Personal Stories: The Mystery of the Halloween Plaque

  

Image generated in ChatGPT, with human additions.

[This post was 100% written by a human being.  Names have been changed for privacy.] 

 

Persistence and time.

That's all it takes to solve a Halloween mystery.

Persistence.  And time.  

(Re-read the above 3 sentences in a Shawshank Redemption-era Morgan Freeman voice for bonus entertainment.)

 

Much like the discovery of DNA, which has helped solve decades-old cold-cases, the invention and proliferation of the internet has helped me solve many a mystery.

There have been relatively simple cases like tracking down some "Halloween Things That Got Away".  Then there are the times it's helped me find a vaguely-remembered Halloween item from childhood like a blow mold Skull Treat Pail. 

 

But this particular story revolves around one of the most creative (and slightly sinister) Halloween decorations I had ever experienced as a kid.  To say it made an impression on me, is an understatement.  I've been trying to figure it out for decades.

But although I can remember how I felt, and SOME of the details of that particular Halloween, the actual text of the Halloween thing (see what I did there?) has eluded me.  

Until now.

A little set-up of what we're dealing with here.

The actual stretch of road in my hometown.  Google Streetview w/some filtering.

I grew up in a very small, rural town.  Houses were separated by large lots of forested land.  There were no sidewalks. There were no streetlights.   

So on a particular Halloween when I donned my black Ben Cooper Darth Vader costume (which had no reflective ANYTHING on it), with my custom eye covers made from black construction paper with holes poked in them (because in my humble childhood opinion one should NOT be able to see Darth Vader's eyes),  my delusional young mind was convinced that I was going to walk in the DARK, with limited vision, on a street with no sidewalks, and no streetlights, to houses to go trick or treating.  My mother --thankfully---quickly disabused me of the idea.

Instead, she insisted she would drive me to select houses to trick or treat.  Not all houses, mind you. Only the houses that she had deemed to be of 'trustworthy neighbors.'

One of these 'approved' neighbors -- the Bambridges--were only a few houses down the road.  They had a driveway that was almost invisible at night due to the lack of streetlamps, and the trees had knitted a canopy of branches over the path.  

The Bambridge's driveway as it appears today. Google Streetview.

Despite the difficult driveway, the Bambridges' trustworthiness (a determination my mother had made based on the simple fact that she had grown up with their son) overrode any navigational difficulties.  I remember our car slowing down, with the station wagon's high beams on, and my mother muttering to herself "I can never find their driveway..."  The trick to locating it was to get the headlights to glint off the single red reflector stuck to the side of the mailbox overgrown with dried weeds.  

Satellite view of the treacherous trek up the driveway.

 

Recreation: going up the hill to the Bambridge's. Photo: Luma AI Dream Machine

 

We made the left, and ascended the gravel (yep, not paved) driveway-- I could hear the stones crunch under the tires as the car pitched backward steeply, pushing my back into the cold vinyl seat, making the climb.  The headlights illuminated nothing but trees on both sides, with blackness beyond.    

 

When we reached the top, there was a small area to pull a 12-point-turn, and then the backdoor to the house.  The house was dark (perhaps the Bambridge's were asleep or out?).  I suited up.  Which for that time of year, in that part of the country meant:  mask on, winter coat off.

 

For a shy, introverted kid, Halloween was both thrilling and terrifying.  The thrill of the prize of free candy, but the terror of having to approach and address strangers with a strong "Trick or Treat!" that could project past the vacuformed mask. 

We walked around to the front.  Knock knock.  Nothing.

We tried the backdoor.  Nothing.  

And then noticed a small sign at the back that said 'come in' or something.

Now here's where it starts to get murky:

Through the backdoor, there was a small mudroom with a bench and on the bench sat a basket of some kind.  The basket was full of candy bars.  

Full bars.  Seriously. 

Image from Luma Dream Machine, then run through Glaze iOS app.

I recall red & white on the wrappers so I'm going to guess there were at least Baby Ruth candy bars (maybe Mounds?).  

A sign was on the bench by the basket that said "Take One."  

I remember the "take one" because I was going to take more than one (they were FULL SIZED BARS!), but my mother scolded me about being courteous and honoring the sign---which, even at that age--- I thought was RIDICULOUS.  I mean--- we were in the middle of rural NOWHERE--up a scary dark hill with NO ONE AROUND and the basket was full of FULL SIZE CANDY BARS.   

"Hey, mom, NOBODY else is making the trek up here!  Nobody!  We barely found it and we were LOOKING for it!" I wanted to say.    

But my mother made me honor the "only one" request.  Which, if we're to believe what we learned in Mike Dougherty's Trick 'r Treat, probably saved my life. 

But I digress...  

Where was I?  "Take one."  Right. 

 

So I took one.  And that's when I noticed it--- a big wood sign hanging on the wall above the bench and basket.  This sign was not blowmold plastic, or artboard, or printed-on-plastic the thickness and feel of a trash bag (I'm looking at you .99 Only stores).  

 

No, this was an actual plaque made of real wood.  Hung from the wall and hand painted.  The sign was quite large (then again, I was quite small).  The writing was very fluid.  Flowery.

This is where the memory fails---the sign said something poetic.  Did it rhyme?  No, maybe not.

It was something like "To all the ghosts and goblins and witches..."  

There may have been a few bat silhouettes.  Maybe there was a jack o' lantern.  A full moon?  Is that true?  I don't know. 

And then...

Then... 

I don't remember. 

BUT--- it ended with a very sinister tone.  I don't know why I remember that part.  But I do.  The ending was scary.   

Even though I must have been only 5 or 6, maybe 7 years old, this memory is firmly planted in my brain and I've always wanted to know what EXACTLY was written on the sign, or if the sign still exists, or ANYTHING else that anyone can remember about this sign.

 

Over the years I've quizzed my mother, and friends from the neighborhood and no one, I MEAN NO ONE, knows what the hell I'm talking about.  My mother's response (the only other witness) was something along the lines of "HOW do you remember this stuff?!" and friends' responses ranged from "No, dude, I didn't go all the way up to the Brambridge's.  That huge hill?  At night?  No way."  to "No, I'd have my mom take me to the new housing developments where you could fill up a trick or treat bag on one cul-de-sac in half an hour."

-sigh-

Housing developments.  Cul-de-sacs.  Yeah, I should be so lucky.

So I tried to let it go, but my creative brain and my Halloween brain kept bashing away at it.  Over time, with each new technological development I tested what I knew--- first there were bulletin boards, then chat rooms, Reddit, social media, internet searches, etc. and yet--- no luck.

 

Then one day around 2016 I just made a decision.

I decided I was either going to crack this case or I was going to make a mental note of 'letting it go.'  Like Henry Jones Sr. telling Indiana Jones to let the Holy Grail go.  You know the scene.

 

So I took it systematically.  I decided to start at the source--- find the Bambridges (if they were still around) and ask them directly.  Maybe they still had the sign?  Pushed into a dusty, unused corner of the basement... a sheet draped over it (do people still drape sheets on things?)... waiting to be found.  Maybe?

 

Through some very strategic internet searching, I found some people listings for a handful of "Bambridges" living near the area of where I grew up.  To use one of many movie references for this piece I was Dr. Richard Kimble, pretending to be a janitor, doing computer searches for one-armed men, and getting down to a very manageable number of "5."

 

Then--- I just started cold-calling.  

I practiced first.  I had to.  Because "Hi I'm looking for the Bambridges that lived on Ketchum Road and had an old wood sign that's become my white whale-- and it had something creepy on it.  This was Halloween by the way, did I say that already? Hello?  Hello?--" doesn't just roll off the tongue.  

On the 3rd name, about 5 minutes after leaving a message, I got a call back.  

 

"Hi this is Bill Bambridge.  Bob Bambridge was my father and he lived on Ketchum Road.  Who is this again?"  

Ohhhh boy.  I'm Quint sitting on the Orca when that first tick-tick-tick of the reel starts.  I've hooked something.  Can't let it get away.

 

Bob and his wife had passed, so there had to be an education of what was happening here.

So I proceeded to give a quick rundown of who I was and, essentially, provide the family tree of the neighborhood until something locked in. 

 

"My mother was Janet Shake.  The Shakes lived about a quarter mile away from your parents' house-- across the street from the Reynolds.  If you go down Ketchum Road and get to the Baptist church, you've gone too far."

 

"Oh Janet!  Right!  Yeah the Shakes would come over for BBQs around the 4th."  YES! 

 

"So who's your father?"

 

"Janet married Scott Santori."

 

"The Santori store over in LaSalle?"

 

"Yep, that's the one!  So they got married and live in the house next door to the where the Shakes lived." 

Ok we're teed up.  Now for the info.

 

"So-- WHAT are you looking for?"

 

I described Halloween, the bowl, and most importantly--- the plaque.

Annnnnnd he had no idea what I was talking about.

 

"Us kids had moved out by then so yeah, I don't know."  

I was crestfallen and he heard it.

 

"Tell you what--- here's my email address.  Why don't you write up what you just told me and I'll share it with the rest of the family and maybe somebody knows about this sign."

Fantastic.  This wasn't a dead end yet.

I wrote it up, sent it off--- and heard......................... nothing. 

 

A few months later, I got an email reply to coordinate a phone call.  Bill was going to be with his sisters and brother and they'd call me. 

Bill put me on speakerphone and I told my tale once again.

His sister immediately said "Yeah that sounds like Dad.  He did stuff like that all the time.  When he retired, he became a painter."

The PAINTED wood sign!

 

Bill chimed in, "He turned the back of the house into his studio.  It was a solarium.  So even in winter, even though there was no heater in there, it was toasty warm and he could paint in there all day."

 

Another sister chimed in "He had this really fluid handwriting.  When we were cleaning out their house on Ketchum we found some greeting cards he had signed and we were marveling at his penmanship."  

The flowing handwriting!

 

Unfortunately, they did NOT remember finding the sign in the house, though.  Nor did they have any idea what the sign may have said.  

 

I thanked them profusely for their time.  They wished me well on my article (I told them that I was writing an article on this experience in the hopes that I solved this Halloween mystery.  And here we are.) 

 

And that was that.  A delightful trip down memory lane.  But I was no closer to an answer... just a few steps closer to my closing the book on this project.

 

A couple more years passed.  

 

Around 2018, I decided to do a quick Zillow search to see if the Bambridge's house had come up for sale.  After the Bambridge's passed and the house was sold, the family that had lived in it had been there for quite some time-- way before Zillow and Redfin and Realtor.com ever even existed.  

 

But me being me, I had been cyber-stalking the address in the hopes that I'd get to see the inside someday.  Maybe that back mud room where the mystery plaque hung?

And on this particular day--- there was a listing!

 

It's an odd thing to virtually walk through a place that you barely remember.  Like pulling up a webpage of a dream.  

But there stood the house.

 

The Bambridge's house (I may have added a filter to make it look more spooky). Photo: Zillow.

As I flipped through the room pics, dots started connecting---there was the solarium used as an artist's studio that Bill had mentioned (see pic).  

And, though it didn't get its own pic, there was the mudroom... way in the back.  There used to be another door separating it from the kitchen (creating an enclosed mudroom), but that was long ago. (see pic)

 

So that was it.  I had semi-confirmation from the family that the sign was something the dad used to do.  

I had an inside look at the house where the sign hung.  That was all I was going to get.  I could let this go.

 

But in 2019 there was a breakthrough...

 

One of the great things about Halloween are the communities of people around it.  Artists, home-haunters, bloggers, Instagrammers, crafters, makers, all posting day in and day out about the season they love.  

 

And in the middle of April of 2019, I happened to be flipping through Instagram and saw artist Gris Grimly's IG post (see pic):

 

Gris was just posting a page from a book he loved called The Haunted House by Gladys Schwarcz & Vic Crume (a book I had seen at my elementary school book fair, and had checked out of the school library at least once).

Book cover The Haunted House.

Reading Gris's post, I had that vertigo feeling that Alfred Hitchcock created and Spielberg used in Jaws.  You know the one...

 “From ghoulies and ghosties 

and long leggedy beasties 

and things that go ‘bump’ in the night, 

Good Lord, deliver us!” 

That was it.  THAT WAS IT!

 

It wasn't "To all the ghosts and goblins and witches" it was "Ghoulies and Ghosties and Long Legged Beasties!"

And there was the sinister ending:  "Good Lord deliver us."

THAT'S sinister, my friend.  

That's the equivalent of "May God have mercy on your soul."

Or basically, "Hey man, good luck with the monsters."

And if you're reading that at seven years old?  Sinister!

 

I couldn't believe it.  But there it was.  It felt right.  It rang true.  

Upon seeing Gris's post, I immediately Googled the text and one of the first images that came up was this black & white photo from the Alberta Historic Places website.  

Braemar Badminton Club Opening Tea, Edmonton, Nov. 8, 1953 - Provincial Archives of Alberta.

And that cinched it.  Seeing those fancy medieval, Blackletter-like, "illuminated initials" on the wall in that photo, with those words... 

That.  Was.  It.  

 

(For the record:  the Bambridges are not from Alberta Canada, and I have no idea why this guy in the photo is plastered with so many beer bottles around him.  But it sure looks like the Braemar Badminton Club Opening Teas were total ragers.)

 

Doing more research on the 'old Cornish litany' it seems like it goes back at least to the start of the 20th century, and possibly as far back as the 1500s.  Dark Land Creative did a blog post about it HERE that gives a quick overview.

Now, I'm aware that there are many deep-cut-loving Halloween addicts who probably already know about this particular Scottish/Cornish prayer.  The litany itself is nothing revolutionary.  I've seen it myself over the years in passing, but it never clicked that it was the missing piece to my Halloween plaque puzzle.  Clues are like that sometimes.  

In fact, once I solved my Halloween mystery it seems like I saw it everywhere. 

 

In a re-watch of John Carpenter's The Fog, "Good Lord Deliver Us" appears in the diary Father Malone finds in the wall of the church.  (See?  SINISTER!)

Still: John Carpenter's The Fog, page in the diary.

 

While looking at some materials from one of my favorite comic book artists, Berni Wrightson, I discovered he had released a limited edition print in the '90s featuring the saying.  

Berni Wrightson 'Ode to a Scottish Prayer' 1990. Photo eBay.

It made quite an impression on him, too, as he detailed on the back of the prints (see pic).  

He wrote, "Great title, huh?  It's an old Scottish prayer.  The first time I heard it, I just knew I had to do a picture of it." So I'm in good company.

 

And there it was again in The Art of Horror book that I've had on my shelf and referenced constantly since 2015.  It was in 'Halloween Expert' Lisa Morton's "Hallowe'en Horrors" chapter for pumpkin's sake (she credits it to an 'Old Scottish Saying').  

And, of course, because it's in the public domain you can find it on postcards, posters, cross-stitching, prints, and even--- wooden signs.  

 

 

Now that I've solved this mystery, I have to wonder what drove ME to have to find this answer?  

Why did it matter?

And I think it's that I found a kinship with Bob Bambridge.  Though we were two people who didn't know each other, separated by decades in age, we were united in one thing:  our love of Halloween.

If I know anything about the man, it's this:  Bob LOVED Halloween.

He knew that no one was probably going to see that sign.  He knew where he lived (not exactly a high traffic area).  His kids had grown up and moved out.  Who cares?

 

HE did.  He took the time to make that decoration by himself.  He put out the full-sized-bars ---reward for anyone who dared make the trek-- and he did it all 'just because.'  Just because of Halloween.

There's a saying that 'friends, people, and things come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.'

And I think I needed to see that sign way back then for a reason.  I built HalloweenThing.com for no other reason than I just wanted to share my love of the Halloween season.  And though I've finally solved the mystery of the Bambridge's plaque all these years later, that experience has affected me for a lifetime.