"Close Encounters of the Worst Kind"



For twenty-five years, I lived in the upstairs apartment of an old country house. The outside door to the enclosed, unfinished stairway was “guarded” by a dusk-to-dawn light, or so I thought. Born the day before Halloween, all the creepy “business” surrounding it was just a part of life. Except for one thing…

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It was our first summer in the apartment, a warm evening in mid-August. The breeze blowing in the open windows, with no A/C, was our only relief. Sitting, watching the television, we tried to be comfortable. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the open window. I got up from my chair and looked closer; again, a fluttering and scratching on the screen. My heart started pounding, “It’s a bat – DO SOMETHING!” I screamed, and ran from the living room to the hall.

“Get out of my way,” my husband yelled, coming out of the room and closing the door. Quickly I went to the dining room and closed myself in. I heard the attic door open, footsteps running up and then back down, and the door slamming. A pause and the living room door opened and closed again.

I couldn’t hear anything, so I moved from the dining room to the closed living room door. Silence for what seemed an eternity…then a blood-curdling screech. “Got you, you son-of-a-bitch!” was all I heard.

Stepping back from the door, it flew open. My heart was in my throat, but standing before me was a sight that instantly turned the situation humorous.

Wrapped in a bed-sheet from head to toe, stood my “brave” husband, wielding an arrow, a smile – and a skewered bat! I laughed ‘til I cried. He disposed of it, I checked the screen. Sure enough – he got it too!!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Come on, Missy, it’s time for bed,” I said to my nine-month-old daughter, as she rolled over and slid down off the sofa. She was almost walking, but still had to hang on to the furniture. She wasn’t talking yet, but made peculiar, odd sounds. SHE KNEW WHAT SHE WAS TRYING TO SAY.

Slowly she stepped sideways to the end table. She stopped and pointed to the milk-glass shade atop my Victorian lamp. “Tssst! Tssst!” she repeated, shaking her head.

“Come on,” I repeated. She shook her head “NO” and repeated her “Tssst, Tssst!” more indignantly.

I walked over, bent down to pick her up and saw what she saw. Quietly, I picked her up, walked into the hall and slammed the door behind me. “We’ve got ANOTHER ONE!” I called, Missy pointing and “Tsssting” bravely.

Again, he came to the “rescue”. He peeks in the door and the damn thing is flying; back and forth below the rotating ceiling fan. He closes the door and informs me “I need something to knock him down.”

I thought ‘good, no arrows this time!’ I heard him rustling in the kitchen cabinets and he returned with my fish-fillet board. I shook my head; he opened the door, entered and slammed it shut.

I listened and so did Missy, her fist in her mouth hiding a smile, eyes bright and saucer-wide.

“It’s behind the clock, but I’ll get him,” he replied.

“Don’t break it!!” I shot back, as it chimed 9 p.m.

Hearing a scuffle, I waited patiently; then pounding on the floor. “It’s clear, I got him!”

Missy and I looked at each other and I slowly opened the door. There he stood, holding a bloody board and a dead bat – in the middle of my RUINED oriental rug.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Clearing off the TV trays, I heard my 15 year-old son, J.D., open and close the back door.

“Mom?” he called, as he always did when he came home from his skateboarding adventures.

“Yeah, I’m in here, what’s up?” I replied, my 6’3” lanky teenager greeting me with a hug and a kiss.

“Not much, Matt got messed up trying some crazy stunt, he went home, so…” he replied.

I stepped around him and turned to speak, but he interrupted. “What’s that?” pointing to the hallway. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and turned around. Not seeing anything at first, I exhaled. All of a sudden, there it was…flying back and forth, from corner to corner in the hallway; each pass got closer to the living room doorway. The last pass, it flew in!

“Get down and get out; go get your father!” I yelled and we both hit the floor. On our backs, we watched the bat fly around the ceiling fan, in the opposite direction. Leaving its circular route, it flew corner to corner, back and forth and closer with every pass. We both screamed as it dove toward us. Hearing our screams, my husband walks into the living room. Having switched rooms, this room has NO door.

J.D. and I crept on our bellies out of the room; the bat swooping less than a foot above our heads.

To the rescue again; but this time, the fold-up TV tray. He swung several times and missed, like a batter and his strikes. “Smart little sucker, this one!” he said, and swung the tray again. This time it connected, with a thud, a screech and a splat – he drove it into the freshly painted white wall.

“OK, got him!” as he put down the tray. Yes he got him alright – dented the metal tray and spoiled the new paint in the process.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

These were not the only encounters. Very early, in all the years we lived there, I lost track. The dusk-to-dawn light attracted bugs, which drew the bats. The door squeaked when it opened, making the bats dive for it. The enclosed stairway provided good hiding places until the back door into the apartment opened – then “Game On!!”

I still love Halloween and all its trappings – as for the bats, well…to say “I HATE THEM WITH A PASSION” is putting it mildly.


© 2011 Gretchen Steen