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handeaux · 6 months

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In Old Cincinnati, Nights Before Halloween Were Packed With More Tricks Than Treats

These days, Halloween seems to kick off sometime just after Labor Day and drags on into the first week of November when the seasonal candy goes on sale and the fake spider webs sag under a load of soggy fallen leaves. In the old days, however, Halloween was restricted to two or three nights and the emphasis was on “trick” rather than “treat.” The Cincinnati Post [27 October 1922] carried the schedule for St. Marys, Ohio:

“Mayor W.H. Swift and Tony Johns, police chief, say the boys can have a good time on these nights if they don’t destroy property. Oct. 29 is to be ‘Cabbage Night;’ Oct. 30, ‘Corn Night;’ and Oct. 31, Hallowe’en.”

Let us, for the moment, leave aside the fact that this invitation was addressed only to boys, and focus on those additional nights. What was Cabbage Night? What was Corn Night? And, depending on where you lived in the United States, what was Gate Night, Goosey Night, Devil’s Night, Tick-Tack Night, Mischief Night, Beggars Night, Trick Night and Damage Night?

Donald E. Weaver, assistant city editor of the Cincinnati Post, explained Corn Night in a reminiscence published on Halloween 1930:

“Corn Night was the last night before Halloween. The kids threw shelled corn against the windows, rang doorbells and soaped a few windows.”

Weaver describes a ritual week of various mischief-breeding nights, beginning with Tick-Tack Night and ending with Halloween. A Tick-Tack (or Tic-Tac) had nothing to do with bad breath. It was a device built around one of Mom’s old sewing spools, screwed onto a long stick so that, when the miscreant pulled a string wrapped around the spool, it sounded like someone rapping on the window. It was the same principle as Corn Night, only louder.

Gate Night is somewhat self-explanatory when you picture the bygone neighborhoods of yesteryear, each little yard surrounded by a picket fence. As Weaver explained:

“The next morning was apt to find Squire Hickey’s gate hangin’ from the belfry of the Town Hall.”

Goosey Night wasn’t much celebrated in these parts, being almost entirely confined to the New York and New England region. The origin of the name is disputed, but most authorities believe it has nothing to do with poultry, and more to do with ghosts. It was a night devoted to scaring nocturnal pedestrians with noisemakers and eerie lanterns.

Mischief Night and Trick Night pretty much define themselves. Nights carrying those formal names were mostly celebrated eastward from here, but the spirit spread throughout the Cincinnati area, as Editor Weaver recalled:

“Widow Green’s cow got so used to being put queer places on Halloween she didn’t seem to mind. But Widow Green, she took on somethin’ terrible, especially the time the boys crowded Flossie into Biddy Harmon’s henhouse, ‘cause Widow Green and Biddy hadn’t spoken for years.”

Cincinnati lies at the southern fringe of an area in which Devil’s Night is observed. The real hotbed of Devil’s Night activity is in Michigan, especially around Detroit where, in some years, the riot squad had to be called out to quell disturbances that fell just shy of urban warfare.

So, how did cabbages get mixed up in all this rowdy mischief? To explain, we must return to the question of gender discrimination and the nefarious suppression of women by the patriarchy. While their brothers and potential boyfriends were out soaping windows and stealing gates, in other words, “having fun,” proper young ladies observed Halloween by attempting to determine who would become their future husbands. One guaranteed method involved cabbages. Don Weaver, apparently ignorant of the matrimonial aspects of the family Brassicaceae, reports only on the mischievous aftereffects of the cabbage ritual:

“The next night after Tick-Tack Night was Cabbage Night, when they swiped what cabbages were left in the gardens, and tossed ‘em onto front porches.”

Not so fast, Donny Boy! Way back in 1875, a correspondent to the Cincinnati Times, who signed his article only with the penname “Nepenthe,” gave the real story:

“Imagine the young belles of our city arrayed in their most-tied-backest evening suit en traine, and the beaux in their lavenderest pants, spotless diamond decked shirt-fronts, and faultless swallow-tailed coats, tripping out into the nearest Mill Creek garden, groping about among the protecting fodder for a cabbage-stalk, which, upon being brought under the gaslight, will presage by its crookedness or straightness the character of their future life-partners.”

Having done its vegetative duty as a marriage predictor, of what use was the clairvoyant cabbage? Hence it was tossed upon the nearest porch, or the porch of one’s prospective father-in-law, perhaps.

Another scrying technique, employed by boys and girls involved three bowls. One was filled with clear water, another with either mud or ashes, and the third left empty. The three receptacles were laid out in a row on a table, the subject blindfolded and the bowls reordered repeatedly. The visually impaired supplicant then felt for a bowl and plunged his or her fingers into it. If they splashed clear water, they would marry a virginal spouse. If they touched the mud or ashes, they would marry a widow or widower. If they found the empty bowl, a lifetime of spinsterhood or bachelorhood awaited.

Why did these antique celebrations fade away? One reason is certainly the expansion of the Halloween season. It was rare, well into the 1950s, for adults to take any part in Halloween festivities. This was a spooky holiday for children only. The very idea of a “sexy nurse” costume was inconceivable. Pop-up Halloween stores that open shop before the Autumn Equinox are very much a modern development.

But the main reason these “mischief nights” are no longer commemorated has to do with active police suppression. During the 1930s, Cabbage Night destruction got completely out-of-hand. The Cincinnati Post [31 October 1940] reported incidents from the night before involving flaming barricades blocking streets and tying up traffic, tool sheds being set ablaze, gangs of ruffians driving around firing rifles at windows in occupied houses, all the windows of a school being broken, piles of garbage filling alleys, multiple cases of flat tires, and dozens of fist fights.

The 1960s brought escalated mayhem as “Mischief Night” evolved into “Damage Night.” The Enquirer reported several outrageous incidents the night before Halloween in 1963, including two serious grass fires in Indian Hill and a foot-deep crater blasted in the Kyles Lane entrance to I-75. In 1986, 59 automobiles had their tires punctured by Damage Night vandals in Brentwood. In other words, the stuff your parents described as “good, clean fun.”

#cincinnati halloween #cabbage night #damage night #mischief night

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thatmomwitchfriend · 1 year

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Just Shelly

Buildings Burn, People Die; But, Love Is Forever

That fateful night, you know the one, Shelley manages to escape with her life. Barely. But, the love of her life, the man she was to marry the very next day, didn't get so lucky.

TW: grief, death, loss of a partner, heavy hints toward necro, disrespect of hallowed ground, smoking, hints of non-con

CHANGES FROM THE ORIGINAL SOURCE MATERIAL, THIS IS A REIMAGINING!!!

word count: 3,962

When Shelley heard the pounding at the door, her heart jumped. She knew it couldn’t be Eric. Not this early. He had gone out to the bar with the boys, his ‘last hurrah’ as the group had called it (much to Eric’s bemusement). She stepped onto the hardwood floor of their apartment, a chill running the length of her spine from the temperature in the air. The pounding came again, more urgent this time. “All right! Hold your horses!” She shouted, rolling her eyes. She knew the door was locked, chained and dead bolted. She had nothing to worry about if it was Eric. She hoped it was. GOD, she hoped it was. She had heard the sirens going all night so far, racing up and down the streets. Chasing hoodlums across the city and back. What else did she expect, living in the city center of Detroit this close to Halloween? “Who’s there?” She called out, damning the shake in her voice.

Silence.

Her cold hands scrambled for the gun that Eric kept in the drawer of the small table in their entrance hall. “I’m armed!” She called out, “don’t even think about breaking in here!” A beat went by where there was nothing from the outside hall again. Then, there it was. She listened as hard as she possibly could. Was that….a giggle? Her hands fell to her sides heavily, relief washing over. “Eric, I almost shot you!” She yelled, placing the gun back in it’s place before undoing the locks and throwing the door wide. In an instant, she was swept up in his arms, a kiss being placed to her jaw gently.

“I’m sorry, love. I had to. A little spook to keep you on your toes before we’re married.” He muttered against her skin. “Can’t get too comfortable in this neighborhood, can we?” Not a moment together after he got home, and there was already someone else pounding on their door. “Who the absolute fuck?” He all but growled. She LOVED that, shivering with the idea of what he had been thinking about before the knock had sounded through the space. “I’ll get it.” He turned back to face the door just as it was viciously kicked open from the hall. A shriek left Shelley, ducking for cover from flying pieces of their door frame. The gang of men that rushed through the door were unkempt, reeked of alcohol and cigarettes, and looked like they had been dragged through a puddle of mud on their way there.

“What do you want?” Eric reached for the gun as the men advanced, eyes hungry and dark as they spotted Shelley cowering behind him. Nasty smirks spread across their faces as they saw their own scenarios playing out, whatever vile it was they had in their minds when they saw a woman they knew they could never touch otherwise. A sharp spit from Shelley at the groups feet seemed to jerk them out of their haze, mouths twisting into harsh grimaces.

“Oh, nothing. Just coming in to check the condition of housing in our fair city, what do you think boys?” Their leader, the pair assumed, started shouting as he strolled around their home. He began tearing things off the walls, kicking the legs off antique furniture they had picked together, ripping holes in the curtains on their windows and drapes on their walls.

“No!” Shelley gasped out, tears streaming down her face more with each act of destruction. “Oh, you don’t want us to fix this cheap shit?” FunBoy turned to look at her from the corner of his eye, a sneer painting his face. “Shut her up, TinTin.”

“Don’t touch her!” Eric roared, charging to fill the space between his fiancée and the men still in the door. TinTin faltered, eyes on the gun in Eric’s hand. But, he was soon spurred by a sharp whistle leaving the mouth of FunBoy. That whistle seemed all he needed to gain his confidence back, striking Eric across the face with a resounding crack, dropping him to the floor in an instant. A scream tore from Shelley’s gut as she tried reaching for Eric’s prone form on the floor in front of her. She barely made it to his feet before she was ripped up by her hair, head jerking back as she was dragged over to the bed and tossed down onto her back.

The next few hours were Hell for Shelley. These disgusting men each had their go with her, twisting her around to their liking, sometimes even so much that she cried out in pain. That didn’t really change anything, all it got her was a crack across the face, leaving a stinging red mark that burned when her tears tracked across each new one. Eric hadn’t moved from his spot yet, not that they gave him the chance. Every time he so much as groaned, he was kicked with the thick heel of a boot, or rammed with the butt of a gun so hard that he passed right back out. This went on for hours, until they were well spent out on sex for the night. Satisfied, the gang of street trash zipped up their pants, turning with devilish glee towards the figure of Eric, still on the floor. “What about this one?” T-Bird asked, nudging him with the toe of his boot.

“Kill him.” FunBoy spat, “do whatever you want. I’m late for a date.” He stalked out of the apartment, a chorus of screams following him out. Shelley begged them to leave Eric alone. To take her instead. She would do anything, but she just wanted Eric alive. She could deal with death if she knew Eric had the chance to keep going. To get signed by a label with Hangman’s Noose, to move out to California and record in a real studio. She wanted him to live and thrive. The others tuned her out, brushing her off with little energy as they brought him to his feet and dragged him towards the big gothic rose window that opened onto the street below.

Shelley couldn’t watch, her fight gone. Her eyes closed, tears still streaming down her face as she looked away. With each gunshot that rang out, she knew she would never get the chance to see him smile again. The crash of glass breaking shattered her out of her stupor as the men pitched the love of her life out the now gaping window. Her feet floated over the mess they had made of her home as she rushed past the pleased fucks that did all of this, her hands slicing open on what was left of the glass as she sobbed down over the edge of the building. Her screams ringing out in the street, mixing shortly with the sound of sirens from just a block over. On her way back across the floor, her feet felt every shard of glass, every splinter of wood and shattered ceramic piece. She trudged down the stairs, floor by floor, and out into the night. It had started raining sometime over the course of her assault. She wasn’t sure when. But the rain was cold. She didn’t mind at all, it cooled the flush from her chest and face; it washed the blood from her hands and feet as she stood there shivering in the pitch dark under the broken streetlight.

It only took a moment for the first car to pull up. She stared blankly at the officer that stepped out. “Woah, there, sweetheart. What happened?” He coaxed her to sit in his back seat, the warmth from inside blasting across her back, bare from where the group had torn her clothing in their fervor. Only in the safety of the Officers presence did she let herself start to cry again. In broken sobs, she recounted the past few hours to him, nodding and rubbing her back gently. Another car pulled up, shortly followed by the coroners van. The sight of that sent her over the edge again, sobbing into the Officers jacket. “It’s all right, let’s get you to the station and we can get you cleaned up and into some dry clothes.” She only nodded, all she could muster before she was hit with realization.

“Wait!” She jumped to her feet, hardly wincing from the glass coating the soles of her feet. “I want to see him. Please. I need to tell him I love him.” She shook as she stood there, waiting for the nod that came seconds later. A call over the walkie talkie was made to let her through, and a path opened up almost immediately. That path, this aisle, gave her chills. She checked the time through the broken glass of her watch to find that it was officially Halloween. How odd, she though. That she would still be taking a walk down an aisle towards Eric on Halloween. A demented giggle bubbled over her lips, tears starting again as she took the rest of the path in three large strides and fell to her knees next to his body. The officers around the couple removed their caps, holding them over their hearts. Devil’s Night was always hard, but none of them could remember one like this in their time with the force. Shelley let everything out, laying over Eric’s chest and gripping onto his shirt. Her hands scrambled for purchase on the slick fabric, blood and rain mingling in the puddles between her fingers and knees. The officers gave her all the time she needed, until a voice called out from behind them.

“Shelley? Eric!” Heavy boots ran towards her as she straightened up and caught the lithe form of the girl racing into her arms. “What happened? Are you ok? He-….” She cut off, catching sight of the man that could have easily been a father to her. “Eric, no…” she searched Shelley’s face, begging with her eyes to be told that this was a cruel joke.

“I’m so sorry, Sarah. I’m so so sorry, I know you loved him, I did too. We do. We love him.” She pushed the girls wet hair out of her face, nodding fast. “Come with me to the station. I’ll tell you what happened. You’re a tough girl. But’ it’s ok. I’ve got you still.” Secretly, Shelley was glad that Sarah had shown up when she did. She was dreading having to tell her that Eric was gone from them. The two held each other in the rain for a few more moments, each having a hand resting on the mans chest that they had both loved so much in life.

~~~~~2 years later~~~~~

“You ready, kiddo?” Shelley called out into the small home she had purchased this past year, right outside the main city limits. She slung a leather jacket over her form, one that seemed too large on her. But, she fell so comfortably into it’s folds and wear. Sarah came out from her own room, zipping her jacket up to her chin.

“Yep, let’s go.” She grabbed her skateboard from against the wall and walked out to the car while Shelley locked up the front door and checked it three times. A habit she had picked up ever since the break in. Climbing into the front seat, only after dropping the board onto the back seat, she settled in and buckled her belt. Out the front window, she could see the hesitation to leave. This always happened, not just on the anniversary. Shelley didn’t like leaving home anymore. You would think things would be the complete opposite, but her attachment to home had only grown since they two had settled into the cottage style home. “You ok?” She called out her still open door. The older woman only shook herself from her reverie and started towards the car, climbing into the drivers seat and buckling up.

“Yeah, let’s get going. I think he said he would be there around three to show us around.” She noted, starting up the engine and pulling out from the driveway, heading back towards the city. She hated traveling into the city, but she had come across an opportunity to turn their old apartment into a boutique. Something she had always dreamed of doing anyway. Owning her own little shop, filling it to the brim with curiosities and gothic fashion. Now, she was presented with the perfect space to do that. Was it odd that she almost hoped for a haunting? “What are you thinking about, Sarah?” She asked, the girl had been quiet since puling out of the driveway.

She only shook her head, smiling over at her caretaker. Ever since her mother had completely abandoned her for that drugged out piece of shit boyfriend of hers, Sarah had grown so much as a person. Shelley was teaching her so much about being a young woman, about life and love. Something her mother could have never done for her. “Just Eric.” She sighed gently. “Yeah, me too.” Shelley agreed. “How about we visit him after the showing?” Sarah brightened up at that, knowing they frequented his grave, so the man had one of the best manicured grave sites in the entire city. “Yeah, he should know what’s going on with the old place.” She chimed. “He deserves it, he would love that you’re doing this.” She said, reaching for her mentors hand. A soft nod was afforded as the car turned onto the street where it had happened. The pair fell quiet as they approached the building, both pairs of eyes trained on the still gaping window.

“How eerie is that?” Shelley pondered, throwing the vehicle into park and cutting the engine. “Well, here we are. You ready?” She caught a quick nod from the younger and, in unison, they stepped out of the car. Sarah came around to meet Shelley and took her hand as they crossed they street towards the hulking building. Up the stairs they went, and fell still at the threshold of the apartment. “Wow. This is…hard.” She admitted, as if she hadn’t wanted to. “Hey, it’s ok. You’ve got this, you’re brilliant.” Shelley nodded and steeled herself as she stepped through the door, still off it’s hinges. The creak of old hard wood floor under her feet gave her chills like she hadn’t had in two years. Her eyes trailed around the still wrecked, but now empty, space. The pair jumped at the sound of a third voice from behind them.

“Glad you two found the place. Can’t have been hard, though.” Thomas, the realtor Shelley was working with smiled. “How you finding it?” He asked softly. He knew this was going to be an easy sell, but he still wanted to be nice to the woman. He knew the story. Everyone did.

“Yeah, it looks rough. But, then, it can’t exactly have been easy to get anyone to come clean out after…” she trailed off. “But yeah, it looks the same. Just empty. You know?” She was fighting emotion. Sarah gave her hand a gentle squeeze and a confident smile. “It’s just hard for her, Tom. But thanks for finding it for us, it means a lot.” She spoke up. The man only nodded.

“Well, let me know when you ladies are ready, I’ve got the contract in my car if you decide to take it.” He pardoned himself, closing the door behind him. The pair walked around the space again, hands trailing over familiar surfaces, warped now from weather and time. Surfaces that held so many memories. Shelley sighed, eyes closing as she recalled so many things her and Eric had done here. A flush rose to her cheeks as she caught sight of the built in bed platform the two had shared, over the course of their love together that bed had seen so much. Sarah followed her eyes and screwed her face into a scrunch. “Oh, yuck!”

A laugh bubbled between the two as Shelley scooped Sarah into a hug. “Thank you. I wouldn’t be doing this if it weren’t for you.” She whispered, breath tickling the hairs at the back of Sarahs neck. “Yeah of course. I’m here for you just as much as you’re here for me.” She pulled away from the hug and grinned at her. “Now, let’s go sign that contract and get to work on fixing this place up to be a shop.” She laughed. “Let’s go!” She grabbed onto Shelley’s hand and started down the stairs to meet Tom at his car.

Not long after, they found themselves with the keys to the door in hand, along with a copy of the contract. Shelley was, once again, the owner of the home in which her fiancé met his untimely demise. And, she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that yet.

The hours found them once again sitting on the patch of grass above Eric’s grave again. Shelley replaced the roses in the vase, deep purple this time. “Hey, you. How’s death treating you?” She asked softly, placing a kiss to the top of the tombstone. “We miss you. But, we have some good news.” She spoke softly, other families were about and she didn’t want to disturb them.

“We bought the old apartment!” Sarah, though, didn’t have as much couth. “We’re gonna turn it into a goth boutique, just like Shelley always wanted!” The youth was practically buzzing. Shelley just laughed, she couldn’t help it. Sarah’s happiness was infectious.

The two spent a few more hours visiting with their lost love before deciding to head home. Upon getting there, though, the door was wide open. No lights had been turned on. But, something was off. Shelley pulled a small handgun from underneath her seat and ordered Sarah too stay put while she checked the house out. She left the door cracked so as not to alert whoever was inside of their presence, if they hadn’t already heard the car in the drive. She snuck inside, tip toeing all the while. Room by room, she searched. Nobody seemed to be there at all, when, out of nowhere the front door slammed shut. Her feet raced to the front of the house where she was met with a sight she hadn’t seen in two years. “Look who I found!” Sarah beamed. And the world went black for Shelley.

~~~

When Shelley came to, the room was dark. But she was in her own bed. A dark figure sat in the armchair by the window, and as she stirred, his head snapped up to check on her. “It can’t be…” she trailed off as she was met with the sight of her fiancé at her bedside. She inhaled deeply, sitting up against the headboard. It was definitely him. His scent; he smelled of leather, tobacco, faintly of electricity if it had a smell, and now of fresh dirt. His lips curved into a faint smile as he watched her, green eyes sparking in the moonlight that was cutting through her curtains. She couldn’t help herself. Shelley launched herself upwards and into his arms, pressing her lips to his. Black grease paint smeared with the desperation of them both. They had missed each other, that was for sure. And the love was still there. Even death couldn’t break that. A groan came from Eric’s throat as he laid her back against her pillows and trailed his lips down her neck, leaving a streak of black in his wake.

Her breath became short as he reached her collar. “Shelley, I’ve missed you.” His lips paused their assault on her skin for a brief moment. Her hands, locked into his dark curls, pulled his face back up to meet hers. His body leaned perfectly against hers, and OH, it was Eric all right. Tears sprang to her eyes as she let out her only desperate question. “How?” He only shook his head.

“I’m not sure.” His lips found hers again, cold, but welcome as always. She had dreamed of him coming back to her. But of course she had never thought that it could or would ever happen. The lovers bodies twisted together as they always had, legs knotted and arms wound. Fingers gripped into each others hair, or nails latched into each others skin. “I want to see them” she whispered between kisses, tipping her head back to allow herself room to speak. “Please, Eric.” He paused again. This time, his stillness wasn’t comfortable. He wasn’t sure that he wanted her to see anything of what had caused his death. But he could never say no to Shelley. He thought for a second before nodding softly. Untangling himself from her was harder than he thought it would be; and, leaning his torso against the headboard, he tugged his shirt over his head. Shelley was entranced.

There he was in front of her again, the skin of his chest bare to her. But, in this moment, that wasn’t her concern. Her eyes followed the curve of his stomach, down to the three puckered scars on his abdomen. Her hands began to shake as she reached out, running her fingers gently over the scars. “Oh, Eric.” She sniffled. “I’m so sorry.” She let out a short sob. His arms were back around her in an instant.

“No, baby. Don’t say that. It wasn’t your fault.” He comforted her as she cried. Eventually, her tears came to a stop and she laid against his chest, cheek pressed to his collar. She decided to take advantage of her positioning and lay soft kisses across the spot she knew drove him wild. He inhaled sharply, muscles jolting under her. “Shelley.” He groaned out softly. “Sarah is in the next room Plus, I’m dead. I don’t know if it works like that anymore.” He admitted, a bit ashamed.

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t love you.” She mumbled, lips still to his cool skin. “Please, just humor me.” She begged. He nodded, rolling to pin her under his body, a knee placed between her thighs and his elbows caging her down, torturously close to his lips. “You want to feel me in bed with you again, is that it?” He asked, nosing her head to the side and continuing his assault of the soft skin below her jaw. She nodded, a soft mewl escaping her lips as her breath caught in her throat. “Yes…” he only smiled down at her and let a hand trail down her body, feeling the skin he had been longing for, for the past two years. Finally.

~~~

Morning sun came streaming through the same crack in the curtain that had revealed Eric to Shelley the night before. But, Eric was gone. The bed was mussed from where he had laid, and the pillow showed proof of his grease paint (she would talk to him about that later) but she could smell pancakes and coffee from the kitchen. A groan left her as she reached her hands above her head, stretching out. She rustled about until she found her pajama shorts and tank top discarded at the foot of the bed, and upon dressing followed the smell out to the small kitchen.

There, at the kitchen table, cigarette hanging between his lips was the love of her life. Half alive? Half dead? Who cared? He was hers again. She smiled and placed a cup of the fresh coffee in front of him. “I thought you quit smoking.” She said, placing a kiss to his cheek.

He chuckled lightly, grinding it out in the empty cup he had from earlier. “Yeah, well. Dying will do that to a man.”

#The Crow #Eric Draven #Fanfic #fan fiction #request #requests #open requests #fanfic requests #Shelley Webster #halloween #mischief night #writing #the crow 1994

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