A haunting tale for autumn

You never realize just how fast you can pedal a bicycle until you're being chased. I didn’t mind the 4 a.m. start too much when my old green Taurus was running smoothly. It was a decent vehicle for a 17-year-old, and it certainly beat my old bike for delivering newspapers. However, around 3 a.m., as I was warming her up, the old girl chugged her last breath. With huge stacks of papers to deliver and unable to reach my boss, I dragged out my bike — complete with a large basket on the front — and headed downtown with my first load.  

Normally, I wouldn’t pay much attention to the cemetery on Government as I rode toward the small homes on tree-lined streets, but today felt different. Even in the darkness, I could see the murky shadows of trees that, just yesterday morning, had been vibrant with glorious reds, yellows and oranges.  

It was about a week before Halloween, and this fall was particularly spectacular. But as I passed the cemetery, the atmosphere felt strange. Typically, riding my bike early in the morning — with pine needles scattered across the road and the fresh scent of autumn in the air — was exhilarating. But not today. Something flitted across the cemetery lawn. Even though I was running late, I stopped my bike for a closer look. Another unusual thing was that the gates were open; they were never open this early in the morning. I turned and rode past the wrought-iron gate.  

Then I heard a voice. “What are you doing here, boy?”  

Something darker than the night was nearby.  

I stuttered in response, “I ... I am delivering newspapers.”  

“Delivering to the dead, are you?” the raspy voice asked from somewhere in the dark.  

Something slithered past a statue of an angel. 

“What’s black and white and 'red’ all over?” a voice from the gloom inquired.  

“Are … are you making a newspaper joke?” I asked, now trembling.  

“No,” it replied, stepping out of the shadows. “I’m describing myself!”  

Emerging from the darkness was a pale wraith wearing a black cloak with a red lining. As he bared his white fangs at me, I was shocked to see blood dripping down his chin.  

As I mentioned earlier, you never truly appreciate how fast you can pedal a bike until you’re being chased. I was nearly at the lake when it struck me that, in the early light, I could barely make out the cloak's lining, which read, "Acme Costume Company, Post Falls, Idaho." 

And those newspapers? Well, they were eventually delivered. You’re reading one right now.

• • •

Ethel Steinmetz Marmont is a Coeur d’ Alene resident.