We're throwing a Halloween party, spinning a web of spooky stories. So gather 'round and listen to Ferry. He's not that nice, but his story is scary. ;)
“No way!” Georgie exclaimed. “Mom told
you to stop making up stories.”
“It's true. I saw Ferry Blackwell,”
Macy said. “He had a head like a melon.”
“You did not. Get your stuff and let’s
go. We’re gonna be late.” Georgie walked out the door and Macy followed,
wishing her big brother would believe her this time. She did like to make up stories and their mom
had asked her to knock it off, but this wasn’t a story. She had spotted Ferry
Blackwell, she was sure of it.
***
Shifting
from one foot to the other, Macy stared down the school driveway. All of the
buses had left; everyone was gone. Georgie was late. She had tried to call him
on her cell phone, but there was no answer. Her mom was at work, but Macy knew
interrupting her would guarantee a whole evening of arguing. Slipping the phone
into her back pocket, she decided to walk home.
As
the pavement twisted and turned she found herself thinking about Ferry
Blackwell again. Last week she had started reading a book about the history of
her town, Devilsville, Maine. It hadn’t been very interesting, except for one
phrase, which was handwritten on page thirty-three. It said: In the woods of Devilsville, you’re sure to
find a gory thrill. When the bakerman wants to eat, hide your hands and cover
your feet. With a head melon-sized and fire burning in his eyes, he’ll harvest
your fingers and your toes, then hide the rest so no one knows. Murdered by an
angry town, he swore revenge when they shot him down. So watch your children,
but never tell- if Ferry Blackwell comes back from hell.
Macy knew the words by heart. She had
looked through a few other books, but found nothing else about Ferry Blackwell.
Then, the other day, she saw him. There had been an odd rustling behind the
bushes in her backyard, and when she went over to investigate, someone was
there. It looked like a man, but with a huge head. He had flashed a mad, toothy
grin at her, and then disappeared. Her mother had come running out when she
heard Macy’s rants of terror.
“Macy!
What did I tell you about scaring people with your stories?” her mother had
yelled. Macy knew that no one was ever going to believe her, and why should
they? After all, she did have a long history of making things up, which had
opened more than one can of worms for her parents to deal with. Things like,
Ginny Wader, in the third grade, refusing to touch door handles ever again or
Georgie wearing a helmet wherever he went for a year. The list was long, she
mused. Her thoughts were suddenly cut short. Just ahead, at the bottom of the
hill, a school bus was stopped in the middle of the road. Macy cautiously
walked up to it and climbed the steps. Other than the backpacks strewn about on
the seats it appeared empty.
“Hello?” she asked quietly. “Is anyone
here?” Macy slowly made her way down the aisle. Midway, something caught her
eye and when she turned to get a closer look, her mouth dropped open in horror.
On the seat to her left was a bloody pile of shoes and socks, and what looked
like fingernails tossed into the gruesome heap.
BANG! Something hit the side of the bus.
“What was that?” she whispered. BANG! Again, the bus shook and teetered. Macy
reacted fast. She ran up the aisle and grabbed the door handle. Just as it was
about to latch, long fingers pried it back open. Two red, veined eyes zeroed in
on their target. Terror forced the air out of her lungs, and she
screamed.
***
Macy was
flat on her back when she woke. Her left ankle was chained to the floor, and
her feet were bare. A painful stinging in her fingers and toes sliced through
her body. Where was she? What had happened?
“Who else is here?” she questioned the
darkness.
“Shhhh,” a panicked voice ordered.
“Who’s there?” she said again.
“Stop talking, you idiot. He’ll hear
you.” It was a terrified sounding boy.
“Why’s it so dark?” Macy continued. She
had no intention of shutting up.
“I think we’re in a basement,” another
voice chimed in.
Suddenly it dawned on her where they must
be. It had to be the abandoned house on Hull Street. She and Georgie would come
here when things around the house got too serious. It was their hiding spot,
and she knew it well. Even the moldy abandoned smells were familiar. “How many
people are here?” she asked.
“I’m here, Marcus Beltane,” came a
nervous voice.
“Me too, I’m Jen Andrews.”
The voices started to pick up, “Justin
Deluca, Melanie Grism...” There seemed to be about ten kids sitting in the dark
with her; all scared, and all, she was certain, without their fingernails and
toenails.
The creaking of a door silenced the
murmuring. A light flickered on, cutting through the blackness. Macy squinted
her eyes open a bit and stared up at the ceiling, watching as a shadow with an
enormous melon shaped head moved across the room. Its heavy footfalls came to a
halt. Suddenly, a cackling voice bellowed out, “Looky here, girls and boys,
forget your mommies and your toys. The fun and games will soon begin; to scare
me back is how you win. But should you lose, you’ll pay a price, your fingers
and toes I’ll surly dice. Just try to leave! It won’t do you well. For I’m back
from hell. I’m the Bakerman, Ferry Blackwell.” His howling laugh sounded
insane, like a hyena calling out to its prey. He did an odd little jig. Then,
in an instant, he was gone.
“Okay, this is really happening,” Macy
said, more to herself than anyone else. She took a deep breath, then continued,
“He said something about winning, didn’t he?"
“Yeah, he said, to scare me back is how
you win,” a trembling voice squeaked. “He also said that he was a bakerman.
What’s he going to do? Cook us into bread or something?”
“I think that’s exactly what he’s going
to do,” Macy responded, remembering what she had read. “But, it sounds like if
we scare him back, we win. Which, I guess, means we get to live.”
“How are we supposed to scare him? He’s a
demon who makes bread out of kids’ fingers and toes. I mean, what’s scarier than that?” Macy
recognized the voice of Jen Andrews.
“I know, but...” Her mind was whirring.
Then, it hit her. She remembered the cell phone in her pocket. The door opened.
Macy threw caution to the wind and whispered just audibly, “I have a plan.”
***
Her heart
thudded in her chest as a shadow moved into the room. “So kiddies, who’s it
going to be? Who wants to be the first to try to scare me?” His voice sounded
crazy.
Macy mustered up all of her strength and
called out, “I’ll go first, you don’t scare me. You’re going to be caught any
minute.” She kept her breathing even as Ferry Blackwell loomed above her,
searching her face with his terrifying eyes. He was so close that she could
smell his putrid, stinking breath.
“You
wait and see! I’ll show you just how scary I can be!” He pulled Macy up by her
hair and dragged her to a chopping block in the center of the room. The chain
clanked behind her, painfully digging into her ankle. Grabbing her left arm, he
slapped her stinging hand down on it.
Macy
focused her mind on the weight in her back pocket, hoping beyond hope she
hadn’t been knocked out for more than thirty minutes. The reminder alarm on her
phone had been set to go off at 4PM, which was usually when she called her mom
to let her know that she had made it home safely. It had to be about that time. Macy glared up at Ferry Blackwell and
said, “Everyone in town already knows where we are. Kids today have GPS
trackers implanted in our bodies that tells our parents exactly where we are at
all times. You’ll see, the town’s people will be here any moment to shoot you
down and send you back to hell, Ferry Blackwell.”
He looked bemused as he replied, “Clever
girl! You know my name! Now, let’s begin our little game. Terribly funny to
think you’ll be saved- when for a century, fingers and toes I’ve craved!” He
raised a sharp blade above his head, poised to strike. Macy squeezed her eyes
shut and braced herself. Please go off alarm, she prayed, believing that this
would, at the very least, buy her more time. As if on cue, a loud beeping
blared out from her pocket. Ferry leered at her, unsure. Just then, in a
brilliant moment of pure luck, another cell phone rang out, perhaps a concerned
parent. Another one went off with a mechanical jingle. The timing couldn’t have
been better. Suddenly, there was a frantic banging on a door. The demon spun
around wildly, looking terrified. “No, no, not to hell. Hide, I must and never
tell,” he bellowed and dropped the blade. It landed with a clink just as Ferry
Blackwell shot into the air and burst into flames, disappearing in a black puff
of smoke.
No one breathed. Somewhere above,
Georgie’s worried voice called out, “Macy, are you in here?”
|
Toe Finger Bread |
INTERVIEW
WITH FERRY BLACKWELL
Cate Masters: What
do you love most about Halloween?
Ferry Blackwell: Halloween's a joke, that's what I say!
It’s better in hell on that boring day. I can't even scare, so there's nothing
to win- the people want horror
and are likely to sin. I'd rather lay
low and bide my time, when the moment's right, I'll get what's mine.
Cate Masters: Do
you have a favorite memory of a Halloween past?
Ferry Blackwell: There was this one time, now let me
see- I remember a Halloween treat that I baked just for me. I'd gathered my wits,
then sought the ingredients, hoping to find a few fresh, young deviants. Mostly
I needed fingers and toes, so I snatched them right up, despite all their woes.
I sliced and diced, and baked my bread, even shared it graciously with those
not yet dead.
Cate Masters: Have
you ever had an unusual experience you can't explain?
Ferry Blackwell: I am an unusual experience you
can't explain! You won't see me coming, and then you'll know pain. (Stands
up, does a quick jig, then sits down again- grinning).
Cate Masters: What
frightens you the most?
Ferry Blackwell: The time I told you about the treat,
that Halloween was not so sweet. You see, though the bread did taste grand, the
people found me, guns in hand. I was scared when they shot me down, but I swore
I'd be back to haunt their town. Now here I am, as you can tell- Ferry
Blackwell's back from hell! (Cackling laugh)
Cate Masters: Ever
gone on a ghost tour? Or ghost hunting on your own?
Ferry Blackwell: Bah! Ghosts are for babies! They can't
even speak. Nothing scary about them, they're flimsy and weak.
Cate Masters: Any
favorite Halloween recipes you'd care to share?
Ferry Blackwell: Lookie here! I'll grant your wish- Toe
Finger Bread's my signature dish! It's so scrumptious, you'll surly agree. Next
time I bake it, I shall slice some for thee!
Mistress Mystrella will be here on Friday to take us on a tour of the haunted Hillbrow House in Newtown, CT. See you there!
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