Vigilante?

We didn’t get too many Trick or Treat visitors at our loft building down by the old Boston and Maine railroad tracks. The visitors that did show up were not looking for tricks or treats, but usually for theft.

The building was a big old wooden frame loft building. It’s still there, and you can see it from the highway. But what was once cheap, cut-up bits of artist lofts are now high-priced condos. It wasn’t that way when I lived there.

The owner was open to our camping out permanently in our loft spaces. Our presence deterred vandals, and he was interested in the artwork being produced—the batik cooperative on the third floor, Alden’s watercolors, and my carving. We were in contrast to the butcher block maker and the coffin factory. Just having lights on in the evening, cars parked in front, and the sound of our evening get-togethers dissuaded casual vandalism.

But Halloween required special effects and efforts. So every year we formed a special Committee of Vigilance. OK, we were out to have a good time while getting it back on the creeps who’d break into our spaces and ruin our lives. We’d ruin their evening.

What was a vandal supposed to do? Call the cops and explain that they had merely been trying to break into the coffin factory when the eerie noises started, the coffins popped open, and the ghouls emerged? That the smelly ichor clinging to their clothes was not doctored mud dredged from the river, but some of the projectile vomit from a ghoul? “Yes, Officer, that’s exactly what happened!” Right!

We were interested in not being a disappointment to our unwanted visitors, so planning started early in October. Ray, from the coffin factory, had a few defective coffins that we normally used as ice chests for beer at our parties. For Halloween, we tricked them out with a device to remotely open and close them, a creepy record player, and a record of weird noise. Someone standing close by would provide other sound effects. Claire’s moans were unequaled.

The real core of our efforts was the ladies at the batik cooperative. They handled the fabric ghouls and ghosts that wafted from the beams. I was on sound effects and miscellaneous blats, whistles, and whispers.

We’d quietly party until the telltale sounds came from the entrance to the coffin factory. That was the usual entry. The other doors were modern, locked, and alarmed. Only the big barred wooden door of the coffin factory was ajar ( on purpose) and allowed entrance. Once in, the intruders were stuck. One of us was detailed to slam and bar the entrance as soon as they were in. Then the real Halloween party started.

Off on the far side of the factory, a low sound like shuffling feet started. Larry had a bellows tricked out to make a low lub-lubbing sound. The coffin in the center of the floor started to shake, moan, and finally fly open. From it emerged a horrifying ghost. The wailing, moans, and coughs intensified. Finally, the sound of a drip, drip, drip emerged. The malodorous ichor slowly poured down on them, and in panic they ran for the timber door only to find it bolted closed. In panic, they followed the only available path through the coffin factory and to the only open window, where they were offered a six-foot drop to the parking lot or the waving and floating arms of delicate-seeming ghouls howling for human blood. They all took the fall.

The real party for us denizens of the loft building started after the last undesired visitor had left from the window. After allowing some time for them to depart, we cleaned up the mess and reenacted some particularly choice moments from our holiday interlude. Extra points were awarded if the intruders cried for mommy, soiled themselves, or otherwise embarrassed themselves.

The next morning, all appeared normal…until next time.