♪♫MADNESS MUSIC MONDAYS♫♪

I call this weekly feature, Madness Music Mondays, because my last name is Maness, which sounds a lot like madness, and I am considered kind of "mad" (CrAZy) in certain circles...well...in ALL circles...and squares...and rectangles!

Now, think of the scariest music you can remember.
(Not “Casper” music). Slow, eerie, spine chilling music.
(“Exorcist” music is too scary). What I’m trying to explain is
almost as scary as the “Exorcist” music.

Picture a dark, windy night where the barren trees move
to and fro like wandering lost souls, and the dead leaves blow
like demons moving closer for the attack.

Imagine yourself walking slowly down Dixie Drive
(crunching the gravel) to the end of the street. Not a dead
end. I wish it had been a dead end. If it had been a dead end
I would never have had to walk past the place, but it was the
last house on the street; but not a dead end. I’ll draw a
picture later and you’ll understand.

Then you see it. (Really, really loud, really scary music
like, da dummmmmmmmmm!) The “Witch’s House”. A
“Witch’s House” on my own street.

Every house on the street was the normal, ranch-style
house, but the “witch” couldn’t have an ordinary house. Oh,
no! Her house looked exactly like the “Psycho House”.
(“Psycho” music). The house was terrifying; and right on my
way to school, and on my way to Burger Bar, the bowling
alley (we never bowled, we just hung out), Ben Franklin and
all the essential places.

This part is important. You are slowly walking up the
“witch’s” driveway at one minute ‘til midnight. You see a dim
light from the upstairs window, and the silhouette of a
grotesque old woman in a rocking chair. Shaking visibly, you
are startled by the sound of the old church bell striking.
One…two. You feel the sweat (we hope it’s sweat) running
down your legs. Three…four…five. You get a cold chill when
you look up and the old woman is missing from the window.
Six…seven…eight…nine. All of a sudden, the wind picks up and
feels like ice against your skin. Ten…eleven. Something draws
your eyes to the chimney at the very highest point of the
house. TWELVE! You hear an indescribable shriek and see a
sight that will dwarf any nightmare you could ever imagine.
The “witch”. The hideous witch in a ball of green fire, flying
from the chimney and laughing a bone-chilling laugh. You pray
she doesn’t see you, but your eyes meet her white-hot, fiery
eyes.

She is not riding on a broom, or a headless horse. No,
something much more terrible. She is on a horrible, gigantic
white goose, with red eyes. She keeps repeating over and
over, between shrieks and stuff, “your goose is cooked, your
goose is cooked!”

Now, I never experienced this myself, but all the kids
said this is what happened every night at midnight. I tend to
believe it because the evidence was all there. She did have
big geese in her yard. We all thought they were really
children she had changed into geese. The old woman had to
be at least 200 years old. (Her shoes gave it away, you know,
those black high-tops with the buttons.) And here’s what
really gave it away. She had no car!

They say, she would eat a goose every Friday which
meant she needed more children to change into water fowl.
So, all the kids would run, screaming, by her house every
Friday. That’s the end to this little spook story. Didn’t it
give you goosebumps?

When you think about it, I guess that’s the only way a
200 year old woman is gonna get a goose.