 A Little Birdie Told Me I was sitting at my computer, staring out my little window again, just like last month when Birdie found me. "Did you ever hear what Burton Rascoe said?" Birdie peeped. "I don't think so. Who's Burton Rascoe?" "He's the guy that said: What no husband of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window." ***** Burton Rascoe (October 22, 1892 - March 19, 1957), was an American journalist, editor and literary critic of the New York Herald Tribune. Born in Fulton, Kentucky, Rascoe grew up in Shawnee, Oklahoma. In 1922, he became literary editor of the New York Tribune. He continued in that position until a merger turned the paper into the New York Herald Tribune in 1924. The writing and editorial staff he assembled included writers who became well-respected: Isabel Paterson and Will Cuppy. Rascoe continued to hold high-profile editorial jobs in the field of literary criticism and to write books of his own about literature and authors. His best-known work, Titans of Literature, appeared in 1932. ***** Well...that took me aback and aforward too. He was born on the very same day, October 22, as I was. I was going to say, I must work a lot because I stare out the window like there's no tomorrow. But then I remembered Birdie's very words: If you are ahead, shut up and stay there. So that's what I'm doing. "Okay, Pee Wee," Birdie said, "here's your assignment for October's Newsletter. Share your Halloween story with your readers, and be quick about it. Billie doesn't have all day to get this thing together." One rule: After reading A Trick and a Treat for Mr. Shortell, never underestimate anyone that is a hundred years old or you might have to put your money where your mouth is and that would look very strange to other people.. "Thanks Birdie." Well guys and dolls, here it is. This Halloween story was written long ago and Birdie thinks it will be fun to share it with you. I was raised in Wheeling, West Virginia and I remember my childhood days vividly, with much love. This story is about Mr. Shortell who lived on Washington Avenue, four houses from my Grandparents. The Restless Rascals of Washing Avenue made the Dead End Kids look like sissies, but this time we were the ones who underestimated our foe.
. A Trick and a Treat for Mr. Shortell by S.K. Hamilton
The bewitching hour drew near. Except for the shimmering reflection of the almost full moon the night was dark, cool and full of mystery. Shadows of a thousand years rose again unseen. Voices whispered in the trees, "Tonight is Halloween!" A perfect night for goblins, witches, vampires and ghosts... and...and... Mr. Shortell. Mr. Shortell, better known as the cranky, crabby, old man of the neighborhood, was as ghoulish as Halloween itself. He complained about everything from no rain to too much rain. We supposed he was jealous because he and his wife had no children or grandchildren of their own and as a result their lives were dull and boring. Poor man. No scary costumes to make, no one to eat candy with, no one to share spooky stories with. And his poor wife? The Restless Rascals of Washington Avenue felt sorry for her. How she lived to be a hundred-years-old without grandchildren we'd never know. Anyway, our plans were fixed for this Halloween night. Mr. Shortell would be at the top of our trick list. Actually, he was the only one on the trick list. The war was on. Our costumes were beautiful. Well...beautiful is not the word for the costumes. They were, different, like Mary Ann's for example. She had made gorgeous white, sparkly angel wings and tied them to her back. Along with the wings went two red horns secured to her head and a red long sleeve jacket. Time past fast while we collected candy in our bags. Finally we headed home. But the best and worst part of Halloween was yet to come. The Shortell's house was last on our list. No outdoor lights meant only one thing. Halloween unfriendly. Well...we'd show that old crank. "Are ya ready." Billie called out. "Yea--let's do it." Bo whispered. With a ball of string in hand, Billy, our Rambo, quietly and with much gusto crept up the six concrete steps to the top of the porch. Houses in the 1940's had concrete steps and porches especially in West Virginia. He hesitated, listening for impending danger before taking the final walk to the front door. He tied one end of the string around the screen door handle, and threw the ball over the edge of the porch to Ann and I. "Dang it, Billy, you hit me on the head." I said a bit too loud. "You could have killed me." We giggled. "Be quiet," whispered Billy, tiptoeing down the stairs." Don't be such a baby." "Oh, thank you, Billy." "How come you're being so mean to Billie?" Ann said. "Why do you think? He hit me in the head. And Daddy always told me to say thank you, even if I didn't mean it." "Oh, Okay." Ann paused. "I love to see a plan come together, don't you? " "Yeah, me too." Bo, our signaler and lookout who went to Military school, (another General Patton,) squatted behind the hedge at the sidewalk so he could see Mr. Shortell when he opened the door. Making some sort of a weird noise (supposed to be a birdcall but sounding more like a chicken), he signaled for us to begin. Ann and I looked at each other. "You ready?" She whispered. "Yup. Let `er go." She pulled on the string making the screen door open then slam shut with a bang. On the third bang Mr. Shortell came tromping down the stairs. When the lights came on we stopped. Ingenious, don't you think? Mr. Shortell pushed the screen door open and waved his fist in the air. Thank the angels he didn't see the string. "You kids get the blazes out of here before I call the law. And believe me, I will call this time." He disappeared up the steps to the second story. "Do it again. Go!" the word from Patton rang out in the dead of the night. Again Mr. Shortell came huffing and puffing down the stairs, hollering threats. We were as quiet as a graveyard in broad daylight. We just knew he'd think we were gone. Wrong! The tables turned on The Restless Rascals. Suddenly, from out of nowhere, creeping down the street came the scariest thing we'd ever seen.
***** If you are wondering how this story turns out go to my website to finish it. www.willow-walk.webs.com If you don't like it then don't go. Of course I hope you do. Like it and go, that is. Once again, it's time to go for another month. Thanks for visiting us and until we meet again, remember, always be nice to your dog and cat. S.K. (aka Pee Wee) www.willow-walk.webs.com peewee2234488@yahoo.com | 
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