I liked art class, although I wasn’t sure if what we did could be called art.At least we weren’t colouring stupid turkeys with their tails in the air, like we had to do every year before Thanksgiving.
Hallowe’en meant we got a bit more freedom. We all still had to cut out bats from black felt paper, but each of us could make our bats different from someone else’s. It was the same way when it came to drawing, colouring and cutting faces into our paper pumpkins. Some ended up looking really freaky and scary. Others were almost funny. Every bat and paper pumpkin got to hang some place on a wall or from the ceiling, where they could stare back or down at us as a reminder that one of our favourite times of the year was less than a week away.
For me, carving real pumpkins was the most fun. Teams of four kids would make one Hallowe’en pumpkin per group, so that there was one for each corner of the classroom. In each team, only one person got to handle a knife while doing the carving, and my team had picked me to do it. For once I was glad that Riel was on a different team. I kind of showed off how well I could use my hunting knife.
All Monday afternoon we decorated our classroom for Hallowe’en. Bats and spiders flew or dangled from strings pinned to the ceiling. Jack-o’-Lanterns perched on top of bookshelves, and goblins, ghosts and bats got pasted to windows and walls. Streamers of black and orange crêpe paper, some of them wound together, weaved across windows and the four corners of the room.
To top it all off, a few big, black witches swooped on brooms down from the ceiling. These were built out of sheets of black felt paper that were glued together and then cut out by the students that Miss Ruby chose for having the best sketches. I didn’t get to do one, which was just as well because I would have wanted the witch to be made out of red paper, instead of black. And that might have meant trouble.
I had to give the Red Witch credit, though. The room looked as good as any room I had seen decorated in the whole school for any occasion. It sure got all of us excited about Hallowe’en coming up that Saturday. Most of us also couldn’t wait to dress up for the party on Friday afternoon. That made the week drag by extra slowly.
When the day of our party finally arrived, we had the choice of bringing our costume to school and changing into it at noon hour, or going home for lunch and coming back dressed up.
So, at lunch time I ran home, gulped down my milk while gobbling a sandwich, and then went to work scrambling into the costume I had figured out and put together over the week. I had wanted to wake up early and pack everything to take to school, but thoughts of trick-or-treating and candy kept me awake too late. I barely made it out the door in time for Army’s first bell.
Luckily I had a pair of black pants that went perfectly with the rest of my get-up. They were my Sunday-best, though, so Nan told me I had to be really careful not to ruin them. Tucked into my black rubber boots, at least the cuffs wouldn’t drag at the back. Around my waist, Mom’s black silk scarf was tied on the side so that it trailed down over my right pants pocket. My top was also from Mom’s wardrobe. It was a long-sleeved, black, frilly lace blouse. I wouldn’t have been caught dead in the thing if it hadn’t been perfect for showing everyone who my character was supposed to be. Tied tight to my head, I wore Aunt Bud’s black scarf like a cap, letting the ends dangle down the middle of my back from where I had it tied. She also let me use one of her gold hoop earrings for my left ear. An old black, flat-topped cowboy hat that Mom had steamed with the iron so that the sides went straight out instead of curling up, was the final touch as far as clothes were concerned.
During the week I had worked hard at making a sword from a long garden stake, which I had cleaned off, shaped with my hunting knife, and coated with a couple of layers of black paint from the basement. The whole sword, including the blade, the handle and its guard, were as black as the coal in the bin.
I finished off my outfit with a thin black moustache, thanks to Mom’s mascara, and a black paper mask that covered only my eyes.
Shazam! I was Zorro.
Mom and Aunt Bud were at work, so Nan had been helping the girls put their costumes together while I put on mine. I felt bad not waiting to walk home with them, but with only an hour for lunch, I just didn’t have the time. Maisie had already had her blonde hair curled the night before and was nearly finished being done up as Little Bo-Peep—without any sheep. Pearl decided to go as a hobo, and was dressed in a pair of rubber boots, a crumpled felt hat and a pair of my old, heavy, long underwear. With tons of clown make-up on her face, she actually looked more like Jimmy Stewart in that movie, The Greatest Show On Earth. She carried a bindle, Nan called it, which was a sack over her shoulder made from a red, polka dot handkerchief stuffed with newspaper and tied to a tree branch stripped of its leaves. The two of them looked really good.
When I made my entrance in front of her and the girls in the kitchen, Nan said I looked great. The way she looked at me, though, I could tell she wasn’t quite sure who I was. “Wow, Buddy, good work! You look like a real swashbuckler, with a bit of Tom Mix thrown in.”
“I’m supposed to be Zorro, Nan.”
“Of course, and you surely are. If you hadn’t minded wearing it black for the next few months, we could have even dyed your hair last night.”
“No thanks,” I said. “That’s one of the reasons I chose Zorro. I didn’t have to fuss with a lot of make-up or anything, like Pearl.” I turned to look at my sister, who was almost impossible to recognize. “You’re going to have a heck of a time getting that off tonight, sister.”
“So what?” she said. “Maybe I’ll just leave it on for when we go trick-or-treating tomorrow.”
“Whichever you choose, Pearl, don’t you worry. The make-up will come off easy with a good wash of cold cream. I’ll have to be sure to put towels over the pillows if you wear it to bed tonight, though,” said Nan. “On second thought,” she added, “I doubt your mother will want you to smear make-up all over her during the night.”
Even though Zorro hadn’t been my first choice, I was still really happy with it. I had wanted to dress up like Alan Ladd from Shane, but I just couldn’t find the right clothes to make it all come together. Every time I thought of the movie and how Alan and Van Heflin took on all those bad guys in the saloon, I wanted to see the movie again. I had already seen it twice before it left town.
With my costume on, I was excited to get back to school and show the guys. I stepped out onto the porch, but then stopped there. Since I hadn’t walked the girls home from school, Nan told me I had better walk them back. “C’mon, let’s go!” I hollered. “I want to get back to see how everyone’s dressed, so hurry up.”
Nan stepped out the kitchen door with Pearl and Maisie. “I think you’re all ready,” she said. “So, off you go. Have fun. It’ll make your Gramp happy to know how good you all look.”
Her comment was like a punch in the gut. I hadn’t thought about Gramp all day. Actually, I realized I had hardly thought about him all week. I guessed the Hallowe’en excitement had taken my mind away from him being sick. I felt bad, and a little guilty for having forgotten about him because of such a goofy holiday.
“Say hi from me when you see him this afternoon. Tell him I’ll be up to visit him first thing on Sunday.” I wasn’t just trying to make up for my selfishness. I couldn’t wait to see him Sunday.
“I know he’s looking forward to that, Buddy.”
That made Pearl perk up, “I still don’t see why Maisie and I don’t get to visit him.” My sister was becoming a real complainer.
“I’m sorry, girls. But, as I explained, the hospital rules say that you’re not old enough.” Nan had obviously read the same sign that I did.
“You said no one under twelve can visit, but Buddy’s not twelve. He’s only eleven.” Pearl was beginning to pout.
“Yes, but he’ll be twelve soon,” answered Nan. I was not only glad she was sticking up for me, but it felt good that she was willing to bend the hospital’s rule so that I could visit Gramp. She knew how important it was to me.
“Not until next summer…” Pearl’s whine sounded a little like Mokey’s.
“Buddy’s just lucky they don’t ask him for his birth certificate. Now you run along.” Nan patted Pearl on her rear-end. I wondered what Pearl would have said if she knew that in addition to not being old enough, I was also supposed to be with an adult.
“Yeah, let’s go,” I said, herding them off toward school.
The schoolyard looked like an outdoor masquerade ball. There were lots of colourful costumes and a few parents taking pictures with their box cameras. Everyone mingled about, being sure to get a good look at each other’s favourite character. Even Army was dressed to look like a gold prospector.
Randy and Lyle stood outside, too, but seemed to be the only ones out of the entire school that weren’t wearing costumes. I heard one of the seventh grade girls ask Randy why he wasn’t dressed up.
“Who wants to wear a stupid costume,” Randy grumbled back at her. “That’s dumb kids’ stuff.”
I knew, though, that both of them would have at least a mask on the next night, and that they would be making the rounds of the neighbourhood with the rest of us to scoop up some treats. I also figured that if there were any tricks to be played that would really rankle the adults, you could bet that these two would have a hand in it.
Riel and Mokey stood next to each other beside the swings. Riel had come as a lumberjack, complete with boots, toque, fake beard and even an axe—until Army took it away, saying someone might accidentally get bonked with it. Mokey was dressed up like a hobo. He and Pearl would have made good bookends, if someone could carve look-alikes of them.
When we were allowed to go inside the school, it was like the whole building was shaking with a miniature earthquake that never stopped. Everyone hurried to their own room. In our classroom, the Red Witch had lit the Jack-o’-Lanterns, and the smell of burning wax mixed with the sweet scent of apples and candy, along with the usual smells.
Soon after that, the younger grades were the first to be called down to the play areas in the basement. The grade sevens and eights had put together a haunted house with cardboard boxes and other stuff. We could hear the little kids’ squeals of excitement all the way upstairs. While they were being scared stiff, we began to dunk for apples.
The afternoon turned out to be the most fun I had had in school all year. Even Miss Ruby seemed to be relaxed. She had, of course, dressed up as a female version of a very red devil. She joined us in dunking for apples and everything. Only once was I tempted to hold her head under the water when she plunged her face into the tin washtub.
Up until Saturday morning, the weather had been fine all week. It was cool and sometimes cloudy, but there was never a hint of bad weather coming down from the North. Then everything changed.
Nan woke me early. “Buddy, you have to get up. I really need your help.”
“Aw, Nan, can’t I have another hour of sleep?” I asked. “I’m really tired.”
Through my grogginess, I could make out the radio playing in the background. It seemed like Nan was really nervous about something. I soon found out what.
“No,” she answered. “The announcer just said that there’s a heavy snowfall on its way, and the storm windows aren’t on yet. I completely forgot about them, what with your granddad in the hospital and all. You’ll have to somehow get them on—and quickly.” I could almost hear fear in her voice, as if we might die if the storm windows weren’t put on that very instant.
“Why can’t it wait until tomorrow?” I was looking for a way I could stay under my down comforter. “I can get the guys to help me then.”
“It might be too late tomorrow,” she said back. “If we don’t put them on before the snow and cold gets here, it will make things far too difficult later on.” She sounded really determined. “So, c’mon now. Please get up. I’ll get you fed, and then you can start bringing the windows up from the basement.”
Gramp always did a good job of storing the storm windows in the basement. They were tucked away under a blanket in the corner opposite the coal bin. He had not only cleaned them before he put them away, but he had also labelled each on an inside bottom corner so it was easy to know where they fit for next time.
I was really careful as I brought each storm window up the stairs and carried it outside. As upset as Nan was about other things, I didn’t want to add to her concerns by breaking one and ending up with glass all over the place. Outside I leaned each one against the house next to or below the window it was to be added to.
By mid-morning I had all the windows ready to be put up, and I was just getting the long wooden ladder from the garage so I could start. I was a bit panicked about how I was going to get the windows up the ladder, tuck them into their slots, and then lock them into place—all by myself. Nan was worried about how I was going to do that, too, and had wondered out loud if she shouldn’t hire someone to do it, or at least to help me. She might have called Uncle Dan or Del, but both of them were working, Dan at the car dealership, and Del on a run down the rail line.
It was then that my saviours showed up, again. Thanks to Riel and Mokey, The Three Musketeers would save the day. My two buddies came walking through the hedge and up our walkway at just the right time.
“What’s up?” asked Riel, seeing me carrying the ladder.
I told them what I was up to, and within minutes we had worked out a plan.
Mokey was almost the ruin of us. Even though all he had to do was hold the ladder, he still fussed and whined as if he was doing all the work. Riel and I had to warn him several times that we were going to deliberately drop a window on his head if he didn’t shut up. For the most part, that was enough to calm him down for a while.
He pretty much clammed up for good when Nan came out, after hearing him nattering at us, and gave him heck. “Mokey, for heaven’s sake, let the boys have some peace,” she said. “What they’re doing is stressful enough without you adding to it by fretting all the time.”
“Yes, Mrs. Richards,” he replied, a bit hurt by her scolding. “Sorry, Mrs. Richards.”
I worried Nan might later get a call from Mrs. Stackhouse, complaining about her son being put in danger. I knew Riel’s mom would never call, though. He probably wouldn’t bother telling her what he had been up to anyway.
There were a lot of windows around the closed-in verandah on the one side of the house, and by the time we got to them, the three of us were a well-oiled machine. The windows on the ground level weren’t all that tough to get into place, and putting them up helped us figure out how to get the others onto the second storey.
When it came to climbing up to the second storey, and lugging a two-and-a-half by four-and-a-half foot window up the ladder, things got a bit hairy. While Mokey held the ladder, it was my job to somehow hang onto a storm window with my right hand and shinny up the wooden rungs, using my feet and my free left hand to climb. Riel waited at the top of the ladder for me to pass the window up to him.
My Métis buddy didn’t seem to be the least bit afraid of dangling two storeys above the ground while sliding a big window into place. After the real cliff-hanger he had gone through with Mokey over the summer, where the two of them almost fell off a hundred-foot drop, I guessed that two storeys were no big deal.
I helped Riel steady the windows so that they wouldn’t slip and crash down onto Mokey. Riel would lock in one side, fastening it by twisting the clips attached to the window frame. Then we would scramble down the ladder, move the wooden monster over, and hike back up to close the clips on the opposite side. All of the storm windows locked snuggly into their frames.
Before noon we had all the windows in place and were sitting in the kitchen, washing down bologna sandwiches with hot cocoa. Riel and I laughed about how we had almost taken nosedives off the ladder several times. We were proud, and maybe a little surprised, about how we had managed to get everything done without breaking a single pane of glass. Mokey just shook his head, like he couldn’t believe we had done what we had set out to do. Nan seemed really pleased and a whole lot relieved. I was sure Gramp would be happy about our work too.
It was easy to tell that we were in for some snow. Not only had the temperature dropped so that it was cold enough to let the white stuff fly, but heavy, dark clouds, full of anger and hinting of bad things to come, tumbled around in the sky.
The adults in the neighbourhood were probably happy about the change in the weather. To them it meant that the older kids wouldn’t get carried away with their usual Hallowe’en pranks. “Egging” of a few not-so-favourite neighbours’ cars, or front doors or windows, was the easiest and most popular prank. Pushing over outhouses had been big with kids a few years older than us, but luckily, all the homes—except one—on our side of the tracks now had indoor plumbing. Only Old Joe Harach still had an outhouse, which sat near the alley in his backyard.
When talking about pranks, kids sometimes still brought up the legend of the Bad Boys of ‘48. That year, six guys went on a shanty-tipping rampage. Almost every outdoor privy was a victim of their shenanigans, including that of our neighbour, Mr. Grundy, across the way.
Mr. Grundy had only just had indoor plumbing installed, so I easily remembered the outdoor toilet he used to have at the back of his yard, right across the alley from our house. Some nights I was woken up by the noise of the honey-wagon rolling up behind his outhouse to clean it out. I was told the honey-wagon was a small cart with barrels in the back that was pulled by a horse. It was some poor fellow’s job to drive the horse and wagon around town and somehow scoop people’s messes out of the holes in the outhouses through a flap in the back of each. It was not a job I ever wanted. I never saw the man who did it, nor did I ever know the colour of his horse. I just remembered the smells that came from the outhouses when I would walk down the alleyway. They always made me gag.
As for the Bad Boys, on Hallowe’en night in 1948, these six high school guys, who were from the north side of the tracks, decided to tip over every outhouse on the south side, our side. They had already done this to a few toilets the year before, and I guessed they got a big enough kick out of it to come back for more that next year.
Somehow, Mr. Grundy either got wind of their plans or just figured they might try it again, so he staked out his privy by sitting in it for hours. To me, that was a strange idea to begin with. I would have died from the stink within a few minutes of taking up my post. Even stranger was that Mr. Grundy had decided to take his double-barreled twelve-gauge shotgun with him to keep him company. In the same way that Old Joe Harach did, Grundy also loaded his shells with rock salt, figuring, I guessed, that a hind-end full of the tiny salt pellets would teach the goofs a lesson if they tried to tip over his privy.
The guys must have known about Mr. Grundy’s plan. Maybe that was why they were so quiet when they snuck up on his outhouse. Before he had a chance to ambush them, the boys succeeded in knocking over Mr. Grundy’s outdoor toilet, with him in it! The worst thing was that they tipped it over so that the door was facing down toward the ground.
The Bad Boys were so pleased with themselves that the six of them stepped back into the alley and stood there laughing and slapping each other’s backs. All the while Mr. Grundy shouted and cursed inside his own outhouse. That, of course, got the guys laughing even louder.
Gramp had always said that Mr. Grundy was a cantankerous old fool, but that he had a lot of determination. These high school kids obviously hadn’t counted on Mr. Grundy’s determination. They couldn’t have imagined, let alone see, the twin barrels of the shotgun poking through the hole where people did their business.
Mr. Grundy had twisted around inside the outhouse, flipped the lid of the toilet seat up, and had stuck the barrels through the hole. Then he let fly out the bottomless privy with both barrels at the same time.
The blast, so the story went, knocked all six kids on their behinds and woke up the entire neighbourhood. Some of the boys were peppered in the hands and face with the rock salt. It was lucky no one was blinded.
Neighbours all around Mr. Grundy’s place heard the ruckus and came running. What they found were kids screaming in pain as they ran down the alley, and Mr. Grundy laughing at his good aim. Gramp and another neighbour, Mr. Bunce, lifted the outhouse back up to let Mr. Grundy out of his smelly prison.
I thought about Gramp again as I sat in the living room after lunch reading a Hardy Boys mystery. The guys had headed home to get ready for trick-and-treating. The girls were playing in the living room and Nan was putting things away in the pantry. She was just about to head up to the hospital. As usual, Mom and Aunt Bud were at work.
“Nan, can I visit Gramp this afternoon instead of waiting until tomorrow?” I asked.
“No, Buddy, I need you to stay home and look after the girls, and to get them ready to go trick-and-treating with you when I get back.” I felt like I was spending more and more time babysitting Pearl and Maisie. I didn’t like having to do it, but knew it was important to help out Nan.
“It’s too cold to wear our costumes,” I said. “We can just put on masks, and wear our heavy coats and gloves. That way, we won’t need much time to get ready, and I can go up to the hospital for an hour. I’ll be back in time to take them out.”
Nan had stoked the kitchen stove full of wood and the room was becoming hot. She wiped her brow. “Buddy, I said no. The girls are too young to stay here alone, so we both can’t visit your grandfather today. He’s looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
“Well, how about if I go today, and you can see him tomorrow?” I knew it was my last chance at getting my way.
“Tomorrow,” she said sternly. “Your mother will be here to look after the girls, so I can go for an hour, and then switch with her to let her have a visit with him. After that you can stay as long as they’ll let you. You’ll just have to wait until tomorrow, like you said you would.”
There was no changing her mind, so I gave up.
Nan was back from the hospital around three-thirty, just over an hour after she had left. It had gotten even colder out and a light snow was sifting through the afternoon sky. The girls had been doing whatever it was girls did with their dolls upstairs and were no trouble for me. I had written some stuff in my diary, but went back to reading my Hardy Boys book. I had the radio on when Nan came in. The station was just about finished playing the same dumb song I had been hearing for months, Doggy In The Window by Patti Paige. I liked Patti’s singing, but hated that song. It even had fake sounds of a dog barking in it, which made it sound silly. Julius La Rosa had just started singing another fun song, Eh Cumpari, when the door closed behind Nan. I walked into the kitchen to meet her.
“How come you’re back so soon? You just left,” I said.
“It’s not good, Buddy. Gramp has taken another turn for the worse.”
She never called him Gramp. It was always your grandfather or your granddad or your gramp, so I figured she was pretty upset. I didn’t understand how it was possible for him to get worse.
“They’re getting him ready to fly to University Hospital in Saskatoon, where they can give him special treatment. The plane should be leaving within the hour. Your Aunt Bud will go with him. I’ll go down by train tomorrow and stay by his side until he’s out of danger.”
University Hospital in Saskatoon, a city about a hundred miles to the south, was the best hospital around. I knew he would be in a good place if they took him there. But, at the same time, I knew that something must be really wrong if they thought he had to go there, especially by plane. I didn’t think Gramp, or for that matter anybody in my family, had ever been in a plane.
“What kind of plane?” I asked. “Can I go with you? I want to go with you.”
“The plane is an ambulance plane. They use if for special emergencies. And no, you can’t come with me on the train tomorrow. I may be gone for several days and you’ve got school.”
“But I want to see him! I want to help. I can cheer him up if you’ll let me see him.” I was getting desperate to do something that would help Gramp.
“He said to tell you he was sorry that he’ll miss your visit tomorrow, and to say that he loves you.”
“Well, I want to tell him that back,” I said. “I want to say I’m sorry again for making him take me hunting.”
“Oh, Buddy, that’s not what made him sick. I’m sorry if I made you think that.” Even though there was sadness in her voice, what she said somehow made me feel better.
Nan pulled me into her and squeezed me tight. Then, with a hand on each of my shoulders, she pushed me back to an arm’s length and looked really hard into my eyes. “The best way you can help now is to take the girls trick-or-treating for me,” she said. “I told him you were going to do that, and he said, ‘Good for him’, and something about your ‘added responsibility’. Do you know what he meant?”
“He was thanking me for doing my part,” I answered. I knew it was also Gramp’s way of telling me that I was living up to our agreement about taking on added responsibility.
“So, you can go upstairs and start getting ready,” said Nan. “Forget about costumes. It’s too cold out and it’s already starting to snow. Just dress warmly. It’s almost four o’clock, and I want you to have the girls back before dark.”
Within another hour it had really started to snow. Mostly it came sideways disguised as sleet. Odd-sized ice pellets stung our faces and soaked the pillowcases the girls carried to put their loot in. In a lot less time than we had planned, they had had enough. I took them home.
It had just turned to darkness when we got in the door. Although it was only five o’clock, the dirty black clouds and the driving sleet had blocked out any light left in the day. The lousy weather made it tough to see more than a block away.
Before I even had a chance to take off my coat, there was banging at the door behind me. I turned and opened it to find Riel and Mokey standing in the dark under the covered porch, bundled up as if it was the middle of winter. Both had empty pillowcases in their hands and big grins glued to their faces. Neither of them was wearing a mask, let alone a costume.
They stepped inside and closed the door. “Good, you’re already ready,” said Riel. “We’re early but we figured that was a good thing ‘cause of the weather and all. Let’s go.”
“I can’t go, guys. They had to fly Gramp to University Hospital ‘cause he got sicker. I gotta stay home in case…”
“Nonsense, Buddy,” Nan interrupted. She had gotten the girls out of their heavy clothing and was hanging up their coats. “There’s nothing you can do here. You’ll just get yourself all worked up. If you stay home, you’ll be miserable and make the rest of us the same.” She was into her General’s voice, so I knew it was unlikely I could change her mind.
“C’mon, Buddy,” said Mokey. “You can’t leave us wandering around in a blizzard all by ourselves.” Then he laughed at nothing.
“Yes, go trick-or-treating with the boys for a couple of hours.” Nan agreed with Mokey. “It’ll take your mind off Gramp. And you know how much you like having a stash of candy to tide you over until Christmas.”
By the time we stepped away from our seventh house, the weather was going berserk. The sleet had changed to massive wads bigger than the leaves off a poplar tree. They swirled and dipped in the light below the street lamps, and then were whisked away into the black night. The roads, lawns, hedges and everything else was instantly under a blanket of snow. Because of the growing wind, the sides of houses were also being plastered, and drifts were beginning to form.
I was cold. Even through my winter boots, parka, mitts and Zorro mask, which was the only thing that hinted of Hallowe’en, I was still freezing. I had almost forgotten what winter on the Prairies was like.
Lucky for us, the snow and the cold was a blessing in disguise for the candy-gathering business. Nobody was out trick-or-treating—or for anything else. The streets were deserted of people, cars, and even animals. That meant that behind every door we knocked and hollered “Hallowe’en apples!” at, people wanted to unload goodies they had bought or made to give away.
Mrs. Lindell, for one, who would usually only give a single puffed wheat ball to each kid on Hallowe’en, gave us three each when we banged on her door. The sweet balls, wrapped in wax paper, were easily tied for first place as my favourite treat. They were really just puffed wheat held together by warmed up corn syrup, but being the size of baseballs, one ball could keep you chewing and licking your lips for almost a half-an-hour.
Next we were off to Mrs. Hockingson’s, where we would get my other favourite treat, a bottle of her famous, super-delicious, homemade root beer. Mrs. Hockingson would make the scrumptious drink and age and cool it in her basement for months. I had heard Gramp say that a really cold beer on a really hot day was The Nectar of the Gods. That was what Mrs. Hockingson’s root beer was for me too. Judging by how many she gave away each Hallowe’en, she must have filled dozens and dozens of bottles.
Normally we got one of these each year, if we were in line by six o’clock. Even though the giveaway was at dinnertime, she would run out of her special treat by six-fifteen. For us to get what we wanted most, there was usually no eating supper on Hallowe’en night.
On top of sometimes waiting in line for up to fifteen minutes, we had to promise in front of her, our friends, and anyone else in the line, that we would bring back the empty bottle the next day before dark. And she’d remember if we didn’t—without writing our names down or anything. Anyone who forgot to return the empty wouldn’t get a bottle the next year.
Because of the blizzard, we knew we didn’t have to rush to get to Mrs. Hockingson’s. Her place was one of the farthest away from mine, and by the time we knocked on her door, our sacks were stuffed with puffed wheat balls, sticks of regular gum, gumballs and bubble gum, licorice sticks, jaw breakers, suckers, nickels and dimes, and one quarter from Gramma Davis, small bags of jelly beans, a couple of chocolate bars, a few regular apples, a couple of candied apples and tons of different kinds of loose, paper-wrapped sweets. We had won the Irish Sweepstakes of candy prizes!
I set down my sack and could hardly believe it when Mrs. Hockingson put a bottle of her root beer in each of my hands. I smiled and thanked her and said, “Ah, The Nectar of the Gods”. Immediately I thought of Gramp. Again I hated myself for being so selfish. I had let looting the neighbourhood of its candy get in the way of my worrying about my sick grandfather, my Gramp.
The nice lady who had been so generous closed her door. I turned to Riel and Mokey.
“I gotta go, guys! I gotta get home and see if there’s news about Gramp,” I said. We had covered a lot of the houses on the south side of the tracks, and with the booty we already had in our sacks, I didn’t feel like we really needed anymore.
“We’ll go with you,” said Riel.
“Ya,” agreed Mokey. “We’ll come to your place and start piggin’ out on our loot.”
“Naw, the two of you should keep on goin’. We’ve only covered half the neighbourhood. You could probably set a record if you keep at it.” I felt guilty for abandoning them.
“Nope, I’ve got tons already,” said Riel. “I’m ready to head home, too. C’mon, Moke. I’ll drop you off on the way.” As he turned back to me, he added, “We’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Ya’, bye for now, Buddy,” Mokey added.
“Bye, guys,” I said, and then headed into the night.
Then Riel shouted from the darkness, “I hope your gramp is okay!” He had to shout because otherwise the blizzard would have stolen his words. Mokey might have hollered something too, but I didn’t hear.
It was an eerie feeling, ploughing through the first blizzard of the season in the pitch-black. The wind was moaning and the snow was blowing, and all I could see was a white, blurry, moving wall of feathers that fluttered and flapped and whizzed around each street lamp when I trudged by. The snow wrapped itself around my feet and caused me to huff and puff as I waded through it. This moving, angry wall also came with a stinging cold. It was funny to me how there was no smell to anything. Everything, I guessed, was just too cold to give off any scent.
As I walked I wondered if we were in for another one of those really cold winters, one where snowdrifts built up against houses until you could almost walk up onto the roof. Or one where smoke from each chimney went straight up into the sky and seemed to climb for miles and miles. I rounded the corner on our street and made my way to the arbour in our hedge that was our front gate. Uncle Dan’s car was parked out front on the street. I wondered what he and Aunt Tootsie were doing at my place.
There was only silence when I entered the house. I quickly shucked out of my winter gear, hung it on hangers behind the door and went into the living room. Mom and Aunt Bud, who was still in her nurse’s uniform, were sitting like zombies on the couch. Both of them had red eyes, like they had been crying. Aunt Tootsie was wrapped in Dan’s arms in one of the stuffed chairs. She was crying into Dan’s chest. Nan and the girls weren’t in the room.
My hand became weak and couldn’t hold on to the bag of candy. It dropped to the floor and spilled onto the linoleum. “What’s wrong?” I asked. “Where’s Nan?”
“Buddy, come here and sit with me,” Mom said, reaching out from the couch with both arms.
“No,” I half-shouted back. “Where’s Nan?” I asked again, more forcefully this time.
“She’s upstairs with the girls,” answered Mom. “Leave her be for now.”
I said nothing, and ran for the stairs.
Nan wasn’t upstairs. She was sitting on the staircase, halfway up. Pearl and Maisie were clutched tightly to her. All three were sobbing quietly.
I climbed up and perched on the stair below her.
“What’s wrong? What happened?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
“He’s gone, Buddy,” she said. “Your grandfather has passed away,”
“Gramp’s…dead?” I hated myself for letting that word slip from my mouth. I couldn’t take it back.
“Yes, Son, he’s dead.” Even though there were tears streaming down her face, her voice sounded strong. She had called me, Son. Just like Gramp had taken to doing.
I slid farther into the step, closer to her, and laid my head in her lap. I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up and flooding down my face. My sister and my cousin joined me in a wave of sobbing that seemed to drain everything from me.
I bubbled out, “It’s not fair. I never got to say goodbye.”
“You’re right, Buddy. It’s not fair,” Nan said, rubbing my head and smoothing my cowlick.
Then, with the three of us pulled tight into different parts of her print dress, Nan quietly started to sing. Her singing voice wasn’t as sweet as Aunt Bud’s, but the song was one that she had used to put each of us kids to sleep when we were just babies. It was one of my favourites. While it made the girls and me cry even harder each time her voice cracked, the song somehow soothed my aching heart.
“Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, Too-ra-loora-li,
Toora loora loora, hush now, don’t you cry.
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ra, Too-ra-loora-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loora, that’s an Irish lullaby.”
I knew I would never celebrate Hallowe’en again. My fear of what could happen on that night wouldn’t let me. And in case I forgot, there would always be a new ghost waiting to remind me.