Fandango’s Friday Flashback: Where Is Everybody?

Reposted for Fandango’s Friday Flashback: 

October 30, 2017

Our neighborhood doesn’t get Trick or Treaters anymore.

We haven’t had visits from ghosts or vampires or werewolves or mummies or a single witch for years.

The neighborhood kids go to the Mall or to festivals for their Halloween loot.

Those of us that are left behind  sit around and eat candy that no one collects and we

don’t even bother to carve pumpkins anymore.

a5

On our way home from the movies, I asked Victor:

” Don’t you think it’s strange not to see a single Devil or Pirate or toilet paper streaming down from a tree or two?”

He said  it did seem odd.

” I think it’s depressing. Not a single costumed monster or little kids dressed up like food or candy.”

I searched through my purse and found my mints. Mints calm me when I start to feel stressed.

” One night, one night where anyone can be anything they want and be rewarded for it. And what do they do? They go to the Mall. I despair for humanity.”

Victor said he saw my point.

” I love Halloween so. ”  I popped another mint, rolled the window down and let the crisp night air chill my bones.

a5

When we got home our street was pumpkinless, decoration free, there wasn’t a ghoul or a zombie or a hippie to be seen.

” I guess that’s it for tonight. What a bust. Guess we can turn in for the evening.” I pouted.

” We could still go out, ” Victor said touching my cheek which began to grow wider as my jaw grew heavier and fine silver wisps of fur began to spread from my forehead down  over my throat to my widening rib cage.

” I’d stick out like a sore thumb. One night. I used to have one night when I could go out and be like everybody else. People suck. I hope they all get brain rot from their cellphones.”

I got out of our car and slammed the car door shut,  and  then I dropped to my knees and fell forward.

I let out a howl.

Then I sadly trailed up the walk to our door,  dragging my tail behind me.

Cemetery Cats

Word of the Day Challenge: Crypt

Photo A.M. Moscoso

My Grandmother used to feed and care for feral cats that lived across the street from us in the sugar cane fields in Hawaii.

She wasn’t sentimental by nature and she didn’t keep things like pets and she didn’t tape our artwork on her refrigerator door and she didn’t joke around.

So I always found it curious that she took care of these cats- cats that she didn’t name or cuddle or buy little toys for. Strangely, she did sew them blankets from scraps left over from her sewing projects. It wasn’t a slap dash project and the little cat quilts were actually well made.

She’d place the little blankets around her garden and when they got messy she’d throw them out and sew new ones.

One day I asked her about the Cane Field Cats  because the timing was right. When she was crocheting or when she was sewing or working on a project she was more talkative and lo and behold she was ready to chat.  ” because cats can see Spirits and if there are bad ones around they know. ”

I asked her what they did about these bad spirits and she said something along the vein that they met the same fate as the rodents in the fields.

” Really. ” I said.

She looked at me and she did not smile, or wink or offer any reassuring gestures after dropping it on me that our house could be sharing a road with a field of evil spirits.

” Really.” she told me.

” How come you don’t give them names? ” I asked.

She looked up at me. ” They aren’t the kind of cats that you give names too.”

” How come. ”

And then she said something that gave me a little chill. ” Because they have names already. ”

I had another question and I knew it was an important one.

” So. They are cats. Right? Just ordinary cats. ”

My Grandmother said, ” How come you ask questions you already know the answer too. That’s a waste of time and nobody lives forever. Go turn up the tv. ”

” Okay, ”

” And  then go feed the cats.”

Below are a collection of pictures of cemetery cats. I think a few are staged but the candid shots are the important ones to pay attention to because, when I saw them I didn’t see Cemetery Cats, I saw Cane Field Cats and given where these cats live I would have to say they are very, very well fed.

Photographer Unknown

Photographer Unknown

Photographer Unknown

Photographer Unknown

Photographer Unknown

Lilly’s By The Sea

Putting My Feet In The Dirt  October Prompt# 5- The Weathered Wall

The weathered wall in Lilly Burke’s  Bed and Breakfast By The Sea is hidden behind the corpses of the guests of Summers past.

I don’t mean that the mummified bodies of Lilly’s guests are stacked and piled high against the walls in  the spare room that were once painted a soft light green and are now shrouded in perpetual  dusty darkness except for the brightest of days when the Sun managed to push a few rays of light through a single window covered with moss and mold.

In the once light green room, piled on the floor nearest to the window are  key chains, travel bags and  unmailed  post cards. There is variety of knick- knacks in soft mushy cardboard cartons like ceramic mermaids with wide white smiles and long tendrils of light colored hair covering their seashell clad chests and bunnies in baseball caps.

There is also a collection of  perfumes, books, hair clips and water bottles stacked on shelves near the door. Mixed with these roadside trinkets and travel must haves are sweaters, shoes and t-shirts covered with spider webs and mouse droppings.

Lily Burke saved the forgotten remains of the many lives that passed through her bed and breakfast and gave them a place to decompose with dignity. They didn’t wind up in landfills or a burn barrel or down at the beach waiting for the tide to pull them out to Sea.

It’s just as well that is the case and that nobody can see the weathered wall in Lily Burke’s storage room at the top of the stairs in her Bed and Breakfast by the Sea because if you look at it, if you push a corpses  aside and get right up to the wall, you’ll see written in tiny fine script over and over again:

” Turn around, turn around, turn around,”

 

The weathered wall in Lilly Burke’s  Bed and Breakfast is hidden behind the corpses of the guests of Summers past.

I don’t mean that the mummified bodies of Lilly’s guests are stacked and piled high against the walls in  the spare room that were once painted a soft light green and are now shrouded in perpetual  dusty darkness except for the brightest of days when the Sun managed to push a few rays of light through a single window covered with moss and mold.

 

Photo by Josh Sorenson on Pexels.com