One Dark and Spooky Night

Every word of this story is true.

The sky is black, punctured with bright pinholes of light. The moon is out, casting an other-worldly glow upon the treetops above and gravel road below. The tires crunch below. It is 10:30pm. The thought of sleep is creeping in upon your thoughts, drowning out the crackle of the sole radio station fading with each passing fence post.

But wait, something is not right.


Is this the right thing to do? What do I say? What if they're asleep?

Knock anyway. Tap, tap, tap.

The dog barks. Great. I have to go through with it now.

"Hi Phillip." "Hey Bruce! What brings you here?" At least he's smiling, albeit quizzically.

"Well, I was hoping I could borrow your chainsaw"

Now if I was awakened from my peaceful slumber after a very full day of labor on the back 40 with a rap at my door on a dark night, I wouldn't be expecting this. Sure. Neighbors sometimes have to wake you up for various minor emergencies: "Could you move your car?" "Can I get a jump start, I'm late for work." "This cat I just ran over- is it yours by chance?" "Did you know you have water running all over the street?"

But "Can I borrow your chainsaw?"   ?     I must admit I never ever could possibly conceive of myself ever actually finding myself in a situation, like this-- where I would be the one at the door asking such a thing. Might as well ask for the keys to the trackhoe and the spare duck calls at the same time. It would make as much sense.

"Sure. Let me get my boots on. Its out here in the shed somewhere. Honey, I've got to go out for a minute. Its Bruce Howard. He needs the chainsaw."

"I can't get home. There's a tree blocking the road"

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Ten minutes later I'm taking the newly severed branches, one appendage at a time and throwing them into the gulley by the side of the road. I step too far and fall in, dirt filling my shoes. Oh good, now I'm going to break my leg and be out here all night and have to crawl to the nearest phonebooth, I believe, nine miles away at the Sheetz. How long until hypothermia sets in? Let's see, its 50 degrees or so, so I should survive the night. I can always crawl under a pile of leaves to keep warm.

I start thinking. Ha. In the movies, the tree is blocking the road so the bandits can lure you out of your car. Or the guy from that Texas Horror Movie. Halloween? No. Nightmare on Elm Street? No. Amityville Horror? Yeah, that's Texas I think, but wrong movie. Oh yeah. Its the TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE. Where did I set that chainsaw down? WHERE IS IT? Oh. right here in the glare of the headlights. What's that movement over there by the car? Oh nothing. Just a guy crawling in the backseat of the car to hide. Why didn't I lock the doors?

Then I chuckle when I think of the hockey mask guy laying in the backseat straddling the two baby car seats, his bum on a sippie cup, and his knee in the diaper bag. I breathe a sigh and laugh at my imagination. I turn on the chainsaw one last time, as if to say, "HA" Take that! you Fates. Take that! You Evil Spirits of the Dark Creepy Road which I'm Out here All Alone on with no cell phone and no one to know I'm missing until I don't show up at dinner tomorrow night!

The chainsaw sputters out. From the forest comes the single loudest creepiest nighttime noise I have ever heard-- itself a cry of anguished fear of the horror of the chainsaw. Must be a mule in its last throes of a bad burrito. I climb in the car, crank up the heat, and shudder as a chill runs up my spine. From now on I tell myself, I carry a chainsaw in the trunk...