I hereby present chilling evidence of an overactive imagination. For those curious, I grew up in Long Beach, CA.
Sunnyside Mortuary was the scariest place in the
world.
And Joanie knew that her mom would drive through it
on their way home from the school Halloween party that night. The road home
passed directly through the City of the Dead, as Joanie’s dad said it was often called when he was a boy. Acres of graves, many dating from the 1800's, spread nearly to the horizon on either side of the road; and at the
end, O! At the end was . . . the Haunted Tower.
“Mom, could we take a different way home tonight?”
Joanie asked as she climbed into her family’s ancient station wagon. A gust of
wind caught her headdress and flipped her fabric ears into her eyes just as the
door closed.
“Why would we do that?” Mom asked, turning the key.
The engine started with a screech of complaint but settled into its usual
ratchety rumble.
“I don’t like driving through the cemetery on
Halloween,” Joanie admitted. “It’s creepy.”
Mom rolled her eyes, pulled out of the parking lot,
and entered the flow of traffic. “After herding wild children all evening, I’m
taking the shortest way home. No more of your silliness tonight.”
Joanie slumped into her seat, wrapped her arms
around herself, and tried to think like a grown-up.
Dad said Sunnyside Mortuary was an architectural
work of art in the Spanish style. It had been built long ago out of genuine
marble and granite, and it boasted magnificent stained-glass windows, a pipe
organ, and a huge pendulum that ticked away the time. A three-tiered tower topped
this glorious edifice, a landmark of the city.
And it had dead people buried in its walls.
To Joanie, the dark windows high in that ornate
tower seemed to leer down at passersby, as if attempting to lure them inside to
be swallowed up in its walls. When she was little she used to hide her eyes
whenever the road led past Sunnyside, but more recently she had decided to keep
both eyes on it. That way, nothing it did could take her unawares.
Mom stopped at a light and sighed, pushing hair back
from her forehead. “Did you enjoy the party?” she asked.
“It was fine,” Joanie said mechanically. One more
signal, and then . . . But Mom would drive fast, and soon the horror would be
behind them, lost in the windy darkness.
Some of Dad’s relatives were buried at Sunnyside.
Almost exactly a year ago, Joanie had attended her great aunt’s funeral. To her
profound relief, the service had been held in a church, not at the Haunted
Mausoleum, yet to this day Joanie could not forget how Aunt Agnes had looked,
lying there in the coffin.
Aunt Agnes had scared Joanie when she was alive. The
old lady wore dresses that hung like sacks on her bulgy frame, her thinning
hair was dyed orange, and she teetered around on high-heeled pumps. When it
came to her thick red lipstick, Aunt Agnes didn’t care about coloring inside
the lines; and her eyes were wide and staring, like windows. She would grab Joanie
by the arm, haul her close so she couldn’t escape, and talk right in her face.
When she was dead, the lipstick hadn’t made her look
any better.
On the next block, Joanie saw groups of
trick-or-treaters walking along the sidewalk, carrying pillowcases to catch the
candy. The wind blew their costumes around and picked up discarded candy
wrappers. One tall skeleton glowed faintly greenish beneath the streetlamps. It
turned to watch the station wagon pass, and Joanie shivered at sight of those
empty eye holes.
The car turned onto The Street. Soon the mortuary would
appear. At night, lights shone up at the Haunted Tower from the outside, making
its windows appear blacker than ever against the livid stucco.
On the sidewalk outside the fence Joanie saw a thick
figure tottering along on high heels. It looked like an old woman from behind,
but it could have been a trick-or-treater. Except, why would she be alone?
Joanie hunched her shoulders and kept her eyes
peeled for that tower. The black iron fence around the cemetery flickered past.
Then against the black night appeared the tower’s face, ghastly white above
treetops tossing in the wind. Joanie gulped but set her jaw. Only a minute more
and the City of the Dead would shrink away in the rearview mirrors.
The station wagon made a groaning noise, and steam
starting pouring from beneath its hood. “Oh no!” Joanie’s mother cried. “Not
again! Stupid, worthless car.”
The engine sputtered out, and Mom had to steer the gasping
car to the side of the road. A long black hearse purred past, ran a yellow light,
and vanished into the night.
No other living soul was in sight.
Joanie slowly leaned forward and looked up. Those
dark windows peered down with avid interest. “It is watching us, Mom,” she
said. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her mouth was too dry to swallow.
“Joanie, I said that’s enough! What do you want to
do, scare me silly?” Mom buttoned her coat and gave her daughter a warning
look. “You stay here. I’ll be right back. We’ll probably have to walk to a gas
station.”
Even though she wouldn’t begin to know how to fix
anything wrong with the engine, Joanie’s mother climbed out and opened the
car’s hood. Steam poured out on either side, whipped into swirls by the gusting
wind. Joanie took another look at the tower, now wreathed in glowing mist. It
looked larger, closer.
With the hood up, Joanie couldn’t see her mother
through the windshield. The Haunted Tower was her only companion. Panic gripped
her throat, and she breathed in short gasps. More than willing to risk Mom’s
anger, she fumbled for the door handle and scrambled out, her costume whipping
in the wind. The door squealed when she slammed it shut. Knees trembling, she walked
around to the front of the car. Her mother wasn’t there.
Hard, icy fingers grabbed hold of her arm and spun
her around.
