”Halloween approaches,” Bubba said. ”It’s a time for witches, spooks, goblins, ghost stories, and strange occurrences. Wolfsbane might hang above a door, or a talisman round a person’s neck. Creaking doors are louder, shadows along the trail are scarier, and forest fogs are deeper. There are things that go bump in the night on Halloween that no one notices the rest of the year. Here is a Halloween tale for you to enjoy … if you dare.”

Mommy was downstairs checking the safety of all the Halloween loot the girls picked up in the neighborhood while Daddy got the girls ready for bed.

“Daddy, tell us the story about Mamaw Judith when she was a little girl, and how she had to ride in a bumpy old wagon and how they got snowed on and how they ate lots of dust and how they got lost and how lots of weird things happened.”

“I’ve told you that story a million times,” Liam Dettmer whined, but knew full well he would give in like he did the last two Halloween nights.

“But it is one of our favorite stories, Daddy,” ten-year-old Julia pleaded.

“And you tell it so well! I always imagine we’re in a movie ‘cuz you tell it so well, Daddy,” Julia’s twin sister June added.

“All right. Then it is off to Nighty-Night Land. Deal?”

The girls settled in quickly to hear their favorite Halloween bedtime story.

“Once upon a time, years and years ago, your Mamaw Judith and her parents Darwin and Jannel were on a journey to a new home in the West. Their cross-country trip was by a covered wagon pulled by six beautiful unicorns.”

“Daddy, don’t change the story again. It was a wagon pulled by four old mules,” chastised June with her arms crossed just like Mommy does when angry at Daddy.

“Just checking to see if you were paying attention. Now where was I? Oh yes, they traveled for months enduring extreme heat, violent storms, and deep snow as they crossed mountains, deserts, valleys, and rivers. Every morning along the way, Mamaw would ask, ‘Are we there yet?’ And every morning, her daddy said, ‘Not yet … maybe the next valley.’ Just like you girls ask when we go on vacation … ‘Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?’”

“We do not!” came the unison rebuttal.

 “Yes, you do. Anyway, other than that, they had a pretty boring journey. Until  … that … one … day.” Daddy said with prolonged emphasis.

At this point, the girls were sitting up and were wide awake. Daddy continued, “They found an Indian village. Everything was destroyed and burned beyond recognition, but there were no Indians in the village! After searching the rest of the day for survivors, they made camp for the night. But they didn’t sleep much.”

“Were coyotes howling and keeping them awake?” Julia asked.

“Not a sound,” Daddy replied.

“Were rabbits and prairie dogs and snakes rustling through the brush?” June asked as the girls always asked at this point in the story.

“Nope, not a peep,” Daddy repeated his practiced response. “The next morning, they hitched up the wagon in an eerie silence. They got into the wagon and everyone sat perfectly still for a few minutes. They listened intently and heard nothing. They looked around but nothing moved.” This is where the girls always pull their bed sheets up to cover their eyes. 

“About noon, they crossed a trail rutted by many wagon trains. The trail was scorched! They followed that trail until at sunset they found a small town half burned and completely abandoned.”

Just like the Indian village!” Julia added right on cue.

“Why, yes it was.”

“Here comes the spooky part,” June said as she ducked completely under her bed covers.

“Oh my, what a strange sight to behold! Smoke still rose from whatever conflagration had befallen that town.”

“What’s a con-flap-a-tation, Daddy?” June asked.

“A conflagration is a huge fire. Shall I continue?”

“YES!” the girls shouted.

 “What buildings had not burned to smoldering ashes were pulled apart like broken toys. Scorched trees resembled claws reaching into the sky and begging, ‘Why us? What did we do to deserve this?’ But no one answered the question. Only a ghostly silence remained,” Daddy said in his best dramatic theatrical voice. Then, he smiled and said, “The End. Now go to sleep.”

“Daddy!” came the official protest in unison. “Finish the story! Say it right!”

“You won’t let me get away with anything. Okay, okay, okay.”

He began the rest of the story slowly, evenly paced. “The sun was just setting on the horizon, but the twilight lingered on as it changed the color of the clouds from white to red to purple and then to gray. There was not a breath of a breeze. Everything seemed frozen in time. Silence. Menacing. Foreboding.”

“There was no lake, Daddy. So how could there be four boats?” June the critic asked.

“I didn’t say ‘four boats.’ I said ‘foreboding’ which means a fearful apprehension. It means something bad is about to happen – sort of like if you interrupt one more time, I’m leaving.” June covered her face with her sheet. Daddy pointed straight ahead as he said, “There! At the end of the street! What is that?”

In unison, the girls screamed, “It’s a headless ghost riding a ghost horse and they are both on fire! He’s holding a pumpkin that is also on fire!”

“Yes, he is! Wait! What did the burning ghost just do?”

“He threw the burning pumpkin at Judith and her parents!” the girls screamed again.

“And what did they do?”

“They jumped in their wagon and left town!” the girls yelled as they threw their bed covers over their heads.

“Exactly,” Daddy said. “Even the four mules were terrified. Off they went at a full run, faster than they had ever run! The wagon raced by the burning ghost and his flaming horse, past the charred dry goods store, past the smoldering church ruins, and out of the town they sped!”

“What was the name of the town?” came two voices right on cue from under the covers.

“I’m glad you asked. As their mules and wagon raised a trail of dust, Mamaw Judith saw a smoking sign on a fence.”

“What did it say,” came the voices again.

“It said, ‘You are leaving Sleepy Hollow. Don’t come back!’” Daddy walked to the bedroom door and said, “Well, Good Night, girls. Pleasant dreams.”

“I’m scared, June!” came a soft voice in the bed.

“Me too, Julia!” replied the other small voice. “But I like that story!”

Dad flipped off the light switch and he was gone. The girls under their covers did not notice the color of his eyes quickly change from brown to yellow as his fingers grew longer, gnarled, and hairy. As he came down the stairs on all fours, Mom asked, “When will we tell them the truth about Mamaw Judith being bitten by a werewolf in that burned-out town?”

“Someday we can tell them what happened in Sleepy Hollow, Arizona. Someday. But lycanthropy is a difficult subject to breach with ten-year-old girls,” Dad replied as his long razor-sharp fangs sank into raw hamburger meat held by his foreclaws. “Mmm, this is very fresh,” he growled and kept eating.