Halloween in the Holler

Halloween was always a big deal and we prepared for it a week in advance. Now some people were all into the rotten egg thing. We considered that pretty lightweight. Matter of fact, the folks running around egging houses and cars normally ran smack into one our roadblocks. Now, anyone who was anyone on the holler knew to stay off the damn road at Halloween. Most people knew how to avoid us, which was, take the “way-back-yonder road.” We switched around from year to year so folks never really knew where we were placing the roadblocks. Our roadblocks were made from just about everything but the kitchen sink and I think we even found an old one in the creek to use one year. Mainly brush, tree limbs and even trees themselves, cut just enough that all we had to do was put our backs into it and they would spread themselves all pretty on the road. And yeah, we put them in curves for the dumbass idiots going sixty drunker than shit. This did not endear us to two distinct groups of folks. 1) The county sheriff and 2) State Troopers. See, before you got to the 3rd holler, we always set a roadblock and had a squealer that would call or radio on a CB that the cops were at the first roadblock so we could hide or otherwise make ourselves scarce. Which normally amounted to hiding on the mountainside and telling everyone to shush. One year though, they got smart. The squealer radios up. No problem, we hit the brush. Ten minutes later the CB squawks again. “Guys, guys!! Hey!” We’re all groaning about that loud fucker and wish he would shut up until he says, “GUYS GODDAMN IT THEY JUST PASSED THE FORK AND ABOUT THREE OF THEM SUMBITCHES JUST GOT OUT AND THEY’RE GOING INTO THE MOUNTAIN!!!!” Can you say, “Oh Fuck!!” We sure did. It looked like a Chinese Fire Drill right there in downtown Appalachia. We popped out those mountains like a nest of rabbits in front of a brushhog. Escape plan B. The Big Mama, who was on our CB radio frequency, throws open the door and says, “Ya’ll better get yo asses in here!!!” So, yours truly and seven other camouflaged, faced-painted heroes are cowering like sissies behind Big Mama’s couch, looking at each other like, “what was I thinkin’”