the oh! otis shenanigans

The Oh, Otis! Shenanigans By Temple Kinyon

Episode 7 The Dark Stretch

Doris stood and inspected her work. “Oh, Otis!”

Otis scrambled to inspect himself in the mirror on Doris’s dresser. Once again, his sister had taken his face and transformed him into his Halloween hero, Dracula. His costume was a repeat from the previous year; it was just too good to only use once. “I vant to suck your blooood,” he whirled around, bringing his cape up to his face, covering all but eyes. “Come here leetle girl, muuhuuuhuuuwaaahaaaa!”

Doris let loose one of her famous blood-curdling, hair-raising screams that rivaled any horror movie goddess’. Her ability to invoke shivers and fear with her high-pitched shriek was legendary in their county. The loud wail made Otis jump to the point his fake teeth fell out of his mouth.

Otis and Doris looked at each other and busted out laughing at her ability to startle anyone within earshot of the scream.

“Man, Doris,” Otis laughed. “Your scream could wake the dead.”

Suddenly, Mavis rushed into the room, wiping her hands on a towel and out of breath. “What the Sam Hill is going on in here?!”

Doris and Otis howled even louder, causing Mavis to put her now-dry hand on her hip and give them The Look. “Ha. Ha. Laugh at Mom because she thought someone was dying,” she rolled her eyes. “I see you’re ready for your Halloween party, Otis?”

Otis stood up and grabbed a tissue off Doris’s dresser. He carefully dabbed the corners of his eyes to wipe away the giggles but was careful not to wipe away the white make-up making his face the color of vampire death. He whirled around, pulled his cape up to his face once again. “Yes, dahhhling, I’m ready to go to my parteee. But let me suck your bloooood first!” He jumped at his mom, who busted out laughing. “Get going to your party, there, Count,” she smiled.

“Ok, I’ll see you later! Thanks, Doris, for making me look so good!” He raced out of the house, oblivious to anything but getting the Hot Rod out of the shed and heading to his party. No one else from his family would be there, and that was a rare occasion, indeed. Of course, the real action of the season took place on Halloween night with the community parade and party at the school gymnasium, but that wasn’t until the following Thursday night. But tonight, Friday, a.k.a. Fright Night, would be all about the area kids under the age of 13 converging at the Smenk Farm for festivities in the barn. Attractions included bobbing for apples, pin the stitches on the Frankenstein, pumpkin donut eating races, and contests for the best jack-o-lantern and most frightening scream. Otis was allowed to take the Hot Rod the five-minute drive down the gravel road, past the Mountain Home Grange Hall, a right at the four corners, and a short motor to reach his friend, Fertis Smenk’s, house for the Annual Halloween Kid Party.

Otis made his way down the dusty road, the sky turning beautiful shades of oranges, pinks, and purples as the autumn sun dipped below the freshly-planted field horizon. A darkness, however, soon enveloped him as he drove between dense pine tree patches on both sides of the road. The trees stood tall, old, proud, crowded, allowing no light through them even on the sunniest of days. All the area kids played there, including the Swan children. Hide-and-seek, cops and robbers, tag. It was spooky and shadowy, but Otis was never alone there, and when it started getting dark, they’d all head home. NO ONE wanted to be in those trees after the sun went down. Relief flooded over Otis as he came out of the dark stretch, and the grange revealed itself, white, welcoming, and not scary at all. He arrived at the four corners, turned right, and motored his way to the Smenk’s.

Several friends came out to greet him as he parked the Hot Rod by the weathered, grey barn.

“Oh, Otis! You look so spooky,” Carla, dressed as Little Bo Peep, cooed.

“You look good, bud,” Fertis slapped him on the back. He sported a hobo costume, complete with coffee grounds Vaselined to his cheeks and chin. “Even though it’s a rerun.” Laughing, he ran back into the barn before Otis could slug him.

“You do look pretty good,” his friend, Clark, draped his arm over Otis’s shoulders. Clark was dressed like a mummy. “Mom took forever to wrap me up, and I’m not sure how I’m going to go pee, but I guess I’ll figure it out.” “Gross!” Carla barked. “Leave it to you boys to turn a cool costume into something disgusting!” She huffed off back to the barn, but not before turning and sticking her tongue out at Otis and Clark.

“She likes you, you know,” Clark teased.

“Talk about gross,” Otis shoved his elbow into his friend’s ribs. The pair jetted into the barn, where Otis took in the whole spectacle. His tummy did a flip flop with excitement. White twinkle lights hung every-which-way above the display of games, food, and all his friends. Dozens of ghosts, princesses, cowboys, Army men, farmers, and various other costumed kids tangled in a mass of laughter and friendly competition at the carnival-type games. “C’mon, Otis,” Clark urged. “Let’s play darts!” They scurried over to take aim at balloons attached to an enormous cork board. Otis hit five in a row and got a package of candy cigarettes; Clark nailed seven in a row and got three packs of Black Jack gum. Other friends joined the two, and soon, the small mob of pals worked their way through the games, winning trinkets along the way. They eventually took their place at the large table to carve their chosen gourds. “I wonder what prizes they’re giving this year,” breathed Carla, who had sidled up next to Otis. She smiled at him, all teeth, some covered in bright red lipstick. Otis smiled back to be polite but inched closer to Clark to place some distance between him and Bo Peep. His mom always told him to be polite to girls, but she was so pushy. The group finished their masterpieces and turned them into Mr. Smenk, the jack-o-lantern keeper until the big moment at night’s end when the prizes were announced. “Let’s apple bob,” Carla announced, and the group agreed.

“Doesn’t she know it’s like breaking a Halloween law if you don’t?!” Clark asked incredulously.

“She said the water is filled with germs,” Otis pointed out. “She’s not wrong. Plus, it’ll wreck my Dracula face.” “Hmmm,” Clark contemplated. “I never thought of it that way. It is kinda gross.” Their friends dove into the tub, each coming out with an apple in their mouth like a roasted pig. They stood munching and began taunting Clark and Otis for not participating. Peer pressure prevailed. Otis quickly dipped in the least amount of his face as he could and snatched a Granny Smith. Clark gingerly dipped his mouth into the water and nabbed a Red Delicious. The two boys gave each other a knowing look; they were consuming massive amounts of germs, no doubt. But to say anything so practical and adult would reverberate through the entire friend network and leave them as social pariahs, so they chomped on their apples just like their friends. Finally, the evening’s grand finale arrived. “Everyone gather ‘round for the jack-o-lantern and scream contests!” Mr. Smenk stood on a raised platform at the far end of the barn, surrounded by the carved creations. He and Mrs. Smenk had placed candles in all of the orange autumn rounds, revealing glowing cut-outs of spooky grimaces, smiling faces, and quirky designs. “Let’s start with the pumpkins, shall we?” Mr. Smenk shouted.

The crowd of about fifty children whooped and hollered. They were, indeed, ready.

“Alrighty, then!” Mr. Smenk hollered back. “The scariest pumpkin award goes to Louie Nyler!”

The crowd roared in appreciation for Louie’s fanged-faced jack-olantern. Louie stepped up to receive a new basketball. He took a bow, which sent the crew into a frenzy.

“The prizes are good this year!” exclaimed Clark to Otis. “Hope we win something.”

Mr. Smenk ran through a relatively long list of awards, most likely trying to ensure at least most of the kids went home with something more than candy and dollar trinkets. Otis’s friend, Butch, won a new football for his carving that looked like a cat with an arched back. Another friend, Shirley, won a pair of roller-skates for her rendition of a duck and ducklings. Both yelped with glee upon receiving their prizes.

Otis was happy for all his friends who won something but felt slightly slighted because he stood empty-handed. He knew his pumpkin wasn’t anything special. But it’s hard to not be a winner standing among winners.

When Mr. Smenk exhausted his list of pumpkin awards, he shouted, “It’s now time for the screaming contest!” Like a rockstar, his bellows erupted the kids into a wild mass, but most likely, the frenzy resulted from all of them sporting a sugar high. The rules for the screaming contest were simple. There were three categories: loudest, highest-pitched, and scariest. Anyone could participate. First, ten youngsters lined up and spewed out their loudest caterwaul. Everyone in the barn ended up in fits of laughter and determined Fertis, in fact, achieved the loudest scream. A ghost standing outside the barn confirmed the results. Since Fertis’s parents hosted the party, he somewhat reluctantly gave up a new baseball mitt to the second-place finisher, a Frankenstein-clad Truman Carmichael.

Next up, highest-pitched. Nineteen kids crowded the elevated stage area, eighteen females, one male. Clark nestled amongst the girls, a Cheshire-cat smile plastered on his face. He winked at Otis, and Otis laughed. Clark had always been a big flirt but not necessarily much of a screamer. The competition was stiff. Ear-piercing shrills filled the barn rafters, and when it was all said and done, Clark actually won. His prize? A set of bright red Walkie Talkies. “Dude, we can definitely use these!” he punched Otis in the arm.

“Yeah, but all those girls are mad at you,” Otis snorted. He stood dejected, however, and his friend took notice.

“What’s up with you?” Clark asked.

“I haven’t won anything but candy and stuff,” Otis lamented. “I don’t mean to be a baby about it, but I want something cool, too.”

“Well, get up on the stage for the last screaming contest, ya dork!” Clark shoved Otis toward the riser.

“I can’t scream,” Otis tripped toward the stage.

“Then I guess you’re a loser for sure,” Clark shrugged. Again, peer pressure flirted with Otis’s ego. With reckless abandon, he jumped up on stage. Only six other kids felt confident to belt out their scariest holler, one of which was Carla, who made sure to stand next to Otis. Real close. Placed at the end of the line, Otis would go last. He flashed back to Doris letting loose of her prize-winning scream that afternoon. She’d won several years at this very contest when she was younger. Could he duplicate his sister’s hair-raising, blood-curdling shriek?

He was jerked out of his thoughts as Carla let loose an un-holy roar that sent shivers up Otis’s spine and shook the rafters above. Holy Sam Hill, she could wake the dead with that! Carla turned to Otis and again flashed her lipstick-stained toothy smile. “Beat that,” she snarked.

He saw her in a different light for the first time. She had a mean streak, a competitive snarl. He retorted back, “Listen to this.” Otis closed his eyes, pictured Doris in her room that very afternoon, took in a huge breath, and unleashed everything he had, starting from his toes and conjuring a hair-raising reverberation that would scare away even the hungriest zombies. He let the wail continue until there was no air left in his lungs, which added an unplanned but effective dying croak at the end.

The entire barn stood silent, including a stunned Otis. He had no idea he had that in him. Then the applause and shouts of admiration flooded the room. Carla glared at Otis, knowing he’d bested her, and stomped off.

Otis absentmindedly took it, focused on enjoying his momentous win. Clark rushed over to him. “Dude! I knew you could do it!” he laughed. “And it looks like Carla is mad at you for beating her, so you’re a double winner!”

Otis giggled, “I’ve never done that before. I can’t believe I won!”

When the clock struck 9pm, everyone’s parents arrived to pick them up. Otis stayed until everyone left and then climbed aboard the Hot Rod. He fired it up, flipped the headlights on, and waved goodbye to Fertis. Moseying his way down the road toward the four corners, Otis started to take in his situation. He was alone in the darkness, the Ouija Board perched on his lap.

He knew his mom would freak out if she saw the Ouija Board. A lot of spooky stories swirled around those things, and Otis had heard Mavis scold his siblings for even mentioning the word in the confines of the Swan home. “They’re evil,” she’d chastised Otho and Deanie when they admitted to using one with friends one Hallows Eve. “Go upstairs and say extra prayers tonight. You’re grounded!”

Otis turned left at the four corners, and the grange came into his sights. One lone yard light stood by the little wooden structure, giving off a halo of illumination. It made Otis feel safe; he loved the grange and all the wonderful memories he and his family shared with other grange members. Soon it would be time for the annual Christmas pageant. His mind drifted to happy holiday thoughts as he passed the grange and entered the ominous cold stretch between the tall, dark trees.

He shivered, maybe out of coldness, but probably more out of fright. I didn’t think this through very well. I shouldn’t be here. Why didn’t I have Mom drive me? I wanted to show off the Hot Rod. I wanted to be like a big kid and come alone. He kicked himself for letting his ego once again get in his own way. But he couldn’t do anything about it now. He urged the Hot Rod to go faster, but it was topped out at max speed, 5mph. At times that felt fast to Otis, but not tonight.

He focused ahead, watching the headlights reveal the gravel road and not much more. I’m almost there; I’m almost home. He leaned forward, knowing it wouldn’t help the Hot Rod go faster, but feeling better by doing it. Just keep looking straight ahead. Don’t look at the trees. Don’t look at the trees.

But he looked.

Every bone in his body went cold. His stomach lurched. And the blood-curdling scream that won him the Ouija Board was nothing compared to what his body threw up into the ebony of the night. Two red eyes leered at him from amid the dense forest. Glowing. Unmoving. Staring. The hair on Otis’s neck stood up. He began to sweat and shake. He launched his newly-found scream at the crimson dots again. Usually, the Hot Rod’s loud roaring engine scared animals away. But those unblinking eyes didn’t flinch. It’s this stupid Ouija Board! It’s bringing out the devil!

For a flash, he thought about ditching the Hot Rod and the Ouija Board and making a run for it but figured then he’d really be a target to whatever creature—or being—stood just yards away. He didn’t run 5mph, so he held tight to the steering wheel, glanced back and forth between the road and those eyes, and, for good measure, let out a few more of his horror-movie cries.

It took an eternity, but finally, he hit the dividing line between forest and farm. He could see the warm, welcoming lights from his house and hoped he’d live to see another day there. Glancing behind him, he scanned the tree line for those devilish points of light.

Gone.

Not knowing if the being was coming for him or not, he took the corner a little too fast into the driveway, tipping the Hot Rod to its limit. Careening into the shed, he bailed off the Hot Rod and rocketed with all he had toward the house. He purposely left the Ouija Board sitting on the seat, not wanting to touch the evil it held anymore. He found himself agreeing for the second time that night with his mother’s logic. But creepy monsters conjured by an Ouija Board were, by far, worse than apple-bobbing germs.

Hitting the comfort zone of the porch lights flooding the yard, Otis slowed to a normal pace, sucked in a big breath, trying to calm himself down. He didn’t want to alarm his parents. He wasn’t sure if he’d tell anyone about what lurked in the woods.

The familiar creak to the back door opening, followed by the warmth of the kitchen blasting him in the face, gave Otis an overwhelming sense of relief. Home.

“How was it?” Mavis asked as Otis walked into the living room.

“Huh?” he stared at his mom.

“The party? How was it?” Mavis asked again.

“Oh, the party? It was a lot of fun,” Otis smiled to hide the terror he’d felt from those demonic, red eyes.

“Glad to hear it,” his dad, Marvel, piped up. “Did you win anything?”

“What? Uh, yeah, I actually won for the scariest scream,” Otis related, not wanting to mention the sinister gift still perched on the seat of the Hot Rod.

“What?!” both Mavis and Marvel laughed in unison.

“Yeah, who knew, right?” Otis chuckled, trying to focus on the conversation. “I thought about Doris, and it just came out. Where is everyone?”

“Oh, out and about,” Mavis flipped her hand nonchalantly. “I think Chuck, Doris, and Deanie drove over to the away football game. Gladys is making cookies at your grandparents’. And I have no clue where Otho and Cletis are. Marvel, you know?” Neither parent seemed worried simply because there was little to worry about in the small farming community. If trouble were to occur, word would hit Mavis and Marvel before the child involved arrived home.

“Go clean up and get to bed, Otis,” Mavis instructed.

“Ok, good night,” he leaned in and kissed his mom. He then strode over to his dad for one of his bear hugs. Otis held on a little longer than usual, taking in the comforting smell of Marvel’s aftershave and the safeness of his strong arms.

Marvel pulled away, “You ok, Otis?” “Yes, sir, I’m fine,” Otis pulled away, starting to feel safe in the presence of his parents. “Good night.” He bounded up the stairs to avoid any more questions from them. After cleaning up, brushing his teeth, and saying extra prayers— thanking the Big Guy for getting him home safely—he stared up at the ceiling in his room, which was illuminated by the outside yard light casting its glow through his window. He shivered out the last vestiges of fear and tried to calm himself down to sleep. I’m going to ask Grandpa Ed to take the Ouija Board. I don’t care what he does with it. I know I saw something in the woods. I just don’t know what. But that dumb board had something to do with it.

Otho, Cletis, and Grandpa Ed walked down the gravel road past Marvel and Mavis’s house toward Ed’s shed, laughing hysterically at the night’s antics. “Oh, man, and his screams!” Otho roared. “Who knew the kid could belt it out better than Doris?!”

“I feel kinda bad we messed with him,” Cletis giggled. “But BOY, was it fun!”

Ed felt a little bad, too. He’d assisted in terrifying Otis to the point of probably leaving a mental scar. Who knew an old car battery hooked to a couple of tail light bulbs covered with red cellophane would elicit screams from his youngest grandchild, rivaling only a distressed Fay Wray in King Kong? “Now, boys, let’s remember to keep this to ourselves,” he warned. “Your Grandma Helen would frown upon such shenanigans.”