The Beast with Five Fingers
While we were growing up, there were not a lot of options for a large family interested in affordable entertainment. Most Sundays we simply went to our grandparent’s for dinner. On holidays, though, these occasions were more like mini-reunions with all the aunts, uncles, and cousins crowded into one home or another to share the day. At one of these gatherings, an indelible impression was given the children lasting long into their senior years.
It was Thanksgiving break and our families were visiting with Aunt Erma at her home in
It was close to midnight and the kids were “glued” to the TV, well into some forgotten scary movie. The adults were all in the kitchen talking over adult matters, but we still had the glow of the TV and our imaginations to occupy us in the living room. Everyone was on the floor with blankets, huddled around that little set half scared to death, when a slow creaking sound came from the front door.
Our cousin Ronnie, one of the older more macho alpha-types, calmly got up and closed the front door, stating “the wind must have blown it open.” Relieved, we all giggled a bit and turned our attention back to the screen. Several minutes later, we heard the front door creak again and this time it slowly opened. Now, we were scared and called out to the adults in the kitchen. They assured us that we probably just didn’t close it tight enough. My hero Ronnie once again got up but this time slammed the door and locked it. After a few nervous minutes, we settled back down to our movie.
Again the door creaked open despite being under lock and key! Even worse, a large hand slowly inched its way inside the door, creeping on its fingers as if in an Edgar Allen Poe horror tale.
All 14 kids screamed and trampled over each other to get to the safety of the dining room. Too young for chivalry, the older kids pushed the weak out of the way. Several dove under the dining room table at our parents’ feet. My brother John ran clear out the back door.
My Aunt Erma and mother called out to John that it was OK and that he was safe in the house, but he would hear none of it. “What was wrong with you people?” “There is a hand crawling through the front door, and it’s locked!”
As it turns out, since none of our parents could believe we were all so quiet, our Uncle Vern, always the practical joker, couldn’t let things alone. It was all a conspiracy to scare hell out of us, but it should be noted that after silently unlocking the door, Vern was at least smart enough to put his foot in the doorway before introducing his hand – just in case we all ran the wrong way.
This story lives on after more than 40 years and was recently retold at my Aunt Erma’s funeral services. We all remember it well and are happy for these and other experiences to help with our mourning.