Sunday, October 31, 2021

Horatio's Scary Tales Of Halloween

 

 

 

     This morning, I was so thoroughly engrossed in another frightening book, 

about how close Donald Trump came to destroying our American democracy, 

that I didn't notice Horatio's arrival until he spoke. 

      "Happy Halloween!", he said.  So I looked up from my scary reading 

to see my little friend, thespian and sometime model, posed like a rather macabre, 

funereal apparition, resembling that of the ghost of an Abe Lincoln-est undertaker.  

As I was admiring his holiday spirit, I said that I didn't realize that he was such an 

avid enthusiast for the day-of-the-dead celebrations.  But he said that, quite to the 

contrary, the celebration was such a long tradition in his family that his middle name 

was practically Halloween, especially so considering the fact that some of his early

ancestors had come in close contact with witch trials and night terrors.  That was 

such an intriguing opening, that I asked him to tell me more, as I set aside my terror

reading to pick up a sketchbook and begin a quick study of Horatio Halloween Hamster.

       Horatio's tales involved stories passed down from an distant ancestor of his, who 

was living frugally in Salem, at the time of the witch trials.  He had an apartment in the 

attic of the humble home of an old woman of Salem, who lived there with many cats 

she had saved from being drowned by the gatophobic villagers.  Her rescued felines  

included a one eyed cat, a tailless cat, and most incriminating of all, a number of coal, 

black cats.  To the villagers, that was a sure sign that she was conducting satanic 

rituals and casting spells.   If anyone had a fall and broke a bone, or became suddenly 

ill , they knew who to blame. And if a perfectly good milk-cow suddenly died of no 

apparent cause, they knew who to blame.  So, they put the old woman on trial for 

witchcraft, and they used the torturous, dunking-chair to try and get her to confess,  

but the dunking boom broke as they were lowering her into the water.  Naturally 

the villagers saw this as a sign from God, but they didn't know whether it was 

a sign that she was innocent or guilty.  So they took a vote and a majority voted

 that the sign meant she was innocent, and they set her free. Even so, some of 

them decided to burn her house down, so she had to flee from the village to 

save her life.

      That fire also meant that Horatio's ancestor had to find a new home in a hurry, 

and so he took refuge in the attic of the humble home of an old woman, who 

raised goats and made cheese from their milk.  But during this period of such witch-

hunting hysteria and capraphobia, the woman's goats, with their nearly Satanic,

pointed horns, called suspicion on her as well.   Evidence began to mount up

against her.  A man who died unexpectedly was known to have eaten some of

the woman's cheese, just two weeks before his death, and another woman

testified that the large, dark furred, goat from the herd, had visited her in the night,

and spoken to her, urging her to participate in Satanic worship.  So, the goat lady

could see the hand writing on the wall.  She and all her goats disappeared one

night, without a trace of them left behind.  Some of the villagers declared that

this was the proof that she had been in league with the Devil himself. And then

the woman who had testified against her, quickly tried to take possession of the 

vacated property, only to discover that some religious zealot had already set 

it on fire. 

     At that point in the narration, I said that Horatio's ancestor had been fortunate

to have escaped two such arsonist attacks, and I asked what had become of

him after he fled the second blaze.  Horatio replied that the story from then on,

recorded that the lucky escapee had fled to a colony farther to the south, 

where he had taken up safe residence above a tavern, which was frequented 

by a much less religious and much more tolerant class of people.  According

to the family history, he had flourished there, successfully raising a family and

enjoying a lively, nocturnal lifestyle, above the music and laughter of the tavern's 

regular patrons.

     As I was putting some finishing touches on my drawing, I asked Horatio

whether he was planing to go out for tricks-or-treating later on in the evening.

He replied that he and some of his fellow thespians from the Quadruped 

Playhouse were planning to make the rounds of some welcoming homes, to 

receive some expected treats.  So I asked him if he might be expected to 

perform tricks for receiving the treats, he said that he could always do a

recitation of Lincoln's Gettysburg Address, since his costume as Abe 

Lincoln was apropos.  

     As Horatio was setting off for his night of frightful fun, I cautioned him

to be wary of all the ghosts and ghouls in the streets.  In response, he said

that we need to be more afraid of those who refuse to wear covid masks,

than we are of those wearing Halloween masks.

     Horatio's reference to The Gettysburg Address was a reminder of

that famous speech, which so many of us were required to memorize

or recite when we were in school.  The idealistic theme of a "government of,

by, and for the people", still remains our goal, but many politicians who

retain power, prefer a government by a select group, primarily for the 

benefit of their group.  Many of our Republican state legislatures are

busily crafting laws which restrict the voting rights of those they deem to

be of the wrong racial, ethnic or religious heritage.  While at the same

time they are imposing their own religious views on all of the women

in their states, telling them what they are not allowed to do with their 

own bodies, for their own physical and mental health.  We don't have

to look very hard to see who is in league with the Devil on this day-of-

the-dead.  All we have to do is look at our Republican legislators.  

     So enjoy your Halloween, if you can.  It's a very ignorant and scary 

world out there!

Trick or Treat?

                                                        Eugene P. McNerney


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