Bad Links?
Other glitches?
Notify Webmaster

No candy for you

By Rick Ryckeley
Contributing Writer

Halloween is a special time for girls and boys everywhere. It’s a time for dressing up in your favorite costume to troll the neighbor in search of the one house that will have the best candy selection of all.

On Flamingo Street, no such searching was necessary. We all knew which house had all the best goodies, and we saved that one for last. The house was at the bottom of the hill and was the only house in the cul-de-sac. It was the one with the broken mailbox that Bubba Hanks crashed into when, during the last ice storm, he rode the metal disk of death into Flamingo Street history. Oddly enough, it was where Old Mrs. Crabtree lived.

Mrs. Crabtree hated kids; just ask any of us who were unfortunately sentenced to her fifth-grade class at Mount Olive Elementary School for an entire school year. I remember that year very well. It was the year that most of the kids from Flamingo Street were in her class. It was the year that Bully Brad only beat me up five times. It was the year I didn’t get any candy on Halloween. And it was the year that I promised to keep a secret on the Monday after Halloween and never tell anyone; that is, until now.

Old Mrs. Crabtree hated kids so much that every year, three days before Halloween, she’d take a vacation just so she wouldn’t have to give out any candy to the trick-or-treaters who came to her house. Every year she got a substitute teacher and went on a three-day vacation, oblivious to the fact that while she was gone, we didn’t do any schoolwork. And while she was gone, not only did someone decorate her yard for Halloween, turning it into the coolest yard on the whole street, but they also broke into her house and gave us kids the best candy we ever had. In those three days she was gone, the decorations started to mysteriously appear in her yard: coffins on the driveway, skeletons hanging from the trees, ghosts swinging from wires across the yard, cobwebs on the windows and grave markers lining the sidewalk. It was a ghastly sight, and we kids just loved it!

No one ever saw who decorated Mrs. Crabtree’s yard though. Strangely, it was all done in the middle of the night. As far as we could tell, Mrs. Crabtree never knew anything about it. Her yard was all cleaned up by the time she got back home, and the first school day after Halloween, she denied any knowledge of the scary events that happened at her house. It was a good thing too; she would have hated all of those kids in her yard. She hated kids.

All the kids in the neighborhood gathered in front of Thomas’ house just before dark on Halloween night, which fell on a Sunday. It was an unwritten rule that no candy could be given out before nightfall. Thomas lived right next door so my brothers and I didn’t have too far to walk. Big Brother James was dressed as Superman, Older Brother Richard was a giant frog, Twin Brother Mark was all wrapped up in aluminum foil (he was an alien), and I was the Flash. I was the Flash because I was the fastest kid in all of fifth grade, a skill I developed due to running for my life from Bully Brad.

Neighbor Thomas was G.I. Joe, Bubba Hanks was a jack-O-lantern, Candi was a sunflower with giant yellow petals, Preston Weston III was a banker, Blabber Mouth Betsy and Tattle Tail Tina were angels, but the dumbest costume was Goofy Steve’s. Goof came walking up wearing green shoes, green stockings and his entire body wrapped up in green paper, with his arms wrapped down by his sides. His face was even painted green, and with strawberry red hair, he looked really stupid. When we finally stopped laughing, I asked him what he was supposed to be. He stood up straight and said, “I’m a string bean!”

“How are you going to hold your candy bag if your arms are all wrapped up?” I asked.

Goof turned around and showed us that his mom had sewn a bag to his back.

We knocked on all the doors on our street and got tons of candy that night. Poor Goof! When he got candy, one of us would sneak up behind him and steal it from his bag.

The last stop was Mrs. Crabtree’s house. We rang the doorbell, and a witch answered! I hated witches. She had a long crooked nose with warts on it, long black hair, long crooked fingers with black fingernails, and when she smiled every other tooth was blackened out. She gave everyone candy, and even filled Goof’s bag up so much, he almost fell backwards walking down the steps.

I was the last to leave, and as I turned to go she grabbed me and whispered, “Where do you think you’re going?” Then I heard that scary laugh of hers. I dropped my bag of candy right there at her feet and ran back home!

The next day Mrs. Crabtree denied any knowledge of the scary goings-on at her house. That afternoon when the bell rang, she asked me to stay after school for a moment because she had something to give me. When all the other kids left, Mrs. Crabtree asked me to come up to her desk. She stood up and handed me a large brown bag with a note attached. I thanked her, turned to leave and walked over to the door where I stopped to read the note: “Our little secret, Flash. Please don’t tell anyone. Happy Halloween.”

I opened the bag, and it was full of the best selection of Halloween candy I’d ever seen. Then I heard the scary laugh again. The same one I heard when the witch grabbed me, and I dropped my bag of candy. I turned and saw Old Mrs. Crabtree standing there, smiling, with every other tooth blackened out.

[Rick Ryckeley is employed by the Fayette County Department of Fire and Emergency Services. He can be reached at saferick@bellsouth.net.]