PART 4

During the whole trip to the village lost in the middle of nowhere, I didn’t speak once. Sat on the passenger seat of the car, I was living a real nightmare. HAL-LO-WEEN weekend, I kept thinking, spent in God-Knows-Where at AUNT MAUD'S. HELP!!!

Aunt Maud is an elderly relative that we see two or three times a year. She lives quite literally in the back of beyond in a badly-lit house that smells of wax and cabbage. Needless to say, there is no computer, gaming system, or anything else that may be even remotely interesting for anyone too young to wear dentures. She screams in my ears without warning, pinches my cheeks every five minutes and honestly thinks I’m still six years old. It’s not that I hate her, of course not. It’s just that we aren’t made to spend a lot of time together, me and her.

And if only there was just Aunt Maud to put up with…

My dear mum’s genius idea was to take me with her for her traditional journey to visit the graves of the many lost souls of her enormous family on All Saint’s Day. Whether you like it or not, she had warned, we are going to Auntie’s house on the afternoon of the 31st, we will go around the graveyards the day after, and we won't come home until the Sunday.

I had nothing against visiting graveyards as long as it involved playing Are you of afraid of the dark with my friends. But what I had to look forward to had nothing to do with having a good time, quite the opposite. Even worse: I could forget this year’s Halloween plans…

Thanks mummy dearest, I owe you one, I muttered between my teeth as I stared at scenery without seeing it.

She honked at a cyclist who wasn’t getting out of the way fast enough, made the Clio’s engine roar uselessly, and looked at me and my obstinate silence from the corner of her eye:

– Please stop sulking.

She put a cassette in the machine, and the sound of opera – I hate opera – filled the vehicle. Great, I thought. Absolutely great. If I had been alone in the car, I think I – exactly like the singer of the cassette – would have wailed like a newborn baby.

I won’t tell you about the rest of the trip, it wouldn’t be worth it. Let’s just say that it felt never-ending.

We arrived at the collection of sad-looking shacks that pompously called itself a village (and that I bet isn’t on any recent maps) after a ride on a bumpy little road. We turned at the corner of the graveyard and the Clio took us up the alley that went all the way to Aunt Maud’s house.

She was resolutely waiting for us on her doorstep, stuffed in her eternal purple polka-dotted bodice. My mum got out first, and Aunt Maud welcomed her with many Oh’s and Ah’s and passionate hugs. I got out, making myself as small as possible, but the kind old lady had better eyesight than I had hoped, she left her first victim to rush towards me and grab my arm:

– Oh it’s my dear little Charlipoo! (kiss) Come here and let me hug you! (kiss)

I tried to escape, but despite her age, Aunt Maud had one hell of a grip. She must have been a wrestler or a judo master in her youth.

– Hi Auntie, I finally managed to say.

My attacker grabbed my cheek and pinched it liberally.

– And he still has his baby face, my little Charlipoo!

Then, without giving me a chance to recover, she dragged me into the house:

– Come have a bowl of Nesquik. You can go have fun after: I bought you a colouring book.

(Go to PART 5)