Lost in a Small Town
I must admit that when it comes to the holidays, I'm just a big kid at heart. I realize to most Americans the time period commonly called "the holidays" includes Christmas, New Year's Day, the two Eves and sometimes Thanksgiving. For me, however, the celebration starts in October. That is when I begin decorating the house, inside and out, as if I were designing a set for a Tim Burton movie. From that point until the middle of January, the three-bedroom ranch in which my family lives is bedecked with holiday cheer. When I take down the witches, ghosts and jack-o-lanterns the first week in November, I put up the Pilgrims and turkeys. When these come down on the first day of December, up go the Santas, snowmen, wreaths and garland, soon followed by the season's pièce de résistance: the seven-foot-high artificial Christmas tree.
It was my love of the holidays that inspired me one Sunday in mid-December to take a two-hour journey with my husband, Alec, and my daughter, Melissa, to Pine Haven, Pennsylvania, in the western portion of the Pocono Mountains. Haven House, a lovely, century-old country inn, was offering a Christmas buffet to be followed by a live performance of Dickens' immortal A Christmas Carol.
"Are we almost there yet?" Melissa asked from the back seat of our Subaru wagon.
"No, we're not," I replied with a smile.
After all, this was only the first time she inquired. My smile would not be there by the eighth or ninth time she repeated that question. She was twelve years old and still somewhat of a challenge to take on a car trip.
"Your mother and I told you it would be a long drive," Alec added. "Didn't you bring something to occupy yourself like I suggested?"
"Yeah, I brought a word puzzle book, but I'm bored with it already."
"Why don't you play a road game, then?" I suggested as I had so often in the past. "See how many different states' license plates you can find."
Melissa took a pen and piece of paper out of her backpack and began scrutinizing the cars that sped past us in the left lane.
"That'll buy us five minutes of peace," Alec remarked in a hushed voice. "Ten if we're lucky."
Forty minutes and five more choruses of "are we almost there yet" later we left Interstate 80 and were trying to find our way on the back roads.
It can't be too much farther, I assumed hopefully.
I was behind the wheel, driving at about forty-five miles an hour along a country road that wound through miles of woodland when we passed a blind driveway off to the right.
"I think that was the turn we were supposed to take," Alec announced, looking up from the map he was studying.
"Okay. I'll have to find a place to turn around."
I was not about to risk all our lives or my car attempting a U-turn on the narrow, tree-lined, winding road. Unfortunately, I drove several miles and could find no side streets or wide shoulder. Just as I was about to throw caution out the window and take my chances on making a U-turn, the seemingly never-ending line of trees broke.
"There are buildings up ahead," Alec pointed out. "I'm sure you'll find a place where you can turn around."
Did I detect a faint touch of sarcasm in Alec's voice, a testosterone-fueled annoyance toward my overly cautious driving habits? Ignoring his comment, I reduced my speed as I entered the small town.
"Look at these homes," Alec said with a whistle. "Definitely not what you would call low-income housing."
I turned to look at the large federal-style house on my left. I could not help laughing at what I saw.
"They've still got their Halloween decorations up."
"So do they, Mom," Melissa observed, pointing to the brick Georgian mansion across the street.
"And there's another one," Alec said as we passed a beautiful, three-story Dutch colonial still sporting cornstalks, carved pumpkins and a scarecrow on its doorstep.
We drove on and passed more than two dozen houses, all of which were decked out with ghosts, spider webs and bats.
Alec found the situation quite amusing.
"I know these rural areas are supposed to be a little behind the times, but this is ridiculous!"
I was so surprised by the unlikelihood of an entire street being a month and a half late in their observance of a holiday that I temporarily forgot about finding a place where I could turn around. It was Melissa who reminded me by asking once again, "Are we almost there yet?"
"There's a large driveway up ahead. I can turn around there."
I pulled into the parking lot of an elementary school that was still festooned with black and orange construction paper chains and jack-o-lantern cutouts. As I was about to put the Subaru in reverse, I saw a small group of children come running out of the building. The fact that children were at school on a Sunday afternoon did not surprise me as much as the fact that they were all wearing costumes and carrying trick-or-treat bags. Christmas in July was a popular theme with some retailers hoping to cash in early on the holiday gift-giving market. But Halloween in December?
"What's going on here?" Alec asked.
"I don't know," I replied. "But we won't be here long enough to find out."
I had backed up about two feet, when a police car pulled across the end of the driveway, blocking my exit. A pleasant-looking young man in uniform got out of the patrol car and approached the driver's side window.
"Will everybody step out of the car, please?"
"I'm sorry, officer. I was only trying to turn around in the driveway. I missed the turn for Haven House a few miles back, and I didn't want to make a U-turn on that winding road."
"If you'll just get out of the car, ma'am," he repeated politely. "That goes for the gentlemen and the little girl, too."
I looked at Alec, silently asking him with my eyes, "What do we do now?"
He nodded his head and opened his door. After the three of us emerged from the comparative safety of our vehicle, I noticed that a late model minivan had pulled up behind the police car. Two women, who looked like members of either the PTA or the garden club, got out and came toward us.
"Hello, folks," the younger of the two called, extending her hand to shake mine. "I'm Naomi Trask, and this is my neighbor, Sybil Hale."
"Hello, I'm Gillian Douglas. This is my husband, Alec, and my daughter, Melissa."
"Yes, we know," Naomi told them with a friendly smile.
"You do? How?" Alec asked.
"We'll answer all your questions on the way," she replied, taking my arm and leading me toward her minivan.
"Wait a minute. We're not going anywhere," I protested.
"Please, Gillian, don't be difficult. Just get in the car. We've been expecting you. We have something we want to show you."
The patrolman stood inches away, watching every move we made.
"Let's do what they ask," Alec cautioned.
After nearly twenty years of marriage, we could read each other's thoughts fairly well. "Humor them," my husband was actually saying. "We don't know what they're capable of, so just go along with them for now."
Alec, Melissa and I got in the back seat of the minivan, behind Naomi and Sybil, who were riding in front. Once the vehicle began to move, the patrolman got into his car and drove away.
"All right, Mrs. Trask," I began. "What's this all about?"
"Call me Naomi, please."
"Okay, Naomi. I think it's time you explained what's going on here."
"We're going to take a short drive, not more than five minutes. When we get there, I'll answer all your questions."
Even though we were being virtually kidnapped, I was more curious than frightened.
We passed dozens of houses along the way, all of them large and obviously expensive, and all were decorated for Halloween.
"Looks to me like there was a sale at Spencer's," I uttered, more to myself than to anyone else.
Naomi laughed. "You're referring to all the decorations, I suppose."
"You do know it's a little late for Halloween, don't you? Christmas is only two weeks away."
"Yes, I know. That's all part of what I have to tell you."
We drove through what appeared to be the center of town. There were a number of quaint shops selling groceries, clothing, pharmaceuticals, hardware—all the usual mom-and-pop businesses found in small towns across the country. What made these stores unique was that the shopkeepers were giving candy to small groups of trick-or-treaters in the middle of December.
"Is everyone in this town nuts?"
I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud until I turned and noticed three pairs of eyes boring into me: Naomi's and Sybil's expressed a kind of shocked indignation; Alec's showed anger. His unspoken message came across loud and clear: "Can't you keep your mouth shut? Are you deliberately trying to get us into trouble?"
"I'm sorry," I apologized meekly and then turned back to the window.
Naomi put her signal on and made a right turn. On the corner was an old gothic, wooden building, which, although dark red in color, resembled the Witch Dungeon Museum in Salem, Massachusetts.
"That's our town center," Naomi pointed out proudly.
A chill crept over me at the site of the ominous structure. For the first time, it occurred to me: what if all the Halloween paraphernalia was more than mere holiday trappings? Could this little town, surrounded by miles of Pennsylvania woodland, be the home of genuine witches or even devil worshippers? Was motherly-looking Naomi Trask the leader of a bona fide coven or cult?
With this question came a fear deeper than I had ever known before. If the people of this strange town were witches or Satanists, what would they do with my family who had innocently stumbled onto their secret? Only one theory—too horrible to dwell on—sprang to my mind. Were my husband, daughter and I to be sacrificed to some demon or pagan god? If so, I had to do something to save my daughter from these maniacal murderers, even if it meant endangering my own life.
The minivan crested a small hill and stopped. I bent my head slightly to see through the windshield. Ahead of me was a spacious saltbox house, its Shaker shingles weather-beaten to a faded gray shade. Its door, shutters and trim were a color that paint companies often refer to as Williamsburg blue. The house was situated on the lot so that the cat slide roof faced the circular driveway.
"Gillian, are you all right?" Alec asked with concern when he saw the stunned look on my face. "What's wrong?"
I did not know how to accurately convey my feelings to him.
"I know this house," was all I could say.
Looking from him back to the saltbox, I gasped with astonishment. Through the autumn-colored leaves, which should have fallen from the trees nearly a month earlier, I saw a shimmering silver-blue light: a reflection of sunlight on water.
"It's not possible," I declared with confusion. "It can't be ...."
"... the Atlantic Ocean? Well, it is!" Naomi laughed. "Look at the sign to the left of the door. Can you see what's written on it, Gillian?"
I squinted to see, but I had already guessed what it said before my eyes focused on the letters.
"It says SAILOR'S REST."
"That's the name on your plaque, Mommy," Melissa exclaimed.
"I bought it in a souvenir shop in Plymouth, Massachusetts. A wooden sign that says SAILOR'S REST. I've often daydreamed about owning a saltbox just like this one, somewhere along the coast of Massachusetts. In my fantasies, I even gave that house the name Sailor's Rest."
"This is it," Sybil announced. "This is the house you dreamed of so often. There's even a short path through the trees that leads down to a sandy beach. And there's an excellent view of the ocean from the rear bay window. At night you can even see the beacon of a lighthouse down the coast."
"But there's no coastline in the Poconos," Alec insisted. "We're more than a hundred miles from the Atlantic."
But I didn't argue. I had all the proof I needed right before my eyes.
"Let's all get out and have a better look," Naomi suggested.
I stood on the circular drive, so close to my dream I could reach out and touch it, smell the salty sea in the air and hear the cries of the gulls and the sound of the waves breaking on the beach.
Two girls close to Melissa's age were riding their bicycles down the hill, toward us.
"This is my daughter, Gabrielle, and her friend, Whitney," Naomi proudly announced, making the introductions. "This is Melissa Douglas."
"Hi, Melissa," Gabrielle said, giving my daughter a warm hug.
Melissa was a shy, introverted child who did not make friends easily and spent most of her time alone in her bedroom reading. Gabrielle seemed to be welcoming her with open arms.
"You're going to love it here," the little Trask girl promised. "We always have so many fun things to do: trick-or-treating, bobbing for apples, costume contests, scavenger hunts, carving pumpkins and going on hayrides. Every evening at six o'clock the town center opens its doors, and the fun begins."
"I'm afraid we won't be here that long, girls," Alec said.
Naomi looked at me questioningly. Then she reached into her jacket pocket and took out a set of keys.
"The house is yours, Gillian—free and clear—no mortgage, no taxes, no utility bills. The town will provide everything: food, clothes and all your necessities. We can even offer you a job if you're the type of person who prefers to stay busy."
"We're dead, aren't we?" I asked in all seriousness.
It was the only logical explanation for this incredible turn of events.
"We died, and this is heaven."
Naomi and Sybil laughed.
"No, Gillian, you're quite alive," Naomi assured me.
"I don't understand any of this," I said, my confusion growing with each answer I received to my questions.
"You've read Dickens, right? You know about the ghosts of Christmases past, present and future?"
"Of course," I replied, still wondering if I were dead, hallucinating or merely dreaming.
"Christmas doesn't have a monopoly on holiday spirit. This town is the dominion of the spirit of Halloween. Here it's always October 31. Jack-o-lanterns are lit every night, and kids can go trick-or-treating whenever they feel like it. In spirit you're already one of us: one who knows the child-like joy of the day, the harmless fantasy of witches, ghosts and things that go bump in the night."
It was a preposterous idea. Who would ever believe it? I did, and so did Alec and Melissa. I believed because I so desperately wanted it to be true. I reached for the keys in Naomi's hand.
"Wait a minute," Alec said.
Alec—my dear, dependable, practical husband, the one who bought a station wagon when his heart had been set on a sports car. Alec was the pragmatist who had always provided for his wife and child even though he hated his boring, dead-end job.
"We can't move in right this minute. First, we have to close up our house. Then we must notify my boss, Melissa's school, the power and phone companies and the post office. And we have to see to our personal belongings and our various bank accounts."
Melissa and I must have looked grief-stricken because Alec quickly compromised.
"All right, I can probably take care of most of the details in a day or two, and then we can be ready to move in by the middle of next week. Is that okay with you two?"
"Yes, Daddy," Melissa answered. "I guess I can wait that long."
Naomi returned the keys to her pocket.
"I'll drive you back to your car now," she said, her smile gone.
We rode the short distance in silence. I looked out my window, for the first time seeing the magic around me.
"It will be like living in Disneyland, won't it?" I whispered in Melissa's ear.
Naomi stopped the minivan in front of the school next to the Subaru.
"Where can we find you when we get back?" I asked, hoping she would hand over the keys to me, but she didn't.
"If you come back, I'll find you," she promised.
"Oh, don't worry about that! We'll definitely be back."
* * *
The following week passed in a blur of activity. Alec quit his job, and I withdrew Melissa from school. We closed our bank accounts, packed our most treasured possessions and loaded them into the station wagon.
"What should we do with our house and furniture?"
"Let the bank have everything," Alec replied.
"Do you really want to move, or are you just going along to please Melissa and me?"
"Are you kidding? Do you think I would pass up a chance to live in paradise?"
One last time my husband and I looked around the rooms of the three-bedroom ranch that had been our home since we were married. Then we turned off the heat, water and electricity and drove away in the station wagon.
As we again traveled the back roads of Pennsylvania, the three of us eagerly counted down the miles of our journey in anticipation of arriving at our new home.
"Do you think I can go to the town center tonight?" Melissa asked hopefully. "Gabrielle and Whitney might be there."
"I don't see why not," I answered. "It's only a short walk from our house."
Melissa chattered on about the fun she was going to have in our new home. Even Alec was caught up in the excitement of the move.
"I hope I can find a more interesting way to spend my days than working as an insurance claims adjuster."
"Maybe they'll let you be the Great Pumpkin," I laughed.
"There it is," he announced. "That's the turn-off for Haven House. Wasn't it a miracle we missed it the last time?"
"Yes. And aren't you glad now that I'm an overcautious driver and that I didn't make a U-turn on this road?"
Alec hung his head sheepishly.
"Do you always know what I'm thinking?"
"After being married all these years, it isn't too surprising."
We drove along the winding Pennsylvania road, expecting to see the large federal-style house around each bend.
"It shouldn't be too much farther," I said hopefully, with a feeling of déjà vu.
"I don't think we drove this far last time," Alec noted.
"Well, we know this is the right road. There weren't any turns I could have taken by mistake. It probably just seems longer because we're so anxious to get there."
We drove another ten ... twenty ... thirty ... forty minutes. Alec said nothing. He didn't have to. We both knew the truth: we hadn't driven this far when we first traveled this way. Only Melissa hadn't given up hope of driving up that circular drive in front of the saltbox, of being greeted by Naomi Trask who had held the keys to my dreams and my family's happiness in her hand.
"Are we almost there yet?" she asked innocently.
We drove along that same winding mountain road for another forty-five minutes. Then traffic picked up and the road widened. Ahead was an Exxon station, a Pizza Hut and a Home Depot.
"Let's turn around and go back the way we came," Alec suggested. "Maybe we'll find the town on the way back."
I filled the Subaru's gas tank at the Exxon station and headed back east on the winding road, but I had little hope of seeing the magical town we had encountered the week before.
* * *
Alec's boss welcomed him back, and Melissa was re-enrolled in school. I had the heat, water and electricity turned back on and notified the post office to resume mail delivery. Life continues, but nothing is the same. My neighbors now look at me in a most peculiar fashion perhaps because I've removed the sleigh and reindeer from my lawn, and in their stead, I have Styrofoam gravestones and wooden jack-o-lanterns. In place of my Santa and Christmas tree, I have cornstalks and a skeleton.
Every Sunday Alec, Melissa and I pile into the old station wagon and head for the mountains of eastern Pennsylvania, always driving along the same road and deliberately passing the dirt road turn-off to Haven House.
"In search of Willoughby," Alec called our actions one day.
"What's that?" I asked.
"Willoughby. Remember The Twilight Zone episode where the harried businessman commutes to work by train every day and discovers an idyllic little town from the past, a place where he can relax and enjoy his life?"
"I love that episode," I said. "He goes back to New York where his career and marriage fall apart, and he returns to Willoughby in the end."
Alec laughed.
"Actually, he jumps off a moving train and dies, but we can assume his soul finds Willoughby."
We were both silent for several minutes.
"It's all my fault," he said. "I was the one who was worried about moving on such short notice."
"Don't blame yourself, Alec. You did what you thought was best for all of us."
"I promise you, Gillian. If we ever come across our own Willoughby again, I won't think twice about getting off the train."
As we drove on through the Pennsylvania woods, with Melissa asleep in the back seat, I thought about places like Willoughby, Shangri-La and Brigadoon and of all the characters in fiction that had discovered a utopia and left it of their own accord, only to return in the end.
I closed my eyes and said a silent prayer.
Hopefully, someday we will find that break in the long line of trees and see the large federal-style house decorated with spider webs and tombstones. We will drive through the quaint little town, turn right at the town center and continue over the hill to the Shaker-shingled saltbox by the sea.
Until that day, I peer through the windshield impatiently and ask myself, "Are we almost there yet?"
Salem would love to live in a town where it's Halloween everyday.
