Photo by Beth Teutschmann on Unsplash
I’ve never been to a Halloween party before. We moved around too much for me to have friends I could do a real party with. Having a watch party to watch old horror flicks while we sat behind computers in different time zones wasn’t the same. Sure, I didn’t know the kids who invited me well, but what was the worst that could happen? Mum had suggested drowning while bobbing for apples. But high schoolers don’t do that, do they? Well, if we did, at least I had a towel to dry off with because I went with my Arthur Dent costume. Pjs, housecoat, Don’t Panic phone case and, of course, a towel. Every hitchhiker needs a towel.
I step down into the basement, and it’s like a B-movie horror flick. There’s an altar with black dribbly candles, blood that I hope is just red dye and corn syrup, and drawn into the concrete floor are a bunch of eldritch looking symbols around the altar. Not sure what vibe this is, but I’m not keen on it. This is a little too much Samhaim and not enough fake spiders and Jello made in brain molds.
“Oh, so glad you could make it Leslie!” Clarissa says coming down the stairs behind me. She’s carrying a basket of chips. Her outfit looked like a hand stitched replica from Hocus Pocus complete with the soul sucking ring.
I feel so much less tense. “Yeah, I wouldn’t miss it.”
Clarissa placed the basket of chips on the altar, and I realize it’s just a folding table with a black cloth on it. “So, we sacrificing Doritos to Cthulhu?”
She laughs. “I just set it up how Roger asked.”
I really wished I could stop myself from blushing, but maybe it wouldn’t be that obvious in the dim light. What was the point in saying anything when I would be gone in a few months? “I didn’t know he was into this stuff.”
“He’s deep into the occult. Or something.” Clarissa shrugged and took bowels out of the basket.
The blood on the tablecloth was dry. Fake blood doesn’t dry like that. I’ve made enough zombie costumes to know that it takes days to dry. “Hey, umm, hate to do this, but I’m not feeling great. I think I’m gonna go.”
I pull out my phone and start a text to my mom. Clarissa grabs my phone and gives me a look. A look that matches her outfit and makes me think she’s going to curse me. Not goofy kids curing each other, but an actual black magic curse. “I’ll make you some tea.”
I jerk my phone out of her grip and press dial. I don’t care if it’s rude, I don’t ignore the voice in the back of my head. That’s how people get eaten by monsters. “I’d really rather go home.”
“Yes?” My mom’s voice comes through a little garbled, but I can hear the concern.
“It’s nothing, just a butt dial,” Clarissa says and ends the call on me. “Come on, don’t be such a spoilsport. This will be fun.”
No, I’m getting out. I head for the stairs up, but Roger is there filling the narrow passage with his quarterback’s bulk. He’s dressed like Dracula from the old movies, complete with the silly emblem around his neck and a terrible hair do. Maybe if I weren’t already jittery, I would have found it funny, but something in his eyes, and the not at all plastic gleam of the teeth, makes me want to run even more. I need to get out. “Oh hey, Leslie, wasn’t expecting you here.”
“Yeah, I can’t stay. I don’t feel good.” My hearts beats out a deafening marching order.
Clarissa shakes her head, and Roger doesn’t move. I’m not getting past him. Is this some hazing bs? Am I overreacting to nothing? These guys were weird at school and I hadn’t really expected an invitation to their party. We weren’t in the same friend groups. “What the heck? I just want to go home. This isn’t funny.”
“You can’t leave before the party even starts!” Clarissa says, her voice far too sweet.
I don’t want to, but I take a step down, back into the horror movie set of a Halloween party. I don’t want to listen. I don’t want to be here. Get out screams, a voice in my head. She’s not that bad, is she? I can’t possibly think they’d hurt me? They wouldn’t. They’re just really in character for the party. Like when my little brother was shocked, he couldn’t Jedi mind trick himself more treats last Halloween. But he was 4. And this was working.
“There, have something to drink.” She hands me a cup of punch. It does not smell right. “Drink up.”
I battle the compulsion to drink. Ignore just how thirsty I feel. I make that pungent undertone my universe as I resist. So thristy.
The door into the house bursts open. “Where is my daughter?”
It’s mum. That breaks the spell. “HERE!” I shout with the volume of an enraged rooster.
She’s in a pinstripe suit and wearing a sombrero. Neither really go with the two crossbows she’s holding. But the look of Jon Wick, I will murder you all level of ferocity, does. Roger backs down the stairs hissing. Probably reacting to the garlic and silver on the crossbows. That’s right, the highschool quarterback is a vampire. So much for that crush.
“There’s no need for that. You can join our party.” Clarissa moves towards my mum as if she were holding trays of cake instead of a pair of deadly weapons.
“Try that again and I will shoot you.” Mum looks me up and down, relief mixing with worry. “Leslie. Go!”
I don’t hesitate, mum voice is stronger than any spell. I take the steps up two at a time, bolt through the kicked down door, and across the manicured lawn to the van. Calypso, my mom, is in there. She signs asking if I’m okay. I nod and take the offered orange soda. One of the special ones that she makes. They taste like orange crush but also cleanse the drinker of bad juju. It’s also less carbonated. She holds my hand while we wait.
Mum comes out the busted front door a few minutes later. There’s a little dust on her suit, and she lost the sombrero. But she isn’t bleeding or limping, so that’s a win.
“Alright, so we just solved the mystery of why so many teens go missing in this town.” Mum climbs into the driver seat. “And also answered the question of when we’re getting out of town.”
I sigh. Such was life. “I’m sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Leslie.” Both mothers said. “You should be able to go to a Halloween party like any other kid. I’m just glad you called.”
“Me too.”
I still want to go to a real halloween party someday.