{"id":6063,"date":"2020-04-24T18:37:27","date_gmt":"2020-04-24T18:37:27","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/?p=6063"},"modified":"2025-05-12T20:07:02","modified_gmt":"2025-05-12T20:07:02","slug":"we-dont-talk-about-hell-night","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/?p=6063","title":{"rendered":"We Don’t Talk About Hell Night"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

\u201cThe tap on the shoulder was heavy this morning<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In my community, the fog is always heavy and sits low the day before Halloween.  It brings with it an energy that the members of our dale dread and recognize.  It is the harbinger that won\u2019t let us forget that tonight Hell Night comes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To be clear, I want to set the record straight that this tome is not meant to be slanderous or libelous in any regard.  And I will swear to my dear readers that everything here written is pure fiction.  I will swear to this to my dying day, even under the threat of perjury.  I don\u2019t imagine I would normally perform well under the threat of torture and interrogation, but I can assure you, resolutely, that all here written is that of my imagination and any truths or testimonies spoken to you to the contrary are of the realm of coincidence and hearsay.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cWe Don\u2019t Talk About Hell Night!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

To be clear, once again, Hell Night is something one cannot talk about in our community.  Not necessarily because it is forbidden by some authority.  No, it\u2019s just an understanding driven by the fact that any time anyone attempts to document or catalog the events of Hell Night they, well, meet an inglorious end.  Surely these demises are of the realm of coincidence, but due to the rather consistent and inevitable track record of demises, one must be careful in conjuring that which is Hell Night.  As such, I will be careful to discuss the impact of Hell Night, and what the community wishes never happened, rather than its details.  There are many who will be upset to see this.  To those of you who are, for what it is worth, I write this with the best of intent.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On occasion, throughout the years, during times of careless and wanton reckless abandon, I have pushed the limits of talking about Hell Night without any negative consequences.  I believe I have reached the boundaries of what can and cannot be discussed with the night\u2019s regard.  But to reiterate, I will not be discussing the details of that night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It is important, I believe, to share wisdom in some form of documentation to ensure that future generations do not stumble across the Hell Night phenomenon – unlodged from some dead uncle\u2019s loft or a mother\u2019s diary that little hands should have kept away from.  I believe that if we ignore this issue, it will unleash itself in an unexpected way on an innocent victim.  Again, I write this with the best of intentions.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Our community is very tightknit.  I believe that what happened on Hell Night, paradoxically, is the genesis of so much of it.  It is a community filled with love.  It is a community that is regarded fondly.  It is strong, it is caring, it is protective.  It is a community that others aspire to be – but for what happened on Hell Night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cNever Talk About Hell Night!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My family\u2019s first awareness of Hell Night came when we first moved into our new home on North Oak Street.  Pregnant with our first child we were excited to get to meet our new neighbors and enjoy all the dale had to offer.  It was October 2001.  October 30th<\/sup>, 2001.  It was a Tuesday.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, before I continue, I want to assure my dear readers that the events of Hell Night cannot be replicated in today\u2019s dale.  Heck, that farm isn\u2019t even there anymore.  Sure, the cemetery next door to the old farm remains, but that\u2019s just were things ended up, not where they happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was October 2001 when we first heard about what happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Over the years I have been able to piece together some interesting observations about the phenomenon.  For example, that there is some sort of communal \u201creaction\u201d to that night that rears its head every half of a generation.  To explain, you need to know that the first Hell Night, the original, the night where what happened happened was the day before Halloween in 1956 when the world was still in black and white.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, before I explain further, I need to let you know what I mean when I say \u201creaction\u201d.  I believe that many of the problems we have as a people is that the way we feel is driven by how we think which is driven by our language.  Now, I\u2019m no linguist, but I feel there is something about our cobbled language that is askew.  I don\u2019t know what it is, but I believe is causes us to have cobble thoughts from time to time.  The reaction itself is difficult to describe.  I\u2019m sure that the German language has a nice, succinct word that describes it perfectly, just like \u201cschadenfreude\u201d describes that feeling of joy that one may experience when another person experiences misfortune. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

People in our community have struggled with describing the reaction.  Some will say its an anxiety, some will say its fear, confusion, or even a sense of foreboding.  I think the latter is closest.  I would describe it as an energy that taps you on the shoulder, in that morning fog, that reminds you that it\u2019s still there.  Not an evil tap, not a kind tap, just a tap.  It\u2019s the feeling you get when you see a long-forgotten scar in the mirror.  That mixture of recognition, nostalgia, regret, and remorse.  Also, that reminder that it is something that can happen again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sometime that energy, that tap, seems to be harder every half a generation where it percolates to a point where that which we cannot speak about is in the room with us \u2013 and everybody knows it.  As I had mentioned this percolation boiled into an overspill every fifteen years or so \u2013 1971, 1984, 2001, and 2014.  I cannot speculate on the happenstances of 1971 and 1984 as I have only picked up snippets of hearsay and innuendo by people who may or may not have been there.  Sure, there are still folks in the dale that were there that night in 1956, ones who even participated.  But they do not speak of 1956. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But in 2001, I was there.  I saw what happened on Hell Night 2001.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, dear readers, I know the frustration you must be feeling with regards to the details of Hell Night, and I reiterate that those who have discussed the details have met an inglorious demise.  As I still have some things to do in this earthly realm, I will not tell you details about what happened. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I can tell you what didn\u2019t happen. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I confess, I discovered this loophole while indulging in one too many ciders after a day of pumpkin picking with relatives who had heard about the legend of Hell Night and asked if I could explain what it was about. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I laid in bed that night, I worried that I wouldn\u2019t wake up the next morning.  But since I did, I feel comfortable telling you what I told them that night.  Now before your mind goes wandering into cervices that shouldn\u2019t be explored, let me set some things straight.  To be clear, Hell Night wasn\u2019t about race or religion.  It wasn\u2019t about politics or sex.  It wasn\u2019t about right and wrong.  It\u2019s just something that happened that cannot be undone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was it criminal?  For sure. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was it a sin?  Maybe. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Was it wrong?  That.  That\u2019s the real question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cDon\u2019t Talk About Hell Night!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We can\u2019t change what happened that first Hell Night.  But what we can do is to make sure that those events don\u2019t befall our community again.  The hardscrabble must remain where it lays.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This brings me to my point of this tome.  Social media across town is thick with the mention of Hell Night today.  It appears the tap was heavy this morning.  It would appear as if we are ahead of schedule for another repeat of the events of Hell Night 2001 and 2014.  We need to keep that \u201creaction\u201d in check else it will become a Hell Night hysteria once more.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As I was new to the community, I didn\u2019t really understand the hysteria on Hell Night 2001.  I was just a witness.  It was something that just happened around me.  And quite frankly, being so new, I wasn\u2019t wounded by it.  Well, not directly anyways.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sure, there were the burnings, the broken glass, the gatherings of men in thick flannel tartan jackets.  The most jarring observation to me were the hounds and the shotguns.  If you told me that night that my community had the highest per capita concentration of bluetick and redbone coon hounds and Browning and Mossberg shotguns, I would have believed you.  The thing that struck me the most were how young the hounds were and how new the guns were.  I felt unprepared.  Unprepared for what?  I wasn\u2019t sure.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But I can tell you this, the one thing I was not prepared for were the glares. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Being so new in town, many people didn\u2019t know who I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

So, they glared. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Sizing me up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Trying to see if they could recall who I was.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d smile and wave not really knowing at the time just how much danger I was in at those moments.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But, again, for the most part, I was mostly an observer.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the years flew by, I found myself more and more connected with the community.  My career had me spending a large bulk of my time commuting to New York City five days a week, but I made time to participate in my children\u2019s activities.  As such, I became a regular in town as a spectator.  Eventually, inevitably, I ended up getting drafted into all those things communities need from its members \u2013 school chaperone, PTA, scout leader, sports coach.  I took every opportunity to be there for my children at their schools, teams, and clubs as I could.  I was always in their audiences.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My family became very active in the community and my wife and children made lots of friends.  I wouldn\u2019t suggest that we were by any means community celebrities, but if you asked people in town if they knew one of us, I wouldn\u2019t be surprised if they said that they did.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

My family is a relatively moderate force.  We\u2019re not extremist in any regard.  We are woefully All-American, or at least we strive to be, whatever that means these days.  We\u2019re not flashy, we are successful, and we are high performing in that we achieve the modest little goals we set out for ourselves.  We\u2019re not competing with anyone else and live our lives how we choose.  We\u2019re right in the middle.  To some people that fact is lame, for others, we\u2019re role models, if you can believe that.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It\u2019s because of that status that I believe that my participation in quelling the hysteria of Hell Night 2014 was a force for good.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That day began the same way it always does \u2013 with a heavy fog.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Social media was thick with concerns about that day and whether children should be sent to school.  My wife, being seen as a bellwether for what to do, was busy answering questions and allaying fears.  She\u2019s resolute in her discipline of healthy minds and bodies of my children.  She had a calming effect on her social node and the children went off to school as they would as if were any other day.  Because of the day there were more fathers in attendance at bus stops wearing their think flannel tartan jackets.  As I drove through town to the train station, I observed family after family waiting for their respective buses, one with a hound here, another with a hound there all the while knowing that those pickup trucks idling nearby were sure to contain more shotguns then there normally would be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hell Night of 2014 was mild compared to Hell Nights of the past.  The direst consequences were some burning leaves, some broken glass, and a few visits to the hospital – a few resulting in a well needed psych stay for a few days for some suffering from the grasp of the hysteria.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, I feel, dear readers, that in order to help you understand the magnitude of this feat of quelling the hysteria, I must provide some more details about the original Hell Night \u2013 Hell Night 1956.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That day started with an unusually think fog, like the one we saw this morning.  The fog was particularly thick over Hardscrabble Acres, a local farm that primarily grew potatoes and sweet corn.  They also had a gaggle of ducks that always delighted the children as they rode by. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, the ducks play a central role in what happened on Hell Night 1956.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Hardscrabble Farms was owned by the McGillicuddy Family.  The fields there had been cleared by the indigenous population of our island since before the European expansion into the area.  It was there long before the settling of the town in 1653.  Recent academic field study research shows that the Algonquins that lived there before the first English settlers practiced their form of agriculture where they reaped corn, beans, and squash.  The hardscrabble had been cleared from Hardscrabble Farms by those First Nation peoples.  The McGillicuddy\u2019s were a large family in the past, and while a few maintained and worked the farm, many went on to college and taught at the state college of agriculture near their homestead.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They were quite modern for a farming family.  They not only adopted the latest technologies, but they also invented some innovative equipment specific to our island\u2019s farming needs, including the McGillicuddy Cultivator, McGillicuddy Scythe, McGillicuddy-Hardscrabble Harrow, and quite prophetically, the McGillicuddy Duck Axe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Their farm was also the kind of place with a farmstand where you could buy sweet corn and tomatoes and pies made by Mrs. McGillicuddy.  They had corn mazes and pumpkin picking in the fall for the kiddies, and they turned their farm into a winter wonderland where families came to look at the lights, buy roping, wreathes, and Christmas Trees, drink hot cocoa, and ask Santa for presents under the tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Good people, the McGillicuddy\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

What happened there on their farm was a shame.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, I digressed here a bit with regards to the McGillicuddy\u2019s as, while Hell Night 1956 happened on and is associated with the family, they were only involved peripherally.  Thank goodness for them, they were not actually present while what happened happened. So legend would tell us.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Now, with the threat of revealing too much and getting myself into trouble with the old wives\u2019 tails of anyone who speaks of Hell Night meets an inglorious demise, I will say this – it would have been much worse if it weren\u2019t for those ducks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Some argue it was the ducks who contributed to the horror of that night, but I argue that that is just thematic.  The presence of a harmless, pure form juxtaposed against a horror makes the pure seem profane.  Just like the silence of the lambs.  Just like that porcelain doll staring at you with dead eyes from your wife\u2019s doll collection.  Just like the pounding in my head and the out-of-place racing of my heart, now, for some reason, as I write this note contrast against the peaceful surroundings of my comfy chair, robe, slippers, and faithful, sleeping golden retriever by the fireplace enjoying its warmth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No, it wasn\u2019t the ducks – that is just the projecting of the frightened. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019m guessing by now you probably know what happened.  If you live in the community, and are of a certain age, I know you know what happened.  But for the reader outside of our dale, there may still be some of you who haven\u2019t figured out about what happened during Hell Night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It all started when little Daisy Sampson headed out her front door to go to the bus stop.  She had a box of cupcakes her mom made for her to bring her class in celebration of Halloween.  Now, I\u2019m not sure why it was the custom for her school to celebrate Halloween the day before, but that was the custom.  The cupcakes had lovingly and carefully placed orange, black, and white icing that had little white and black candy tiger eyes and tiger ears and tiger whiskers matching here tiger costume her mom sewed together for her.  Daisy loved Frosted Flakes, and she loved pretending to be Tony the Tiger at home but refused to wear his red bandana out of fear of being teased because she was a girl and Tony was a boy.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Daisy walked down Shepard Avenue to Cowpath Lane just like she did every day she went to school.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As she did, she tripped over a fallen branch she didn\u2019t see because of the large Macy\u2019s men\u2019s dress shirt box her mom placed the cupcakes in.  With that little trip one of the cupcakes toppled out of the box.  Daisy stopped and bent over to pick up the cupcake worried not everyone in class would now have one.  As she did, she could hear the sound of McGillicuddy Farms\u2019 pick-up truck\u2019s exhaust coming down the street.  At the same time, the clanking of the crossing guard abruptly started signaling the arrival of the 7:16 train that would stop at the station a few blocks away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bent over, dressed as a tiger, Daisy had no idea that she was about to set off a string of events that would scar an entire community for almost a century.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Daisy felt that she was being watched.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Cupcake in hand, she looked up and saw the ducks all staring at her.   <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Just then the McGillicuddy pickup brakes squealed to slow down to the Cowpath crossing as the Long Island Railroad diesel train sped by.  She looked at the truck, then the train, then the ducks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The ducks were Pekin ducks. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Locally known a Long Island Ducks they are all white with orange bills and feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

She looked at them looking at her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As she did, they all at once and together started quacking in chorus.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It was at that moment it happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That singular cleaving in twain of the world into before and after of what happened.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The moment that defined and scarred a community\u2026<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Actually.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

You know what?<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We don\u2019t talk about Hell Night.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe tap on the shoulder was heavy this morning.\u201d In my community, the fog is always heavy and sits low the day before Halloween.  It brings with it an energy that the members of our dale dread and recognize.  It is the harbinger that won\u2019t let us forget that tonight Hell Night comes. To be […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6064,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1164,939],"tags":[1163,1160,1159,1161,1162],"class_list":["post-6063","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-writing","tag-halloween","tag-hell","tag-hell-night","tag-night","tag-the-dale"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6063","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6063"}],"version-history":[{"count":6,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6063\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6084,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6063\/revisions\/6084"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/6064"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6063"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6063"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/billcorrigan.com\/updates\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6063"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}