A HALLOWEEN NIGHTMARE

NOTHING TO FEAR BUT FEAR ITSELF

         The wind screeched through the fence carrying dust and leaves between the slats and into the hard, clay street. The sky was black and only a few lamps were lit, apparently by a courageous lamplighter who had dared to climb the poles earlier that evening. The street was stained by long shadows of disorder. A lone dog howled in distress, its voice reverberating along the carriage less road.

         Ocillia Panabaker was out alone, her muffler wrapped around her face, eyes peeking over the top as she leaned forward leaning into the blustery weather. The day had been a warm, but night had cooled rapidly with the darkness.

          No one else was visible - which was not surprising. Word of Jack the Ripper had spread through the village. People were speculating. With no arrest, everyone became a suspect for the gruesome murders. Ocillia was out, not a welcome choice, but she was returning from taking evening soup and tea to her sick sister. Emily had a touch of fever and she had left her tucked under a heavy comforter fast asleep. Now she dreamed of her own bed.

         As she passed the alley next to the haberdashers, she heard someone behind her, but when she stopped to look, there was no one to be seen. It was her first touch of fear. Only three more blocks; she turned and pushed on.
She should have worn her heavier coat. The weather was getting colder and she was feeling quite distraught. As she passed the alley, the wind roared like a banshee tossing her muffler about like a lively fox tail. Only two more alleys to pass and she would be home.

         The storm was increasing and the gaslights were beginning to flicker. She quickened her pace, afraid the wind would snuff the lamps before she reached the house; a normal occurrence in strong gusts. The sputtering lamps cast jiggling images across the storefronts making her feel like the buildings were alive.

         She was past Herrington's fish market, the blacksmith shop and the solicitor's office. Her progress was painfully slow. And then she heard it again – a sharp sort of clump, like someone dragging a heavy foot. She turned again and peered over her muffler, but no one was visible. The street was deserted as far as she could see. She turned and trudged on. The hair on her neck was tingling now and she was definitely feeling chilly. Fear was growing like a slow climbing vine, encircling her body and entangling her mind. She tucked her face down to rebuff the brunt of the wind and urged herself to hurry. One more block to her warm little house. And only one more alley to cross.

         The lamp next to her unexpectedly blew out. She was startled, but she realized there were still two lamps between her and the house. She picked up her pace. By now she was cold and huffing from the strenuous effort. She could feel her heart pounding under the coat and the muffler was warm and damp from her breath.

         She thought she saw a light at the back of McGregor's apothecary and she stepped into the alcove and knocked on the door. Maybe she could get warm before she continued. No one answered. She hesitated, relishing the break from the wind – then braved it again.

          She held her breath, knowing that the next alley would attack her with vigor. Suddenly the street turned dark in front of her as one more lamp was snuffed. She adjusted her muffler and leaned into the wind. Only the lamp before her house lingered. She hurried past the remaining alley. The gust grabbed her coat ripping at the buttons, but she held the coat closed firmly.

         She labored on, exceedingly aware of the man who was already the most infamous criminal of her age. She tried to convince herself that he would not want an old hag like her, but it was an abortive effort. She was truly frightened and her wheezing increased. Another three hundred yards and she would be home safe and out of the squally weather. The thoughts of her warm house comforted her.

         It was a tiny house with a thatched roof. The front porch was surrounded by shrubs and vines, framing the white door like a holiday wreath left too long. She had left a candle in the window. She only had two hundred yards to go.

         The clump sounded again. This time, rather than turn around, she started to trot. The light on the last lamp fluttered and went out. It was totally dark and she slowed to regain focus. A hundred yards and she would be safe. She felt troubled and anxious. The sidewalk ended and she stumbled down the final path toward her house. The candlelight spilled across the lawn like a beacon. She angled off the path toward the house.

Fifty feet.

          With each step she felt safer.

Thirty feet.

          Her shoes were damp from the night dew, but she didn't care. All she wanted was to get inside. She would soak her feet in a warm bath.

Twenty feet.

         The porch was visible now and she altered course. She was a few steps from safety and comfort from the shrill night.

Ten feet.

         She was on the first step, preparing to open the door, when a figure jumped out of the bush. "Awwr", she screamed.

         Ocillia Panabaker's heart stopped that instant. She dropped down, never hearing the voice shouting, "Trick or treat Mar'm."