"Ghouls Play Golf" (Or, French Fries Stir the Soul)
As bats circled, cool, late autumn evening, as giant centipedes crept beneath crinkly oak leaves and as hungry black spiders waited in sticky webs, I began.
“Hominy, seven days ago, evening time and, as you know, a week before Halloween…”
“Yes,” she said. She crossed dainty hands to her lap. In jeans and a red sweater pullover she sat on a stump next to me.
“Well, I was at my usual after-school chores,” I went on.
“Digging a grave?” she asked.
Three eerie bats wouldn’t let us alone.
“Yes,” I answered. I sat my big bag of hot fries next to her as Jinx the wacky cat slinked and rubbed against our legs.
(Image of Doug, girlfriend Hominy, sitting on stump, evening, hot fries, Jinx, Halloween)
“And, so?” she urged me.
My big, brown, bushy eyebrows lifted. “So, I dug Hominy. My shovel scooped earth. Scooch, scooch, scooch it made noise.”
She giggled as my thick lips puffed.
“Then, thud,” I muttered. “My eyes popped Hominy; and I mummed…what?”
“Tell me more,” she followed.
I did. I gasped, “It was a coffin.”
(Image of Doug telling spooky tale & digging, finds a coffin)
Hominy shuddered. Flames of the red-hot fire, leapt.
“Meow.” Jinx looked to my fries.
“No. You have cat food; or better, mice. My fries are for Hominy and me,” I blabbed to Jinx who seemed to frown.
“Do continue, Doug.”
(Image of Doug telling tale, Jinx around fries, Hominy with them, hot fire blazes)
“So, there was a wooden box at your dirty feet?” Her eyes fluttered, she squinted, and lips went tight.
“Yep; and this is nuts,” I blew a creaky breath.
A clear night, the moon was still full.
“There’s not supposed to be anybody buried here. You see Hominy, I’ve my map from Jeepers Screepy, which identifies where I’m to dig.”
“And…” she started.
“And, what the Frisbees,” I went on and threw hands high. “Knee-deep in an eight-by-four-foot hole, I stopped. I reached, scraped, and then cracked the lid.”
“Ah,” she gasped.
(Image of Doug, in a grave, cracking lid to a coffin, map nearby)
“I jumped like a spooked cricket and shook like a beaten rug. An old bottle in the coffin, two images, one tall and one small, popped and whirled. 'Ghouls,' I squealed. No one around, I quivered; and I knew I was a goner. I knew I’d be swallowed in goulash or tossed to the grave.”
“Oh, Doug, this is frightening. Tell me more.”
(Image of Doug jumping, spooked by ghouls)