Here Be the Demons: 10.30.05
“Smell the Coffee” column from the Sunday, Oct. 30, 2005 Sunday Gazette-Mail:
It was a dark and stormy night. The perfect Halloween evening for the perfect Halloween scare.
Three friends and I had double-dog dared each other to stay until midnight in a house rumored to be haunted. The house was located not far from our high school, but unless you knew where to look, it was easy to miss–hidden high on a hill, accessible only by a steep and narrow cement staircase that had broken and tilted over the years.
We’d peeked through the windows on several occasions and were surprised when it hadn’t been vacant. But those who dared rent it never stayed long. We were still young enough to believe they were frightened away by ghosts. (These days, I’d classify those stairs more daunting than demons.)
The only cheerleader in our group brought several small hand bells and a package of incense to the house, confident their powers would ward off any demons. The twins and I teased her for bringing those things, even though (by sheer coincidence, I’m sure) we three had worn almost identical crosses.
I suppose I should pause here for a moment to insert a few details. First of all, our cheerleader friend–a tall, gorgeous blonde–was the type of character who inspired a great many people. Mostly, she inspired them to write blonde jokes. And second, just prior to our dare, we’d been to a Halloween party and were still wearing our costumes. I was dressed as the Cat in the Hat, the twins were Thing 1 and Thing 2, and our cheerleader friend was a ghoul (with really good taste in shoes).
We entered the house through an unlocked kitchen window, then explored the first floor with our flashlights. Empty boxes, cans and cigarette butts were scattered about, but it seemed disappointingly normal. We moved upstairs. It smelled bad up there, a rotten-egg, sulfur-y smell. The floor felt spongy in places, the boards too damp even to squeak. But how scary was a stinky house with quiet floors?
We were pretty jaunty by then–jumping out, yelling BOO, making weird sounds. We returned to the kitchen to nose around when I spotted a door with three bolts and an eyehook. It appeared to have something painted on it, but my flashlight batteries were too weak to make it out. I lit a match and read it out loud.
“DOWN HERE BE THE DEMONS.”
Thing One giggled and said, “We should not be here. We should not be about.”
“We should not be here when the demons are out,” added Thing Two.
“This is cool!” said our ghoul. She slid open the bolts and trotted down to the basement in her cute little shoes, leaving the three of us frozen in place.
And then something went bump. How that bump made us jump!
I wanted to run. I wanted to flee. But what of my ghoul-friend? What if she needed me?
We huddled at the top of the stairs, illuminating the basement as best as we could with our faltering flashlights. We could hear her voice, but had trouble understanding her words. Then we heard other voices. Deep, gravely voices that rumbled and vibrated like an idling semi.
“We be the demons,” one of them said.
Our friend actually giggled. “And I be a ghoul,” she said.
After listening to a few minutes of confusing blonde-speak, one of them sighed deeply and sent her away. She joined us again at the top of the stairs, where we all hugged her tight.
“Weren’t you scared?” I asked.
“Scared?” she said incredulously, tilting her head to the side like a confused Cocker Spaniel. “Why would I be scared? Even I know that demons are a ghoul’s best friend.”
