arctic halloween

8/11/2019 Arctic Halloween

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It was Halloween night and that penguin would not stop laughing at me. Witches

and ghosts and a small vampire had been to the door begging for candy all night long.

Someone had left a penguin on the doorstep when they came looking for candy. That

penguin marched itself through my door, between my legs, and up onto my sofa where it

paused briefly before making my favorite recliner its new home.

After he flung the seat back and turned on the television he pointed to the candy

bowl and set his brow into a grimace most unbearable to behold. After I gave in to his

evil glare he jumped up and waddled quickly to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of apple

cider; which he promptly spilled on my finest footrest. Planted in my recliner, cider

dripping from my footrest and a chocolate sneer on his evil penguin face he leaned back

and started to chuckle.

For hours on end that penguin stared and laughed. He stopped only to take deep

breaths and nibble candy with his protruding black beak. His cackling, for it was much

more a cackle than a laugh, echoed into the black night every time I opened the door for

trick or treaters. They, in turn, would gaze in wonder at the spectacle of the reclining,

cackling, candy savoring penguin roosting in my chair. He sat there cackling at my

visitors and me all through the night, even as I locked the door.

Just then, as I flipped the locked and turned on my heels, seething with anger at

my loathsome guest, a knocking was heard gently on my door. The penguin ceased

laughing as I looked back at the door and reached out toward the lock. I heard the silence

and twisted round to face the little demon perching in my recliner in hopes that I might

see what had silenced his laughter. His eyes were open wide and his beak ajar, his

tongue idly dangling. The penguins heart must have been revving as his chest was

heaving and his breathing became quickened to a frightening level. Something worried

me worse than any evil could as I laid my hand upon the doorknob and the penguin

sucked in a breath that could be measured only as epic in proportion to his peculiar size.

My fingers wound themselves around the knob as my other hand removed the

glistening silver chain from the groove in which it sat. My company gasped as the door

swung open to reveal three small zombies with strange faces oddly smiling. Late candy

seekers my brain quickly assessed and I turned to yank the candy bowl from that odious

penguin. Fright was the birds only response and his beak set itself to chattering. Like


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lightening the latecomers flew into the room with the recliner and its occupant their

target. Seizing the penguin they turned with a serious of snorts and carried their

struggling captive.

Out of my door and down my steps, across my lawn like a flash the three went. I

slapped on some shoes and I buttoned my coat, locking the door I leapt to the chase. We

were across the lawn in seconds flat and across the street we ducked into the alley that led

to the old abandoned warehouse. Through its side yard and into the woods we trekked in

silence, the zombies keeping pace while their victim continued to wriggle wildly. Finally

we came to a clearing with a cauldron that towered over my head and looking around I

recognized many of my candy-seeking visitors from the hours before.

Two of the witches and the smallest vampire, a pumpkin, a bat, an alien, and two

puppy dogs were twirling and whirling and chanting a chant. As I came toward the

clearing the urgency of not being involved in this unsettling rite fell on my shoulders like

a heavy cloak. I ducked behind the fattest elm at the edge and hunkered down onto my

knees in the position most likely to lend itself to sprinting; just in case the rite turned

dangerous to regular sized beings. The swirling motion of energy stopped as the zombies

pushed their victim into the bubbling cauldron and water splashed over the edge and

dousing the flames that licked high onto the sides of the gargantuan vessel.

The chanting died down and the figures raised their hands to their heads. Hoods

and masks came off of eleven little heads and revealed eleven little penguins identical to

my unwanted guest. Cackles and pointing accompanied screams from the cauldron as the

penguins surrounding their victimized kin enjoyed his suffering. I admit with some fear

and remorse, but just a little, that I rather enjoyed the torture. Realizing his plight was

nothing short of a trick inspired by delight at the first penguins fright I ventured out into

the clearing.

The other penguins saw me and one shuffled up to my side quietly. He looked up

with his dark little eyes and smiled while his flipper grabbed my hand and he began to

lead me to stairs I had not previously seen. When we got to the top the cauldron sat

beside the platform and just high enough that the penguin could bend at what seemed to

be his waist and look in. The cackler swam around inside as the water bubbled and

churned and screamed at the top of his penguin sized lungs.


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The others by now had climbed to the top and stood all around us peering over

one anothers shoulders and bending right over that edge. My leader reached out to point

with his flipper at that antagonizing swimmer and muttered something evil sounding that

should never issue forth from such a nice looking penguin. When he turned back to me

his grimace was not unlike that by which that wet bird below had demanded my candy

previously. The rest of the penguins pointed in anger their grimaces equally disturbing.

He in the cauldron looked up in despair and began, what seemed to me, to quiver.

I became anxious and worried, though his laughter had grated upon me so, and

began to worry for his safety. The others started to cackle as he quaked and descending

the stairs they stopped and stoked the fire greatly. Flames shot up and nearly burned my

eyebrows as the cackle grew louder and the whirling circle flew into motion again. The

chanting increased and the frenzy grew and grew within the penguins until they pulled

down their masks and began to run sideways screaming instead of chanting.

The annoying penguin began to raise his voice in protest and swam ever faster,

leaping high as he could at intervals when he got his speed to the maximum of his

capabilities. As the temperature rose the humanity in me rose to its own boil and I leaned

over impulsively into the frothing waters. Grabbing my penguin from the mixture I

pulled myself back over the edge as quickly as I could, hoping the energetic mass of

penguins would not immediately notice the departure of their guests.

My unlikely parrot clung rigidly to my shoulder and wrapped his shaking flippers

around my forehead as I jumped from the platform and hit the ground mid-stride. My

initial sprint turned into a pace for endurance as I followed the screaming, squawking

glance of my new compatriot with my eyes back behind us to see the gaggle of penguins

waddling quickly in an effort to overcome us. Outdistancing the penguins proved more

difficult than one would assume such a feat would be; these penguins appeared to be built

for marathon land races as well as endurance swimming.

We came out beside the warehouse and ducked down the darkened alley. We

raced against the moon and came out upon the dark and lonely looking street my house

sat on. Its green faade was inviting to me as we emerged from that spooky alley with a

drove of murderous penguins nipping closely at my heels. I remembered as we crossed

the street that I had left my keys behind the locked doors and on the top of the table


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beside the recently befouled recliner, which had previously been my favorite sitting

place. The door was cemented shut between safety from the angry birds waddling up

behind us and myself and my parrot like penguin.

The door was locked, that much I knew for certain. The penguins were gaining

ground and snarling awfully behind me. My makeshift parrot was trembling with fright.

Standing on the lawn with the scrabbling of feet growing louder in the alley I peered into

the darkness anxiously trying to remember if I had left a window open. As the first

voracious ornithic creature scrambled against the gutter on my side of the street I bolted

around the corner, toward the edge of my house where the fence is bolted into the house

itself.

I jumped and grabbed the top of the fence, pulling my trembling body upward

with all my might. My muscles ached as the penguin-parrot jumped onto the top of the

fence and slid down the round wooden pole on the backyard side. I swung my body to the

right after kicking off of the house and hooked my leg over the wooden slats. Rolling

over the spiky top of the slats I lowered my body slowly; I watched as the other penguins

marched across the lawn and looked up at my troubled eyes peering at them over the

fence. I dropped the rest of the way and fell onto my back; my legs quivering violently.

On my back the evening dew was soaking into my shirt and from my viewpoint

the stars twinkled faintly as small clouds rolled by quickly in the dark, leaving large

gaping holes between them. The red moon hung low in the western sky; fires of evil must

have been mirrored in its wicked looking surface. I heard the grass around me, which I

now noticed needed a mowing, rustling and twisted in fright quicker than the mouse in

the kitchen after my crumbs only to come nose to nose with a penguin. I opened my

mouth to scream as my saucer sized eyes opened even wider and the clammy flipper

slammed down against my mouth. The other flipper rose to the mouth of the penguin and

he pursed his beak together ever so slightly as if to motion me to silence.

I closed my mouth obediently and, licking my lips, tasted the sweat of the penguin

where his flipper had blocked my scream. He peered through the slats and then turned

quietly around after motioning that I follow him. Silently plunging into the darkness of


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my backyard I finally recognized my visitor appropriately and followed post haste. As we

neared the backdoor he halted in a dirt patch and scribbled one word: Croatoan and

pointed to it. I stared after him frightened, remembering history classes from ages ago.

Seeing my renewed fright the penguin let out a low giggle and covered his mouth.

Not amused I gave the penguin a rather stern look and his eyes waxed apologetic

as he scratched out the word in the dust and replaced it with another. Rufus, the new

word said in the newly scratched dirt. I asked the penguin if that was his name and he

nodded once very shortly then stared wide eyed at the fence. On the other side of the

fence a great ado was unleashing a small cavalcade of sound and before long we could

see that the penguins on the other side were tunneling under the fence.

Scrambling up the steps and onto the back stoop my penguin began to trash at the

doggy door that had long since been nailed shut on the other side. I quickly mounted the

stoop and pulled at the doorknob frantically; sweat on my palms slicked the already

untarnished knob making it difficult to twist. I pulled the door with all my strength and it

creaked open wretchedly, as if it was doing its best to keep itself shut. As my penguin

bolted through the door and I squeezed my somewhat large frame past the barely open

door I looked into the yard to where a tunnel was opening just inside the fence.

At the mouth of burgeoning tunnel a small black head popped out, miners hat on

his head with the light turned on, and looked in a full circle for our place of

disappearance. Upon finding my face he half snarled on the left while his right side

curled into a smile. This uniquely sinister stare caused the fright already in me to grow

alarmingly. I shrieked and pulled the rest of my body into the house while yanking

viciously on the door. The door cracked and groaned tremendously against the floor; the

frame apparently bending with age and causing the door to grind against the tile just

inside the kitchen.

As the jamb finally accepted the aging door I slumped against it, exhausted and

drenched in dew and sweat. The penguin climbed to my shoulder again and secured the

deadbolt on the kitchen door before climbing gingerly back down and crossing the floor.

The night was nearly over but something in the stillness of the kitchen seemed to contain

an ominous portent which I could not readily discern. The lights neither dimmed nor

flickered and the heat had gently cycled on at some point during the night so that only the


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faint breeze breathing in from under the door gave any hint of coolness to the kitchen. A

shudder ran down my spine regardless as a tapping at the doggy door caused me to jump

forward, hands outstretched and flailing, and crash harshly into the small table which

owned a place in the center of the room.

Behind me, as I stood up to face the door, my penguin rushed onto the table where

my small aquarium stood. Fish darted from sight and the small shrimp in the bottom

darted into the divers helmet in the corner. Scrambling up as I watched the window at

the upper middle of my door, he reached out to grasp the window sill and pull himself

over to the pane. He motioned for me to come over but I didnt immediately see it as I

stared so intently out of that lightening portal; wishing as I did so that the sun would

drive away the maleficent birds who were attempting to enter my home.

Finally my penguin, Rufus I should say, whistled shrilly with his small beak and I

turned my gaze to him. Clearly the penguins had merely sent a distraction to the door

after realizing that the doggy door would not provide any entry to my home and knowing

that they could not pick a lock. At the window stood Rufus on one side and the nefarious

penguin with the disgusting smile on the other, a butter knife clutched oddly in his

flipper. Not knowing that a penguin could manipulate a flipper so I stared as I would

have at a three legged dog and almost didnt notice when he began to jab at the bottom of

the glass with the knife.

Rufus again stretched farther than I would have believed possible and latched the

window. He then turned and flopped gently into a basket of laundry that I had been

taking outside when I had heard the first impatient pounding of trick or treaters. Rufus

had stood in the midst of that pack and had grabbed no candy but slipped silently into my

home and perched in that chair which I once loved. However, now Rufus and I were

prisoners in my home. The group of violent avians outside looked disgusted at the

latching of the window but were certainly feeling undaunted as they now began to jab at

the window itself with the butter knife as though it were a sharp tool made for the

purpose of breaking through the solid glass.

I had a sudden flash of brilliance and ran to the other room; Rufus followed me

into the other room out of either fear or in confidence that I had a solid plan. I believed

that I had a solid plan and did not bother myself to decide further whether the penguin


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had followed because he thought me a genius or would want me as a shield against the

violence waiting outside the walls. Instead, I grabbed my car keys and clutched them

against my beating heart as I headed toward the northern end of my home. The garage

waited there and in the garage waited two paths to freedom. My motorcycle and the

sidecar I had purchased to impress a woman more impressed with rich French men had

been collecting dust for almost five years as it lay just inside the garage door off of the

long hallway. Beyond that was an affordable car that I kept cleaned and maintained as a

matter of pride.

I chose the car and hefted the penguin, Rufus, into the passenger seat before

helping him with his seatbelt and then making sure everything was ready inside the

vehicle itself. I dared not turn over the motor or open the garage door before knowing

without a shadow of a doubt that my getaway would be unhampered by mechanical

problems from my automobile. As everything seemed as I had left it I turned car on and

pressed the button for the garage door. What met my eyes was sheer terror in its most

basic form.

The penguins seemed to know our every move and even before we had reached

the garage, probably, had waddled with some sort of horror granted speed onto my

driveway; either that or there were far more than I remembered seeing watching every

way into the house. Regardless of the nature of these beasts my primal fear and the

apprehension which I could almost feel, let alone see, rising in Rufus caused me to slam

my foot onto the accelerator a moment before my hand reacted in kind by placing the car

in reverse. The tires squealed as penguins rushed out of the driveway and dove onto the

lawn on either side.

As we pulled into the street and I slammed the car into gear the tires cried loudly

again and the car lurched sideways momentarily before launching forward. Our freedom,

our salvation, was the open road and, despite a lack of destination, we knew that as long

as we continued to drive away from my home and those infernal ritual grounds behind us,

we would slowly become safer. Rufus seemed content and began to fall asleep by

degrees. I drove into the lightening sky and then into the rising sun. After a few hours and

after entering the freeway and traveling across a few counties and into the next state, I

decided that we needed breakfast and gasoline.


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The rest stop was just over the state line, in Delaware, and it was a peculiar stop

that was situated in between the two stretches of highway which had gradually turned

more North and South than East and West. I left Rufus to sleep as I got out of the car and

stretched. Placing the nozzle in the car and locking the pump handle open with my gas

cap; I went into the small restaurant to get the blood flowing back into my legs and to use

the facilities before procuring our needed sustenance. As I exited the establishment I

noticed, with a peculiar pinch of my stomach, the absence of my car. The gasoline nozzle

lay on the ground pouring liquid down a drain not far away at a steady rate. My eyes,

wide with horror, scanned the horizon until I came upon something that I found

especially horrific.

There, just beyond the gasoline pumps, the engine still idling, sat a dusty

motorcycle with a dusty sidecar.

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