Once rumours of her seances and incantations got out, Judy-O began acting like it was all straight up legit, as if she were a real witch. In April of ‘75, at one of my parents' craziest parties, my mom’s sorcery reached its zenith. Whenever I open up about that time of my life and I refer to those shindigs that occurred down in the confines of the Lover’s Hideaway, I’ll usually conclude with “And some were legendary.” The bash that April is the one I’m talking about. This was also the fourth and final party where guests were welcome to roam anywhere in our house including my bedroom and half-bath.
It just so happened that a naysayer spoke up during the early moments of this party. It was an older guy named Ronnie and he was Porky’s older brother, which is how we got to know him in the first place. Ronnie said my mom couldn’t put a spell on him, and he said it loud enough he caught the attention of everyone there that night. I even heard it from my bedroom. I sat up, trying to hear better. There was some murmuring which I couldn’t quite make out. Then Ronnie spoke up again, not quite as loud as the first time, and said he didn’t believe my mom could do it. More murmuring, so I go to the top of the stairs where I can hear better. All I can really make out is the faint sound of people's voices. Then it got so quiet that I couldn’t really hear anything except for the shuffling of feet and my mom’s nearly imperceptible whisper. Judy-O was telling everyone what was about to happen as she explained the difference between a curse and a hex.
Suddenly, one of the younger girls rounded the corner and was coming up the stairs as fast as she could. I ducked into the kitchen, thinking she was probably going to the bathroom, but she came straight for me and blurted out “Your mom needs a dry bay leaf and some black yarn!” I looked at her like I don’t know English, then she quickly repeated herself, but much louder. I pointed to my mom’s spice cabinet and told her the bay leaves were in there, then I trotted off to the den to find my mom’s craft basket where she kept her crocheting supplies
I quickly returned with a spool of black yarn and she cut off a strand. Standing there holding up a bay leaf in one hand and a piece of black yarn in the other she just looked at me, amused. Then she asked if I knew her name. I blushed because I didn’t and was embarrassed. She smiled and said her name was Cheryl. I wanted to say something back but was too flustered. In those days, this was how I usually was around older girls. Those types of females were a conundrum to me and I never felt like I knew what to say due to being so shy and gawky.
Cheryl departed with the yarn and bay leaf but not before giving me a kiss on the cheek, barely catching the corner of my mouth with her lips. It also caught me off guard since I definitely didn’t see it coming. Before I could say or do anything else, she turned and headed for the stairs.
As she bounded down the steps, I asked her why she needed the leaf and a piece of yarn. She looked back up at me from underneath the Lover’s Hideaway sign directly over her head and said my mom needed them to cast a bad luck hex on Ronnie. Then she disappeared around the corner and into the haze emanating from my parent’s basement.
The party continued on and I decided I’d listened to enough seances and heard enough incantations, so I went outside. While I wouldn’t have minded seeing Cheryl one more time, I was also intimidated by her and knew I’d probably be at a loss for words. So I laid down on our carport, looking up at the stars. I was at a stage of my life where I was beginning to understand the differences between boys and girls, or more importantly, the differences between men and women. I’d seen enough pictures in those Playboy magazines my parents left lying around to understand the obvious differences, but I was beginning to get a first-hand glimpse of women’s ways and how they could use their charm to get what they wanted. Those subtle nuances in their sexuality were beguiling to me. I saw it in some of the girls at school and the older girls in our neighborhood, and I experienced it with young ladies like Cheryl. I couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like if I had the courage to flirt back with one of them to see what might happen next, but I never did - too embarrassed, too self-conscious, too gauche. That didn’t stop me from thinking about Cheryl as I lay there studying the constellations in the night sky. I also wondered what she might have been thinking about when she decided to give me that innocuous kiss.
From our carport, I could easily see into the window to my bedroom. Later in the evening after the black magic was winding down and the music went back up, I could hear more people laughing and having a good time. A few of them left and made the trek to their cars. They were mostly the couples who probably had babysitters to relieve.
I also noticed my bedroom lights go on from time to time, then back off. I presumed some of the partygoers had to use my bathroom, which was fine. This probably happened a half-dozen times as I sat out there on our carport, waiting. After a while the lights quit going on and off in my room and a few more guests had left. I even noticed the music coming from my parent’s jukebox wasn’t as loud, so I figured the party was winding down.
It was close to midnight and I decided to take a chance and head back to my room. I was thinking it would be nice to sleep in my own bed. I walked in the front door and could tell there was nobody in the kitchen. As I walked towards my room, past the open door that led down to the Lover’s Hideaway, I noticed it was eerily quiet. I looked down the stairwell and I could see the purple glow of the black-lights and, of course, the smoke. I paused for a second but I heard nothing but whispers and a humming noise that I couldn’t quite pinpoint. Whatever was happening down there, the remaining partygoers were engrossed enough in the festivities to keep it quiet. Not exactly what I expected, but I should at least have no problem going to sleep as I headed down to the far end of the hall towards my bedroom.
When I walked into my room, the first thing I noticed was that my bedspread was crumpled. Then I noticed my bathroom door was closed with a light coming from the threshold. That’s when I heard giggling from more than one female voice and I immediately realized there were girls in my bathroom. I froze, not sure what to do. Before I could dip out, the door opened and Cheryl and two other girls poured out of the fog that had filled my tiny half-bath. They were all wearing next to nothing as I stood there, bewildered. Cheryl, the first one out of my bathroom, saw me and grinned playfully as she ambled by. She didn’t say a word as the three of them paraded towards the hallway. There was an unmistakable aroma that followed them from my bathroom. It was the same scent as the lazy smoke that wafted up our stairwell, kind of pungent, kind of sweet.
I followed them, confused, as they turned down the hallway towards the stairs. Impulsively and naïvely, I asked where they were going. Without looking back I heard one of them say “Wouldn’t you like to know,” as they disappeared into the violet abyss of the Lover’s Hideaway.
Several days after the party, I was at home after school and I heard someone banging on our front door. It was Ronnie, Porky’s brother. He barged in and before I could say anything he excitedly asked “Where’s your mom?!”
I was going to tell him she was in the kitchen but he bolted past me and I heard him say “Judy, you’ve gotta take this curse off me!”
My mom and Ronnie discussed this for a moment then they both went downstairs to where my mom had moved all her occult-related propaganda. She’d even painted a pentagram on the black and white dance floor. I listened from the stairwell as my mom walked Ronnie through what they needed to do to remove the hex. I could tell he was listening intently because I was too. About fifteen minutes later Ronnie left and seemed to be satisfied. I only saw him a few more times after that, but he never again teased my mom about being a witch.
Later that same afternoon, my mom left to go run some errands and took my two younger brothers with her. I also realized my dad wouldn't be home for a while. Since the recent incident with Ronnie was so fresh in my mind, I was curious what my mom had done to mitigate his anxiety about witchcraft and black magic. This meant going downstairs and plundering around my parents belongings. Ever since the Halloween party, I’d been reluctant to take a chance on exploring their party room in our basement. But this time my curiosity finally overcame my sense of good judgment and I decided to push my luck, which ended up being a very bad idea.
The first thing I noticed about the Lover’s Hideaway was that it looked neat and orderly. The pillows were lining the walls along the dance floor and there was only a faint hint of stale beer and cigarettes. The projector screen was nestled in the corner, with everything neatly stored and in place. The bar was also spotless and organized. The pool table was clean with the balls and cues all located on the wall-mounted rack in the corner. My mom’s collection of books were all neatly displayed on some new shelves across from the dance floor. The jukebox sat there quietly, with its rotating turret loaded with an impressive collection of top-forty hits from that era.
Nothing seemed peculiar until I looked behind the bar. That’s when I noticed the 8mm projector again. I also noticed some reels of film, neatly stacked. The individual reels each had a label with what must have been the titles. There was one called The Convicts and another one that said Beyond Erotica. Then I saw one titled Teenage Innocence then another that said Naughty Wives. I was beginning to think I’d figured out why my parents didn’t want me coming downstairs during their parties.
When I put the reels of film away I happened to notice a stack of Polaroid pictures tucked away in the darkest recesses of the bar. I knew my dad had a Polaroid instant camera. This was the kind where you had to shake the picture once it ejected from the front, after pressing the exposure button. Then you pulled off the backing to reveal a picture as it slowly developed before your eyes. As those chemicals dried, the photos' individual image would come into focus.
I picked up the stack of photographs and started rummaging through them one by one. I immediately noticed they were all pictures of the guests from my parents' most recent party. Chunk, Porky and Diane were in quite a few, along with dozens of others I recognized, including my mom. They all had drinks in hand and looked like they were having a great time. Then I noticed one where a girl had pulled her halter top to the side to proudly expose herself to my dad’s camera while holding up a celebratory drink with her other hand. Now I’m rifling through the Polaroids more rapidly, curious as to what else I might see. Cheryl might be in one for all I knew.
Sure enough, there are photographs of their party guests hanging out and dancing. Most of them are wearing little to nothing. In some of the pics there are people I recognize in romantic embraces that were very suggestive and alluring. I also realized the only person not in any of the photos was my dad, which meant he probably took every picture.
I was only a few pics from the bottom of the stack when I got to the one that made me wish I hadn’t gone down to the Lover’s Hideaway that ill-omened day. By that point I was confident I finally knew why my parents told me and my brothers we could never, ever venture down into their basement once the parties began. However, I wasn't ready for what I saw next.
I eventually got to a photograph of a couple, a man and a woman in a sexually explicit pose, completely naked. It left nothing to the imagination and is still etched indelibly in my psyche. It was a picture of my mom and another guy, and it was taken by my dad.
© 2023 Joseph Phillip Lister Sr.
Click here to go to the next chapter.