Halloween Extra: Demons at the Polo Field

When I was 17, a garrulous friend named Amy told me and others an evil tale that has stayed with me ever since. It seems apt to resurrect this great yarn on Halloween. Ignore it at your own risk. 

Back then, I was only peripherally aware of a place called the Chagrin Falls Polo Field. I would pass it while driving into the quaint, New Englandesque village of Chagrin Falls. After hearing Amy’s story, it would be decades before I ever dreamed of setting foot anywhere near this terrible terrain, where daylight’s equestrian diversions gave way to ghastly gatherings as the midnight hour drew near. 

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According to Amy, a group of local devil worshippers congregated at the Polo Field during every full moon. This Satanic cohort would dance, chant, and do evil deeds. At the summit of their ceremonies, they made animal sacrifices.

Having heard the rumors, Amy quite foolishly went to investigate. On a dark and misty October night, she and another brave soul found themselves scurrying around on their hands and knees to snoop on these events. They witnessed the unspeakable. And as the thrumming drumbeats reached their unholy crescendo, these interlopers crawled right into a man with a painted face wielding a tomahawk. At once, they were surrounded by a host of tormentors. 

Amy and her companion ran like hell to their car. During their scuffle to safety, she wet her pants. But as she let go of both her bladder and her dignity, the evil-doers let her go. She survived to tell the tale of the incursion.

Chagrin Falls Polo Field, demons

I knew Amy from theater circles. With her propensity for drama, I should have been suspicious of her story. It sounded like a scene from a movie. But a fertile imagination, along with my own dramatic proclivities, made me a ripe target for a potent urban legend -- one to which I was not above adding my own embellishments.

Rosemary and her baby would have nothing on me. I was shaken to the core by the proposition that a place as unexotic as suburban Cleveland could harbor any Satanists. But Rosemary’s Baby had taught me that these devil worshippers knew how to fit in among us. They hid in plain sight in the most familiar of places -- even Shaker Heights. 

Like Rosemary, l came to regard friends and neighbors with suspicion. Was my math teacher one of them? The old guy down the street? And what were my parents really up to when they stayed out late at night? 

Over time, I got sloppy with the details of this story. The devil worshippers would sometimes turn into a witches' coven. The sacrifices they made were said to be human. Amy's scant vignette morphed into an epic clash between the forces of good and evil.

I have dined out on the story of demons at the Chagrin Falls Polo Field for decades now. I told myself I believed it, even if my rational side knew it was all patent BS that Amy had made up to impress her friends. 

Today, I live 2 minutes away from the infernal polo field of my youth. Its proximity is unsettling. I haven't heard a whisper of demons or witches congregating there for some forty years -- but what if they still do?

If I wanted to find out, tonight seems the perfect night.