Sabbath Monster

The air was crisp and clear on a Friday evening. Bright stars speckled the sky. Dark forms were bundled, some faces painted black. They gathered at the shadowy tree on the snowy lawn. The monster crunched across the snow to hide while a chorus of twenty voices chanted away a hundred . . . ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred! The twenty skittered into the night, intent on circling the large white house and returning to the tree without being absorbed by the monster.

Bit by bit the players returned to the tree. A few had successfully navigated the circle. Most had been caught and become monsters. While monster recruits Daniel and Phillip R. tracked Klara, the final adventurer, in the woods below Old Marlborough Road, I looked at the light in the Murrays' living room and suggested that some monster go and scream under their window.

Of course I was quite unserious. I was more concerned over how the voices in the night might disturb Uncle Tim and Aunt Sharon's peaceful Sabbath evening. But Craig continued the speculation: "Yes, they could go scream; they would be a Sabbath monster." What a ring it has: Sabbath monster! It fits right in, I mused, "Sabbath meeting, Sabbath treat, and Sabbath monster." Sabbath meeting welcomes the day, Sabbath treat celebrates it, and Sabbath monster, um, adds a little bit of excitement.

A new tradition is born!

Happy Sabbath . . . monster.