coffees that are producing some unusual flavors and great packaging that would make your household Halloween fanatic, or the coffee addict, very happy.
Utica Coffee Roasting Co.- This New York roaster was established in 2002 with the slogan “Wake the Hell Up!” They have a couple of seasonal coffee blends available: The Great Pumpkin is a spiced pumpkin and pastry blend, and tell me that doesn't sound great. The Headless Horseman blend is an ultra-caffeinated pumpkin blend that'll give you the energy to chase people.
Coffee Shop of Horrors- An Orlando firm that's been roasting beans since 2007, they discard any unpurchased beans after 30 days so it's always fresh.
Look for Re-Animator Morning Blend with Frankenstein's monster on the label, the Bigger Boat New England Blend with our Jaws heroes on the front, Ichabod's Dame pumpkin spice blend, Boogie's Butterscotch Toffee Nightmare Brew or Nevermore Amaretto with a mournful Poe on the label. Everything sounds so good that I couldn't leave them off the list.
Bones Coffee- Out of Cape Coral, FL., pretty much every coffee label of Bones can be a Halloween label as they all feature skeletons. But look for some season-specific flavors like Frog's Breath, which is a limited edition chocolate mole blend. Year round, they sell maple bacon flavor, Rest in Peace decaf, Shark Bite spiced buttered rum and From Dusk Till Donuts.
Barissimo- Available on Amazon, this roaster has a limited edition two pack of Halloween flavors. Raven Roast is an Ethiopian single origin blend with notes of honey and fruit, while the Sleepy Hollow blend is 100% Arabica beans with orange and apple notes.
Java Junkies Coffee- This family owned firm from Terrell, Texas is making some really unusual coffees. You can buy individual bags or they have 3-pks of seasonal flavors. The Autumn pack features one pound each of Pumpkin Spice, Autumn Harvest Spice and Sugar & Spice, or the Halloween pack has Witch's Brew (candy corn flavored), Mummy Mudslide and Franken-fudge Brownie.
The national coffee chains are where a lot of us will run into the Fall flavors. Starbucks's will likely never stop with their PSL. I actually don't care for it's bitter aftertaste, but I do like Dunkin's Fall drinks. This year, look for a peanut butter cup macchiato and a nutty pumpkin coffee.
More coffee?
mug by FantasiesbyHope-etsy
Spooky Booky
The Graveyard Book
by Neil Gaiman
HarperCollins, 2008
The story of Bod, short for Nobody, a living boy who is being raised by a whole graveyard of ghosts and a very old vampire named Silas.
Bod's family was murdered when he was just a toddler. Overlooked, he was able to walk out the door and make his way to the local graveyard, where the ghosts and Silas adopted him and have worked to keep him safe for years, but now the murderer has realized that he didn't complete the job. There is one member of the Owens family who still needs to die.
A murder mystery, but also a coming of age about what makes a family and fitting in among schoolmates, with the whole story having a paranormal candy coating. This is a Newberry Award winner and a stellar story. The tombstone on the cover has always looked like a lobster claw to me.
Scare Scale: 2.5. This has some good tension, oh, and a massacre.
Now be still, it's Story Time.
The Underdogs
A sweet potato farm on it's own, nearly two miles from the nearest neighbor, could seem like a lonely place. Perhaps it could be considered peaceful, depending on the person thinking about it. The Hensons had lived together on this farm for over forty years, taking over from Mr. Henson's father when he died about 1915 from being kicked. By what, the Hensons never mentioned.
They occasionally had a farm hand to help out in the fields but this never lasted long. The men grew bored and moved on, especially as the Hensons were never able to pay the best wages. So it might be a quiet existence for most people, but the Hensons were different.
By the light of an electric table lamp Mrs. Henson spun the dial on the rotary phone as quickly as she could, muttering “dang it” under her breath as she waiting for the dial to return so she could spin out another number. She had the phone number to the police station memorized by now.
Sergeant McAdams answered on the second ring. It was a Thursday, one o'clock in the morning, so he had a good idea who would be calling and sighed as he picked up.
“Goodlin Police, this is Sergeant McAdams-”
“Sergeant, we're under attack! Bring your whole force! Bring your Tommy guns!”
“Mrs. Henson.”
“Yes, it's Lula Henson!”
“I know. How many men should I send this time, Mrs. Henson?”
“All of them! And call Stone Mountain for back-up!”
“Stone Mountain, you say? You must have yourselves a real problem out there. Never in my life have I ever met two people leadin' more dangerous lives than you and Mr. Henson. Sweet potato farms are more exciting than I ever imagined. Where is Mr. Henson, by the way?”
“Roy's here defending life and property as best he can!”
Little Mr. Henson burst from the kitchen door carrying a wire basket of eggs. He was wearing a thin suit jacket, years past its proper expiration, over his faded striped pajamas. He wore tattered bedroom slippers on his feet as he shuffled to the front door as quickly as his old legs could carry him.
“They's comin'!” he yelled as he ran past his wife.
“They's comin'!” Mrs. Henson screamed into the phone.
“Who's comin'?” McAdams asked.
“The spacemen!”
McAdams paused and thought about this answer. It was an interesting one.
“Are you sure, Mrs. Henson? Sure it isn't that flock of flyin' vampires that were circling the farm two weeks ago?”
“No, these aren't vampires! I'm not stupid, you know, I can tell the difference between vampires and spacemen!”
“How 'bout that eight-foot fishman you saw coming out of your pond last month?”
“No, Roy chased him away for good, we ain't seen him since! Just a second-”
Sergeant McAdams heard Mrs. Henson yell, “Throw the alarm clock, Roy! The Daily says they can't stand the tickin'! Shoots through 'em like an ice pick! Now flicker the porch lights 'cause their eyes is sensitive! Diversions, Roy!”
McAdams listened to all this and waited. He had to admit that the Hensons did make the night shift more lively.
When Mrs. Henson put the phone to her face again, which McAdams could tell by the heavy panting, he said, “Mrs. Henson, you like reading about spacemen, don't you?”
“No, I don't like reading about them, smarty pants, I have to read about them. Honestly, The Daily is the only newspaper with useful information-”
Mr. Henson ran past her carrying a watermelon under each arm and yelling, “Mrs. Henson is a literate woman!”
Sergeant McAdams smiled to himself as he said gently, “Well, do you think you might be led astray by those stories? Not everything you read is real news, especially in The Daily.”
Mrs. Henson huffed and pulled herself up to all five feet ten inches. If Sergeant McAdams had been there in the flesh he would have felt her plump index finger poking him in the chest.
“I had you figured for a narrow-minded ninny the first time I laid eyes on you.”
“When I first came out there two years ago to see the ghost in your well,” McAdams replied.
“Yes, and a fat lot of good you did then, it's still down there moaning anytime the handle is turned! Just because you ain't seen something doesn't mean it isn't there! I suppose China don't exist just because you ain't seen it for yourself?”
McAdams waited as Mrs. Henson moved the receiver and yelled, “Roy, get the tambourine!” Her heavy breathing returned to the phone.
“Mrs. Henson, I just want you to accept that there's a difference between what's real and what's created to scare people. Just because you go out and see a monster picture don't mean you got a fishman in your pond. 'Specially as your pond's only three feet deep.”
“He scared us so bad we couldn't go out and tend the taters and we lost nearly the whole crop! I called you and you told me to fry the fishman up for dinner!”
“Your crops died because you two didn't tend them for weeks, is what I hear. Personally, I think y'all should get away for a bit, maybe go see your sister.”
“How can we go anywhere when the spacemen will disintegrate us if we go back out there?”
“Back out there? So you were outside earlier?”
“Yes! Roy and me went outside when they landed! The spaceship door opened and these creatures got out and they each had a bunch of arms and legs all moving and they was skinny as toothpicks, and I says to Roy, “Lord, they's skinny as toothpicks!” Then Roy says, “We might get inside.” So we start hurrying towards the house but Roy ran ahead. Well, I fell-”
Mr. Henson had been peeking out the front door but closed it gently.
“I told you, I thought you was right behind me,” he hissed.
“Well I wasn't!”
Mr. Henson went into the kitchen and returned to drop a pot and big spoon on the table next to the phone. He began slamming a tambourine against his thigh as he approached the front door.
McAdams couldn't wait to hear the rest.
“Go on, Mrs. Henson. You fell. What about the spacemen?”
“Yes, I fell, and when I turned over I looked up and one of them was standing over me. He leaned over and jabbed me in the eye!”
“Now why'd he do that? Why'd a spaceman come all this way to earth to jab a finger in your eye?”
“I certainly can't say, and I certainly don't presume it was a finger! All I know is that it was long and green and now my eye hurts. We've been talking long enough, are you coming out here or not?”
“No, Mrs. Henson, no. You and the Mister have fought off all the evils of the world thus far and won. By golly, it wouldn't be right for the police to come in and steal your thunder. You go on and fight them spacemen.”
“You ain't coming.”
McAdams smiled. “Good luck though.” He hung up.
Mr. Henson burst through the front door and slammed it behind him. He'd made it to the barn and returned with his second-hand portable radio and a large metal flashlight, which he handed to his wife.
“They coming?”
“No.”
A series of coos and whistles came from the field, not more than a hundred yards away from the sound of it. More coos answered back in alternating pitches. Near the pond.
The Hensons listened. The house began to tremble, the family photos bouncing against the walls. The table lamp went out.
“Alright then,” Mr. Henson said. He put the soup pot on his head and turned on the radio as loud as it would go. Elvis Presley was belting out “Hound Dog” as Mr. Henson opened the front door, slamming the tambourine against his thigh over and over. Mrs. Henson turned the flashlight on and began knocking a tune out on her husband's soup pot with the spoon. They shuffled out the front door.
My dad used to sing an old song that went
“Turn out the lights, The party's ovvvvver...”
I'm soo entertained! :-)