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Young Timmy saw Jim walking down the street.  Timmy considered a quick retreat, but steadied himself with a shrug.  Timmy dreaded the sight of Jim, a teenage bully and wanna be thug, who always picked on him.  Jim grew close and sure enough approached Timmy who braced for the possibility of Jim's shove or whatever 'never-clever' thing Jim might say or do.

“Hey, Punk, Lil' Termite Junk, Jr.” Jim began, “Whatcha’ doin’ for Halloween tonight?  Maybe goin' with yer Daddy to look fer things that go clunk-clunk?”

“Gonna trick or treat with my friends on neighborhood streets.”

Jim scowled, “Nah, I don’t think so onna counta how you’re goin’ with me ... to the country.”

“Going where?” Timmy matched Jim’s stare, but not his tone and felt sure his throat swallowed the attitude he'd really meant to promote.

“For a fright – woo, hoo and boo comin' atcha tonight!  Heard word at school that you know a short cut to McGregor’s apple orchard and I wanna go.  ”  Jim stepped closer to Timmy.

“But three people have disappeared from there, they say, and lots more before we were even born," Timmy said, swallowing hard.  "Haven’t you heard the stories?”, he then asked.

Jim finally smiled, “Yep, that’s why I wanna go.  It’s perfect for Halloween.”

“I don’t think so.  They say if strangers sneak up on the trees, they disappear in apple leaves.  I best just trick or treat.”

Again, Jim stepped closer to Timmy, “Tonight we’ll see what’s true.  I know you’re hot for Dana May – ya want me to tell her you cried, scared like a baby?”  Another step closer took him inches from Timmy’s face, “SOOOO?," Jim threatened.

Timmy fidgeted, kicked the dusty ground, he looked down, then up again at Jim’s eyes, “Okay, meet me tonight at first dark on your bike," he said.

“I thought so – see ya in front of the drug store, Shorty.” Jim said, already walking away.

Later, at sunset, when Timmy pedaled up to the drug store, Jim was already waiting on his 10-speed bike.  Jim greeted Timmy with, “Okay, let’s go.  I’ll follow you.”  Timmy said nothing, but nodded and took off with Jim on his heels.

They bicycled thru the uneven ground in the woods that surrounded their hometown.  Timmy was aware of his quick heartbeat telling on his nerves the whole trip.  After a good forty-five minutes of pedaling, Timmy finally pulled up to the fence that surrounded the apple orchard and all the other acres belonging to Farmer McGregor.  In silence, the younger and older boy dismounted from their bikes.  

Timmy turned to Jim, “Do you want me to lead you into the orchard, too?”

“Yep, I’d have it no other way,” Jim answered, his grin looking evil.

Timmy went over the fence with Jim close behind and walked among the apple trees, finally stopping at one tree that stood taller than the others.  When Jim stepped up, by his side, Timmy whispered, “If you climb first and nothin’ happens, I’ll start climbing, too.”

Jim actually snorted, “Man, you’re so nervous, you might bust like a scare-filled tick.   Follow or not up the tree, Shorty, just don’t panic and leave me ‘cause I wanna use your shortcut back home, got that?”

“I do, so if’n I don’t climb, I’ll stay put right here,” said Timmy, still whispering.  

For the first time that night, Timmy looked directly into Jim's eyes and added, “Whatever you do, don’t pick or throw the apples, that’s bound to make the tree mad.  Some people believe that's what makes the trees do bad things to people.  So don't pick them, okay?", Timmy concluded.

“Sounds like a challenge to pick them and THROW THEM AT YOUR BABY HEAD.  I'll do worse to you later if you take off on me tonight,” with that comment, Jim was gone up the tree.  

The night had grown pitch black, even the moon provided very little light this Halloween.  Timmy could vaguely make out Jim’s form as Jim climbed and disappeared into the branches.  Just as Timmy lost sight of him in the tree, Jim began to pick and throw apples at him.  Like a game of dodge-apple, Timmy did his best to duck the constant barrage of apples, until a strange sound cut through the air that stilled him and ended the apple onslaught. 

Timmy remained in his spot, his eyes fixed on the tree.  He heard the strange sound again and ignored his legs that begged to bolt.  Jim was silent.

Timmy kept his stare pointed intently at the tree.   Again, the spooky, weird sound came and Timmy's eyes grew round.  Once more the frightening sound filled the night.  Suddenly, the tree's branches began to sway up and down, then back and forth in frenzied motions.  Timmy knew something unnatural was happening, but stayed put. The limbs ceased their frantic dance revealing Farmer McGregor’s image in the trunk bark, immediately followed by the sound of a nonhuman-like burp and swelling undulations of the tree trunk.  Timmy turned and ran for his bike as fast he could go.

Home.  Timmy’s adrenaline was soaring, he couldn’t even remember his anxious ride home through the forest.  He ran to his bedroom, shut the door and pulled a notebook out from under his bed.  With pen in hand, Timmy opened it to find a certain page.  He wrote three X's beside the last and final entry: 

Sally, my mean teenage babysitter – XXX
Stan, his banker Dad did not give my Dad a loan – XXX
Danny, shot my dog with his BB pistol – XXX
Jim, the awful bully




October 6, 2016
E. Roper's Contest - Halloween
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