Im feeling a little Halloweeny

As the Halloween season draws near, I'm moved to relate a spooky little tale of Halloween past. Having just moved to St. George last summer, this was to be my first Halloween in Utah, and though I didn't wind up with a big bag of candy, I did come away with a classic story. If you've read any of my earlier installments, you may know of Bryan, who I may've referred to as a boyfriend. To be more accurate, he was one of the first people I met here in George Town (he lived at the end of my street) and although I wasn't in the least bit attracted to him, I hung out with him because he had a car.

Yes, I was using him for transportation, but by the same token I was a girl in his car, and the only other chance he would've had to get a girl in his car, would've been to scatter hundred dollar bills all over the passenger seat, and stand at least 25 yards away. I hate to call someone ugly, but Bryan's eyes are so close together that if he opens them wide enough, they touch. To make matters worse he wears a scruffy wannabeard and shaggy buzz-cut, and when he asked me what I thought he should be for Halloween, I suggested a "coconut."

Myself I've always dressed as a witch (or some kind of evil female equivalent.) for Halloween. I'm sure this says something to you about my personality, and I'm equally sure that that's the way I'd want it. For all of Halloween's hype, it does offer a gal one day a year to express her true nature.

Our plan that Halloween night was to attend his older brother's big Halloween party. His folks were out of town and it was supposed to be quite a rager. Costumes, spirits and live music. His brother plays in what I loosely refer to as a band--I say this because I've never heard them once when I honestly believed they were all playing the same song.

Even so I was very disappointed when, early on, they decided to kick Bryan out. His brother physically removed him from the premises--I guess he didn't want his little bro to witness the kind of debauchery he had envisioned for his big monster bash. Though big brother didn't care if I stayed, I felt sorry for the "coconut kid" and told him "come on let's go have our own fun." I had no idea what I was talking about, but we hopped in his car and left.

After a few despondent passes up and down the Boulevard, I got creative and told him to stop at a supermarket. Please don't get the wrong idea and send me a nasty e-mail, but I thought it might be funny to go in the supermarket and step up to the check-out counter with a bag of apples and a box of razor blades.

Believe me, I had no intention of carrying out such a diabolical purchase--I just thought it might be funny to see how the cashier would react. As it turned out our check-out gal seemed distracted and scarcely bat an eye, as she all-too-swiftly dispatched us into the chilly Autumn twilight carrying a bag of potentially felonious evidence. It was all I could do to keep a straight face until we'd exited the store, but Bryan was right away struck by a strong sense of "buyer's remorse." By the time we'd reached his car, he was babbling about how he didn't like the look on the bag boy's face, and even after we ditched the blades, he remained convinced that we'd become fugitive suspects in some kind of Tommy Lee Jones-type manhunt.

Since there was no way to disabuse him of this paranoid notion, he concluded that we'd be the safest at home. Though it was no surprise, it was sad to see that underneath his bad boy demeanor and baggy banger britches shone the lily white tush of a complete wuss. Fortunately when we returned to the party, everyone was good bit more jovial and accepting and when I regaled them with our hair-razing story, we were welcomed back into the fold and even accorded a fair measure of celebrity. I was pretty stoked, I'm a born people-watcher and the place was crawling with Molly Mansons and white-boys pretending to be black--and darned if a few of the cuter monsters didn't take an interest in little old me.

As for Bryan, his celebrity was more of the "laughing stock" variety, and this coupled with my newfound admirers drove the miserable fool to drink. I hadn't seen him drink before, and right away it became evident that he was no veteran. He was tiddly as a tumbleweed in no time and just as quickly the object of a good bit of sport and alot of bad peer pressure. His brother always calls him "Link," short for "missing link," which caught on quickly among the partyers in the kitchen and snowballed into a roaring chant, "drink Link, drink Link, make sure you puke in the sink." Poor little monkey-boy, kids can be cruel.

This went on to the point where I figured I'd better go rescue him, which was fortunate because by the time I intervened they had him stripped down to his skivvies and as helpless as a garden slug. It was about this time that someone shouted, "the cops are here!" At this, Bryan broke free from my grasp, plowed over an end-table breaking a lamp and some expensive-looking collectibles and stumbled away. In the ensuing chaos I lost him, and since the cops really were at the front door, I slipped out the back and snuck home.

I figured November 1, was not going to be a happy day at Bryan's house so I didn't bother to call, and I was a little spooked when the phone rang and my Mother yelled, "Maddy, it's for you. It's Bryan's Mother." As it turned out "Link" really was missing. Nobody had seen him since the cops showed up, and until his parents returned that afternoon, no one had bothered to miss him. His mother asked my help and I was just intrigued enough to join the manhunt.

I was on their porch just about to ring the door bell, when I heard a piercing scream coming from inside the house. His little sister, who'd been away with her parents, was completely hysterical, and when I stepped inside she was screaming and pointing to her room. At once a part of a sizable posse, I dashed toward the girls room--shoulder-to-shoulder with parents, friends and loved ones. After a brief search we discovered the silly naked ape trapped under his sister's bed in a puddle of his own making.

Evidently he'd sought refuge from the cops under his sister's bed and promptly passed out. When he finally came-to, he began screaming and clawing like a maniac (he thought he'd been buried alive.) Even more disturbed by his violent struggle was his three year old sister, who was napping when her bed began to quake and scream. To this day she sleeps between her parents. Naturally, I excused myself at once and had almost made it out of the house when his father began to scream as well. Bryan's dad is a prolific screamer. I could hear them all screaming from three houses away. I had to smile. It just does your heart good, because, isn't screaming what Halloween is all about?