A short story inspired by a Halloween incident. Post dedicated to Sharona!

Seeing the Hallowed on Halloween

On October 31, 2005, I met the devil and she smiled at me.

Earlier that night, I was asked to accompany friends in Halloween debauchery. At that time, the breakup and its personal consequences were still a fresh mess. But my idea of escapism did not involve dressing up like an angel-whore. With the gas tank three-quarters full, I turned the ignition key. As if I had invoked an incantation, my Camry leapt and came alive. I pulled my little monster out of the parking spot for what was to become the longest joyride of my life.

I discovered during my freshman year that I could find clarity by going on long drives alone. As I drove across campus that night, I was transported into a world of slutty nurses escorted by pirates and giant bananas. I pressed harder on the gas pedal and turned up the melancholy concert blasting in the car.

When I hit Windsor Road, I turned left to travel east. I decided to take my regular route several miles down Windsor, channeling myself into yet another world: the expansive Midwest cornfields. Past Philo Road the farms begin and never end, stretching on into infinity. In those fields, the paths are narrow, the cars very far between, and the globes in the sky sparkle. As I passed the threshold and the tall corn started to loom ahead of me, I couldn’t ignore the feeling that the stalks were spookier tonight as they had never been before. 

In a split second of apprehension, I contemplated turning back. But the other world behind me had nothing to offer either, no comfort and certainly no love. At least the darkened acres were not laced with reminders of broken promises.

I drove further away from the lighted city. My anxieties passed. I fell back into the wisps of music and drowned myself in thought. I let unknown forces guide my car, like the planchette of an Ouija board allows the spirits to possess it. At one point there was a sharp bend in the road, a spot I had encountered before on my previous drives. But on this night, the bend had been malevolent because lying in the road was the corpse of a large deer.

Where did the life inside go? Do people have souls? Is the soul the thing that makes us crave? Makes us desire love even though it leads to abuse? Where’s the soul escape to when we become lifeless corpses?

I drove past a graveyard. Feeling a sense of obligation to observe Halloween, I made a three point turn and drove onto the dirt path which ran through it. It the deepest shade of dark that night. Even directly outside my side windows, I saw only a blanket of black which clouded the evil spirits from my vision. I had trespassed on this night when ghouls are awakened and come forth to haunt. In a burst of fright, I felt around my car door and clicked the locks shut. I speedily put my car in reverse to back out.

Back on the main road, the green colon of the digital clock blinked in time with my racing heart. An hour had passed since I began my trip. I decided to head back, meandering another hour through the mazes of corn and thoughts until I arrived home in Champaign.

Forty-five minutes later, I expected to see familiar landmarks or at least the hazy glow of lighted civilization. But I didn’t. After an hour, I should have been back in Champaign, but it was as if the city had fallen off the map.

I turned the music down. The only light I saw was the faint glimmer of a porch lamp every few acres. The last time I had seen a car was hours ago. I had been utterly alone for a long time. But a chill raced through me as I had a subtle awareness of never actually having been alone. I looked in my rearview mirror and to my horror, I saw the corn stalking me in an aura of red light. The tall reeds chased me, never diminishing in my mirror, even as I sped off.

In frenzy I tried retracing my driving path, trying to find that bend in the road again. And I did. I found a bend, but the deer carcass had mysteriously disappeared. And so had the house which should have been near that bend. I turned the music off. I could taste panic in my dry mouth.

The orange needle informed me that I had mere miles left of gas. I had not even an inclination of which direction Champaign was in. My internal compass was spinning wildly, trying to gravitate toward true north.

In a splinter of hope, I reached for my phone and called my most reliable friend. As she waited for Yahoo Maps to load, I passed by an intersection that had a street sign. The ray of hope beamed brighter as I drove right underneath the post to read, “1900.” I asked her to search 1900^th Road. After the sounds of typing, there was only silence.

“That’s not a real location.” My stomach dropped.

“WHERE AM I?”

“I don’t know, but I can stay with you on the phone if that helps.”

“I have some gas left. I’ll call again if I really need.”  My stupid voice of stupid self-reliance.

I drove deeper into oblivion and the orange needle kept dropping as the gas vaporized. All of a sudden, I again felt that eerie sensation of not being alone. I let out a small cry and stepped on the pedal harder to drive away from my demons.

Finally I burst out, “God! Help!” I rambled a prayer about having nothing to trust… no more ability… utterly lost! I had no bearings as to which way was right, which way was wrong, but I knew there was one way to get home.

A revelation formed in my mind: being directionally lost was a shadow of how far gone I was in essence. I was running nearly on empty, feeding off others’ approval. I brushed on glitz and glamour for my attractive costume that disguised the scarlet A underneath. I pranced around with my nose stuck up, believing I did it on my own. But now I was the attention-whore lying in deserted streets in need of someone to guide her home.

For the first time, I held onto faith like it was candy in my hand, like it was tangible. I couldn’t—and didn’t have to—trust anything more than the goodness of divine assistance. I felt light,but not empty. About ten minutes later, I saw the halo of a road sign which read, “HOMER,” with an arrow pointing left. I turned left. On the eleventh hour of Halloween I drove into a ghost town. All doors were shut and house lights turned off. Without directions I still had no way to get home.

Then in the distance, I saw a single neon light which cast a glow into my car. It was a gas station sign and it was open! I laughed and praised God and Halleluiahed! He helped me find my way! While praying and thanking the Lord, I stepped inside to ask for help. Behind the counter, the lady happily informed me that Champaign was only twenty miles away and that the highway was nearby.

I learned two things that night. First, God is my willing helper in every kind of lostness, if only I ask in dependence. And second, He has an amazing grasp of irony which knows how to make me laugh. When I had asked for directions, God provided the lovely woman dressed in red with matching luscious lipstick. The answer to my prayers was none other than Satan himself. Funny, God.