The trucker dropped me off someplace east of Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma. He was turning south and I was heading north towards Wyoming.

It had been only three days since I began ‘hoofing’ it from Muskogee across Indian Territory. I’d only managed the one ride that took me to the point at which I found myself.

The sky was clouded and darkness was quickly approaching and I knew I had to get my hobo-camp set up before the skies either opened up on me or it became to dark to see. I found an open field near a frontage road and pitched my two-person tent.

In the distance I could hear kids outside, playing and it was joyful sound. I decided to walk towards the sound and see if I could watch them play, as it always made me happy and reminded me of my childhood.

They weren’t all that far from my site and I sat down next to a tree at the side of a gravel roadway to watch. There eight kids sprinted around in a game of tag, seven White and one Black; a girl.

They ran and chased each other until the one street lamp in the area popped to life, then like I had to do as a child, they disappeared indoors. Except the Black girl, who seemed to have no place to go.

As I got up to head back to camp, I heard, “Hey, mister!”

I turned as the girl came jogging up to me. She was a good head shorter than me and was missing a front tooth.

“How long you been there?” she asked.

“About fifteen minutes?”

“I’ve never seen you around here before.”

“No, I’m passing through. Got a tent set up in the field over there.”

“You mean you’re sleeping outside?”

“Yup. Been doing that a lot the last two days.”

“Well, mister, if you ain’t no boogie man or something you can come crash on my couch, if you’d like. Even have some beer.”

Slightly taken back by the forwardness of this child, “What would your parents say about that, you offering me a place on the their couch and beer?”

“What in the hell you talking about, child?” she laughed, “I’m a full-grown woman and can make my own decisions. Shit!”

I looked at her closely, “I’m sorry, but you don’t look any older than 12.”

“Yeah – ‘cuz I’m short. What is it people got against us short folk anyway?”

“Obviously, a lot of incorrect assumptions,” I answered, adding, “And you know what they say when you make assumptions…”

“You make an ass out of you and an ass out of me,” she laughed. “Now go get your shit and I’ll meet you right here.”

A few minutes later, camp site cleared and my back pack hanging loosely from my right shoulder I met her right where she instructed. She introduced herself as Daphne and I told her my name.

We walked to a small house with a nice front porch and entered. In the light, I could suddenly see that she was older and far more physically mature than a 12-year-old.

As we ate meatloaf, mashed potatoes, peas and carrots and drank her beer, I asked, “So why do you go out and play with the kids like you do?”

“So I can stay young,” she answered as she explained how she grew up as the caretaker of her alcoholic parents in Kansas City.

“Never had time to be a kid, till they went home to be with the Lord. So I’m making up for it and I’m staying so young that I even fooled you.”

She said it in such away that I couldn’t help but laugh. She gave me a toothless grin.

After dinner, “The shower is there, if you’d like.”

“I’m gonna go change and then listen to the radio some and have another beer. You can join me after you get some of that road-smell off your skin.”

Somehow, without me hearing her, Daphne removed my dirty clothes from the bathroom and I soaped up and rinsed off. She replace my dirty rags with a pair of running shorts and a tee-shirt that was a size to small.

I put it on anyway, before I returned to the living room and the couch.

Daphne was dress much the same as me, a country-western radio station played low in the back ground and she had two beers setting on the floor amid a gathering of pillows. We spent the next couple of hours talking about our lives, dreams and our hopes for the future.

Once my clothes had dried, we retired for the evening; her, to her bedroom, me to the couch. Minutes later Daphne call out, “Please come here.”

Somewhere in the distance, a clap of thunder echoed as the heavy rain accompanying the lightning, fell rhythmically on roof.

It was about 9:30 at night, dark had jus’ fallen as I shouldered my backpack and dashed across the train yard in Sparks. I tossed my pack into the open box car, grabbed the iron ladder next to the opening and flung myself inside.

It was the first time I had ever hopped a train leaving for where ever it was bound. It would also be my last.

Both my grandfather and my father-in-law had told me stories of how they’d get rides in open box cars and how each had traveled through several states as young men. Being newly separated from my wife and still mourning the death of my mother, I found myself lost and looking for a way to find myself.

The hot valley air soon gave way to a cooler mountain feel as we climbed up in elevation. From the direction the train seemed to be heading I felt certain we were heading east across Nevada, toward Utah and that suited me fine.

Feeling secure as the box car clickety-clack through the darkness, I laid on the wood floor, my pack as a pillow and slipped in and out of sleep. Since I had no light, I couldn’t tell what time it was as we began climbing even higher and beyond West Wendover in the distance.

At first I thought we’d entered a long tunnel, however a quick peek out the door and up told me the train was passing through a rather narrow gorge. I marveled at the idea that man and machine had carved such a long and deep valley through the nearby stone.

Suddenly, red lights began flashing and the train began slowing, slowing and slowing till it came to a complete stop. The man-made canyon had fallen away to a declining grade that seemed to slip away into a valley.

There were no other lights to be seen, beyond the red flashing lights. Curious, I stuck my head out and looked back towards the long snaking body of box cars that trailed behind my place in the chain. Seeing nothing, I turned my head to look towards the front and possibly the double engines, when someone grabbed me by the head and yanked violently.

And as I dropped to the rough gravel siding, the first of several blows rained down on my shoulders, back and side. I did my best to cover my head but that proved to be futile as my eyes, nose and mouth met a steel-toed boot, that kicked, stomped and scraped into me over and over.

“You fucking prick,” a breathless male voice growled, “Think you can steal a ride from my train, do you?”

This followed by several more blows from what I believed to be a pipe or a metal baton. As the baton halted its harsh blows, in came more kicks from the boots of the man, who had pulled me unexpectedly from the box car.

Once the beating came to an end, a flashlight shined into my bloody and swollen face, “I’ve seen you and know what you look like and if I ever see you on one my trains again, I’ll beat you to death and drop you body in a gully so deep they’ll never find your body. You understand me, asshole!”

Unable to see well enough to do anything, I simply answered, “Yes, sir,” in hopes he wouldn’t strike me with the baton again. “Now get off my fucking siding you piece of shit,” he shout as he kicked my in the rib cage once again.

With the wind knocked from my lungs, I crawled as quickly as I could over the hard gravel covered ground and towards the downhill grade I’d seen before I being attacked. As I made the softer dirt and the first of the sage plants, my back pack came flying out of the darkness, slamming into my head and shoulders, knocking me to the ground, where I laid as if dead.

In the distance I could hear the man who beaten me talking into a radio or perhaps a cellphone, “Yeah, we’re all clear, here. Continue on.”

His boots crunched in the gravel and slowly faded away as the train lurched forward with it’s customary ‘thunking’ as each box car violently joined the railed convoy. To this was the added sound of a vehicle starting up and slowly driving away, it’s headlights dancing off the top of the sage above where I lay assessing my injuries without moving.

It took me sometime to finally gather the strength to push myself to my knees. I was still light-headed, so I remained on all fours, my head resting on my blooded hands and forearms.

Once I felt I could stand without toppling over, I did. It took me another couple of minutes to slip my back pack on, before heading towards the valley below.

The walk was more like a slog, a painful forced march with no idea where I could be headed. I stumbled several times, fell once, but made it down to a water flat that I would never have seen from above.

It was there that I did my best to clean the blood from my bruised face, my swollen nose, shredded lips and black-eyes. I lifted my now torn shirt and looked as best I could at the lines of bruising left by the baton and the frightening sight of boot laced both burned into and bruised on my rib cage.

For two days I leather-tramped along the valley floor, following the pathetic flow of water as it wound from one side of the gorge to the other. It was my life-line as I knew it would eventually lead me back to civilization and perhaps some margin of safety.

Finally, I came upon a road, where I sat down to rest. Minutes later a green and off-yellow truck came rattling down the rutted dirt track, the driver slowing to a stop where I sat.

“Son,” the old man behind the wheel called out,” You look like hell. You need a lift?”

“Yes, sir,” I grunted from pain as I hauled myself to my feet, “I certainly do. The nearest paved highway, if you please.”

“Ben,” he said, introducing himself.

“Where am I?” was my response.

Ben gave me a strange look, “About five miles this side of the Utah state line.”

“Thank you,” I responded, “Good to know.”

We traveled in silence for a few miles, but curiosity got the better of Ben, “So what the hell happened to you, son?”

I tried to smile, “I got my ass kicked,” wincing at the pain of my cheeks rising.

“Hopped the train?”

“Yes.”

“Seen it before,” he said. “Johnson is the Bull in these part. Heartless, mean son-of-a-bitch even when he ain’t on the job. One of the worst you could happen across.”

I didn’t reply, didn’t feel the need.

About five minutes later, as we rolled into a gas station, I finally said “I won’t be jumping on trains ever again.”

“Probably a smart move, son,” Ben smiled.

He came to a stop and I got out of the truck, “Thank you for stopping to see if I was alright and for the lift, Ben. Much appreciated.”

“You be careful,” he said as I yanked my pack from the bed of his truck, “And God speed, son.”

Thoroughly battered I entered the store of the station and asked, “Can I use your restroom to clean up a bit, if I promise to clean up after myself?”

The woman behind the counter, stared at me, eyes-wide as she nodded her head yes and handed me the key. As I walked to the back of the store, I caught my reflection in one the glass panes of a cooler.“

“Holy fuck!” I thought, “No wonder she looked at me like that.”

Twenty-minutes later, I had removed the majority of blood that had found it’s way into my hair and beard, wiped the dirt from my neck, picked the small bits of gravel from the palms of my hand, and wiped down the sink area before stepping out of the restroom.

Waiting for me were two Toole County Sheriff Deputies. The woman behind the counter called them after seeing my condition.

After checking my ID and calling my information in, the taller one asked, “So, what happened to you?”

Thinking fast, “I missed a step and fell down a steep and rocky embankment.”

“Really?” the short questioned before adding, “Looks like you’ve been assaulted.”

“Nope,” I claimed, “Jus’ clumsy is all.”

“Do wanna ride to the hospital?”

“No, thank you,” I said, “I’m fine – it jus’ looks worse than it is, deputies.”

“Okay,” the taller responded. “Can we give you a lift to the line. There’s a Greyhound station in town that’ll get you home to Reno.”

“That would be great,” I replied.

It was the taller deputy that drove me into Nevada, where he dropped me at a casino near the bus station.

Shaking his hand, I said, “Thank you and be safe.”

“You be safe, too, and you’re welcome.”

I never went to the bus station, Instead I asked a westbound trucker if I could hitch a ride and within minutes we were on our way.

A couple of days after Halloween, my six-year-old neighbor came over and sat on the sidewalk beside me. He wanted to tell me all about his ‘big adventure’ on the night of the annual candy-grab.

The day of Halloween, he and his brother saw me as I was heading across the street to check the mail. They each wanted me to know what they were going as that evening.

As they were getting ready to head inside to get ready, the six-year-old ask, “So why do I have to say ‘Trick-or-Treat.’”

In as simple terms as possible, I explained that ‘Trick-or-Treat,’ should be asked like a question, that way the people whose house he was at, had a choice – either give him some candy or be tricked. I could tell immediately that the gears in his head were moving and steadily picking us steam.

“If they want me to ‘trick’ them, what do I do?” he asked.

“Well,” I instructed, “I used to put a couple of rocks in my pocket and if I had to trick someone, I’d hand them a rock and say, ‘Here’s some rock-candy.’”

The smile that came across the boy’s face was beyond exceptional – beaming from ear-to-ear. Last I saw of him that night, he was searching the gravel drive between our houses for those perfect stones.

And that brings us back to our sitting on the sidewalk, two days later chatting about his evening.

“Here’s 50-cents,” he said as he held out two quarters for me.

“What’s that for?” I asked, smiling but not wanting to take his money.

“You told me about the rocks and when I did it, the man laughed and gave me a dollar. That’s your half,” he explained.

“No,” I replied, “You did all the work. I jus’ gave you the idea, so you keep it.”

I could see his feelings were on the verge of being hurt, so I offered, “But since you got your candy bucket here, I would love to have a piece of candy,” as I pointed at a small chocolate bar.

“Here,” he said, as he happily handed me a fun-size Milky Way bar.

It had been a sleepless night for Toby as he wandered through his family’s home worried. Every few minutes he’s look out a window and confirm that the shadowy figure was still there, standing at the edge of his perfectly manicured lawn.

An hour before sunrise, he’d finally had enough. He went to his study and unlocked the wood frame case and withdrew the long sword with the name he could never correctly pronounce, and which his great-great grandfather had left his great-grandfather and so on.

Though a hand-me-down, it was still razor-sharp and he intended to test that sharpness if necessary by chasing off the demonic menace that was now haunting his front yard. The thing had been there since the night before and as Toby saw it, “That’s long enough.”

As Toby headed out the door, he grabbed his deceased father’s old walking stick. He’d use it as a cudgel before resorting to the sword, besides he simply wanted to get its attention.

“You need to leave, now,” Toby announced as he stepped towards the being. “You chased everyone away last night. I got a whole bunch of candy and none of it was given out because of you!”

The figure said nothing as it lifted a hand and pointed at Toby. The gesture, meant to stop the man from approaching, didn’t work.

“You forget,” Toby stated as he continued forward, “You said I was to stupid for words the last time we met. You spoke it into existence!”

With that Toby swung the walking stick at the things head. However, it deflected the blow with its arm, cracking the wooden shaft in half.

Without missing a step, Toby moved to the right as he drew the sword and flicked it through the midsection of the figure. It came in a single move and came so quickly that the shadowy man had no opportunity to react to it the blade’s bite.

Surprised, the mystery man grabbed at his side. But it was too late, as his upper torso separated from his hips and flopped on the ground.

Next, Toby dissected the beasts head and neck from it’s shoulders and then did the same with the legs, feet, arms and hands. Then, as he’d practiced for years, he sheathed the sword without looking.

Not a sound could be heard from the figures mouth as Toby picked up the remains of the cane, followed by the torso and head. Angry, Toby began monologuing as he dragged everything around the corner of the house and into the back yard.

“I told you and your kind to leave us alone, but no! You refused to listen and then you force me to do crap like this,” he complained as he plopped the torso on the ground.

He placed the thing’s head in the grass near the torso, continuing to talk all the while: “You scared off all the neighborhood kids, gave my wife and daughters nightmares – so this one’s on you Vlad – or whatever you’re calling yourself these days – I don’t care and in a few minutes it ain’t gonna matter anyway!”

As the torso lay at his feet, Toby drove the shattered end of his father’s cane through the center of the rib cage, where the heart should’ve been. And using a rock from his flower bed, he drove the piece of wood into the earth, making certain that it was deep and secure.

In the darker edges of the yard he saw other shadowy figures moving about, looking as if they wanted to attack him and rescue their master. But Toby had planned for this, timing his violent encounter with the rising of the sun.

He laughed, “Rising of the sun…that’s funny as hell. Tora, tora, tora! You’re gonna watch as your body goes up in smoke and ash, you dumb bastard!”

As he said this, Toby noticed how all the body parts he’d hacked away in the front yard, had managed to wriggle their way to the dismembered body. Again he laughed, “And right on time!”

As he said that, a sliver of the sun’s orange glow showed itself from between his home and the neighbors. Knowing that they were in danger themselves, the figures tucked within the yard’s shadows began to fade away to where ever they came.

“Let this be a lesson to all of you – and don’t come back!” he shouted as the torso and it’s limbs began to smolder, smoke and finally burst into a white-hot flame, only to disappear in a cloud of ash.

Toby turned and pointed at the head, as it sat in such a way that it would be last to go and was now beginning to show signs of combustion, “Go back to Hell and tell everyone to leave me alone or they’ll get some of the same!”

In an instant, the head exploded into to a ball of white-hot fire, followed by a cloud of ash. Toby looked around as the sun rose higher, then grabbed the garden hose to rinse away the residue of this epic battle.

Later that week, Tobiachi ‘Toby’ Edo received a letter from his homeowner’s association informing him that his Halloween display had earned first place in the ‘scariest’ category and that he should come to the office and collect his trophy.

“You certainly bring spice to my life,” her husband stated.

“Oh, you’re so sweet,” she said before asking, “What kind — pumpkin spice?”

“No,” he answered, “Old Spice.”