Tales Around the Jack O'Lantern Read Free Page A

home,” he said, walking through the front
door.
    “How’d it go?” she asked, looking up from setting the dining
room table for dinner.
    “Good,” he replied. “But there’s a lot to this newspaper
business.”
    She smiled at him. “I’m sure there is,” she agreed, and then
she paused and looked at him. “Where’s your hat?”
    He moaned and closed his eyes. He knew exactly where he’d
lost it, on the rickety porch when he’d dived to catch the paper. “I left it at
one of the houses on my route,” he confessed. “I’ll leave early for school in
the morning and get it.”
    Maybe the house wouldn’t be as scary in the daytime.
    The following morning, Timmy rode his bike back down the
route from the night before.   It does make a difference coming during the daytime , he
thought as he pedaled down the dead-end street, things look a lot less scary with sunshine on them.
    Although, he had to admit, the fence at the end of the
street didn’t look a whole lot better.   He leaned his bike against the fence again, as he had done the night
before and walked over to the gate.   But
this time he saw something he’d missed the night before. A large sign was
attached to the middle of the gate. “Condemned – Do Not Enter”
    How did he miss that?
    He hated to ignore the sign, but his hat was in there and,
besides, it really hadn’t been all that bad last night.
    He pushed the gate as far as he could, this time there was a
chain around the gate and the post, and he slipped through.   He walked a couple of steps and froze. The
house was gone.   All that was left was
charred remains.   The porch was lying on
the ground in pieces.   What few windows
that were left were shattered and there was no roof, only a burnt and gaping
hole.  
    Timmy shook his head. He could tell by the vines growing up
the side of the house, the fire had happened a long time ago, not since last
night.  
    He took a step back, towards the gate, when something
hanging on a post near the house caught his eye.   His hat. Someone had
placed his hat up where he could find it.   It took him a moment to get his legs to move, but when he could he ran,
grabbed his hat and sped back to the gate.
    As he pushed himself back through the narrow opening, he was
sure he felt someone touch his shoulder and whisper, “Thank you, boy.”

Chapter Four

 
    A cold breeze drifted through the room and the candle’s
flame flickered wildly sending shadows dancing on the
walls.   Mary shivered and pulled the
afghan closer in the darkened room, picturing the old man her father had
described.   She looked across the room
and jumped, muffling a scream as she quickly realized the pale, white specters
sitting across the room were actually her twin brothers holding flashlights
under their chin. “Not funny,” she criticized.
    Chuckling, they gave each other high-fives and grabbed more
candy from the bowl. “Not another bite of candy,” their mother warned,
instantly staying their hands.   Then her
voice warmed greatly. “Not until you share a story.”
    The young men looked at each other and, in the uncanny way
of twins, communicated without speaking and just nodded.   Then, two voices taking turns and nearly
speaking as one, they shared their story.
    The two Marines pushed through the thick forest, their
weapons drawn and their senses alert.   They had become separated from their unit during a skirmish with the
opposition force but because of the unspoken bond they had shared from the
womb, they were still together.   They had
been fighting in a valley and, between the bluffs and dense vegetation, had no way to see if they were in a safe spot or if the enemy troops were on
their trail.
    They clambered up a hill, hiding behind the large boulders
and primeval trees. This forest in Southern Europe was older than any building
in the United States and the Irish twins from Chicago could feel the ancient
power emanating from it. “Where do you think we