Fruit Flavors of Terror

It was not a stormy night. The clouds had poured themselves out for what seemed like days and finally retreated from a good bit of the sky. But it was very dark. The moon was on the wane and the wind was whipping off the water something fierce. Blackberry bushes churned as I walked the length of the unlit gravel path. It led from Daphne's, the usual Sunday evening watering hole, eventually to the long ramp that comes up over the train tracks and down to the boardwalk on Bellingham Bay. The weekly routine is to walk the length of that boardwalk after Daphne's, to stretch my legs, feel the breeze off the ocean and get certain things straight in my head about the week to come. That night I chickened out. Nerves and imagination won. It's embarrassing to admit the thing that put the fear in me was about $7 worth of candy.