Spooky Stories

It was my bright idea the other night to tell slightly spooky stories lit by the glow of Mr. Scary Face's pulsating strobe light and under the banner on the fireplace proclaiming that fall was here.

  The night was cool and windy and deliciously "fall" and all the windows were open for the full effect. My idea of spooky stories is something that sounds spooky at first but in the end all is well with a logical explanation to the initial fright or just a simple joke.  For example, a tale about a creaky old house that sounds haunted but in the end the children discover it is simply the wind howling through pipes or trees scratching on a window.  However, my dear sweet husband apparently has a different idea of what qualifies as a spooky story and additionally, he is not gifted in telepathy and could not read my mind, so really it is not surprising that things quickly took a dark turn.

First of all he began in a deep growling sort of voice and his face was lit eerily by the flashlight on his phone casting foreboding shadows on all his features, telling a tale about a little boy named "Ryan" walking to his dear sweet mother's house on a dark and windy night.  This little boy, "Ryan" was worried about his little brother "Dylan" because there was a werewolf loose in the woods....and Dylan had already left.....but had not arrived yet.

Well the story continued with little Ryan walking through the woods when a wolf howl sounds closer...and closer...and closer.... (at this point in the story both children are clutching my arms and shivering).  At this point I began to interject.  In my head I was already making an escape route out of the darkness of this story.  My plan was to say, "And then Ryan prayed to God, and God healed the werewolf and made him good and kind and they all had cookies together." But Josh cut me off and said plaintively, "Don't ruin it!" and continued in his scary growly voice.....so I waited hoping better judgement would win out in the end..... But my sweet husband had an interested and scared audience and he was enjoying it immensely and better judgement went on a little vacation.  So on it went with:  "Ryan" heard crunching and howls behind him and ran into an old, dark, abandoned cabin.  "Then Ryan sat shivering in a spider infested cabin in the dark, with the werewolf howling and scratching on the other side of the door.  He thought his one chance was to slip out of the back door and run to the barn several yards away.  So he slipped out the back door and the werewolf began sniffing and growling and running after him through the woods.  Story-Ryan raced into the barn several yards away and climbed up into the rafters.  Then when the werewolf was inside, he swung out of the rafters and trapped the werewolf in the barn....just barely escaping.  Story-Ryan went on to his dear sweet mothers house and discovered little Dylan had not arrived yet, evene though he left the earliest.  All night little Dylan did not come.  In the morning Ryan checked the barn and there inside the barn lay little Dylan."

"OH GREAT. NOW YOU'VE REALLY DONE IT!" I enlightened my dear husband.
"What?" He asked in genuine surprise.
"Now Ryan's going to have nightmares about Dylan being a werewolf at night and THEY SHARE A ROOM!" I predicted very rationally.
"What? No way. Ryan you weren't scared were you buddy?" He asked the five year old gripping my arm.
"UM yeah Daddy that was really scary." Ryan said.

Fast forward to about 1:00 AM.

Ryan comes into our room and snuggles into bed on my side.
"Did you have a bad dream?" I ask in one of those flat tones that suggest I saw this coming.
"Yeah. And Mom...Dylan's a werewolf and HE'S IN MY BED."
"Ah."
About three minutes later. I hear footsteps....and here comes Dylan telling me how he had a bad dream about three bad ghosts.
Ryan refuses to sleep next to Dylan just in case he turns into a werewolf.
I spend the rest of the night sandwiched between two heat seeking missles and no room to move.
Dear sweet husband snores blissfully unaware on the other side of the bed.

I. had.no.idea.this.was.coming.none.at.all.
Sometimes, being right is no fun.