NOT JUST ABOUT GHOSTS AND GOBLINS AT HALLOWE'EN
NOTE: THIS COLUMN WAS WRITTEN IN ADVANCE FOR THE GREAT NORTH ARROW BUT SEEING AS MY BLOG FOLLOWERS DON'T GET THIS FINE PAPER, I THOUGHT IT WAS WORTHWHILE TO RUN IT TODAY FOR YOU FOLKS. A LITTLE HALLOWEEN TREAT EARLY.
By Ted Currie
In my fist year working as a poorly paid cub reporter, for the community press, admittedly I had a lot to learn. It was on-the-job training for sure. A lot of mistakes were made in those first few years, and a lot of people took advantage of the green reporter with the hastily compiled notebook. Who of course didn't always ask the right questions, of the most reliable people. For this I suffered for my craft.
If I wanted to keep my job, I had to learn fast. In a small town, and sparsely populated region, it was necessary to gain acceptance by whatever means was necessary. I bought a lot of lunches and a lot of beer. Being considered an outsider, working locally until a better job offer came along, meant many trials and tribulations for a rookie writer. I got scammed a lot in those days, by the locals having some fun with the green reporter. I just had to be careful where I got my news information, and expect to be offered some less than genuine news leads, that yes, sent me on many wild goose chases, you might say.
While my so-called new friends were killing themselves laughing at how far they made me drive, and the ridiculous questions they gave me to ask the subject, (knowing I'd stir something up) I had to figure out counter measures to protect myself and the newspaper's reputation. I didn't want to get hauled into court for misrepresenting a news story, being accused of misquoting a source, or getting the article wrong because of horseplay, by those who thought such a thing was funny. It could have been a career-ender.
There was a situation, and a great story hanging in the balance, that I heard about, after I'd already spent nearly two years in the community. By this point, I'd sort of figured out when and from who, I would get some crazy news tip, and simply avoid contact with them. But one day, I got a story-tip, corroborated by several friends who I trusted. I was working on a Hallowe'en feature article, and was looking for some local angles to make it a nice regional piece. Over a few cold pop one night, at my little cottage on the lake, these chaps spun a most interesting and hilarious story about a lady they had both known, in the village, from their youth, and how a routine Hallowe'en prank turned into an amazing tale of revenge and counter attack. Maybe this isn't a true story. All the parties immediately involved were either deceased or not to be found. I made the lads swear it was a true story, but as I had been duped before, I did take this story as a "Hallowe'en Yarn," and not necessarily as an actual reported occurrence, recorded on the police blotter. So here goes.
Every Hallowe'en in the village, a certain chap, with mates, tipped over an elderly lady's outhouse. They didn't like her, and this was their way of letting her know what her approval rating was, at that moment, and time of the rolling year. She didn't care much for them either, and when they rode their bikes across her lawn, she'd take-off like an olympic sprinter, chasing them with a broom. They yelled back at her to "fly away you old witch," and she may or may not have extended them a middle finger in retreat. They didn't like each other, but it was pretty much run-of-the-mill stuff anyway. Except one thing.
Every year, the old woman expected the outhouse to be on its side, on the morning after Hallowe'en "trick or treating." Every year, she had to call the neighbors to help set it back over the hole, so it could be used again. She was only glad not to have been inside, when the raid and toppling occurred. It is said, that from sunset, through until daybreak, she used a "thunder mug," or what is more properly called a chamber pot, to relieve herself. It would have been terrible to have been in the outhouse as it was tipped over, especially if the little pranksters, brought it down on the door-side, which would trap her for the night. She wasn't going to take any chances.
On this particular Hallowe'en she'd got this idea, to give the local rapscallions a taste of their own medicine. With the help of two burly neighbors, who didn't like the teenage lads either, the outhouse was moved about five feet back (toward the house) from where it sat over the hole. As the attacks always seemed to be from the same direction, from the back of the property forward, she assumed the boys wouldn't see the hole on their approach, and before they could put their hands on the outhouse, they'd be waist (waste) deep in a hole of excrement.
It wasn't a moonlit night. It was a dark overcast, near-rain Hallowe'en. At about ten o'clock she heard faint rustling in the back woodlot, and sense the outhouse attack was in progress. She had the rear window open to hear the results of misadventure, that would happen any minute. The boys did exactly what they had done the year before, and for about three years before that…..stepping over the fallen rail fence, getting caught-up briefly in the old raspberry canes, and then rustling the leaves that hadn't been raked, up to the backside of the outhouse. She could hear them giggling. In fact, she was so excited, she went to the backdoor, and opened it a crack. Her intention, once they fell into the hole, was to flick on the outside lamp, so she could get a look at the results of her prank on the pranksters. She was going to enjoy this.
She listened for their footfall, as if counting the necessary feet before they reached the pit. All of a sudden, there was the sound of dismay. "Help. We've fallen into a hole," they yelled in unison. Well, it wasn't just any hole was it? "My God, I'm covered in poop," screamed one lad. "It's in my mouth….my nose, I'm going to puke," said one. While the other, of the two that had fallen in, yelled, "I'm going to get that old lady." The only thing the property owner had forgotten, somewhat, was the reality the lads might be stuck in the hole for some time, wading in feces. Once she felt they had probably learned a lesson, she put the back light on, and went out into the yard to get a step ladder, to help the trapped teens exit the pit. What she saw in that hole made her laugh. It is said she really let them have it, while they were gagging and sputtering in the dung. When she felt they had suffered adequately, and wouldn't likely be back to topple her outhouse any time soon, she dropped them the ladder, and watched the poop-encrusted youths climb out.
Of course, with all plans of such revenge, there is always the possibility of a counter attack, when one leasts expects it. When the two lads had successfully climbed from the hole, and got some of the muck off their heads and shoulders, they saw an opportunity open to them, in the illumination of the back yard. As if it had been part of the plan all along, both boys nodded to each other, in acceptance, and while the old lady continued to scold them, they took off like it was a hundred yard dash. And it pretty much was. She had mistakenly left the back door open. So there they went. Running right through the house, taking a few moments to visit the bedrooms as well as the living room, and stepping on her favorite chair in front of the television. By time they exited her house, it can be said, they had a total real estate tour. The woman stood in her backyard, mouth gaping open, mumbling "I never thought they would do that!" "Happy Halloween," the boys yelled back, at the woman, now approaching the back door, with a hand over her nose. The moral of the story? If you're going to get even with those who topple your outhouse, make sure the doors of your house are securely locked. Or else!
The article was a big hit. Was it true? Let's put it this way. I never let the truth mess up a really good story. Happy Hallowe'en to you.
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