A cold furry shoulder froze me out for announcing no Karen story this week. As I wrote this blog, groans and moans wafted over me from a disgruntled dog. As mentioned before, the only thing that makes our Karen angrier than talking about her is not talking about her.
This past Tuesday Facebook popped up a memory of Halloween, eleven years past, where the Scary Scarecrow befriended young children and scared the boos out of the older ones. I gathered my getup from leftover bits and pieces from home and work.
After eating dinner at the pastor’s house, I fitted into my frightening costume. A six-year-old girl of a brother in the Church said hi to me and started up a conversation. The same little girl that had not said two words to me in the past and became very chatty with me moving forward.
A blue princess of borderline age turn out to be my first victim and so I said nothing as she went up for candy. I waved to her dad and he smiles, “I was wondering.”
“I don’t scare under eight years old.”
“She is eight.”
“Do I scare her?”
A mischievous dad smirk broke across his face, “Yeah.” So she started down the drive and I followed like a 1930s monster stomping with my hands raised high. Dad pointed at me and she turned to see me. She managed s slight tap on her heart with an “Oh my” face and then smiled.
A little later a young bear walked up the drive with his mother. Halfway, he let go of her hand and ran by himself. I waved to the mother and she jumped a little not expecting the scarecrow to move. “Have him wave at me when leaving.” The bear ran from the front porch telling his mom of all the goodies collected from seven families that Halloween. Mom finally got a word in and pointed to me. I waved at him. All the way to the next house, “Mom, he waved to me. Did you see him wave?”
Then a group of ten children appeared with four mothers. The mothers gathered in a circle at the top of the drive just in front of me. I stood to my full height and then up to my toes with my colossal hands hovering over the nearest mom's back. Then across from her pointed at me with a half-smile and so she turned toward me, “Scrreeeeech.” The kids all wanted to know why the mothers were laughing.
Another brother from Church came late with his exchange daughter. He pulled right close to me and she bounded out of the passenger seat. She then scooted between me and the car as I rocked towards her. She cleared the eave hanging over the garage. To this day, she denied being scared.
The final remembrance from the night of scaring became a fourteen-year-old boy braving the night with two friends. They loaded up on candy as the night reached its end. I heard the leader announce, “I am not afraid, I will touch it.” I waited until the shadow figure through my shaded vision appeared just a couple of feet from me before lurching at him. His body moved one way and his feet moved another. He ended up on the pavement for a half second, then vanished into the night. His two friends assured me they would give him his candy once they stopped laughing.
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