Ghosts and goblins rule the night

When a one-eyed pirate slurped up a hairy eyeball which had been floating around a large soup tureen, my friends and I each snatched a handful of confectionery plunder before heading for the hills.

At first glance, you might think we were swashbucklers on the high seas escaping Blackbeard himself; but we were attending the church’s annual Halloween party to mark the end of our first year at Bentleyville Assembly of God Tabernacle.

When my big brother John and I hurried down the basement steps to the Sunday school classrooms, an ugly witch with a crooked nose and yellow teeth attempted to place us into her bubbling cauldron.

These minister’s rambunctious little boys squealed loudly while grabbing ahold of each other’s hand as we escaped the clutches of the broomstick flying sorceress in her black cloak and pointed hat.

Dressed in our matching Batman and Robin costumes, these little caped crusaders found a couple of empty chairs on the other side of the large room as we prepared to take part in the big event.

Church members — large and small alike — filtered through the side door of the building dressed in a wide array of frightful garb filling up the room as the witching hour quickly approached.

The arduous task of figuring out the mysterious individuals behind the mask was half the fun of the exciting affair.

While easily spotting our cousin Lori Farrell and her downstairs neighbor Johnny Puskarich in a Wonder Woman and Incredible Hulk outfit, respectively, we had quite a difficult time identifying a little old lady with a cane.

As a matter of fact, everyone in attendance was just as bewildered. Not a single party participant was able to unmask the identity of the mystery guest, who walked into the room shortly before the festivities were about to begin.

“Who could it be,” queried the freckle-faced lad as he leaned forward looking at me on the end of the row of folding chairs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that woman come into our church.”

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that,” I interjected while hunched over with one hand resting against my playmate’s knee. “I know I’ve never seen her in my whole entire life.”

Unable to ignore the grumbling in his stomach any longer, the first grader, who lived on the other side of town, ambled up to the row of tables in the center of the room filled with numerous delicious delicacies.

While reaching for a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies, the brown-haired lad looked like a deer in headlights when he noticed an eyeball floating around in a large soup bowl.

After snatching a handful of the decadent delights, the little whippersnapper made a beeline for the row of seating near the piano in the corner.

“Hey guys,” announced the six-year-old as he came back to our little band of merry makers after slipping me a couple of the sweet treats. “There’s an eyeball swimming around in that soup over there on the table.”

“What are you talking about,” questioned the minister’s niece with narrowed eyebrows and pursed lips looking at the little tyke with warranted skepticism. “Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” remarked the oldest of the bunch while leaning his chair back to look past his cousin at the suspected storyteller. “I think you need to show me that eyeball in the soup.”

“If there is an eyeball in that soup,” I mentioned while looking at my favorite pal with bug eyes after shoving a cookie into my pie hole. “Then someone for sure has to be missing an eye.”

When Johnny marched our little gang of superheroes over to the smorgasbord of goodies, a pirate with an eye patch was helping himself to a bowl of the soup from the tureen with a ladle.

These youngsters watched in horror as the marauding buccaneer placed the presumed gouged out eye into his serving dish and shot us a toothless grin before slurping it up with a spoon.

“Umm… this soup tastes really good,” commented the bearded treasure hunter looking cross-eyed at these little scamps. “But what is this squishy round object stuck between my teeth?”

When our little crew of scalawags saw the eyeball looking back at us through the pirate’s teeth, we ran back to our seats in the corner of the room screaming in terror as hideous laughter echoed in our ears.

After the judges made their way around the room accurately guessing each and every attendee, the trio of officials awarded the prize to the little old lady with the cane since they were unable to reveal her true identity.

All the partygoers at the gathering were just itching to know who was behind all the makeup impersonating the supposed frail elderly woman in the corner.

Once the mystery guest removed the latex skin from around her nose and eyes before shedding the old rags, everyone was astounded to discover it was none other than Pastor Cecil Price.

These guardians of the galaxy broke out into a fit of laughter when we realized who was behind the elaborate disguise designed to fool everyone, including his own offspring.

As all the ghosts, goblins and other creatures from the underworld filled up their plates while making their way around the buffet, these comic book heroes ate until our little hearts were content.

Toward the end of the great feast, these mischievous rapscallions had a good laugh when Bill Basey, the marauder with the tricorn atop his head, came over to show us that the counterfeit eyeball was actually a rubber bouncy ball.

“That is so groovy,” observed John as he picked up the little ball from the palm of his elder’s hand flipping it between his fingers. “This is just like the ball I use to play with my jacks.”

“That was scary fun,” I added with eyes as big as saucers.