Smith Mischievous in Mendham

A Collection of Childhood Memories
1. Auflage 2018
ISBN: 978-1-5439-4983-4
Verlag: BookBaby
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet/DL/kein Kopierschutz

E-Book, Englisch, 180 Seiten

Coming of age in New Jersey in the late 1940s, Greg and his pals got into enough scrapes to fill a book. That book is Mischievous in Mendham, an anthology of comic memoirs based on the author's childhood and told in the vein of Garrison Keillor, he sheds light on the fact that these incidents are not unique to his hometown, but are a microcosm of the American comedy in general.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Smith, Gregory

Leseproben

Chapter 1 The Haunted Barn   Mendham Borough, NJ 1951 The legend of the haunted barn popped-up during one of our childhood meetings down in my basement kitchen. My buddies, Al and Sam, third graders, and I, a fourth grader, were discussing my family’s spooky barn. Was it haunted by ghosts? Did someone have an untimely sudden death on the property, leaving their soul behind? Was there someone or something still hiding out in the red barn? *** Before I go on with the story, let me describe our properties. My friends’ property and mine included additional acreage previously belonging to a wealthy family. The estate consisted of a large two-story colonial located on East Main Street in Mendham and two smaller homes. The smaller homes were probably used for caretakers and farm helpers, years ago. There were also three large barns, a chicken coupe, and a large tool shed. When my parents sold the main house to my buddies’ parents, we moved into one of the smaller homes and added on an addition for more living space. Several years later, my family took down two of the unneeded barns, leaving the large two-story red barn on the property. Historically, the local lore of the property was that two of the barns were haunted. These were the ones my parents demolished before I was born in 1942. My parents became concerned when whatever haunted the former two barns, mysteriously began to haunt the remaining two-story red barn. The red barn had a rickety stairway inside to access the upper floor. That area, at one time, was used for storing hay to feed horses and farm animals. Under the stairway, were two wood panels, flush with the floor. When opened, they would allow access to the dug-out dirt cellar. Both of these panels were sealed shut with numerous rusty nails, making them difficult for anyone to open and go down there. It always spooked me whenever I walked past them. Was someone buried down there? The barn had a presence within it, maybe someone from a past life. Perhaps a restless soul in need to do one last thing before being buried six feet deep. When you entered the barn alone, especially at night, you felt someone or something was watching you. When it made itself known, it appeared as a bone-chilling gust of air that seemed to come out of nowhere. It was there one moment, then gone the next, as it drifted slowly away. Unexplained eerie noises happened frequently as you stood quietly within the barn; creaking floorboards, squeaking doors hinges, something falling on the floor, or a ghostly sound, as if someone or something was moaning. My family avoided going near the barn at night. The wood floor panels drew my attention like a magnet. My curiosity often tempted me to grab a hammer and crowbar to pry one open to take a peak. The doors reminded me of coffin lids, being just about the same size. One morning, when I walked into the barn, something was stirring down deep under one of the panels, I couldn’t tell which one. Frightened, I ran back to the house where Dad was building some shelves in our kitchen. “Dad, I heard strange noises in the barn coming from under those two spooky panels, something’s down there, and it’s alive!” “It’s most likely a porcupine, skunk, or groundhog that burrowed its way under the barn.” “What’s down there below those panels? The way they’re nailed with all those old rusty nails, it must be something spooky, maybe even a vampire! Did you nail those panels shut?” “Not me. The former owner told me it was a dirt cellar, dug out years ago. He mentioned to me, that there were hundreds of old bottles down there and the place was covered with cobwebs. He also warned me it was crawling with all sorts of spiders and even snakes—too dangerous for anyone to go down there.” “I’d love to take a look down there.” “Don’t you get any bright ideas of prying those panels open,” Dad, warned me. “What was it used for?” “They probably used it for a root cellar to age wine years ago. People used to bury their garbage, there was no public garbage collection. Someone probably thought it was a good place to dispose of glass containers and booze bottles. Barns like this one had an interesting history. Years ago, hoboes used them for shelter and warmth as they traveled on foot from town to town to get to distant places.” “Do hoboes still use the barn?” “I doubt it,” said Dad. *** When I got together with my two friends, we couldn’t stop talking about the barn, curious to know what might be down there. “Bad things always happen at midnight,” Sam said. “That must be a creepy place in the dark of night, especially at midnight,” Al said. “You would never get me to go near that place that late at night,” I chimed in. “How scary could it be? We should check the place out, at midnight. We need a plan. How does this sound? We’ll sneak out before midnight and meet at the split rail fence by the barn. Then, the three of us will go into the barn and investigate to see if it’s really haunted. Let’s do it tonight!” Al insisted. “We can’t do it tonight! At midnight it will be Friday, Friday the thirteenth. That’s an unlucky day,” I said. “If there’re ghosts in there, you can be sure they’ll make their presence known on the 13th,” Sam said. “So, we need to do it tonight. We’ll all meet at the fence five minutes before midnight. Bring a flashlight, too,” I said. Our conversation continued the entire afternoon, in-depth discussions on ghoulish stuff. What did ghosts look like? Did they only come out around midnight? Where did they go during the day? Could they harm you? Could they snatch you up and take you somewhere to turn you into a ghost? After hours of such ghoulish talk, all of us were on edge. As dinner time neared, Al and Sam went home, leaving me with my thoughts. Do I really want to do this? I could call them on our private telephone line and tell them I’m not coming. I was deep in thought when Mom called me for dinner. My parents were religious, so we always said grace before eating dinner. As my dad had finished saying grace, I quickly interjected, “Please watch over us tonight.” Mom blurted out, “What was that all about?” Dad, being very perceptive asked, “Now, what nonsense do you and the Larson twins have planned for tonight?” “Not a thing, Dad.” “I’ve heard that statement one too many times. Come clean and spill the beans.” “I’m telling you, Dad, we’ve got nothing planned.” We finished dinner, Dad and Mom went to watch something on our new Dumont, black and white, 10” TV. I went to my bedroom and turned on the radio to listen to The Lone Ranger on WOR, 710 on the dial. Sergeant Preston of the Yukon came on after The Lone Ranger—those were my two favorite programs. Whenever I listened to my radio programs, I always turned my bedroom light off, which made the programs seem more realistic, like I was right there with the Lone Ranger or Sergeant Preston. The Lone Ranger story was half-way through when a panic attack hit me. I ran across the room and flicked the light on. My heart was beating like an outboard motor at full speed. My imagination was running wild, but stuck on one thought. Do I really want to do this at midnight? With the light on, my heart finally slowed down somewhat. Do I really want to go on this mission tonight? I glanced over at Little Ben, my alarm clock. I was nervous as my imagination ran wild. The Lone Ranger program had finished and Sergeant Preston of the Yukon came on. I listened intently and tried to take my mind off our midnight mission. In a flash, Sergeant Preston signed off, “Until next time…..” Would there be another next time for me? I set Little Ben to go off at 11:45 and wrapped the clock in my sweater so my parents wouldn’t hear it go off. I turned off my light and tried to fall asleep, but couldn’t. Mom always told me to count sheep to make me fall asleep. I tried, but suddenly they appeared as devilish looking ghosts, looking straight at me. I abruptly jumped out of bed and turned my light on. Mom knocked on my door and said, “I was going to bed. I saw light coming from under your door. Are you, all right?” “Yeah Mom, just having a hard time falling asleep!” “Try counting sheep.” “Tried that—didn’t work.” “Turn out the light, close your eyes, and try again—you’ll fall asleep.” “Good night, Mom.” I turned off the light, jumped into bed, and pulled the covers over my head. It’s safe under here, no ghost sheep can get me, I thought and finally fell asleep. The midnight adventure hadn’t even started yet and my mind was running wild with the thoughts of ghosts. I was so nerved-up that when I glanced back at Little Ben, he looked like a small monster with his face glowing in the dark. It only seemed like a moment later, that Little Ben went off. I got out of bed, got dressed, grabbed my flashlight, and quietly went out the back door. The overcast sky concealed any light from the moon and stars—making it pitch black outside. I flicked on my flashlight. The batteries must have been weak. The flashlight only gave a dull yellowish beam that lit my way to the rail fence, near the barn. With each step I took, my body shook with fear, and my brain kept telling me; this is a very bad idea. As I neared the fence, I saw two shadows about my size, Al and Sam. Somehow reaching my...