Homestead Part Three

As was the norm when I was younger, the end of October, more often than not, came with snow and cold. Halloween was normally a trudge through the snow with a skidoo suit and a skidoo mask over your face and a Halloween mask over that. Only the bravest children would appear in Princess or Incredible Hulk costumes.

The Halloweens that came with “normal” fall weather were ideal for the preparation of pranks. The garden product had turned to mush and anything that was not harvested was fair game. The cucumbers, tomatoes and undersized pumpkins made the best ammunition. These things were collected immediately after school, before Mom and Dad returned home from work. The box was then transported to town via grocery bag and bicycle, then hidden on the side of the rink where no one would venture until the weather turned for the creation of the ice surface.

In the evening we were dropped in town and given a time limit, I was free to roam with my friends who lived directly within the Hamlet. We made a hurried dash through town stopping at each of the houses that were known for the best treats. We wasted no time on Mrs. Pettit’s homemade cellophane wrapped cookies and the like. We opted for anything Hershey, Cadbury, Old Dutch and on special occasions even Pepsi. We loaded out bags and began to scheme.

Since we were the younger group of ghouls making our way through town, there was always a sense of uncertainty. The big kids could be seen propped up on each others’ shoulders soaping the windows of the school, or toilet papering a teacher’s home. We were small timers.

We gathered the ammunition and made our way to the outside of the school yard. Our plan was to pelt these at the old school turned museum that was located on the main drag. Old man Gervais was always a thorn in our sides and the crotchety old museum caretaker garnered no respect from the younger population of the town. We decided our assault would be best exacted from within the walls of the relic. We tried the usual infiltration points that had been used on several previous occasions. We were in.

The vegetables were placed strategically throughout the structure which was at least 4 large levels above ground. We made our way to the rooftop and with rotten tomatoes and cucumbers in hand the assault on anyone walking on the street near the nest was bombed.

We made one mistake. One of the victims of our Anola Gay drop assault was a Magotiaux who, surrounded by a group of the most feared teenagers around, spotted us and uttered less of a threat and more of a prophecy. They knew the entry points and knew how to tactically surround us on every floor that we might get to before they got to the rooftop. We hid. They found us.

I returned home that night with my Ninja costume stained by the putrid juice of many tomatoes, and the humiliation that is only familiar to the little dog that takes on the big dog and loses.