Wayne's World.

I could never decide what to be for Halloween as a kid, and it didn’t get any easier as an adult either. For whatever reason, I could never settle with Dracula, Darth Vader, or Spider-Man—nope, unfortunately I had to consider every single costume, try every mask, and ask for things that had nothing to do with my outfit. All of that just to end up being a generic zombie or an oddly specific type of ninja after one of my parents lost their temper and made me choose in a hurry.

That’s one of my earliest memories of Halloween, and truthfully, it’s a pleasant one despite all the indecision. It’s the later Halloween memories that are the problem. Those are the ones that encouraged me to stop celebrating it all together.

Honestly, I enjoyed avoiding the holiday while I could. During that period of my life the whole month of October was nothing but a preheat for thanksgiving dinner next month. I had distanced myself from Halloween completely then, and it really wasn’t until Shannon and Jack came into my life that I started accepting it again. And while I cherish and love them more than anything, I resent the fact that they brought Halloween back into my life.

So, now I do have to dress up at the tail end of the month, but at least I don’t have to choose what I’ll be. Shannon handles all that. Whether we’re taking the kids trick or treating, or staying in and handing out candy, she’s the one I’ll be matching with that night anyway.

That being said, I will NOT be going to any Halloween parties. That’s where I draw the line. I’ve only been to a handful in my lifetime, but that’s more than enough for me. I’d even go as far to say it’s too much. If I could go back, I’d skip a few of them, but when I write that, I’m actually just referring to one party in particular. It was the last one I ever went to, as well as the most bizarre by a large margin, and that’s me underselling it.

I was twenty-six at the time and famished for experience. High school and college were nothing but an education for me; meaning that I had little friends, and the friends I did have were just as exciting as I was. We never did much aside from play XBOX or have the occasional beer or two, which we never enjoyed but stomached anyway. And that wasn’t even in high school: That was my pique college experience.

So, it was only right I put myself out there once I graduated and moved away from Nebraska. In the new city I called home I started going to a few of the local bars in seek of friends and opportunity, and even though I hardly drank, and would, at times, be socially inept, it worked.

I met all kinds of people. They included me in conversations, we laughed and shared stories together as well as bought each other drinks, and women even flirted with me a few times. The only downside was that they were usually wasted and I typically wasn’t. It’d still be flattering each time, though. By that point, I only ever had one girlfriend, so any attention I received from women was nothing short of enthralling for me.

Which is probably the reason why I accepted the invitation so easily when she offered.

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I moved to Willoughby Louisiana at the beginning of the summer; June 30^th to be specific, and by the fourth of July, I was well acquainted with the weekend bartenders at Normand’s. That was the bar I frequented at the most, and mainly because it felt the safest. On any given night they still pulled a decent crowd, but it was never a rowdy kind. Most of everyone I met was cool and laid back, and I spent a lot of nights hanging out with them, but I wouldn’t suggest that they knew me well as our interactions never left the bar. Almost none of them went to the party.

I remember the exact date that woman walked in, and I can also recall how I felt when she started walking towards me—or us. It was October 27^th, and the room was half full at about twenty people. I was spaced out and gazing at the back of her head. The lights at the bar shined off her red hair, nearly making it look hot to the touch. She turned and looked my way, and right away I was struck with this fuzzy and tight feeling, like how I imagine it feels when you’re sinking in quicksand. I was unmistakenly stuck.

I’m not certain what made me think she was Irish—maybe it was her pale skin to go with her fiery hair, but I anticipated an accent when she spoke. There wasn’t any though, she was all American, it seemed, and a little older than me. The only particular quality of her voice was that she spoke, not speedily, but excitedly. It reminded me of the tone a server uses before taking your order.

She approached my drinking buddy and I just before leaving. Bill was about fifteen years my senior, fresh out a divorce, and had been in the military most of his adult life. He had these broad shoulders that suggested a youth of football, but when I knew him, he was fairly out of shape. I only add that part about his physical appearance because the first thing she did when she came over was lay a dainty hand on his thick shoulder.

He was drunker than I was, per usual, so he was nothing short of thrilled by her presence. The fact that she was touching him actually caused him to blush. For a moment he looked like a big pink baby with his bulbus face, bald head, blue eyes, and dimpled chin. After he managed to get ahold of himself, he offered to buy her a drink, and she gladly accepted. She then went on to tell us that her name was Mariah.

▲  ▲

She ordered something with pineapple, I know that for sure, but I guess that means nothing to you. It’s just a small detail I remember because Bill piggybacked of it and said something about pineapple, but he was rambling. And when I looked at her, I could tell she thought the same thing. She didn’t seem all that interested in what he was saying, it was more like she was just humoring it just so she could start talking whenever he finished. Her demeanor alone made me think that she approached us for more than just a drink.

We told her about ourselves just a little. Bill went on about being in the military, his failed marriage, and his early retirement he was looking forward to. Personally, I shared way less. All I told her was that I was new to the city and just graduated, but that wasn’t totally true. It had been a few years since I graduated. I just didn’t have anything else going on. But when it was her turn, all she told us was that she was in Willoughby visiting a friend, but he was busy at the moment.

And that’s how she transitioned into the party.

At first, she acted as if it had slipped her mind, and then she was suddenly eager. She exclaimed how it was so special that Halloween was on a Saturday that year, and we agreed, despite not having plans. Though, that was her next subject: Our plans.

We told her we weren’t doing anything that night, and that just kinda made her smile at us… And even then, it crossed my mind that it was the first time we were seeing her smile for real.

She went on to say that the same friend she was visiting was also throwing a “Top-tier” Halloween party just a few miles from where we were currently seated. And when Bill asked what made the party so “Top-tier”, she had a spiel of reasons.

“Oh, babe, so much! The location for one thing: It’s at Willoughby Willows. The house itself is a piece of art! It’s like something you’d see in Beverly Hills. Then there’s the open bars, the massive dance floor, catered corners, a hot tub, and just to sweeten the deal, there’ll be a ton of women! Myself included.” Mariah winked at Bill, then laughed it off.

“So, what’s the deal then?”

They both looked at me. “What?”

I should’ve resisted any jokes: Because I’m really not funny. “Oh, nothing. You just said ‘sweeten the deal’, and I was being dumb and said ‘what deal’… Never mind…” Still nervous, I kept blabbering. “Do we have to bring anything, though?”

“Actually, yes.” she grinned, then turned towards me. “You have to bring a costume.”

▲      ▲

As mentioned, it didn’t hurt that the invitation came from a woman, but that wasn’t what sold me. It wasn’t even the promise of free booze or social interaction either. If there was one thing that convinced me to come it was that the party was at Willoughby Willows. But I almost didn’t believe her at first.

During my brief time in Willoughby, I occasionally would pass and be impressed by this gated community in the northern part of town. It honestly looked more like a country club than a neighborhood—I wouldn’t be surprised if they had one on the property, though—and from the front gates, you could see an enormous pond that lay in between numerous lavish and large houses.

Of course, I never had a reason to be inside. The farthest I ever got before the party was parking my car at the gate just to take a peek at the other side. Needless to say, I was enticed to get a better look, so I accepted just as quick as Bill had.

He took it upon himself to drive us that night. Around nine he pulled up in his Jeep and I fought hard not to laugh at his costume when I saw it. He told me he was a barbarian, but something about his plastic-leather vest and the rest of his lazy medieval get-up paired with his round nose made him look like Shrek. I just barely chuckled at his vest, and left it at that.

But he didn’t leave my costume—or lack of one alone.

“So, who are you supposed to be? Dustin Hoffman Rain man?”

“Who? No. I just couldn’t find a costume in time.” Which was the God honest truth; I couldn’t.

“You wanna go pick up a mask or something? Stores probably still open. Businesses don’t give a damn about no Halloween, so we’re good there.”

“Nah, man. No thank you. I’ll be fine without one. To be honest, I figure with the open bar that most people will be too drunk to care about what I’m wearing anyway. But if anyone ask, I’ll just tell them I’m a wall-flower.”

 

The gates to Willoughby Willows were wide open when we arrived, and from the entrance we spotted a tiny security booth you were meant to stop by and check in with, but when we pulled through, no one was there. Beyond the booth was an incline that led to the first row of houses; each of them tall, clean, and either entirely white or built out of brick. Something that we both took note on was that there were no vehicles in sight: Just vast empty driveways that led up to double or even triple garage doors. Bill and I admired every single house on the way up, blown away by how wealthy they must’ve been. They were well off enough to have amble space, but still see their neighbors.

After a valet service took Bill’s keys and drove off with his jeep, we were left with nothing but about a dozen spotless white steps between us and the hefty black doors of the house. We walked up and Bill didn’t spare a second when it came to knocking. We waited for what felt like a minute or two, and oddly enough, we couldn’t hear a single sound as we stood there. It even vaguely crossed my mind that we had the wrong house, valet service aside, but when the doors flung open and music was thrown at us, I knew it was foolish to think so. And if I still had doubts, Mariah being the one who greeted us dispelled them.

Her costume was that of a skimpy prison guard. So, in other words, a two-piece uniform with a badge and cap. Behind her was a crowd of more than fifty people, all dressed up and the majority faceless under a mask or paint. And that was just the first room I was exposed to in this full-on mansion. Upon seeing the sheer size of the party, my face flushed and I quickly became anxious.

“Hey- Oh, hey!” She exclaimed, her tone becoming chipper upon recognition. “I was just wondering when you’d two show your faces! Please, come in and make yourselves at home. There’s so much to explore.”

We moved past her and instantly took in how accurate her statement was. I’d never been in a house of that size. I stood practically spinning in place until Mariah put a hand on my shoulder this time. Her tone was noticeably sour.

“Where’s your costume?”

“What’s up?” I pretended to not hear her, as if it made a difference.

“Where’s your costume?” she said clearly.

“I’m wearing it.” I half shrugged.

She winced, unamused. “What is it then?”

The nape of my neck became damp with sweat. Now my wall-flower answer didn’t seem so cute or funny. I was only wearing a light jacket, jeans, and tennis shoes. What was I supposed to tell her?

“He’s a party pooper, that’s what he is.” Bill cut in.

Her face took a second, but eventually lit up. “Oh, really? That’s so funny!” She cackled. “Is that really what you were going for or are you ju-”

Bill persisted. “Hey, Mariah, where’s your buddy? You said he was the one throwing this party, right? I gotta put eyes on this guy. His house is too much.”

She turned her attention onto him. “Stephen? I’m sure he’s around somewhere. He’s dressed up as the devil, so keep an eye out for him.”

She started to walk and talk with us after that, and while Bill led our part in conversation, I kept admiring the house. I just couldn’t get over how high the ceiling was. All I could think about was that if I had a ball of some sort, I doubted I could even hit it. Walking around that place felt more like walking in a state capital building rather than a home.

With each step, I took in more of the party. In the far-right corner of (what I assume was) the living room was spiral staircase with people lounging up and down it, but somehow it was big enough for people still to get by. Then near the staircase and in every other corner was a bar and a cartoonishly large cooler, serving drinks at anyone’s convenience. And on top of that, there were also food stations with all kinds of snacks.

“Where can I find this ole’ devil? How old is he?” Bill went on. “Please tell me he’s over fifty for my sake.”

“Oh, don’t rush, Willy boy. I’m positive you’ll meet him.”

“Hm, I better. I think he has some financial advice he could lend me. I mean, Christ. Look at this place.”

“She’s a real beaut, ain’t she?”

Wanting to be included, I tried my luck. “So, what does he do for work?” I ask.

“He barely does, if I’m being truthful. Or I suppose it’s just not work for him…Stephen works in fashion.”

“Fashion? That’s pretty incredible. What does he exac-”

“Why don’t you two just ask these questions yourself when you meet them? I know they’ll find you sometime. Just enjoy the party, Jace, and I’ll see you two later.”

Glass shattering nearby yanked my attention away. My head snapped to the source, and when I looked back, Mariah was gone. And when I say gone, I mean gone. I never saw her again. But I also didn’t look for her.

Not before too long I wasn’t looking for anything but the exit.

▲     ▲

As you know by now, I’d never been to such a giant party, let alone a Halloween one. Despite the size of the house, I was repeatedly unsettled by the sea of strangers, the harsh stench of liquor, and the few times someone made eye contact with me. And then there were the costumes.

They ranged from low to high effort, scary to skimpy, and mostly took inspiration from popular movies. There were a few Michael Myers’ walking around, as well as the SCREAM killer, and a TON of Jokers of various types—but only one Batman. Pin-up girls giggled in gaggles in every room, phony officers of many uniforms drank harshly all around, and most of the masked guests kept lifting their mask to drink, revealing a sweaty face almost every time.

It was easy to get hot if you were wandering around in the crowd, but fortunately it was easier to get a drink. As far as I saw, there wasn’t anyone without a cup or can in their hand, and by ten some of the drunker guests were bobbing for drink pouches in the cooler the same way children bob for apples. The party was in full force then, but looking back it, that was around the time I first noticed that the party was actually shrinking.

It’s also when I first caught them staring at me.

I was wall-flowering it up, trying to find the social skills needed to strike up conversation and sipping my second drink of the night. Bill wasn’t too far away; he had run off to the bathroom, but it wasn’t long after this when he disappeared completely. I’d been scoping out the party all night, not sure exactly who I was looking for, but I was still avoiding gazes when I found someone. But those were just glances—totally unlike how they were looking at me.

I really want to say they were a woman, but I have my doubts and I never asked. They were small, but in a boyish way, yet they had a very defined jaw and a long forehead. Their costume was simple. They were blacked out with a long black sleeve shirt, dark pants, and their brownish hair tied in a bun at the top of their head, but the defining trait, was their narrow face painted like a Jack-O-lantern. And by the way my heart seemed to sink when our gazes met, you would’ve thought that it was the most horrifying costume I’d ever seen.

They stared at me expressionlessly in the midst of the crowd, and I couldn’t help but stare back.

That being said, there wasn’t a single fiber of myself that suggested I approach. In fact. I did the opposite. I left their sight and the room they were in, already wanting to put it out of my mind.

After that I went searching for Bill, and I took quick note on how much easier it was to navigate through the party now. My initial thought was that people must’ve left, but for some reason, that was hard for me to accept. Besides the freak who was gawking, everyone seemed to be drunk and merry; why would they be leaving?

Within ten minutes or so I found Bill chatting with a freckled Dorothy from OZ. He was much drunker than the last time I saw him, but I didn’t think much of it. I should’ve though —it had only been fifteen minutes.

But even stranger than his swift intoxication? I could say the same for myself. I was feeling more and more drunk, which should’ve been concerning. I’d barely just finished my second Miller Light. I’d been told I was a lightweight before, but let’s be real: Two beers don’t do that. I wasn’t even taking shots.

Nevertheless, we stayed. We were having a good time, and we couldn’t just leave. Even though I had hardly talked to anyone, I was still giddy just to be there. It was exciting in the way that it felt like I was a part of something. Of course it was just a party, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that was I fulfilling something by just being there. That night I told myself it was exactly what I wanted, and that’s why I felt like that, but now I’m not so sure that’s what was happening…

We went to grab another drink at one of the many coolers and we started talking to a small group doing the same. It was one man and two women, and they were dressed up as Daphne, Velma, and Shaggy from Scooby-doo, but with a generational twist. They were using a 90s style.

Instead of Daphne’s original purple get-up with a skirt, this woman wore a purple Pearl Jam shirt with small jean shorts and a purple flannel tied around her waist. She also seemed to be Mexican or maybe Columbian or something similar, so instead of red hair, it was black with a hair band in Daphne’s favorite color in the middle.  Their Velma—also Latina—wore fishnets stockings and a brown skirt that actually resembled the real skirt the character has, but the orange sweater was low cut. Shaggy looked the same for the most part. He was just some white guy with long hair and a green shirt.

“So, you guys run into Stephen yet? Or did you already know him?” I asked Velma.

She winced at me. “Who’s Stephen? I don’t know him.”

“Oh. Apparently, he owns this house.”

“Huh? Funny.”

“Funny how?”

“Well, we were told a woman named Teresa owns it by the person who invited us. Maybe they’re married though, huh?”

“Yeah, maybe.” I said, then tried to keep it going. “Maybe she’s even a model. I was told that Stephen or whoever he is works in the fashion industry.”

“Fashion, huh? That’s weird. I don’t think that’s what we heard. We were told th-um.” She quietly started talking to herself, but then turned to Shaggy. “What did Alvin say Teresa did for a job?”

Shaggy shrugged. “He didn’t.”

I cut back in. “Alvin? Who’s he?”

“Bruh, I don’t got a clue.” They both laughed.

I laughed with them too, but anxiously. I thought I had said something stupid at first. “Sorry.” I couldn’t help but apologize to them.

“Whatcha sorry for?” Shaggy said.

“I don’t know, I’m confused. I didn’t know if I said something dumb…”

“Nah, bro. That ain’t it.” Shaggy sipped from his cup. “We was laughin’ because some random dude named Alvin invited us, but we got no clue who he is. He just randomly came up to us at the club and threw down this whole costume party on us. We only warmed up to the idea because he was buyin’ us shots all night.”

I listened intently, tickled by the similarities in our invitations. “Have you seen Alvin lately?”

“Yeah, just for a sec, though. He was the one who let us in, but then he dipped.”

 

After talking to two fifths of Mystery Inc., I ventured out by myself. but it wasn’t by choice. Truthfully, I would’ve preferred sticking with Bill, but when I turned back, both him and Daphne were gone. It was like they snuck off together, but that seemed super unlikely. I just assumed I’d run into him later, though.

That wasn’t the case.

The party continued to wane, and I continued to get more sluggish seemingly by the minute. I even ended up dumping my third beer to slow the process, but it felt too late. By eleven I was dragging along the wall and struggling to hold onto the simplest of thoughts. I started to wonder if I had been drugged, only to swiftly forget what I was just thinking about. I also began to grow faint as well, but that didn’t start until the person with the Jack-O-lantern face found me again.

This time they were looking down at me from the second level of the house, their fat head resting on folded arms and their glossy black eyes firmly locked on me in the middle of a decreasing crowd. I froze and stared back. Suddenly I felt light and my flesh was tingling. It was like I had just puffed the harshest cigarette and was riding a nicotine buzz as I swayed in place and gazed back. I wondered if I should approach, after all, but thought better about it. Actually, ‘thought better of it’ is just a masculine way to put what I really did.

I ran like I was being chased. All of a sudden I was struck with a fear so new, yet so natural that I ran.like.hell.

But within a few paces, I stopped. I had forgotten what I was running from. Just like that.

Out of it and even more tired now, I found a room that had a sectioned sofa and I sunk into it gratefully. I wasn’t alone in this random room, though, as a man who had a thin face was asleep on the other side of the sofa. He was dressed as a pirate, or somebody else with a white blouse, black vest, and a bandana.

Drunk as ever, I shut my eyes, and wondered why the party was getting smaller so early. It even seemed quieter then. Much quieter. By the sound of it, the party was less than a quarter of its original size. But where had they all gone? It wasn’t even midnight yet. 

I sat there unsure of it all besides the fact that sleep meant comfort. Crashing right there on that sofa seemed like the most natural thing to do. Like why wouldn’t I sleep in this wealthy stranger’s house? Within a few moments any music playing ceased, I started to feel extra warm, and then my gut bore the sensation like I was being lifted.

I snapped awake.

And next I jumped to my feet. I was dead certain I was just being carried away from the couch, but I was still there. My phone said not even two minutes had passed. And maybe it was how fast I got to my feet, or the brightness of my screen, but right then I felt sober. That’s when it hit me.

I needed to get out of there.

I walked away from the sofa and out of the room, but before I left, I glanced back at the sleepy pirate who was sleeping near me. Or where he would’ve been. He was missing now.

His departure distracted me as well concerned, but I needed to keep going. I couldn’t afford to think about anybody else. Especially not a stranger, but not even Bill.

But I stopped and pondered anyway when I saw I was alone. Just for a second, then I was on the move to the next room in seek for an exit. Only issue was that I was alone in that room, too. And the next, and so forth. The pirate wasn’t the only one who had left recently.

On the way out I kept taking wrong turns and ending up in black and freezer-like rooms with no light switch. Though, during my search for the door it felt like there was no right turn to take. After the fourth empty cold room, the front door felt like a fantasy, like it never existed to begin with. I nearly accepted that.

My body was so numb that a tight pinch would’ve gone unnoticed, and my face had this post-dentist feeling where my jaw just slightly hung and as a result I started to drool as I dragged down the hall.

You can only imagine how relieved I was when I finally found other people. It hardly mattered that they were all sleeping on the floor or on any available furniture. Music still played throughout the house, though, and songs echoed in the high ceiling and between the vacant halls, and not one of them stirred in its noise.

Instead of trying to wake them, I continued my search.

Feeling as if hours had gone by, the door still avoided me. I couldn’t find a single exit anywhere, not even the windows I’m certain I saw at the beginning of the night, but I did end up finding them again.

I turned the corner and the small stranger with the face of a carved pumpkin was already there staring. They stood at the end of the hall while I stood at the other, and I immediately wanted to retreat the second our eyes met.

This time they were dripping, as if they had gotten into the hot tub—that I never even saw—fully clothed and hadn’t bothered with a towel. Their make-up was even indicative of that as well. It was smeared down their face, now looking like a rotting pumpkin in the second week of November.

Fighting the urge to collapse, I spoke.

“Out.” Was all I could muster through the drool and lethargy.

And as if they were on my side, the pumpkin-person stepped aside. They gestured with one arm, signaling the way just right past them.

I drug forward, each step becoming harder than the last.

That nicotine-like buzz was back, too, and stronger than before. I vibrated more and more the closer I got to them.

I crossed them, not wanting to look into their stoic face, but something was urging me to. Something potent. It was their smell.

They smelt identically like pumpkin guts. I have zero doubt about it. I took one whiff and it was as if my head was in a freshly cut open pumpkin, and my stomach churned for some reason. But I fought to keep my eyes down, and I won.

The door was in sight as I stood parallel from them, and I felt I could jump through it at this point. My last bit of energy was enough to get me there, but I almost fainted when they spoke in my ear.

“Hurry and choose.” they said, using a voice that had too much bass for their size, and with a trail of vibration like they were speaking into a fan.

I threw the door open and tossed myself out.

▲   ▲

I couldn’t even finish out the year in Willoughby. Following the party, as in the moment I stepped outside, I instantly sobered. My energy came back, as well as the feeling in my face and body. It was as if being in the house was rocking me to sleep, and outside acted like a pitcher of ice water dumped over my head. I was suddenly awake, aware, and deeply confused.

I was moved out of my new apartment two weeks later, so it didn’t shock me that I didn’t run into Bill again before I left. It did, however, strike me curiously that no one else had seen him either. Everyone at Normand’s told me the same thing when I made my final visit. They all said he had likely been stationed elsewhere and assured me that was the nature of the military, and I accepted that easily. Probably because I wanted to.

It also became increasingly easy for me to buy any excuse because the farther Halloween became, the more I felt I was overreacting and embellishing. Even the next day I told myself that I was just too drunk. And if I wasn’t just drunk, then maybe I was allergic to something?

That’s only me rationalizing, though. But make no mistake about it, it all happened like I said it did.

But I haven’t said everything.

Here’s why I’m really writing this.

Since then, I’ve gotten married and started—and joined—a family. That’s where Shannon and Jack come in. They entered my life at the perfect time, and the last four years have been the most valuable days of my life. I’m beyond happy with the life they’ve given me.

And then you add our daughter, Nicole, to the mix. She’s two, and even though she’s only a toddler, she’s obsessed with Halloween.

That goes double for Jack, who is about to turn nine in December. As soon as September hit, he’s talked about very little besides getting a costume for trick or treating. Apparently, he saw a pop-up Halloween shop when him and Shannon were running errands, and he’s been begging both of us to take him. So, on a quiet and crisp chilly night when Shannon wanted some alone time, I obliged. I took the kids to the Halloween shop.

The store was nothing special; just your common pop-up Halloween store in a strip small, complete with decorations, accessories, and all the mask and costumes you’d want. Or most anyway.

It was special to Jack, though. He rejoiced as if we had just passed the gates into Disney World. He was everywhere all at once, pressing each TRY-ME button, looking at various window decor, and trying on almost every mask. One of our last stops in the shop was the costume section. The complete outfits, if you will.

That’s where I first saw it. She was on the first package I looked at.

I just barely recognized her.

On the cover of a packaged costume labeled, “Grunge Detective” was the woman who was dressed as Daphne at the party. She was wearing the exact same outfit she wore that night, but instead of a Pearl Jam shirt, it was just a purple T with a few holes.

There’s no doubt that I thought it was odd when I realized where I knew her from, but it didn’t exactly spook me yet. So she did some cheap Halloween costume modeling? So what? Nothing too unbelievable, right? Well, it would’ve been, had I not seen the ones right next to hers.

Their Shaggy and Velma were there just the same, but it wasn’t just their gang. It was everyone I remember seeing that night. The pirate on the sofa, the freckled Dororthy, all the drunk officers, pin-up girls, and even the famous slashers were posted as well, but as parody, knock-off versions.

And Bill was there, too.  

He was posted on the cover of one that read, “Medieval Brute.” At first glance he stood harmlessly holding a shrug with a smirk on his face and nothing more. It was just my older and former drinking pal doing some modeling on the surface, but when I looked deeper at the photo of a man who I didn’t know too well, but well enough, I could tell something was off.

It wasn’t just that his blue eyes were now black, it was how wide spread they were. It looked like someone had been keeping them open for him, but edited the hands out of the shot. On top of that, he also had lost all of his wrinkles. There wasn’t a single line in his face; as if he had been smoothed out like he was clay. His dimpled chin wasn’t even there anymore.

As I stood gazing at the costume, my daughter whimpered in my arms. I had been unintentionally squeezing her as I slipped into what felt like a trance. But her subtle whine was also what brought me out of it. For a solid minute or two I had been enduring the same sensations I had the night of the party; the numbness, the looseness, and the buzzing under my flesh.

Not wanting to worry Jack, I shook it off and put on a parental face. I don’t think he fully caught onto my moment of panic and I’m grateful for that. He and Nicole came home with nothing but smiles and their Halloween gear, which they both shared instantly with their mother.

Jack settled on The Hulk; mask and muscle padding included.

But Nicole came up with her own idea. One that made my skin spread cold and encouraged me to stare at her in a way that unsettled both of us.

Passing the face paint, she pointed and said, “Daddy, I wanna be Halloween pumpkin this year.”