The following comes from a longer short story I wrote several years ago called, Halloweenie. You can hear the full story on my podcast, Joe Cuhaj's Shorts:
Autumn
is undoubtedly the most spectacular of seasons. The air is crisp, and the
leaves on the trees weave a brilliant tapestry of red, gold, and orange. The
wind begins to pick up, and the leaves flutter to the ground, blanketing it
with their brilliance.
I
clearly remember those days as a kid when mounds of freshly raked leaves piled
high into impressive mountains beckoned us to dive in.
It
was one such fall day. Dressed in our best red and black plaid wool jackets, my
buddy Badger and I casually walked down the street heading for town to do a
little shopping—a little candy, a comic book or two, and maybe a New York egg cream.
Only a few houses away from mine, we saw it—the biggest pile of leaves we had
ever seen in our lives.
Without hesitating we bolted,
running at full speed toward the pile with every intention of doing a swan dive
into it, but just as we were about to leap into the air to nosedive into the rainbow
of colors, a voice boomed from behind a tree. “Hey! Knock it off, you punks!”
It was Mr. Schwartz. We were busted.
Mr. Schwartz was the perennial “Best
Yard of the Year” award winner. He kept his property immaculate, almost to the
point of getting on his hands and knees with manicuring scissors to trim blades
of grass. There was no way he was going to let a bunch of rogue kids mess up
this perfectly groomed front yard. But that pile of leaves. It just had to be
conquered.
We stopped short of the pile and walked
off, acting innocent like we were just passing by—our hands in our pockets,
happily whistling and humming. Of course, Mr. Schwartz knew what we were up to,
but we still had to try.
After
walking a good distance from the yard, Badger and I spun on our heels and raced
back towards the leaf pile, but Mr. S. was right there to greet us. He snarled
angrily at us. His eyes were demonic red.
We
ran off, circled the block, then reversed direction and headed back the way we
came trying to confuse him, but once again were denied as Mr. Schwarts bolted
from the house and chased us off again.
As
the sun was setting, I walked up by myself to Mr. Schwartz’s property line.
Digging my left toe into the ground and crouching like a sprinter, I sprang
from the starting gate and raced toward the pile.
Once again, Mr. Schwartz was
watching from his living room window and flew out the front door with every
intention of intercepting me. Before he could catch me, the entire gang, all
seven of us, stormed the yard from every direction. It was a coordinated, blindsided
attack that took Mr. S. by surprise. He couldn’t keep up with all of us. As he
darted from one side of the yard to the other, Badger and I raced for the pile.
As
we jumped into the air, our buddy Creep ran in past us with Mr. Schwartz hot on
his heels. There was no stopping the inevitable. Badger and Mr. Schwartz
collided, and both tumbled into the pile, showering the yard with leaves.
The rest of the
gang joined them in a beautiful exhibition of leaf-pile synchronized swimming. As
quickly as it began, it was over, and we disappeared, leaving Mr. Schwartz
lying on his back in what was left of his leaf pile, looking up at the ever
increasing twilight, knowing full well he had been beaten.
