By Tom Davidson
It was a cold, damp eventide on the Ides of October. It was the kind of night that makes arthritic bones ache and fogs up rain-spotted windows.
The road from the Shenango Valley to Mercer was dark and windy: U.S. Route 62 is an old road that is East State Street in Hermitage and becomes Mercer Road if you’re headed east -- or Sharon Road if you’re westbound.
On this night — Oct. 15 for those who don’t know the early Roman calendar — a fortnight before All Hallow’s Eve, a steady drizzle dampened the blacktop of the road, giving it a spooky sheen that reflected the red glows of a cavalcade of cars making the trek from the well-lighted businesses of Hermitage to the county seat.
Once past Keel Ridge, the way is lit only by the vehicles on the road. The road seems to dim headlights, and the houses on the road are cloaked in darkness.
Deer feed along the roadside and the fright of a potential encounter with a buck or doe out of season prompts taps of the brake pedal that travel like a chain reaction from vehicle-to-vehicle in the motorcade. After Wallace Hill there are few chances to pass, so the cars bunch up and travel in unison over hill and dale until the clock on the courthouse dome comes into view.
On this night, it looked like a numbered full moon, glowing in the black sky.
Turning north through town then northwest on state Route 58 toward Greenville, the darkness overtook the land again.
Browning cornfields cast shadows and nearly naked tree branches formed silhouettes on the roadside.
Line Road juts at a queer angle at Route 58 at the Jefferson-Delaware Township line, a quaint rural lane.
The two-story Queen Anne Victorian house wasn’t visible from the road. It came into view at a fork in the lighted driveway, looming large in the distance, its windows bathed in light and shadows like a country manor conjured by Thomas Hardy on the English heath.
Sharon George waited inside, excited to show off her exquisite collection.
It’s heavenly for those who hallow All Soul’s Day.
For Miss George, Halloween is better than Christmas.
“It’s probably my favorite holiday,” she said. Her house is decorated with all manner of orange, brown and black items and an upstairs room holds her priceless collection of Halloween memorabilia.
An antique rolltop desk is brimming with collectibles, many not made to stand the test of time. There are paper-maché pumpkins and Gypsy Witch fortune-telling cards, black cats and skeletons and remnants of old parlor games.
Most were long ago sold for seasonal parties and meant to be used once then thrown away, Miss George said. There are lamps that cast orange light, jack o’lanterns with frightful expressions and formal party invitations that recall a different time. Much of her collection was made by the Beistel Company, a Pittsburgh firm that manufactured all manner of festive frivolities.
It was a pioneer in “honeycomb tissue” production and many of the collectibles in Miss George’s collection are fragile because when paper ages, it becomes brittle and rots away.
During World War II the company halted its Halloween production and produced human and bomb parachutes, according to a book in Miss George’s collection.
While impressive, she said others have larger collections and that hers grew exponentially when she bought “most” of a very large collection a few years ago.
She’s planning her annual party for children of friends.
“It’s really great for kids,” she said.
They play replicas of some of the games in her collection, like “Ring the Spider Leg,” and enjoy the sights and scents of the season.
Miss George remembered the hint of hauntings in the air at Halloween. The darkness. The cold.
“The air was always brisk and it was exciting,” she said. “I think everybody gets a thrill out of being scared when it’s not for real.”
