The Thrill is Gone?
written by: Pamela Ebel
At 4:30 on the morning of November 1st, Jen ran down the darkened streets of her suburban neighborhood. She marveled at how quickly all of the Halloween decorations had disappeared from the manicured lawns.
The ancient oaks no longer hosted ghosts, witches, and otherworldly people and animals. Only orange and purple lights, still attached to tree trunks, limbs, and house railings, remained to cast an eerie glow over landscape.
Her own shadow ran ahead of Jen as the full moon spread its harvest yellow glow on the street and houses. The air was cool and crisp, a rare event indeed for the heat-weary residents of New Orleans. The first day of Indian Summer had appeared as a last holiday treat.
“Good morning, Jen. Did you have a good Halloween?”
Hannah Cleary was standing next to the open trunk of her car. Obie, her ever-vigilant Doberman companion, stood guard in front of it.
“Good morning, Hannah. Obie, my friend, I just happen to have a dog bone for you.”
Jen held the treat she always carried in case Obie appeared, out and waited. Obie turned to get permission to accept it. A small nod from his mistress led him to move forward and gently take the offering from Jen’s hand.
“Well, we had a busy one, Hannah. Seemed like more little ones this year. Lots of new homes going up and new folks moving in. What about over here?”
“Pretty much the same, Jen. After forty-five years, it seems less and less like the old neighborhood. My kids keep telling me to sell the house and move into one of those Senior Living places. I keep telling them those are nothing more than living mortuaries, and I am not ready to go. And none of them would take Obie.
Besides, Hank and I had a wonderful life in this house, including raising all of the kids. He’s still here. I can hear him when I get frustrated or afraid, laughing and telling me I know how to take care of things without him. He made sure of that. I suppose he would move with me, but I can’t take the chance.
Now, my friend, we must be off to the cemetery. They make a fuss about Obie scaring people when the place starts to get busy. We go early on All Saints and sit with Hank for an hour or so. I’ve got my café au lait thermos and more treats for Obie. And of course, our remembrance offering. Isn’t it perfect?”
Hannah held up a bright yellow potted Chrysanthemum plant.
“Hank loved these. Always left two on his family’s plot. He said they were a ‘must’ on this day. Come on, Obie, time to go visit Papa.”
The Doberman stood at attention but wagged his stump of a tail rapidly. Jen watched as the two got into the front seat of the car and started down the street. As they made the turn toward the cemetery, she saw Hank sitting in the back seat. He waved as the car drove on.
She continued her run to the next block, where she heard the voices clearly.
“No pockets in the Shroud! How many times did Father Behan tell us that at Mass each Sunday?”
Mr. Carter nodded wistfully.
“You’re right, Glenda. But how many times did we skip Mass to take the kids to soccer games? Or spend a lot of money and time tailgating at football games every fall?”
“Oh, for Heaven’s Sake! Listen to you all. These children and grandchildren are doing exactly as we taught them to do. We saved our money so they would have a better life. And they have lives we could only dream of when we were their age. So, you should all stop whining!”
Glenda stopped dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Well, Mrs. Clara Know It All! You were the one who always told us we should think about what life would be like if we weren’t here. Now we know many of our children are lost, and we can’t seem to help.”
Jen heard more conversations as she passed the houses where the spectral Souls had once lived. She was glad to see the gathering that happened every November First was underway.
After the Witching Hour of Halloween passed, the next day belonged to Souls of the Departed. It was Día de las Muertos, the Day of the Dead, and All Saints Day.
Continuing to the next block, she waved to the Souls who waved back, relieved that someone could see and hear them. While she cherished the special day honoring those who had been called and moved on, she was always sad to see the end of Halloween festivities.
Gone was the element of the unknown, the unsettling, the jolt of seeing or feeling something or someone that shouldn’t be seen or felt. It meant that for another year, the thrill was gone.
And then, at the end of the block, she saw it. On top of a bunch of discarded Halloween decorations sat what Jen thought was a snow globe. She bent over and picked it up.
She turned toward the bright light of the moon and held the globe up, expecting a snowy scene with a peaceful wooded landscape. Instead, a skull sat atop the glass globe, and the moonlight caused its eyes to glow red and its dirt-covered teeth to grimace at Jen.
Looking more closely, she saw that the skull was attached to a skeleton that sat in a lotus position, cradling the globe. Inside was a headstone surrounded by skulls. R.I.P. was chiseled on the stone. She stared above the initials and Bats, not snow, filled the watery sky.
Jen quickly bent over to return the globe to the recycling pile when a skeletal hand reached around and stopped her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw the rest of the skeleton in a full, bright dress, offering a grimacing grin.
“Are you Calavera La Catrina?”
The skeleton rose to her almost seven-foot height, and her eyes turned red.
‘Oh, for Heaven’s Sake, or better yet, For Hell’s Sake. I am sick and tired of people not knowing their history and confusing me with that fake calavera. I am Míctécacíhuátl, Aztec Queen of the Dead. I lived 500 years before the Mexicans created that imposter. I am the most powerful Keeper and Protector of our Dead, and this Globe is a gift that appears to only a certain few special living souls. The living one that finds it will walk the earth to help me protect all Souls from Evil.”
The Queen of the Dead placed the globe in Jen’s hand and closed her fingers around both. Then she stood again and looked at the moon, her lower jaw slack. Raising her hands, she turned slowly, and the sky filled with large Bats that swooped low and circled Jen. Then the Cauldron soared upward and, with a clap of the Queen’s hand, disappeared.
“The time grows late, and I must travel to the celebrations, observing those who have passed. Between Dia de las Muertos and All Souls Day, I keep busy. But remember who the real Calavera of the Dead is and guard your Globe and your mission. When you are called, I will return to help you move on.”
With one last grimacing smile, Míctécacíhuátl rose into the sky and, surrounded by the cauldron of Bats, disappeared.
Jen found a discarded treat bag and placed the globe in it. Then she started to run again, passing more souls who waved at her.
Arriving at her house, she sat on the front porch and placed the globe on the table next to the leftover candy. A straggling group of ‘Thriller’ trick-or-treaters stopped to offer a ghoulish version of the famous dance, received some candy, and danced on.
Leaving the bowl of treats for souls that might still be roaming, Jen took the globe, gave the moon one more look, then moved into the house to start her vigil.
Clearly, the Thrill is Not Gone! It’s Just Beginning!
- The Thrill is Gone? - November 1, 2025
- In The Company of Southern Women - July 23, 2025
