Halloween Story Walk

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   Our library put this really cool thing around the walking path in our park. It’s called a story walk. The walking path is great all by itself, don’t get me wrong. The two-mile, paved path, which is smooth enough for roller skating by the way, loops around a pretty lake, several baseball diamonds, five pavilions that anyone in town can rent for free, tennis courts, and a really fun playground. Even before the story walk, I walked there with my daughter often while we talked about our day, watched the pickle ball players, watched someone pull a fish out of the lake, watched someone make a great hit during a ball game, or just climbed the climbing wall on the playground. Our park is a nice park. The story walk is an added bonus, and it was made possible by our local library. In case you aren’t familiar with a story walk, this is how it works.

   There are displays about every fifteen or twenty feet along the walking path. Every month, the library picks a different children’s book and places the pages in the displays so we can walk along and read the book. By the time we walk the entire two-mile loop, we’ve reached the end of book and enjoyed what is usually a fun story that includes interaction such as the clapping of hands, stomping, marching, or searching for nearby objects.

   My six-year-old loves it. I love that we spend the time together, walking and reading the story.

   I knew for October, the library would pick a special Halloween book.

   Next to Christmas, Halloween is a favorite holiday at our house. We always decorate a lot for it by carving a number of pumpkins, and Estelle is acquainted with fictional Halloween monsters such as vampires and ghosts and zombies. I never wanted her to be that scared little girl who was spooked by anyone in a costume. We had already purchased our first pumpkin. We just hadn’t made the time to carve it yet.

   I ended up having to work later than usual on the day we planned to spend the evening at the park making our way around the story walk, and I almost put off going until the next night when we wouldn’t have to struggle to read the last pages in the dark. But my sweet Estelle offered to take her new black-with-white-spotted, Dalmatian-looking flashlight to help us see. And I knew it didn’t really matter, if it got too dark, we could just finish the walk around the loop and take up where we left off reading the book the next time. So, we drove to the park and parked near the number one display for the first page of the book. The playground was nearby, but it was empty. I thought nothing of the fact one of the swings swung back and forth.

   Apparently, someone had just been there.

   The sun hung low in the sky, but we weren’t worried. Estelle carried her spotted flashlight, and I carried a small backpack with a couple of water bottles and a few snacks, and, of course, an extra flashlight. I knew I couldn’t count on the batteries lasting in the Dalmatian light.

   The story was, indeed, a Halloween story. There was even a one of those fake carved pumpkins next to display number one. The story was called Don’t Look Behind You.

   I thought it was rather a spooky title for kids, but Estelle giggled and shined her flashlight behind her and said, “Come out monsters, I’m not afraid of you!”

   The illustration showed what appeared to be a scarecrow stick figure with overly large eyes, yellow straw for arms, and a yellow head covered with a black hat. The figure lured over two other stick people, as if creeping up behind them. The two stick people who weren’t the scarecrow wore dresses, displaying they were girls. Although it was a bit disturbing, there was nothing remotely frightening about the illustration, given it was drawn in crayon. I thought Estelle could have done a better job of drawing, honestly. I chuckled at her brave remark, and we walked on to the next display to read the story.

   The next page also simply read Don’t Look Behind You. Although the crayon illustration was different. The luring ghoulish scarecrow was bigger and appeared to have red—like blood, maybe—dripping from its mouth.

At the third page, there was another fake pumpkin on the ground. This page also read nothing more than Don’t Look Behind You. The fourth, fifth, and sixth page displays also had Halloween decorations—a plastic skeleton, a broomstick, and gnomes that looked like witches. Yet the pages of the book within the displays all held the same words. Only the illustrations on the pages were different. They still showed the same three stick figures, the two girls and the scarecrow. They were just in different locations on the page.

   At the seventh page, we had made our way to the other side of the lake, not quite half way around the loop, with nothing but woods on the other side of the walking path. Crickets were loud here. And I heard the skittering sounds of small animals in the woods. The page read I Mean It. Don’t Look Behind You.

   At the display for the eighth page, the Halloween décor was a scarecrow. It looked almost identical to the scarecrow Estelle and I place on our front porch each year with our array of pumpkins and other Halloween decorations, but it was as big as a man. It rested on the ground and leaned up against the leg of the book display. And I could have sworn in the shadows the dark spots on its face that were its eyes shifted to look up at me from its seated position. The words on the page of the story at this display read Don’t Look Behind You, Or You’ll Die.

   Estelle remarked that she didn’t like this book. I didn’t either. I didn’t like the man-like scarecrow that reclined near my feet. I also didn’t like that the sun was pretty well gone, and on this side of park, there were no lights. There were no baseball games being played, so the area ahead of us was dark, too. I looked around.

   The park was virtually empty.

   Except for us. And the scarecrow.

   Trees blew in the evening breeze, and dry, crisp fall leaves crackled. The sounds of them harmonized with the crickets. Shadows from them danced on the grass and the path around us. An owl hooted from some nearby tree, and the sound of it startled me more than I care to admit. It was as if the sound alerted me to the idea that despite the park appearing empty, we weren’t alone. As an avid reader, I had often read a passage stating something like, I felt his gaze burn into my back.

   I suddenly understood that exact feeling.

   Someone was watching us. I was certain of it.

   I suggested to Estelle that we cut across the grass and head back to the car. It wasn’t something I’d budgeted for and I don’t generally let her eat much junk food, but I promised her a child’s meal for supper in lieu of remaining in the park and finishing the distance of the walking path. If Estelle was feeling the same sensation of being watched that I was, she didn’t comment. She did, however, shine her little dog flashlight around in all directions, and she did not argue about leaving.

   Was that scarecrow’s right hand previously on its thigh as it was now? Had it moved?

   I wasn’t sure, but I was sure we needed to leave right now. I slid the backpack I carried through both my arms and onto my back, so both my hands were free. As I turned away, I grabbed Estelle’s hand, swung her around harder than I intended as I said, “Come on, we need to go, right now!”

   If I had been alone, I would have sprinted. But I had a six-year-old with much shorter legs than mine. Truth be told, I wasn’t sure if picking her up and trying to run would be easier or put us both at a slower pace than that which we were moving right now, but I wasn’t going to waste the seconds trying it to find out.

   I felt whatever watched us was right behind us. I thought I felt a rush of air on the back of my neck as if it breathed on me. The air was warm, but it caused cold goosebumps to cover the rest of me.

   “I dropped my flashlight!”

   Estelle pulled against my hand, attempting to stop and go back for it. I yelled at her to leave it and that I’d get her a new one.

   I looked back and thought my heart was going to stop.

   The scarecrow was now standing and was right behind us.

   “I told you not to look behind you,” it said in a raspy voice.

   I screamed. Estelle screamed, too, but I’m not sure she recognized exactly what was happening or if she understood the need to be terrified. She probably screamed because I did. I had the feeling that in her quizzical, child’s mind, she was simply asking questions about the scarecrow. Can scarecrows really walk and talk? Are scarecrows real? Estelle was a bright girl, but she was also a child, a concrete thinker who knew that scarecrows shouldn’t be able talk.

But this one was walking—well, really, running enough to keep up with us—and talking. And threatening. Was this some Halloween prank put on by the library? Were they planning to make this a haunted trail for Halloween to go along with the spooky story walk? Were we the Guinea pigs?

   Straw brushed against my back.

   I think it reached for me. I skittered sideways as I ran, dragging Estelle with me. I heard Estelle sob through questions of, “Mommy, what’s happening?”

   It’s strange how everything becomes clear and precise when you feel you’re running for your life and you have a child to protect. I heard the way she called me Mommy when I’d been Mom for a while now. I felt cold, wet dew of the grass brush against my ankles. I saw my car in the shadows. I felt the softness of Estelle’s hand in mine. I felt the scratchiness of straw as the thing chasing us grabbed my arm.

   But it wasn’t exactly a hand that grabbed me.

   It was like the straw at the end of the arm just wrapped around me.

   I pulled away. I glanced down to see some straw stayed wrapped around my arm, but I had escaped.

   I knew even if we made it to my car, the scarecrow was right behind us. We would not be allowed the time to open the doors and climb in without it getting to us.

   Despite the warning to not turn around, I paused in running and turned to face it. I kicked it where it thought its knee would be if were a real person. My kick did not deter it. In fact, my kick did nothing at all, or so it appeared as the scarecrow grabbed me this time with both of its straw hands. Straw slithered around me like snakes wrapping around my upper arms. This was no man dressed as a scarecrow trying to scare us. This was something so much worse, something impossible.

   I knew if it got the chance to wrap around me in other places, I could quickly become incapacitated. I also knew kicking and shoving would get me nowhere. I was going to have to do something more drastic if Estelle and I were going to reach my car. I looked down and saw straw growing out from the scarecrow’s feet, slithering out to wrap around my ankles. I hated letting go of Estelle’s hand, but I couldn’t do what I planned one-handed. Before any more straw could wrap around me, I reached out and grasped the scarecrow by the straw on either side of what would be its face under the ragged hat it wore.

   I gave its head a swift twist.

   I’m not sure if my action surprised it, but I was sure surprised how easily the straw head came apart from the neck.

   I tossed the glob of straw and hat aside, took Estelle’s hand again, and the two of us sprinted to the car as fast as her little-girl legs could carry her.

   I didn’t turn around to look at the scarecrow again. We reached my car. Because I had the fob in my pocket, all I had to do was touch the button the door handle to unlock it. I pulled it open and practically tossed Estelle across the front seat before I jumped behind the wheel, slammed the door, and hit the lock button behind me to lock all the doors.

I started the car.

   My headlights shined on it enough for me to see it twisting its own head back into place.

   I put the car in reverse.

   “Mommy, I’m not in my seat.”

   “It’s okay, sit up on the seat like a big girl. Do you think you can put on your belt?”

   I was amazed at how calm my voice sounded. Because my heart pounded painfully in my throat, threatening to choke me. I sucked in a breath to calm it. The breath helped, but only a little.

   She did as I asked before she asked me if the scarecrow was alive. I admitted I had no idea, but that I was glad to be away from it.

   I got her child’s meal at the drive through, not wanting again to venture out of the car in the dark without being in our own garage where we could be safe behind the locked doors of home. Her nighttime routine was normal with a bath and several stories before bed. The only thing she said about the evening was that she liked the story books I read to her before bed much better than the story walk story. At that moment, I was glad for the resilience of children. They bounce back to normal so fast. She slept through the night without any nightmares or apparent negative effects. How do I know that?

   I didn’t sleep at all. When I wasn’t stalking through my house, on patrol checking windows and doors or peeking out between closed curtains, I was sitting beside her, watching her sleep.

   The next morning, our routine was as usual, also, but I felt as far from normal as I could be. I made Estelle her favorite breakfast—crunchy French toast. After I dropped her off at school, I came home, called in sick at work, and took a nap.

Then I went to the library to complain about the Halloween book in the story walk displays.

   Imagine my surprise when I was told they hadn’t yet placed the book for October into the story walk. I drove to the park but didn’t get out of my car. From where I sat parked, I could see all the fake carved pumpkins and Halloween decorations were gone from the book displays.

   Estelle and I haven’t been back to the park. She hasn’t asked to go, and I haven’t offered. Estelle has requested we both dress as superheroes for the annual trunk or treat festivities. We decorated our porch with our usual Halloween fun stuff—except for the scarecrow.

   I burned that scarecrow in our backyard fire pit.