Thriller Night...

Halloween is not a French holiday, but as I've been told, it is becoming more and more popular as each year passes. And by popular, I just mean that people talk about it a little bit and maybe have a party. I think kids going door to door might be catching on too, I'll have to update you on what really happens next week. Anyway, I've been researching the history and cultural associations because the teachers want me to tell the kids about how we celebrate back in the States. I have some cute songs and worksheets picked out, and a dorky jack-o-lantern mask I bought for a dollar before I left Texas.

There is not one thing anywhere in sight that would tell you Halloween is in a week. No giant bags of candy in the grocery stores. No fake spider webs or Frankenstein hanging on the doors of houses. No aisles of princess dresses, witch hats or spiderman suits. The trees here are as green and fruitful as ever...there is no cool breeze stripping off leaves and leaving long, bony branches. 

However, there is one thing here to remind me of Halloween. 

When I moved in to the apartment, I was really curious about this house across the street from us. It's one of those places that just gives you a creepy feeling when you look at it. It's built like an old plantation house, like many houses are here in St. Denis. But it's completely shut down...covered in graffiti with over-sized locks on the rusty gate. I've often wondered out loud to my roommate what that house used to be and why it's just sitting there now, useless and untouched. There's really no way to find out, though, and it's been driving me crazy. 

The other night when I went out with the assistants and ended up leaving early...I was walking back by myself. It was 1 a.m. but Saint-Denis is pretty safe and the bar was really just a five minute walk from the apartment. I neared my building and looked across at the creepy mansion.

I don't know exactly what it was that I saw...it happened so fast and I was so scared that I got the hell out of there. But I swear I saw two men dressed all in black on the other side of the locked gates. They had nylons over their heads like you see in movies before someone robs a bank. They were crouched down and creeping through the tall weeds and uncut grass. When they saw me, they froze and one moved behind a tree. They watched me watching them. 

At first I stood there in shock. Then my mind started racing as I realized I stupidly had 50 euro on me from my trip to the bank that day...that I was a girl. All alone. In a dark street. At 1 o'clock in the morning. And also...that if they were doing something bad in that house...like selling drugs or human trafficking, or planning a murder of some sort...maybe it would bother them that I saw them back there. The plot of Sister Act played in the back of my mind, and I practically ran to the gate of my apartment. It was, of course, broken and wide open for anyone to walk through. I ran all the way up the three flights of stairs to my apartment and locked the door behind me. 

A tiny part of me can't decide if I should've done something...like called the police (what if someone was being murdered or assaulted or something and I could've saved them?) or informed the concierge (as encouragement to fix the gate...). Maybe (well, most likely) I didn't really see what I thought I saw. Maybe they were just dumb kids going to graffiti the wall some more. Maybe my over active imagination was getting the best of me.

If nothing else is certain, however, I can tell you this:
I will never be walking alone down that street again in the dark.