I love October. The changing seasons, the crisp weather, the pumpkins, the hot apple cider. It’s my favorite time of year, especially since I have the house to myself. Standing at the kitchen counter, looking out at the decorated yard, white-sheet ghosts swaying in the breeze where they dangle beneath the pruned trees is just the greatest.
Then, from behind me, I hear it—a long low creeeaaak.
It’s like something out of a horror movie and it sets all the hairs on my arm on end. Goosebumps prickle the back of my neck despite the mug of hot cider in my hands. I turn, half-expecting to see some monstrosity from the Black Lagoon creeping in through the front door.
The door creaks merrily as my husband closes it behind him. He takes off his hat and gloves with a huff. “We have got to do something about that,” he mutters.
I crack a smile. “You should hear the garage door.”
Together, we walk through the house and stand in the garage. Pressing the button on the wall produces a volley of rattling, clanking, creaking, and groaning as the garage door rolls up and comes to a stop above our heads. A few leaves blow into the open garage.
“I guess we can return that CD of spooky sounds that you bought for Halloween,” my husband says. “We don’t need it.”
I chuckle. “I don’t think that’s necessary. I’ll just run up to A.B.E. Doors & Windows and buy a can of garage door lube.”
The wind howls outside, squealing a loose hinge on a shutter on the front of the house.
“Come on, that’s not going to work on all these squeaks and creaks,” he says. “That’s only going to fix the garage door.”
“Not true,” I tell him. “You can spray their lube on almost any moving part. It’ll fix the creaking door, this squeaking garage door, and that squealing shutter.”
“Sounds great,” he continues. “I’ll wait for you here.”
I nod and finish my cider. “Perfect. While I’m gone, you can call the Ghostbusters to take care of that.” Idly, I gesture over his shoulder.
He goes still, his back straight and wide eyes focused on me. “What? What’s behind me?”