Between The Boards

When I was in 5th grade, my older sister and I had a Halloween party at our childhood home. But this was no ordinary, grade school Halloween party.

This. Was. EPIC.

My childhood home was an old farm house that had three big red barns, a spring house and a yard the size of a football field.

The big red barn that was closest to my home always housed batches upon batches of orphan cats we had collected over the years. Beach-bum, Pepperoni (aka SUPERstar after finding out my sister had named her cat Star) Tigger and so on and so on. The female cats would have their kittens in the barn and my sister and I were in heaven. Every day, after the agonizing bus ride home, we would run to the barn in a flash to see the faces of our adoring feline friends. We named each kitten and made sure they all felt loved and nurtured.

The huge red barn furthest from my home had two stories of nearly empty space. Each barn housed rusted tools from the farmers that once lived there. There were strange knobs on the walls and it felt like time travel every time I would swing open the old, battered door. It was the barn I would eventually start smoking cigarettes in and lure whatever crush I had at the time to come see how odd it all was and, eventually, try to make out with them.

If you traveled up the staircase to the left, your head would slowly enter the second story of the barn until it encapsulated you. But this room felt colossal. Even the air felt different. There was a tightness that held you when you were all alone. The dilapidated walls would move and sway when your eyes lost focus. And it was cold. Even on the warmest sunny day, if you entered that space on your own, you were constantly shivering. The only thing that would help was opening the two grand doors that spanned the entire width of the barn.

I would move the wooden cross-latch down and swing open the first door, being careful to catch it before it banged along the side. Quick to follow was the neighboring door with a short hit to swing it open and catch it to minimize the hit to the side.

My sister and I would eventually turn this into one, of our many, clubhouse spots, fully furnishing and adding homey touches like a lamp and a few of our favorite toys.

I remember laying on my stomach as a child, my hands holding my face, watching cars go by on the highway right in front of this barn. With the doors all the way open of this second story building, I felt powerful in some small way. It felt special.

A memory that tugs at me was my endless fascination with the one, solitary piece of art that was hidden in a section of the wall.

The evening I discovered it, I had been scouring the massive structure for the perfect hiding spot for my time capsule.

A large ALF thermos contained my absolute favorite Watermelon Lip Smacker chap-stick, stickers, a diary entry with the date commemorating everything I could possibly think of in the world of pop culture in the early 90's to document and 3 packets of Pop Rocks.

As my hands reached above ledges and felt between deep cracks, I noticed my fingers knocking something over inside of the wall. I quickly ran over to the pile of tools I had accumulated in the corner of the barn and grabbed a flashlight.

I found a split in the wood that was big enough to shine a light through. And that's when I saw it.

It was haunting and my adolescent mind allowed me to grasp the feeling that it invoked within me. It was a large, rusted picture frame that contained a visceral reaction.

All I could make out were those eyes against that deep, unforgivably dark background. As I moved the light I was able to partially make out the rest of the image.

It was an owl. As ruinous as the darkness it was perched upon. The eyes were what stuck with me. The unforgettable apprehension in keeping them illuminated as my hand froze in terror.

I can still see it clearly in my mind, to this very day. Everything in me knew why that painting was hidden as a child. It called to a part within myself that I never knew existed.

The spring house was a little ways past this barn and sat beside a cement staircase that seemed to lead nowhere. It was the spot that the boys moving out of my childhood home warned me about the day my family went to see it and ultimately purchase.

“We feel like we should tell you something about this place”, the boys told me.

“What?”, I asked, halfway listening while peeking through the holes in a barn.

“This place is haunted”, one of the boys trailed off as I perked up and scoffed,

“No way, you're just trying to scare me.” I replied while walking away.

“Sure, that's fine if that's what you want to think. We were just trying to warn you about the ghost.”

I stopped, dead in my tracks.

"...Ghost?” I whimpered.

“Yep. Every New Years Eve, this ghost comes out of the spring house carrying a lantern. We saw it didn't we, Bobby!” he said while nudging the smaller brother.

“Sure did.” He responded quickly.

“See. You'll see it, too. Just remember, New Year's Eve, right at midnight. You'll see it.”

“Gretchen!” I yelled, running through the grass to find my sister. My older sister was the person I went to for any and all questions I ever had. And she had to know about this.

When we moved in, it became this fun secret my sister and I had. We anticipated every New Year and would watch out the window as the clock struck midnight. Each year terrified and hopeful to see the ghost. Each year, disappointed when it wouldn't show.

My sister and I would try to communicate with the ghost as we got older. We studied forms of Witchcraft, experimented with homemade Ouija boards and had seances to break the barrier of the Spirit world.

If the place wasn't haunted before, it certainly was after this.

It was my favorite thing to talk about with the two distant neighbor boys and any friend that came over to my house. I couldn't wait to tell them about the ghost that would appear every New Years Eve, with it's lantern and white face.

“Yep, my sister and I BOTH saw it didn't we, Gretch?” I would say, trying to hide the Cheshire-like smile on my face as I shot her a devilish look.

“We did.” She would reply. “It's all true.”

My sister and I always had an inner secret, that inside joke. We had our own language. We could communicate without words.

It made this Halloween party that much more exciting. I knew with every spooky, handwritten invitation I sent out, that each of these people were under the impression that my house was already haunted and thus would make this the most epic Halloween party ever!

I remember the big, yellow bus pulling up to my house and being giddy with excitement. The air was crisp and all of the foliage looked like it had been antiqued. It was a smooth, sepia landscape among the faded red barns and bare trees. The air was crisp and smelled like crackling, dead leaves.

I saw my mom as I ran by the house screaming “Is it ready?! Is it ready?! What does it look like?”

“It's almost done, sweetie!” She said, smiling. “There are just a few more things we have to finish up.”

“OK!” I yelled, running into the first story of the towering red barn. The whole room was filled with orange and black streamers, homemade ghosts, board games and candy.

I gushed while grabbing a handful of jelly beans and ran down to the tall field that sat beyond our yard. My stepdad was finishing up the trail on his tractor for our spooky scavenger hunt. I skipped through the mowed out path and gasped at the homemade guillotine at the first check point with a bucket of spaghetti and red sauce sitting beside it.

“Ewww, gross!” I cried, while quickly moving on to the next gruesome check point. I can't remember specifics, but each and every marker had a chilling clue on it and an even more chilling scare to go along with it.

It, truly, is my favorite day from my childhood.

The sun was already starting to sink low and I knew all of our friends would be here soon.

It was nothing short of monumental.

The icing on the cake was the surprise in, of all places, the spring house. That's where the scavenger hunt started. We would have to open the door to get our first clue, below a pitch black sky and a single flashlight.

“You open it!” Someone said with a nudge.

“No way, I'm not opening that door! You open it!” We all yelled in a panic of fear and excitement.

“Tiff, you open it! You've seen the ghost!”

I knew this was my moment. All of the stories were just stories up until right now. If I could open this door and see the ghost, I could make it all real. It wouldn't just be a fright anymore, it would be right there for all of us to see.

I made a space in the crowd of kids, right in front of the door and kicked it open.

As the door swung loose, we caught a single glimpse of what was in the room and bolted for the field while screaming bloody murder.

A buttoned-up flannel shirt and jeans were packed tight to look like a body sitting in a chair, with big boots at the feet and gloves for the hands. Atop the leafy torso sat an old, worn wolf mask with snarling teeth and matted down, thick, brown fur.

The single flashlight shook in my hands as we slowly made our way back up to the small building to retrieve our clue and continue.

When we finally summoned the courage to grab the clue from the garden-gloved paw of the wolf, we were led to the next clue at the start of the thick field that now, cloaked in utter darkness, made us all feel miniature.

The dead grass shot well above my head and swayed back and forth with the Autumn wind. Everything about it was eerie, unpredictable and terrifying.

Sudden bursts of sound would emerge from the night as we fumbled from fright to fright.

“AWOOOO!! AW-AW-AWOOOOO!!”

“Is that a wolf?!” A friend cried out.

“What if it's the ghost, Tiff?!” Gretchen poked with a knowing look.

Everything in me knew I would see the ghost that night. We would all see it.

The night went on with hit after hit of well-crafted scares. It all wrapped up in our huge red barn with flashlight faces and terrifying ghost stories.

Maybe we didn't see the ghost that night. Maybe we were just too distracted by this amazing work of love created by my mom and stepdad, and we missed it.

Maybe we create our own ghosts.