Everyday is Halloween

Player, choose your weapon

Hey hun, 

I hope you’re doing better than I am. To be honest, I feel like the last character left alive at the end of one of those bad horror movies, crawling out of a sewer, covered in viscera, in desperate need of a hot shower and a cold beer.

Ok, maybe I’m being dramatic. Nobody’s dead, the viscera is all metaphorical. But now that I’ve made such an entrance, I should tell you what happened. The air here is finally crisp and thin. It rolls over your feet in the morning – nice after the smoldering summer we had. So, I spent the better part of yesterday cleaning all the fans and moving them to the basement.

By nighttime, it was lovely to get under all the covers and drift off without a lick of sweat running down my back. That is, until I woke up in the wee hours to a strange noise coming from the kitchen. I thought maybe Harold had gotten up onto the counter and was knocking things around. But then, I heard him growling under the bed and I felt more frightened than I’ve been in a long time, like my whole stomach fell right out of my body. 

As I lay there, paralyzed, I realized that Halloween’s coming up, and what a memorable way this would be to go, murdered by whatever intruder, demon, or ghost was fixing itself a sandwich. 

I’ve never been that into the whole Halloween thing, probably because my mother was a devout Catholic who thought fun was a gateway drug. Ironically, everyday was Halloween for that poor old broad; every street corner, shop window, or radio ad held some sneaky missile from Satan himself. 

I’ve long lost track of the rosary I would’ve clutched at a time like this, so I settled for an orthopedic shoe and crept down the hall and flicked the lights on, weapon raised over my head. I tell you, I almost shit my pants. A shrunken, little old lady with a halo of wispy hair was sitting at the kitchen table in her nightgown, holding a cup of tea.

When my soul returned to my body, I realized it was Lizzy Wells from a few streets over. She smiled and raised her cup at me. A second cup steamed on the placemat next to hers.

“Naughty thing, sleeping in!” she said, laughing, “So whose fault will it be when the kids are late for school?”

I was momentarily stunned and laughed nervously. Yes, I remembered then that my kids used to be friends and schoolmates of hers. A few times or so a month, we’d take turns hosting breakfast and the kids would catch the bus together. Then, we’d chat over coffee before returning to daily life. It slipped my mind because, at some point, the kids grew apart, graduated, and moved on. 

To be honest, it’s been years since I’d seen Lizzy. I don’t think we would have ever spent so much time together if our kids weren’t friends, and in the last few years, I heard that her health wasn’t good. But here she was, sitting there like it was decades earlier and she was expecting me to whip up some pancakes.

“Hey, Lizzy,” I said, “Sure is nice to see you. How’d you get in here?”

She just laughed, “I think you’re a little tired. I came in through the door! Don’t you remember?” 

I realized I must have left the door open when I had all the fans on the porch for cleaning. 

“It’s so quiet,” she said, “where are all the kids?”

It was like a punch to the gut. All at once, the feelings and memories of my younger days with the kids, filling the house before growing up and leaving it empty, swept through me and left a vacuum in its wake. 

I sank into the seat next to Lizzy and said the first thing that popped into my mind.

“They’re all sleeping. School’s delayed, I got a call a little while ago. Let’s let them rest a little longer.”

Lizzy thought this over and furrowed her brow a little, studying me. But she didn’t fight me on it and nodded, going back to her English breakfast tea. 

“The steam feels so nice on my face in the morning,” she said, dipping her face towards the cup and smiling.

“It does,” I said, venturing to take a sip of mine. 

“I always steam my face like this, it helps me keep my skin young. You should really try it,” she said, “it’ll help with your wrinkles.”

I snorted and said, “Well if you say so, but I think these lines are permanent residents now.” I noticed her slippers were caked with dirt from her trek over here. Her nightgown was a worn flannel printed with delicate flowers. I realized that she must be freezing. Hell, I was, and I just crawled out of a nice, warm bed. I went to the living room and got a couple of blankets and draped one over her shoulders. 

“Oh, thank you, this is quite cozy,” she said, “is your husband still here? He doesn’t usually leave this early for work.”

“Oh…he’s away on a trip,” I said, “he’s been gone for a little while.”

“I hope you see him soon,” she said, rearranging the blanket around herself.

I nodded and left it there. We sat and looked out the window, watching the sky lighter. I felt grateful to be the idiot who left her doors open on the one night Lizzy decided to shuffle on over. I wondered who was at home with her. One of her kids? I couldn’t remember what happened to her daughter. I think her son moved to some ungodly place like Utah. Surely someone was worried about her, or would be once they woke up. 

“I think I’ll call the school to see if everything’s back in order,” I said. I took the phone into the other room where I kept my ancient little address book. I dialed her home phone and prayed it was still hooked up. I peeped around the corner as it rang. Lizzy checked her nails and hummed lightly to herself. Finally, someone picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hello – is this the Wells’?”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, this will sound nuts. But your mother’s at my house, and —”

“Thank god! We’ve been searching— Is she ok?”

“I think so. I can drive her back now. Is this, I think, Susan?”

“Oh, no ma’am, this is Victoria, the RN on shift. I swear, we usually don’t have an issue with her wandering. She must have snuck out while my back was turned! Oh my god! I’m just glad she’s alright.”

“Oh fine, she’s fine. I’ll stop by in a bit.”

I hung up and walked back in the kitchen. Lizzy was standing up, looking expectant. 

“Good news?”

“Yes! Everything’s back to normal. We can head out now.”

I took my jacket and purse off the hook and threw them on over my pajamas but Lizzy didn’t budge. 

“We need to get the kids!” 

“Oh…,” I fumbled around stupidly for a few seconds, “I must have forgotten to tell you! I actually told all of the kids that they could sleep over at their friend’s house. We’ll just pick them up.”

Lizzy wrinkled her nose at me, “Sleepover? On a school night?”

“Lizzy, you know how pushy teens are. But I’m sorry, I know I should have asked you beforehand if it was OK.”

Lizzy raised an eyebrow and pulled the blanket tighter, “I’ll say! I certainly hope there are no big tests today.”

“I don’t think so, Lizzy,” I said, “C’mon, let’s go. I’ll drive.”

I resisted holding onto her arm like she was a child and tried to act natural as we climbed into the car and took off down the road. 

We quietly drifted through town to her house. It was roughly the same as I remember it. Some of the landscaping was different. There was a new walkway leading up to the door, where Victoria stood waiting, arms crossed against the morning chill. 

She wore rumpled scrubs and looked exhausted. She was probably around the age that Lizzy and I were when we took turns hosting breakfast. 

“This is my house!” Lizzy said. She stared at me. “Are the kids here?”

Victoria came to Lizzy’s door and I rolled down the window. 

“Hello Ms. Wells,” she said, “I’m glad to see you! Would you like to come in for some breakfast? Maybe a cup of tea?”

“Are the kids here?”

I swallowed a lump in my throat and couldn’t say anything. I turned the car off and got out, and Lizzy reluctantly followed suit. Victoria helped her inside. At the door I said, “It was great to see you, Lizzy.” She glared at me and stepped inside. Victoria came back to the door and handed me the blanket. 

“Thanks again – really, thank you.”

I said my byes and returned to my car. By this time, the neighborhood was starting to stir. I couldn’t stand the idea of just going back home so I drove around a little bit. 

Her stare in the car haunted me. It felt like she was asking, “Why would you lie to me?” 

Jesus H Christ and all his hockey sticks. Anyway, my idle wandering led me to the drive-thru window at McDonalds, the meal of choice for all those special moments when you feel like you’ve been scraped off the floor. 

As I mindlessly chewed my food in the parking lot, I watched a young family decorate their lawn with skeletons, gravestones, and several anemic-looking vampires. I could almost feel the disapproving ‘tsk-tsk’ from my mother. Despite our differences, in my old age I can understand why she cowered behind the cross (and imbibed a little too heavily in the ‘communion’ wine). 

In her hands, it was a tool to vanquish the other, the bad, and the ugly. You can kill a vampire with a stake, a werewolf with a silver bullet, and the power of Christ will compel pretty much anything straight to hell. Of course, in the end it couldn’t stop the horror of the illness that grew from inside her. Like Lizzy, she stood on a rickety bridge that swayed gently into darkness. 

I wonder, sometimes late at night when I can’t sleep, if I’ll find myself coming to the same bridge. I suppose there’s not much control we have over that.

And you know, I had just about finished my apple pie when I remembered what happened to my old rosary. At my mother’s wake I had tucked it into her casket, right next to her own. I know it might not be proper, but the idea of her walking into death with two rosaries holstered like guns gave me a chuckle that was so rare then. At any rate, she’s well protected now.

I’ve been home for a little while now, and the street is coming alive with the buzz of children ready to trick-or-treat. I don’t bother with decorations anymore but I’ll dump a bag of candy into a bowl and see which youth is brave enough to approach the old crone on the porch. 

It think it’s kind of innocent, in a way, how we seek cheap thrills and scare ourselves. We all need to feel the relief of feeling like we’ve conquered something scary and unknowable and have survived to live another day. 

But, I hope this weekend this only scary and unknowable thing you encounter is maybe that last shot at the bar and reading unhinged emails from your Grams. 

I’ll be thinking of you –

Grams