3 P.M. HALLOWEEN AFTERNOON
Recently, I was listening to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” as inspiration for my Halloween costume for a party I was attending that night, while I doom-scrolled various headlines on the Internet:
“LA Archdiocese record payout ($800M) shows extent of Catholic church child sex abuse cover-up.”
“John Kelly says Trump praised Hitler, is the ‘definition of fascist’ and would like to be dictator.”
“If Trump Seems Crazy Now, Imagine Him Ruling America Again.”
“Invasion of the MAGA body snatchers: How many friends have you lost to madness?”
“70% of White Evangelicals Substitute the Gospel of Christ for a Failed Reality Host.”
“There’s People Who Are Absolutely Ready to Take on a Civil War”
And then it hit me like a brick to the head: It wasn’t just Halloween that was coming soon, but it was the Presidential election that was imminently upon us!
Right about that “boooing!” moment, one of my Facebook friends (a non-Christian) texted me a picture of his neighbor’s yard which was awash with political signs:
“Democrats are Communists and Terrorists—ARE YOU?”
“The Democratic Party HATES AMERICA—DO YOU?”
“If You Vote for the Whore—the Pea Brain—the Slut—Your Special Place in Hell is Guaranteed!”
“Trump, Trump, He’s God’s Man; If He Can’t Help Us, No One Can.”
My friend said that the irony of his neighbor’s horror-show, sign-reveal is that she is a professed Born-Again Christian and appeared to be religious to the core—never missing a Sunday service, Wednesday night Bible study or a church picnic, and never missing an opportunity to “preach the Gospel” to him. He had no idea if she knew his political standing, and although she had been tolerable as a neighbor, recently she seemed to have changed—turning into a witch in neighbor’s clothing. He said: “Hey, aren’t you still a Christian? Can you help me understand how people who preach about personally knowing the God of love can be so misguided and hateful? Do you think my neighbor could be demon possessed?” Under the picture of the nasty political signs my friend wrote the following caption: “If Trump wins, will it ever be safe to come out of my house?”
Needless to say, I was instantly saddened for poor Jesus. I grabbed a bottle of wine to calm my nerves while ruminating on the one major thread the hostile political yard signs, plus the headlines I’d previously read, had in common. A horrible thought thundered through my head—like a specter stomping on my grave: they were all about the failure of so-called Christians to promote the common good. From priests and pastors who hid and protected child abusers for decades, while their victims languished and were destroyed, to White Evangelicals who lent their support to a convicted rapist and consummate liar charged with a total of 88 felony counts and found guilty of 34 of them.
On that note, I fell into a drunken stupor as I incessantly murmured the lyrics to the Prince of Egypt soundtrack to sooth my soul: “…Elohim, God on high, can you hear your people cry? Help us now—this dark hour, DELIVER US!”
10 P.M. HALLOWEEN NIGHT
I don’t know how long I had been asleep, but it was pitch black outside and apparently the electricity had gone out in my house, when the doorbell rang and woke me up. It was very dark outside with an unusually heavy fog hanging in the air. I didn’t see anyone as I stepped over the threshold onto the front porch to look around, but I felt an unshakeable chill as I backed inside my house and slammed the door shut and bolted it. As I searched for a flashlight on the mantle place, a nine-foot glowing specter dressed in a white shroud appeared behind me. His head was crowned with two horns and his face sported forty large glass eyes. The frightening form loomed over me causing a blood-curdling scream to escape from my being that I swear could be heard two states over.
“Shut the fuck up, woman,” said the specter with a British accent as he stifled my screams with one of his ice-cold hands. “Let me introduce myself before you wake the dead with your insane caterwauling. I am the ghost of Hammersmith—at your service.”
“Who? What? Wait a minute, I know about the history of the Hammersmith ghost,” I said in a quivering voice. “I’m no philistine. You’re an imposter. The Hammersmith ghost did not have forty glass eyes. Where did you come from?” I stammered.
“Well, technically from a churchyard in the 1800’s but literally from the cemetery just up the street. I heard you screaming, ‘Thriller bus! Thriller bus! And I need a thrilling Halloween costume toniiight!’ Or was that Michael Jackson (my favorite jam!) singing? As to the multiple glass eyes, it’s my Halloween touch—inspired by the King of Pop. I heard both you and MJ blasting from your cottage. I must say, I got a tad confused.” At which point the Hammersmith ghost broke into MJ’s Moonwalk as he screeched out a few lines of Michael Jackson’s Thriller:
‘And no one’s gonna save you from the beast about to strike
You know it’s thriller, thriller night
You’re fighting for your life inside a killer, thriller tonight, yeah.’
“I was chillin’ behind one of the tombstones—bored out of my shroud, if truth be known—so I thought I’d drop in to see if your wish could be my command,” said a very pleased specter over his dance moves as he grabbed his crotch in a last-ditch effort to imitate MJ. “So, here I am: your ‘thriller bus’—here to take you on a costume run of your greatest fears!”
“Oh, for Halloween sake,” I said. “I was screaming ‘DELIVER US!’ to the God of the Universe because of the evil that is about to descend upon our country and the world if Donald Trump wins the upcoming Presidential election. I admit I was also screaming my frustration about not having a costume for the Halloween party tonight while dancing to MJ’s Thriller, but I did not conjure up you. Go back to Hell or wherever you came from!”
“Ooooh,” said the ghost. “My hearing really has been damaged since my transport from jolly ol’ England. Anyway, since I’m here, let’s go shopping. I’m soooooo bored. If you don’t like the costumes you see, I promise to return you without harm. At least we’ll both have an entertaining night. Deal?”
Before, I could utter a word, the Hammersmith ghost swooped me up in his arms like the Dickens’ Ghost of Christmas Future, and before I could blink, we were off to the graveyard up the street. When we landed, I noticed that the cemetery looked like a Halloween costume boutique showcasing Christian failures against the common good. Each tombstone featured a costume more horrific than the others, starting with the duplicity of Christian hypocrites who were rabid Trump supporters, but who had covered up the abuse of thousands of children through the years by their leadership—all the while lecturing other people about how they should live.
“Oh, Hell to the no!” I said.
“What’s the problem? It is my understanding from reading a myriad of history books on Halloween, that humans wear costumes about the evil they fear the most so as to defuse the horror.”
“Do you want me to vomit all over you?” I asked as I tried to find a way out of the graveyard.
“Okay,” replied the specter moving toward another tombstone. “How about a costume that is in the form of a giant book sporting the title: Project 2025. That seems to be a pretty tame costume to me. Plus, it has been crafted by your fellow peeps—the Born-Agains—the Christian Dominionists!”
“NO, NO, NO!” I screamed. “This Project 2025 shit is no laughing matter. I can’t even wear this in jest. If this actually takes hold of us as a society, we might as well kiss our freedom goodbye. Take me back home before I have a heart attack and join you in your new graveyard digs.”
“Sheesh! You’re so picky,” grumbled the Hammersmith ghost. “Uh, uh, uh… look over there at that tombstone. There’s one that’s all about ‘love.’ Right up your alley. According to Mr. Trump, he has rebranded January 6th as a ‘day of love’ and not a day or chaos, murder, and mayhem. You get to wear a January 6th rioter costume while sporting a massive cross around your neck and carrying a sign that says ‘Jesus Saves’ with a headband that is embossed with the slogan ‘Feel the Love’ as you bash out the brains of anyone who stands in the way of Donald Trump taking over America’s White House. Surely, the irony of this costume should appeal to you.”
I stood before the Hammersmith ghost with my arms crossed in defiance and refused to concede.
“Oh man, this is no fun; I thought you Americans had a sense of humor which is why I moved here,” said the ghost who stomped his foot in protest. “Okay, one last attempt? How about going as FEAR in the guise of twin presidential campaigners—one representing ‘truth and decency’ and the other representing ‘lies and depravity.” You should win the costume prize if you show up at the party as Kamala Harris AND Donald Trump. I would say that is rather unique. It will add a bit of mystery to the night, don’t you think? A ‘will she or won’t he’ vibe. The madness and uncertainty of it all is simply delicious!”
“NO, NO, NO: JESUS, DELIVER ME!” I screamed, which must have done the trick because I was suddenly transported back to my house which was ablaze in lights. It had been a horrific night, but I suddenly knew what costume I was going to wear to the party: A Black woman, a Black mother and grandmother, a Black citizen who loves our democracy, and a Black Christian who still “loves me some Jesus” would go to the costume party as a voter who planned to kick Trump’s ass to the curb and make the coming election a blowout for Kamala Harris. I was confident I would win the prize.
DEAR READER: Hope you enjoyed my Halloween story. I’m actually going to my Halloween party as a cover of my new book House of Oz Undone (a cautionary tale). It is the reimagining of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz which envisions the horror of a society that is on the verge of electing the Wicked Witch of the West as leader of Oz and forever losing its freedom and humanity. You can check it out on Amazon or wherever books are sold.
CHECK OUT WHAT OTHERS HAVE TO SAY ABOUT “HOUSE OF OZ UNDONE” by Eleanor Tomczyk:
“House of Oz Undone is a brilliant venture through today’s societal themes. Setting out to find their home, heart, brain, and courage, a group of unlikely friends dissects the political and religious chaos they encounter traveling down the Yellow Brick Road. Funny, creative, and a little crazy, this book will have readers in hysterics.” —Kathryn Dare, San Francisco Book Review
“The incredible writing of the Divine Eleanor opens hearts and minds to the true loving inclusiveness of our God and dispels the thoughts of meanness, prejudice, and worship of money and power that seems to have taken hold of so many minds In our country today…..Thank goodness for those like this dear woman who not only see so clearly what is wrong here now, but also has the talent to use her creative writing to open eyes and ears to the truth….May God Bless her and the America she seeks to help return to sanity and love….Thank You….(You will love this book!).”—Amazon Review
Eleanor Tomczyk is a memoirist and humorist blogger renowned for her engagingly funny musings as an ex-Evangelical Conservative Christian (emphasis on the “ex”) and African-American Baby Boomer. Embarking on a new career as a storyteller at 60, she draws on her experiences in White Conservative churches. Now in her mid-70s and a wife, mother, and grandmother, Tomczyk has authored books such as Monsters’ Throwdown, Fleeing Oz, The Fetus Chronicles: Podcasts to My Fetus-self, and House of Oz Undone: A Cautionary Tale. Her multifaceted career also spans roles as a singer, actress, motivational speaker, and award-winning voice-over artist.
Want to learn more about the author? Check out: eleanortomczyk.com
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how the hell did i end up here? 