Originally published September 5, 2018
I was out grocery shopping with my girls. It was like any other day really, trying to make sure I got everything on the list my wife had given me while the girls wandered the aisles, always making sure to stay in my sight. I was trying to spot my favorite flavor of crackers on the shelf when my youngest, Marnie, squealed in excitement at the end of the aisle and scurried out of sight, her sister Sophie not far behind. I hurried after them, expecting to find them fawning over some new toy they just had to have. When I pushed our cart around the corner, my insides turned to ice.
It was the store’s seasonal aisle, twice as wide as the others, so they could put displays in the middle as well as on the shelves. Given what time of year it was, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see the aisle decked out in the blacks and oranges of Halloween. There were plastic animal skeletons, one of which Marnie was clutching to her chest like one of her stuffed animals. Sophie had pulled a pointy witch’s hat out of one of the displays and was wearing it while she hit the “Try Me” buttons on several different electronic decorations. She had a full chorus of moaning voices and multi-colored flashing lights going.
“Girls, come here now please,” I said, trying to remain calm despite my rising panic. They didn’t listen. Sophie started inspecting a display of witches’ brooms while Marnie shook the hand of a plastic skeleton hanging from the shelf. My hands clenched the shopping cart so tightly, I half expected the plastic on the handle to crack.
I could feel my skin getting clammy. “Girls, it’s time to go,” I said, but they were oblivious to my voice. Something pinched on the roof of my mouth. I snapped.
“GIRLS! HERE. NOW.” Sophie and Marnie jumped at my shout. They turned to me, eyes wide in a mixture of surprise and fear. I felt a pang in my heart as they scurried over, avoiding my gaze. I hadn’t meant to scare them, but I had to get them out of here. I had to get out of here.
As they returned to me, I felt my shoulders loosen with relief, though my hands still gripped the cart tightly. I knew I wouldn’t be able to let go until the aisle was out of my sight. The girls were still spooked by my outburst. Marnie was staring at her pink light-up shoes, but Sophie chanced to look at my face.
“What’s wrong, Dad?” she asked. The slight waver in her voice sent a whole new pain slicing through my heart. A hall of horrors, and my daughters were afraid of me.
“Nothing, Sweetheart,” I said, trying to soften my voice. “I just can’t have you wandering off when we’re in the store, okay?”
“We only went a little ways,” Sophie said. One look at my face told her that her argument wouldn’t work, so she changed tactics. “Can we play now that you’re here?”
“No,” I said, the edge creeping back into my voice. “We need to finish getting groceries.”
“Can we play after?” Marnie asked, popping her eyes up from her shoes.
“No!” I said, pushing the cart forward. “I don’t want you playing in there at all. Now let’s hurry, so we can go home.” The girls followed behind, both heads bowed to the ground. The pain in my heart returned at the same time that my hands started to relax. I felt bad, yelling at the girls. It was natural for kids to get excited around the holidays. I just wished this one didn’t hold such an attraction for my daughters.
I wasn’t always so anti-Halloween. In fact, as a child, it was my absolute favorite time of year. The candy, the costumes, the smell of fall—it all felt so magical to me. From the moment the leaves started to turn, I was buzzing with excitement, counting the days until I could put on a mask and run through the night. I could still see my childhood street, alive with zombies and vampires and monsters that stalked up to people’s doors and demanded payment in exchange for not egging the place. Laughter and playful screams floated through the air, the night more alive than any other of the year.
With a start, I noticed I was running my tongue over the roof of my mouth. I was back in the grocery story. I turned into the next aisle, staring at the list in my hand. No, I thought. No good would come from Halloween. Still, as I moved through the store, my mind couldn’t help but wander back through time, alighting on memories I would rather forget.
When I was six, I went trick-or-treating as a fox. My costume was handmade, but it was hard to tell. My mother had designed costumes for her school’s plays, and her skill remained despite the years between high school and having two kids. My costume was a stunning orange-red, with brown paws and a white belly. My mom had put wire in the ears, so they kept their pointed shape and didn’t flop around. My tail hung down behind me, as bushy and soft as I’d imagined it when I first came up with the costume. I was standing in the front room of the house, doing my best to stay still while Mom made some final adjustments, but my legs were quivering with excitement.
“Hang in there just one more minute, Jonathan,” Mom said. She was fussing around the hem of my fox-legs, a few pins sticking out of the corner of her mouth. I looked out the front window as she worked. The tree in the front yard was a brilliant orange, though not as good a color as my fox costume, I thought. We’d wrapped fake spider webs around the branches where all the leaves had fallen off. The fallen leaves had been raked up, first into the ultimate leaf pile for jumping in, then transferred into bags that looked like Jack-o-lanterns, which now stood a scattered guard throughout the yard. As my mom straightened up from her crouched position, I turned my attention back to her.
“Alright, Honey, I’m gonna need to hem these a little more, so go put your pants back on for a bit, okay?” My shoulders slumped at that. I’d been so excited to put the costume on; I didn’t want to take it off already. My mom must have sensed my reluctance, because she said, “Hurry up and take it off, and you can have some candy corn while you wait.” I hurried to my room as quickly as I could after that. Candy corn was one of my favorites.
I munched on my candy corn as Mom hemmed my fox-legs at the dinner table. I ate the candy corn slowly, starting with the fat yellow bottom and working my way to the white point of each piece. Bite, bite, bite. Time for another piece. As Mom finished up, my older brother, Bradley, walked into the room.
“Hey, hon,” Mom said. “Do you need any help with your costume?” Bradley leaned against the doorframe. He was wearing a black T-shirt with a skeleton’s torso on it. He snorted in response to our mom’s question.
“Trick-or-treating’s for babies,” he said. Our mom looked up from her work on my fox-legs, surprised.
“When did you decide that?” she asked.
“Forever ago,” Bradley said, rolling his eyes.
“That’s not true,” I responded. “You went trick-or-treating last year.” Bradley shot me a glare.
“Well, now I’m too old for that kiddie stuff.” Our mom stifled a giggle.
“Bradley, you’re only ten,” she said. Bradley blushed, then shook his head from side to side, as if he could wipe the color from his cheeks.
“I’m not going,” he said. Our mom sighed and looked at Bradley again. There was a look in her eyes I didn’t understand then, but now I do. It was the sadness a parent feels when their child begins to grow up and out of old interests.
“Alright, Bradley, it’s your choice,” she said. She turned to me, holding out my fox-legs. “Here Jonathan. All done.” Wiggling with excitement, I snatched the legs from her and hurried to my room, leaving behind my now empty bowl of candy corn.
As the sun began to set, the doorbell rang. My mom answered it to find my friends—Hunter, Reece, and Fred—at the door. I rushed to greet them, my tail bouncing out behind me. They all complimented me on my costume, except Fred. He had his arms crossed, one hand in a leather glove tipped with long plastic blades. He’d thought it would be clever to go as Freddie Krueger, since they had the same first name. We’d thought it was clever too, at first, but Fred would not stop talking about it. Day after day after day, it’s all we heard about. Now that the Night had arrived, all of the excitement had gone, and he was less than pleased. Hunter, on the other hand, was grinning wide under his fake beard. He wore a red-and-black flannel shirt stuffed into denim overalls. A red wool cap covered his head, and a bloody plastic axe was slung over his shoulder. Reece was unrecognizable under his white sheet of a ghost costume, but he pulled it over his head to say hi.
I turned to my mom as she handed me an old pillow case to use to carry my haul. She smiled and kissed my forehead, which I tried not to shrink back from in front of my friends. Bradley appeared in the entryway behind her.
“You sure you want to stay home?” Mom asked, turning to Bradley. He nodded, then smirked at me.
“I don’t want to spend my night with a bunch of babies,” he said. Mom shot him a warning glance, and I took the opportunity to stick my tongue out at him, which made my friends giggle. With a shake of her head, Mom turned back to me and, pulling a small flashlight out of her back pocket, handed it to me.
“Be safe, Jonathan,” she said. “And have fun.”
“We will!” I shouted back, already running off the porch, friends close behind. The sky was as orange as the leaves on the trees as we started down my street. My neighbors handed out pretty basic stuff—half-sized chocolate bars, little packs of gummies—but old woman Finch gave us popcorn balls along with a piece of candy each. We all nodded and grinned to each other as we walked away from her house. Tonight was going to be a good night.
We continued to make our way through the neighborhood, walking up one side of a street, then coming back down the other side. We skipped Flanders Street, since it was notorious for giving out nothing but off-brand candies that no one had ever heard of before. “Don’t need that loser candy slowing us down,” Hunter had said. It was true; our bags were getting quite heavy for kids our age. My flashlight lay forgotten under pounds of sweets, and Hunter struggled to carry his bag and his axe. Fred kept losing his grip because of the glove, and when Reece pulled his bag under his costume, cradling it in both arms, his ghost grew a major belly.
The sky darkened until our only source of light was the street and porch lights that surrounded us. When those started to go out, I felt a nervousness rise in my throat. Mom had said I had to get home before the last porch light was out, and I could feel the seconds ticking by, faster and faster. My friends and I kept up our hunt, a franticness entering our steps as we hurried to hit houses before their lights went off. When we hit a house that was already dark, we began to cry out in dismay, until Fred pointed out the toilet paper waving from the trees, and suggested that house had never turned their lights on in the first place. We continued on, our pace quickening.
At last we came to the final street I was allowed to go to without my parents. It was a cul-de-sac, and half the porch lights were already out. We scrambled to hit the rest in time, splitting up and meeting at the rounded end of the street. Under the halo of a streetlight, we looked up at the final house. It was a large two-story, painted blue-gray with a faded trim. There were similar houses throughout the neighborhood, but we found ourselves huddling closer as we stared at this one. It was the house of Taylor Daniels.
“I heard he never leaves his house,” I said.
“I heard Mrs. Johnson tell Mrs. Beckett that he murdered someone, and he hides inside, so the police can’t recognize his face,” Fred said.
“Bullshit,” Hunter said.
“Is not!” Fred retorted.
“I-I heard he eats cats that wander into his yard,” Reece said.
“Now that’s bullshit,” Fred said. “How is he supposed to eat cats if he can’t leave his house?”
“H-he comes out at night when it’s too dark to see his face,” Reece responded. We all grew quiet, staring at the front door, as if it might swing open at any moment.
“The porch light’s on,” Fred said.
“Yeah, so?” Hunter responded.
“So? Candy,” Fred said. We nodded in agreement, but no one made a move towards the door. Suddenly, Fred pushed me from behind, knocking me out of the streetlight’s protective glow. I looked back, startled.
“You go first,” Fred said. I opened my mouth, about to protest, when Fred said the magic words:
“Unless you’re chicken.”
I clapped my mouth shut and turned back to the house. Despite the streetlight in front of it, the yard seemed darker than the rest of the neighborhood. The grass swayed ominously in the slight breeze as it crept pass. I looked to the porch light and thought of the angler fish from my book of ocean creatures. It had a lure on its head with a light on the end, which it used to get prey to come closer. I imagined the house as a giant angler fish, the porch light luring me to the door, where I’d be swallowed up forever. I shivered but took a tentative step forward into the grass. I stopped, waiting to see if something would pop out and attack me. When nothing happened, I continued forward at a snail’s pace.
I reached the door after what seemed like an eternity. Up close, I noticed how dirty and run down the porch was. It was covered with dirt and spider webs, and there were dead leaves caught in cracks in the wooden floor. However, the porch light looked freshly cleaned. A few moths bounced against it, but the light was free from the dust and webbing that covered the rest of the porch. After a moment of staring, I heard Fred call out behind me—“What are you waiting for?”— and I realized I hadn’t rung the doorbell. I reached forward and pushed the tiny button; I had to push really hard to get it to work. I heard a faint ringing echo inside the house. After a beat, I heard footsteps approaching. My heart started racing. I very much wanted to run back to my friends waiting on the street, but my legs had turned to wood. The knob in front of me began to turn, and then the door was open.
A tall man—taller than my dad, who I considered a giant at my age—appeared in the doorway. His whole body seemed unusually long. Hunter had showed me pictures of something called a rack in a book he found in his brother’s room. This man looked like he’d been stretched out on one. But I was pretty sure people who got on a rack weren’t able to stand so easily afterward, and Taylor Daniels didn’t seem to be having a problem. In his hands he held a bowl of candy, still full. The sight made me a little sad. Was I the first person to ring the doorbell all night?
Taylor Daniels moved forward onto the porch and stooped, so he was closer to eye-level with me. Now that he was closer, I could better make out his face. His skin was pale, like he really never did leave the house. His hair was a dull red-brown and long enough to brush against his shoulders. He didn’t look directly at me, but I could see that his eyes were a pale blue, almost colorless. He held the bowl out to me, still not looking up from the porch. I reached out and took a piece.
“Thank you,” I managed to squeak out. A small smile spread over Taylor Daniels’ face. I turned to go when he spoke:
“Take another,” he said. I paused, and turned back. I examined the bowl more carefully this time. It was full of some of my favorites. After some thinking, I grabbed a two-pack of peanut butter cups. I stuffed it in my bag and smiled at Taylor Daniels. My fear had melted away without me really noticing.
“Thank you, Mr. Daniels. Happy Halloween.” He smiled again, eyes just glancing over me as he gave a little nod. Then he straightened up and disappeared back into the house. I bounced off the porch and back to my friends. My fear behind me, it was easy to act like it had never existed at all, and I showed off my bounty to my friends, who were duly impressed. Fred tried to argue that he could have gone up to the door easy, but he was afraid any more candy would make his bag tear open. I just laughed as we walked down the street back to our own homes. The night air felt crisp in my lungs. I was exhilarated.
Back at home, I dumped out the bag of candy in my room to examine my haul. I’d done well this year. I began to separate my favorites from the rest, then I made a pile of the candy I didn’t like. I planned to take those to school and trade them on Monday. Deeply focused on my task, I didn’t notice Bradley walk into my room.
“Don’t fall in,” he said. I started at the noise and turned. He was leaning against the doorframe again. He thought it made him look cool. He nodded toward my pile of candy. “If you fell into that, they’d wouldn’t find your body until you were just bones.”
“Nu-uh,” I said, and turned back to my sorting. Bradley moved farther into the room and watched me work. After a while, he nudged me with his foot.
“Hey, give me a piece,” he said.
“No way, this is mine,” I said. “Go eat your own.”
“I don’t have my own,” he grumbled.
“Well too bad. I’m not sharing,” I said, punctuating my remark by sticking out my tongue. Bradley frowned.
“C’mon Jonathan, just one piece,” he said. He actually tried to grab one as he said it, aiming for my peanut butter cups. I smacked his hand away, and he pounced on me. We rolled around the floor, yelling and smacking at each other but not doing much damage. Our mom heard the noise and came to see what was happening.
“Stop it, both of you! Why are you fighting?” she asked.
“Bradley tried to steal my candy!” I cried.
“Well Jonathan wouldn’t share,” Bradley argued. Our mom crossed her arms and looked at the both of us.
“Jonathan, we’re a family, and family shares. However, you can choose what candy Bradley can have.” I looked around for a moment, then pointed to the pile of candy I’d planned on trading at school.
“You can have that candy, Bradley,” I said, pointing. He looked at the pile with disgust.
“I don’t want your loser candy!” he said.
“Bradley,” our mom interjected. “You chose not to go trick-or-treating. Jonathan is being very nice by offering you so much candy. If you don’t like it, you can have whatever’s left in the bowl downstairs, but it’s pretty much empty.” Angry, Bradley aimed a kicked at my pile of trading candy. It scattered across the room.
“Bradley!” our mom cried. “Enough. No more video games for a week.” Bradley tried to argue, but our mom was firm. He skulked out of my room, head down and hands in his pockets. I went around my room, collecting that scattered candy and returning it to a single pile. As I finished, I heard a knock on the doorframe and turned to see my dad.
“Hey buddy, our show’s about to start.” I started up in glee and headed towards him, then paused. I turned back to my candy and took the peanut butter cups from the pile. I opened the package and pulled out one to eat, then carefully wrapped the other back up. I followed my dad down to the family room to watch our favorite Halloween TV special together—It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown.
My dad and I curled up on the couch to watch. As per tradition, there were two glazed doughnuts on the table, along with two mugs of hot chocolate. We munched and drank as Charlie and his friends enjoyed their own Halloween. After the show ended, Dad said it was time for bed. I was still wired enough from the night to protest, but just tired enough to give in when he insisted.
I went upstairs and brushed my teeth. Then I went to my room and took off my fox costume, replacing it with cowboy pajamas. I heard Bradley walk down the hall toward the bathroom, and I got an idea.
“Bradley!” I called out to him. After a moment, he appeared in the doorway.
“What?” he said.
I picked up the last peanut butter cup and pulled it out of the wrapper. I held it so the wide top was towards Bradley. “You still want some candy?” He raised an eyebrow, but otherwise didn’t move.
“You serious?” he asked. I wiggled the candy in my hand, and Bradley made a move forward.
“Tricked ya!” I cried. I popped the peanut butter cup into my mouth, still keeping it vertical, and bit down.
Pain shot through my mouth. I tried to scream around the candy, and opening my mouth made the pain worse. Bradley was frozen in front of me, his eyes as wide as the peanut butter cup had been. Then he started screaming too, crying for our parents. They were already on their way, having heard my cries of agony echo down the stairs. They nearly bowled Bradley over as they rushed into the room. Dad tried to see what was wrong, but I writhed and swung at him in my pain and confusion. Mom managed to grab me and pin my arms to my sides while Dad stuck his fingers in my mouth. He started scooping bits of peanut butter cup out of my mouth. When his fingers brushed one piece, a new wave of pain shot through me, and I cried out and renewed my struggles. Quickly, my dad forced my mouth open wider with one hand while he reached in with the other. The pain peaked, and then my dad pulled his fingers out of my mouth.
With a final scream, I slumped into my mom’s arms as I was faintly aware of my dad moaning. I looked over at the same time my mom did to see what had caused my dad to cry out. In his fingers was a sewing needle, each end red with what I realized was blood. My blood.
The rest of the night was a rapid blur. Mom and Dad rushed me and Bradley to the hospital. The pain changed from a sharp, constant stab to a consistent throbbing as we raced through the now-empty streets.
At the hospital, my mom raged and screamed until a doctor saw me. I’d never seen her so angry, and I cowered in my seat. The doctor was friendly enough, as doctors went. He had a giant beard that looked ready to swallow his lips, but his voice was soothing, and some of the tension went out of my body as he examined my mouth. He assured my parents that I would be fine. The needle had been small, so the wounds were too. I breathed a sigh of relief when I realized I wouldn’t need stitches. Marcy May had fallen off the swings at school earlier that year and needed stitches to fix her split lip. I had had a crush on her for a time, but the thick thread holding her skin together scared me. I didn’t want to have to see that whenever I looked in the mirror.
A few hours later, we were back at home. My dad carried me up to my room and tucked me in while Mom watched from the doorway. He kissed me on the forehead before leaving. Then my mom came over and kissed me. She brushed her fingers through my hair and stared at me. She had a strange, half-vacant look in her eyes, like she was somewhere far, far away.
“Mommy, what are you thinking?” I asked. She shook her head as if waking up from a dream and smiled down at me.
“Nothing sweetie. You get a good night’s sleep.” As she turned to go, she spotted the piles of candy on my floor and hesitated.
“Honey, do you have any idea who gave you the candy with the—that you ate earlier?” she asked. If she’d asked me about any other piece, I probably wouldn’t have known, but I easily remembered who gave me the peanut butter cups. It had been my crowning achievement of the night.
“I got it from Taylor Daniels house,” I said. Mom inhaled deeply. She was back to that far away place, but there was something sharp in her eyes this time.
“Mommy, am I in trouble?” I asked. She turned to me and smiled again.
“No, honey. Mommy’s just thinking. Don’t you worry about a thing. Now get some sleep.” With that, she stood from my bed and walked out the door, shutting it behind her. The bright hall light crept under the door, giving me just enough light to know no monsters were hiding in the corners of the room.
I laid in bed and thought about my mom’s question. Why had she wanted to know? Well, I may have been young, but I had a pretty good guess as to that. I thought back to Taylor Daniels, that strange giant in the strange house. Could he have put the needle in the candy? I’d heard stories of crazy people putting razor blades in Halloween candy before, but Taylor Daniels had seemed so nice. Strange? Yes. But nice. I remembered Bradley telling me once that guilty people couldn’t look others in the eyes. Taylor Daniels hadn’t really looked me in the eyes. Then again, my cousin Shelly never did, and Mom said she was just shy.
My thoughts were interrupted by the door creaking open again. Bradley crept into my room and sat on the edge of my bed where Mom and Dad had sat earlier. I turned to face him, and he looked down at me.
“You’re awake,” he said.
“Uh-uh,” I replied. Bradley turned and stared at the floor.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I think so. The doctor said I’m okay.” Bradley nodded, still staring at the floor. He was silent for a long time.
“I’m sorry,” Bradley said.
“For what?” I replied.
“I’m sorry for—for what happened.” That confused me. It wasn’t Bradley’s fault I’d gotten hurt. Why should he feel bad? Then I remembered our fight earlier. I shot up, startling Bradley.
“Bradley, if I’d let you take the candy earlier, then you would’ve gotten hurt!” I cried. “Don’t feel bad. I don’t want you to get hurt either.” Bradley stared at me for a long moment. Then, he pulled me into a tight hug.
“It’s okay,” he whispered into my ear. “I promise to take better care of you from now on. I love you, Jonathan.”
This level of affection was unusual for my brother, but it had been an unusual night. I hugged him back and said, “I love you too, Bradley.”
After Bradley left, I curled up under my sheets again. My thoughts began to drift back to Taylor Daniels, but sleep took me away. I dreamt of darkness, of hands reaching out to hold me in place. They were long, pale hands, nothing more than skin stretched over bone, with long, dirty fingernails on each fingertip. Two grabbed my wrists; another two, my ankles. They pulled until I thought my arms and legs would pop off. I realized with terror this was what being on a rack must feel like.
Another two hands appeared out of the darkness. The boney fingers forced their way into my mouth, then wrenched it open. A final hand floated towards me. When it stretched out its fingers, I saw that the palm was covered with dozens of needles, sharp at both ends. I tried to struggle and get away, but the hands held me tightly. As the needle-hand came closer, it plucked one of the needles out of its palm and turned it towards me. Its tip was black with blood. Tears streamed from my eyes as the hand stopped in front of me. It paused, as if taking aim, then thrust the needle into the roof of my mouth. I screamed as best as I could with the hands holding my mouth open. Tears kept falling from my eyes, and I felt a trickle of warmth making its way down my leg. The needle-hand plucked another needle from its palm and forced it into my mouth. Again, I cried out. I writhed and cried, but it wouldn’t stop. The hand plucked and stuck, plucked and stuck. When it ran out of needles, the other hands holding my mouth open let go and moved to my head and chin. Before I realized it, they had slammed my mouth shut, causing the needles to go through my tongue and the bottom of my mouth. I screamed, but opening my mouth only intensified the pain. I stared up into the darkness and saw two pale eyes staring back at me, a twisted grin resting beneath.
I woke with a start, mouth open in a silent scream as I shot up. My heart was pounding so loud, its sound blocked my ears to everything else. The blackness around me was terrifying, and for a moment I thought I was still in the dream, but then I spotted the light coming in under my door. I stared at it like a lifeline. Eventually, my heart rate slowed and the pounding in my ears went away. My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I could see the piles of candy sitting on my floor, but no hands waiting to grab me. Still, I was shaken, and felt the need to be near my parents.
I got out of bed and opened the door. It didn’t occur to me that it was strange the hall light was still on—my parents always turned it off when they went to bed—until I heard the voices. I crept to the top of the stairs and listened. They were adult voices, and two were definitely my parents, but I couldn’t tell what they were saying. I wondered if they were having a grown-up party. Mom and Dad went to those sometimes, leaving me and my brother with Mrs. Kim, who hogged the TV and smelled like ham all the time. They didn’t usually have parties at our house though.
I wavered at the top of the stairs. A second ago, I’d needed to be in my parents’ arms so badly that the desire might have ripped me apart. But the sound of strangers in the house made me pause. I wasn’t too crazy about other grownups. They always talked about how tall I was getting and tried to pinch my cheeks or tussle my hair. I listened to the voices for a few minutes longer, until the panic from my dream had completely gone away. Then I headed back to my room. I noticed Bradley’s door open a crack. I wondered if I should shut it since the hall light was still on, but decided not to. Maybe Bradley secretly liked the light too. Back in my room, I crawled under the covers, closed my eyes, and fell into a dreamless sleep.
I woke up to sunlight peeking through the curtains. There was a gap at just the right spot to let the light hit my eyes while I laid in bed. I sat up, still feeling tired. As I rubbed my eyes, the previous night’s events came crashing back on me. I ran my tongue over the roof of my mouth. There was a slight sting, but nothing like the agony of the night before. The nightmare scratched at the edge of my thoughts, but I pushed it away and opened the curtains, using the sun to banish that dark place. I looked out into the yard, where the Halloween decorations still stood. I found myself looking away from them and focusing on the trees, noticing how they looked more brown than orange today. After a few minutes, I turned and headed downstairs for breakfast.
As I entered the kitchen, I was startled by a figure sitting at the table. It was Officer Gonzalez, one of my parents’ friends. He smiled as I entered, his dark eyes shining.
“Hey buddy, how are you doing?” he asked.
“I’m good,” I said, sitting in one of the red chairs across from him. “Why are you here?”
“Well, I just wanted to stop by and say hi,” he said. He leaned on the table, but not in a menacing way. That’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing his uniform. Instead, he had on a green T-shirt. It looked dirty, like when he’d come over to help Dad clean the attic.
“Why is your shirt so dirty?” I asked. Officer Gonzalez laughed.
“You’d make a pretty good policeman, Jonathan,” he said. He leaned farther over the table, his voice getting quieter. “Truth is, I heard about what happened last night. I was so worried, I ran right over to see how you were doing. I ran so fast I didn’t pay attention to where I was going and fell right into Mrs. Finch’s flower garden!” He mimicked falling at this last part, spilling onto the kitchen floor and making me laugh. Officer Gonzalez got up from the floor and took his seat again. He stared at me across the table for a moment, his face as unreadable as my mom’s had been the night before.
“Jonathan,” he began. “You know what a policeman does, right?”
“A policeman protects people from bad guys,” I said. He nodded.
“I want you to know that I’m here to protect you. You don’t have to be afraid of anyone with me around, okay?” I nodded. Officer Gonzalez stared at me before continuing. “I know what happened last night was scary, but I promise that you will never, ever, have to worry about it happening again.” I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I just said okay. At that moment, my dad walked in. When he spotted me, he blinked with surprise.
“Jonathan, you’re up early,” he said.
“I was hungry,” I responded. At that moment my stomach rumbled, and the two men chuckled. Officer Gonzalez stood up.
“Well, I better get going. Need to get cleaned up before going to work.” He winked at me as he said it.
“Thanks for coming over,” my dad said. He and Officer Gonzalez shook hands and stared at each other for a beat. Then Officer Gonzalez nodded.
“That’s what friends do,” he said. My dad walked him to the door. When he returned, he clapped his hands together and grinned.
“Who wants pancakes?” he asked.
“I do! I do!” I cried.
After breakfast, I went to watch cartoons. The TV turned on to a replay of It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown. Normally, I’d be ecstatic to have one extra day to watch my favorite Halloween-themed shows, but something was different. Watching the kids running from door to door, calling out the traditional words, hurrying away to compare their hauls, it didn’t bring me the joy it usually did. The roof of my mouth started throbbing, and I squirmed on the floor. I tried to ignore the feeling, keeping my eyes on the TV, but it didn’t go away. The roof of my mouth pulsed with my heartbeat, and it was getting hotter. I ran my tongue over the spot. I couldn’t feel anything—the doctor had said the hole was very small—but in my mind, I tasted blood. Blood and the hard, cold metal of a needle.
I turned off the TV and stood up. I’d go to my room and play with my action figures. Or maybe I’d get dressed and play outside.
I walked into my room and froze. My Halloween candy was still spilled across the floor in organized piles. I stared at the colorful wrappers, some torn open but most still full of sweet treats. I’d just had pancakes drowned in syrup, but that usually didn’t stop me from eating my weight in candy. I picked up a piece of pink taffy at my feet. I turned it over in my hand, looking at the colorful mascot smiling back at me. My mouth started throbbing again.
I dropped the piece of candy and left the room. I went down the stairs and past the kitchen to the garage. I opened the door and walked over to the shelves where Mom and Dad kept tools and other stuff. I stretched up and grabbed a box of trash bags from the shelf. I picked at the bags, trying to separate one from the rest. I got a hold of one eventually and pulled it out, watching the roll of bags spin as I pulled. I replaced the box on the shelf and went back to my room.
I started to open the bag but had trouble opening it all the way. I started shaking it like I’d seen Dad do when he replaced the kitchen trash. My mouth throbbed, and I shook harder. I managed to get the bag to make a sharp, snapping sound like when Dad did it. With the bag open, I reached down and picked up the piece of taffy again. I barely looked at it before throwing it in the bag.
It took almost ten minutes, but I got all the candy off the floor and in the trash bag. Instead of slinging the candy over my shoulder like I did the night before, I dragged it behind me down the hallway. I let it thump down the stairs behind me in time to the throbbing of my mouth. I dragged it through the kitchen and into the garage before I picked the bag off the floor. I started trying to push it into one of the trash cans when a voice behind me startled me.
“What are you doing?” Bradley asked from the doorway. He was wearing the same skeleton T-shirt from the night before and had his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants.
“Nothing,” I said turning back to my efforts at the trash can.
Bradley took a step into the garage. “Are you throwing away your candy?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said.
“But why? You love candy.”
That was true. I did love candy. Especially Halloween candy, and I’d worked hard for this batch. So why was I doing this?
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. Everything was spinning inside me—the taste of chocolate and blood, the sharp smell of the hospital, screaming that went on forever, hands reaching for me in the dark—and all the while I felt the throb, throb, throb of the roof of my mouth. I kept trying to push the bag over the lid of the trashcan, but the candy inside shifted and I almost lost my grip.
Bradley came over and tried to take the bag from me.
“No!” I cried with a fierceness that surprised both of us. Bradley looked at me, my hands digging into the plastic bag. I felt tears stinging the corners of my eyes. I’d normally feel embarrassed crying in front of my brother, but now I just felt desperate.
“Please, Bradley. I need to do this.” Bradley looked at me for a long moment, then nodded.
“You need to tie off the top. Here, let me.” I let go of the bag and Bradley moved his hand to the top. He hit the bulk of candy a few times, making the bag spin and twist the neck of the bag shut. Then he looped the bag’s neck around itself and pulled tight. He dropped it into the trashcan, where it landed with a metal clang. Then he turned to look at me.
“You okay?” he asked. I nodded.
“Thank you,” I said. I’d started to calm down. The would-be tears were drying away. Bradley nodded and put his hand on my shoulder and guided me back into the house.
Mom was in the kitchen when we came back. She was pouring a cup of coffee. Her eyes were red and her hair was all frizzy. I’d never seen her look so tired.
“Hi, Mom,” I said. She started and turned towards us.
“Hi sweetie,” she said with a tired smile. “How are you doing this morning?”
“Good,” I lied. I thought about telling her about the throbbing in my mouth and throwing out the candy, but there was something in her eyes that scared me. I decided to not say anything.
“We were about to go play some video games,” Bradley said. I looked at him with surprise. I normally had to beg him to let me play, and even then he usually wouldn’t give in until Mom made him. Not to mention that Mom had said no video games the night before.
But Mom wasn’t really paying attention. She just nodded and smiled, saying, “You two have fun.” She’d already turned back to her coffee.
I followed Bradley to his room and waited for him to turn on the Sega Genesis. We played for about an hour, then Dad came in and told Bradley to come help him rake the front yard. Bradley grumbled but didn’t put up as much of a fight as he usually did. Dad didn’t comment on the no video game punishment either. I wondered if they’d forgotten.
“We can play more when I’m done,” Bradley said, tying his shoe laces. I nodded. I followed him out of his room but headed down the hall to my room while he went down the stairs to meet Dad. I walked into my room and looked at the now clean floor. In the corner, I spotted the orange lump of my costume. My heart seized. I’d forgotten about it when I threw out the candy. I hurried over and picked it up, planning to throw it in the small trashcan in the corner of my room. I ran my fingers over the cloth. I remembered how excited I was about wearing it the night before. Before everything happened.
Throb throb throb.
My hands balled into fists around the fabric, and I shut my eyes. I started towards the trashcan, then stopped. I looked at the costume again. Mom had worked so hard on it for me, using all her spare time to get it right.
I turned towards my closet and stuffed the costume far in the back, behind my shoes and boxes of old toys. I stepped back and made sure I couldn’t see a single piece of it. Then I turned and left the room.
The next day was Monday, which meant going back to school. I realized I’d actually been looking forward to it. Since the incident, the house had felt strange. Mom and Dad smiled when I came into the room, but their smiles reminded me of the mannequins at the mall. They were too stiff, like their faces were made of plastic. Bradley was really quiet too. And nicer. He’d let me play with his Genesis two more times, and he even let me win a few times. He’d also open my door at night to check on me like Mom and Dad did when I was little, and I’d caught him looking at me with a weird face when we played. It was like he expected me to start screaming again. A part of me wanted to ask him what was wrong, but I was afraid he’d get angry at me and yell like he used to. Or worse, put on the same plastic smile Mom and Dad had. So I kept my mouth shut.
Bradley waited for me by the bus doors, but when we got on we split up to sit with our friends. I scrambled to the middle of the bus to grab a seat by Hunter, while Bradley headed to the back of the bus where the older kids were sitting. He gave me one last worried glance as he passed me.
Hunter and I greeted each other as the bus began to rumble down the road. After a while, Hunter unzipped his backpack and started rummaging around.
“Hey Jonathan, did you get any Three Musketeers? I’ll trade ya my Almond Joys and one pack of Sweet Tarts. I know you really like Three Musketeers, but they’re my favorite and I didn’t get any, and Fred won’t trade unless I give him half my haul.”
I shook my head. “I don’t have any more.”
“Aah, did you eat them all? Well, how about candy corn? You’ve gotta have some candy corn left.”
“I don’t have any more candy.”
“Dude, did you eat it all over the weekend? I would’ve puked my guts out.” I shook my head again, but Hunter kept prodding until I gave in.
“I threw it all away,” I admitted. Hunter gasped.
“What, why?” I stared at the seat in front of me and shook my head. Throb, throb, throb.
“Ah, you’re just joshing me so you don’t have to trade,” Hunter said, slumping back against the seat.
“I’m not joshing you. I really threw it all out.” I looked at Hunter this time when I said it. He stared at me, searching my face.
“You’re really not lying?” He asked.
“I swear it on my grave.” That was enough to convince Hunter. He was quiet for a few moments. Then he leaned over and whispered:
“What happened?”
I sighed. As much as I hated to think about it, I knew I’d have to tell Hunter and the others eventually. I guessed it might be easier to just start with telling one of them, and this was my chance. I told Hunter everything that happened after our group split ways. Digging into my treasure trove only to be stabbed by a hiding needle. Hunter’s eyes grew wide when I mentioned going to the hospital.
“Did you have to get stitches?” he asked.
I shook my head. “No, but it really hurt.”
Hunter was quiet for several minutes. I could see him thinking through the story as he sucked on a gobstopper.
“But why’d you have to throw out the rest of the candy?” he finally asked. “Were you scared there were more needles?”
I’d gotten rid of the candy because I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. The idea that there were more needles hidden in it hadn’t even occurred to me, but I didn’t want to try and explain the spinning in my head to Hunter, so I just nodded. He gave me a little pat on the back.
“You can have some of my candy if you want,” he said. “I’ll even taste it first to make sure there aren’t any needles in it.” Hunter stuck out his tongue, shoving his half-eaten gobstopper in my face. I laughed and pushed him away. It was my first genuine laugh since everything had happened. As Hunter and I got off the bus and headed to class, I felt better than I had in days. I was actually thinking about taking Hunter up on his offer to share his candy at lunch. It felt like things were starting to get back to normal. I wish that’d been true, but things got so much worse at lunch.
By the way Fred and Reece ran to our usual lunch table, I could tell that Hunter had told them what happened. He was already sitting next to me at the table, snacking on the apple his mom had packed but throwing glances at the backpack where his hoard of candy was waiting for him. I bit into my ham and cheese sandwich as Fred and Reece sat across from us.
“Let me see it,” Fred said, leaning over the table, eyes wide and gleaming.
“Shee what?” I asked around my sandwich.
“You know what” Fred said.
I chewed my sandwich for a few more seconds, then opened my mouth wide, sticking out my tongue to shove a glob of sandwich mush in Fred’s face.
Fred made a face. “Not your food, the hole! I wanna see the hole!” Grinning, I swallowed my food and opened my mouth again.
Fred leaned close, almost sticking his head in my mouth. “I don’t see anything,” he said.
“It’s small. My mom said it probably already closed. She said mouth wounds heal quickly.” I took another bite of my sandwich as Fred slumped back in his seat.
“How are you feeling, Jonathan?” Reece asked. He’d unpacked his own lunch and had it neatly laid out in front of him.
“I’m okay,” I said, and it felt like it the truth. Reece smiled and bit into his tuna sandwich. Fred leaned over the table and stole one of Hunter’s chips, popping it into his mouth. Hunter was too busy searching through his candy to notice the theft. Fred smashed it down in a few quick chomps, not bothering to close his mouth. Reece gave him a look of disapproval but didn’t say anything.
“So who do you think did it?” Fred asked, popping another one of Hunter’s chips in his mouth.
“Did what?” I replied, finishing off my sandwich and turning to my juice.
Fred rolled his eyes the way he did when his little brother did something stupid. “Who do you think put the needle in your candy? It didn’t just get there on its own.”
I blinked. I hadn’t really let myself think about that since the Night. We’d gone to so many houses, knocked on so many doors, but I couldn’t imagine anyone doing that. Not even Taylor Daniels. There were some people in town who didn’t like trick-or-treaters, but they usually just turned their porchlight off early or never turned it on in the first place. Needles and razors in candy was just a scary story kids told each other, not something an adult would actually do. Except someone had done it. And I was the one they’d done it to.
I was staring at the table, lost in these thoughts when Fred knocked me back to reality.
“I bet it was the creepy Taylor Daniels.”
“What?” I said, looking up from the table. Reece and Hunter looked at Fred too.
“C’mon, he’s the obvious suspect,” Fred said. I thought back to meeting Taylor Daniels. He’d hadn’t been as scary as I’d been expecting. He’d seemed almost shy. But Mom had wanted to know who gave me the candy. Did that mean it was Mr. Daniels?
“I don’t think it was Taylor Daniels,” I mumbled. Fred snorted.
“Who else could have done it, old lady Margery? Of course Taylor Daniels did it. What can you expect from a guy that eats stray cats? It was only a matter of time before he did something like this, and he got what he deserved. That’s what my dad says, anyway.”
“Hey, I thought you didn’t believe he ate cats,” Reece said, but I was more interested in Fred’s last statement.
“What do you mean ‘he got what he deserved’?” I asked.
The gleam returned to Fred’s eyes, and he raised an eyebrow.
“You haven’t heard? Taylor Daniels was found dead in his house yesterday. He fell down the stairs and broke his neck. He probably tripped over a dead cat.” Fred snickered at this last comment. “Do you think his head twisted all the way around like in The Exorcist?”
Fred continued, and I went back to staring at the table. My stomach churned, and I thought my sandwich might be about to come back up. Taylor Daniels dead? I couldn’t believe it. I’d talked to him two days ago, and now he was gone. I still couldn’t imagine him putting the needle in my candy. And yet, hadn’t he been the one to give me the needle-laced peanut butter cup? Who else could have done it? Maybe Fred was right. Taylor Daniels was a crazy old man. Giving me the candy was just part of his crazy plan. Now he was dead and couldn’t hurt me anymore. That was a good thing. So why did it make me feel so awful?
Mom was waiting for me after school. I walked over to the car and she rolled down the window.
“Hey sweetie, Bradley went to Dominic’s house, so I thought I’d pick you up, so you didn’t have to wait for the bus alone. C’mon in. You can even ride in the front,” she said with a conspiratorial wink. I opened the car door and scrambled into the front seat. Then I dropped my backpack on the floor and clipped in my seatbelt. Mom gave an approving nod and drove off.
I didn’t usually get to ride in the front seat, which Bradley always claimed if Mom or Dad wasn’t already sitting there, so it was exciting when I got a turn. I was sitting where the adults sat. Sometimes I would sit up straight and start talking about the weather and stocks—whatever those were—like I heard Dad do sometimes. It always made him and Mom laugh. But today I laid back and stared out the window, not really seeing the streets as they passed by. My sour mood didn’t get past Mom.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asked. I shrugged. We came to a stop sign. Before driving on, Mom turned and put her hand on my shoulder. I looked at her, and we stared at each other for a moment. Mom wasn’t smiling, but her face didn’t look plastic either, and I felt the desire to throw myself into her arms and cry. “You know you can tell me anything, right Johnathan?” I managed a small smile and nodded. “Are you still scared about what happened?”
“A little,” I admitted. It felt good to tell the truth. “I’m also sad about Mr. Daniels.”
Mom stiffened, her fingernails digging into my shoulder. I squirmed a little, and she relaxed her grip.
“What are you talking about, sweetie?” A little of the plastic had returned to Mom’s face. I felt myself pulling away, but I answered her.
“Fred said Mr. Daniels fell down the stairs at his house and died,” I said.
Mom sighed, releasing my shoulder. “Yes, Taylor Daniels had an accident. It was very unfortunate. But why does that make you sad?”
“Because he seemed nice,” I said. “And lonely. Do you think anyone will go to his funeral?”
“I don’t know sweetie,” Mom said, starting to pull through the intersection. There was irritation in her voice.
“Maybe we could go to his funeral,” I said. “Then he won’t have to be alone.”
Mom slammed on the brakes in the middle of the intersection. She started beating her hand against the steering wheel and screaming. “NO! We will not be going to that man’s funeral! And we will not be discussing this topic further! Do you understand?”
I flinched and shrank back against the car door. What had I said? I managed to quaver out a “Yes, Mommy,” as I fought back tears. Mom looked at me, curled up as far from her as possible, and something flashed across her face. She opened her mouth, and I thought she was going to speak. But she turned back to the road, and we drove the rest of the way home in silence.
When we pulled into the driveway, I was surprised to see that Dad was already home. He was pulling the decorations out of the front yard and packing them away in boxes. He waved as we pulled into the garage.
Mom parked the car and turned the key. Without turning to look at me, she asked if I wanted a snack. I said yes and headed up to my room to wait. As I passed through the house, I noticed the indoor decorations were already gone. I walked into my room and went to the window overlooking the front yard. I watched Dad continue to pack the decorations away. I expected the sight to make me sad. In the past, I might have even begged Dad to keep them up for a few more days. Now, as I watched my dad pack away all traces of the season in cardboard boxes, I only felt relief.
That was the last time I ever celebrated Halloween. Through the years, my parents tried to rekindle my love for the holiday, but it never worked. Dad would leave the boxes of decorations out, but they’d remain untouched until he unpacked them. Bradley would try to tempt me with trips to the costume shop and promises to let me watch horror movies that Mom would have been furious to know either of us had seen, but I just shook my head. For the month of October, I’d lock myself away in my room, focusing on homework or non-holiday related hobbies. I never went trick-or-treating with my friends again. Fred gave me a lot of crap about it, but even his taunts couldn’t sway me.
Boycotting Halloween got easier as I got older. My friends transitioned from trick-or-treating to finding which parties had the best booze, and I was happy to tag along. After a few shots and a beer or two, I didn’t feel so anxious surrounded by people in costumes. Except for one year, when I bumped into a girl dressed as a sexy fox. As her bushy red tail brushed past me, my heart started to race and my skin grew clammy and cold. Not the first time a girl had caused that reaction in me, but this time instead of trying to think of a way to approach her, I found myself running my tongue over the roof of my mouth. I thought I could feel a faint throbbing there. I hadn’t realized I’d left the party until I blinked and realized I was staring at my bedroom ceiling.
As an adult with full control over my life, avoiding Halloween became a breeze. Friends and coworkers would sometimes invite me out, but I could usually get out of it with vague excuses and apologies. Getting my wife, Sarah, to accept my aversion to the black-and-orange month was more challenging and even led to some of our more serious fights, but she eventually gave in and let me spend the fall month a Scrooge. Finally, I could spend the month in peace. At least, until Sophie and Marnie came along.
My kids were hungry for the holiday. I saw the way they looked at kids shopping for costumes and the yards filled with skeletons on our street. The longing in their eyes hurt—it reminded me so much of myself—but I held firm. My ban was for their own protection. They’d understand one day. That’s what I told myself anyway, but their dejected faces—resentment starting to crawl in at the edges—as I pulled them away from the seasonal aisle and drove us home told another story. When we got home, Sarah gave me a look that said Again? I just shook my head and went to put the groceries away.
I decided to head to my brother’s for a visit later that day. We’d both stayed in our hometown, but Bradley lived in a trailer on the outskirts, where the roads transitioned from pavement to gravel. He tended to stay there unless he was doing odd jobs for someone in town, so I visited him as often as I could. He did spend most holidays with my family, and he adored Sophie and Marnie. He was as protective of them as he was of me when we were kids. Sarah had been hesitant when she first met him, as Bradley had gained a reputation after jogging down Main Street drunk and half-naked one fall, but ten minutes with him, and she was laughing at his wild tales and awful jokes.
I turned off the main road and onto a short gravel one that led to my brother’s trailer. I pulled into the dirt patch that functioned as a driveway and parked the car. Bradley must have heard me drive up, because he came out and stood by the front door as I got out of the car.
“Hey man, how’s it going?” I asked, walking over and giving him a hug. Bradley could normally crush a ribcage with his bear hugs, but this time his grip was noticeably weaker, like he was going through the motions.
I pulled back and held Bradley by the shoulders and examined him. “Everything all right?” I asked.
Bradley grinned, and my usual jovial brother was back, though there was something still off about his eyes. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “I’m just tired from work. Lots of last minute projects to get done before fall starts moving in. C’mon, I’ve got two shitty plastic chairs and a six-pack waiting ‘round back.” I followed Bradley around the corner to our usual spot—two aging plastic lawn chairs overlooking the wide fields behind Bradley’s trailer. In between the chairs sat a cooler. Bradley popped the top off to reveal several beers resting on a bed of ice. We took up our stations on either side of the cooler and pulled out some beers. We clinked our cans together before cracking them open.
We stayed like that for a while, catching each other up on our lives since we’d last talked. After a while, I told Bradley what had happened at the supermarket earlier that day.
“You didn’t even let them look at the decorations?” Bradley asked as I reached for a second beer. “That seems harsh.”
“C’mon Bradley, you know how I feel about Halloween.” I noticed Bradley’s face fall as I looked up from the cooler.
“Yeah, I know,” he said. I stared at the beer in his hands—his third of the evening. I remembered his robotic hug from earlier.
“Bradley, I know something’s wrong. What is it?” I asked. His hands tightened around the beer can, making it crinkle. I could tell from the hollowness of the noise that the can was almost empty. I leaned over and squeezed Bradley’s shoulder.
“Bradley, you can tell me anything. You’re my brother, and I love you.”
“Heh, don’t get sappy on me.” Bradley’s shoulder shuddered under my hand, and I realized he’d started to cry. He curled over his beer, body shaking. Tears started falling from the tip of his nose as sharp gasps escaped his mouth. I was just about to speak again when Bradley finally spoke.
“It’s my fault,” he said.
“What’s your fault?”
“You used to love everything about Halloween,” he cried. “The decorations, the costumes, it all made you so h-happy. And I ruined it for you.”
“Bradley, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” With effort, Bradley swallowed his sobs before his next words.
“I was the one who put the needle in your candy.”
I didn’t understand what Bradley was saying at first. When I did, I felt like I’d been slapped. “What?” I said, dazed.
Bradley turned to look at me. His face was a complete misery. “I put the needle in your candy. I was angry that you wouldn’t s-share, and I wanted to scare you. I didn’t know you’d eat the whole thing in one bite. I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. I swear.”
I fell back in my chair, the storm in my head starting to settle. It made sense—Bradley could have snuck into my candy bag at any time; I’d left it alone while I watched TV with Dad. But I couldn’t imagine my brother pulling such a dangerous prank. He was always so protective, practically mother henning me whenever we were together.
Except, he wasn’t always like that. In fact, now that I thought about it, Bradley’s overprotective behavior didn’t start until after that Halloween. Before then, we were fighting as often as we weren’t. Typical brother stuff—wrestling, name-calling, hitting—never intending to really hurt each other, but that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. I stared across the field without really seeing it as I processed everything.
“I always thought it was Taylor Daniels,” I said, not really hearing myself. But Bradley did, and a fresh cry broke from his mouth. This time he crushed the beer can before throwing it away, the remaining contents sloshing out as it bounced against the ground. He threw his head into his hands. I was half afraid he was going to start clawing at his face as he moaned and rocked back and forth.
“Taylor, oh Taylor. It was all my fault.” Bradley threw his head back and howled, “I’M SO SORRY. PLEASE FORGIVE ME.”
“Bradley, Bradley, I forgive you. Calm down.” I was half out of my chair, ready to grab my brother if he actually did start clawing at his face. He looked at me, eyes wild and desperate, before shaking his head so hard I thought it would fly off.
“It’s not just your forgiveness I need,” he said.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
Bradley sank back into his chair. “The adults blamed Taylor too. I don’t know who first brought up his name, but they decided what happened to you was his fault. So they decided to make sure he couldn’t do it again.”
Once again, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are, are you saying what I think your saying?”
Bradley didn’t speak, but he gave a slight nod.
“Mom and Dad killed Taylor Daniels?”
“Not just them,” Bradley moaned. “Dad’s friend, Officer Gonzalez, was there too. And some other parents. They made it look like an accident. I heard them talking about it when they came back.”
Even though this confession should have been more shocking than the last, my brain didn’t take so long to process it. I realized all the clues had been there—the voices at the bottom of the stairs, Officer Gonzalez at the breakfast table, Mom’s reaction when I mentioned going to Taylor Daniel’s funeral—I’d just failed to put them together. My parents had killed a man who they’d thought hurt me, and the whole town—or at least a good portion of it—had been in on it. As a child, the pain of that needle had seemed unbearable, but, in hindsight, it was a minor wound, physically speaking. But an innocent man, just trying to reach out and be nice to a neighborhood kid, had been killed for it. I looked at Bradley, realizing that he’d known about this all these years. This secret festering deep within him since childhood. Blaming himself with no one to confide in. His penchant for binge-drinking made more sense now; I’d just learned everything and wished I had something stronger to drink than a beer.
I’d often wished I could talk to my parents since they’d passed, but it was usually to tell them about something Sophie had said or Marnie had done. Now I wanted them to be alive, so I could kick down their door and confront them. I wanted them to look me in the eye and say what they’d done. I thought of someone hurting Sophie or Marnie, sending them to the hospital, and anger flared within me. Then Taylor Daniel’s scared, gentle face flashed before my eyes, and the fire died. He hadn’t deserved to be killed. He hadn’t even done anything—Bradley had, but he was just a kid trying to mess with his brother. I looked at him, his head resting in his hands. He hadn’t deserved this either.
What a mess, I thought. Everyone had been hurt that night, and it was too late to do anything about it. I turned back to Bradley. He’d slumped back in the plastic chair, completely spent. He stared at the ground without seeing it. As I looked into his eyes, I felt like I was slipping into a deep, deep hole until there was nothing but empty blackness. It pulled and tugged at me until I was hollow, full of nothing but the same dark void. There was no more Jonathan. Just nothing.
I blinked, and I was sitting outside Bradley’s trailer. I looked at him—the vacant stare hadn’t left his face.
“Bradley,” I said, nudging him. “Bradley, it wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid.”
Bradley made a small noise in response, but his eyes remained empty. I could feel the emptiness echo within me. I squeezed Bradley’s shoulder and stood up, making a decision.
“Hang tight brother, I’m gonna call Sarah. I’m spending the night here.” Bradley didn’t respond. I walked around to the front of the trailer and pulled out my cell. I called Sarah and filled her in, though I skipped the details. I was still processing, and it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over the phone. She, as always, was completely understanding, and even offered to find a sitter, so she could come help me. I wanted nothing more than to bury my head against her shoulder and squeeze her tight, but I told her to stay with the girls. There wasn’t really room for two people in Bradley’s trailer, let alone three. Eventually she agreed, told me she loved me, and, after promising to call first thing in the morning, hung up the phone. I did the same and walked back to Bradley. He was still slumped in the chair, not moving. I put a hand under his arm and started to coax him up.
“C’mon Bradley, let’s get you to bed.” He followed without struggle. I was thankful for that, because even as adults Bradley was twice my size. But I was still worried about the vacant stare that refused to leave his face.
I got us through the door and managed to shimmy us towards Bradley’s bed at the far end of the trailer. With the sparse furniture, there was barely enough room for us to walk side-by-side. I got Bradley to sit on the bed and convinced him to pull off his shoes. Then I pushed his shoulder gently to get him to lie down. I realized I’d laid him on top of the covers and had to pull him back up to get them out of the way before he laid down. I’d done this same thing for my daughters when they were too tired, but this was a different kind of exhaustion on my brother’s face. I was hoping sleep would help him feel better, would erase that emptiness from his eyes. If it didn’t, I wasn’t sure what I’d do.
Once Bradley was laying down, I turned off the lights and made my way to the rickety couch, using the moonlight from the window the maneuver. I took off my own shoes and pulled a thin blanket over myself. I could already tell from the angle my head was at that I was going to have a killer headache the next morning. I stayed awake for a while, listening for any movement in Bradley’s direction. Eventually, the day’s revelations took a toll on me, and I slipped into sleep.
The empty blackness surrounded me. I ran, trying to find an end to it, but there was nothing in every direction. No sights, no smells, no sounds. Even my footsteps were silent. Suddenly, I heard a faint murmuring. As I ran, I realized it was voices. I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but their whispers filled me with dread.
No, stop, I thought. Don’t do it. Please stop.
A faint throbbing started in my mouth. It grew, bigger and bigger, until it felt like my head was going to explode. I stopped running, gritting my teeth against the pain. The voices grew louder. I still couldn’t tell what they were saying, but I could feel the anger in their voices. Malice washed over me with every hiss, and aggression bore down from every direction. I felt like I was being crushed at the same time the pain in my mouth was threatening to break me apart. Something glinted in front of me, and I saw a pair of eyes approaching me from the darkness. Familiar, pale eyes, filled with pain and fear. As they came closer, I tried to back away, but my feet were frozen to the spot. Tears welled in my eyes. The pain was about to rip me apart. Then the voices would obliterate my insides, tearing me away until nothing remained. And the whole time those eyes would be watching.
Just as I was about to scream, I heard a new noise. Crying—it was a child crying. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a boy rocking back and forth as he sobbed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry…”
“It’s not your fault Bradley,” I hissed through the pain. And it’s not yours either, I thought.
Just like that, the pain stopped. The voices cut out without a trace that they’d ever been there. The eyes stopped in place but continued watching. I took a deep breath in, then exhaled. It felt like more than air left my body as I breathed, and I stood a little taller. I turned and walked towards Bradley. He was still rocking back and forth, but stopped and looked up when I knelt down and touched his shoulder.
“I forgive you Bradley. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, or Taylor. Don’t blame yourself for what they did. They were the adults, not me, not you. We shouldn’t have to suffer because of what they did.”
Bradley stared at me, then nodded. He wiped his tears on the sleeve of his T-shirt. Then he hugged me tight. His arms were tiny but strong. I hugged him back. After a moment, he pulled away and looked past me. I turned to see the eyes of Taylor Daniels staring at us. Bradley walked towards them. I felt an instinct to reach out and stop him, but held myself back. He stopped a few feet away and stared into Taylor’s eyes. After a moment, Bradley spoke.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry you got hurt because of what I did. I wish I could make it better, but I can’t.”
The eyes stared down at Bradley, then blinked out of existence. Bradley turned back to look at me. He smiled, but there was something sad about it.
“Bye, Jonathan. Thanks, for everything. I’ll see you later,” he said. Bradley turned and walked away.
“Wait, where are you going?” I started to get up and follow him. “Wait for me.”
Bradley shook his head but didn’t turn around. “I’ve been here too long, Jonathan. Don’t follow me, or you’ll get stuck too.” I ran to catch up, but Bradley disappeared into the darkness before I could reach him.
My eyes flew open. Sunlight shone through the window, and my neck felt like it had nails sticking out of it. I realized I’d fallen asleep and ran to check on Bradley.
He was still lying in bed. I was relieved at first, but as I drew closer, I felt my heart sink through me and fall through the floor. Bradley’s blank eyes stared at the wall. I knew he’d be cold when I touched him, but the sensation still made me flinch.
“No, Bradley,” I moaned. “Please no.”
It was too late. I knew it was, but I stilled called 911, trying to hold back tears long enough to give the operator the address. Then I called Sarah and broke down. My words were garbled by my cries, but she managed to understand me.
“I’m on my way,” she said. “Lacey can come over and watch the girls. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
I managed to gasp out an okay between sobs. Sarah promised one more time that she was on her way, then hung up. I looked around the trailer for a moment, at a loss for what to do. Eventually, I collapsed by my brother’s bed. After a few minutes, I reached up and held his hand. It was cold and stiff, but I shut my eyes and tried to pretend Bradley was squeezing back, his bear-like hand almost crushing my own. I turned to face the bed but made sure not to look at Bradley’s face; I couldn’t bare the blank, lifeless stare. I buried my face in the covers as I held my brother’s hand and cried.
The paramedics arrived about forty minutes later, though it felt like an eternity. Sarah got there a short time later. She pushed past the paramedics and threw her arms around me. I relished the tightness of her hug, how it squeezed the air out of my lungs. It made me feel alive.
Sarah brought a chair to the front and made me sit. Then she went to talk to the paramedics. They went into the trailer and came out with a bulging bag. I stared as they wheeled it into the ambulance. Another bag flashed before my eyes. A black trash bag, being spun round and round by a boy before he tied its neck and threw it away. Sarah stood by me and put her hand on my shoulder. The paramedics were packed up and gone in what felt like record time. Sarah and I watched them drive away, the emergency lights off. Then she coaxed me out of the chair and towards the cars. I started shuffling towards my car, but she steered me towards hers.
“We’ll come back for it later,” she said. “I don’t want you to be alone right now.”
I wanted to say thank you, to tell her I didn’t want to be alone. That my world had turned upside down and then shattered. But all I managed to do was nod.
Sarah marched me to our room as soon as we got home. Marnie pranced around us, trying to show me a drawing she made, but I was only dimly aware of what was happening. Sophie started to run and join her, then caught sight of my face and held her little sister back. Marnie whined but stayed where she was. Sarah led me to the bed and had me sit down. She took off my shoes like I had done for Bradley the night before. Then she coaxed me under the covers and turned off the lights.
“Try to sleep, love,” she said. “You need to rest.” I nodded, though I didn’t think I could sleep. Sarah kissed my forehead and gave me a sad smile before leaving the room. I heard her whisper to the girls outside and herd them away from the door.
I stared at the wall for a long time. I felt like I should be crying again, but I was completely drained. The previous night and day and left me torn and scattered, barely able to scrape a thought together. With no energy for anything else, I eventually drifted to sleep.
We got a call from the morgue later that day. Sarah took the call, knitting her brows as she focused on what the mortician was saying. After she hung up the phone, she came to sit by me and the girls on the couch. Sarah had told them what happened while I slept. They hadn’t left my sides since I’d ventured out of the bedroom. I was thankful for their company, but still struggled to convey anything I felt or thought.
Sarah lifted Marnie up and sat her in her lap, so she could sit by me on the couch. She kept one arm around Marnie’s waist and wrapped the other one around my shoulders.
“What did they say?” I asked. My voice was flat.
“They said it looks like a heart attack,” she said. “They think he went in his sleep. They said he probably didn’t feel anything.” I nodded but didn’t otherwise respond. I stared at the carpet, but all I saw was that dark, empty place. Sophie slid across the couch and laid her head on my shoulder. Sarah did the same on the other side, and Marnie wrapped her arms around one of mine. They all felt so warm*. Not like Bradley,* I thought. Not like me.
I clamped my eyes shut like that would banish the thought from my mind. I gave a sigh and tried to focus on my family around me.
We had the funeral the next weekend. Bradley wasn’t religious and wanted to be cremated, so we met in a park he’d always been fond of. Even though there was plenty of open space, our small group of family and Bradley’s friends huddled under a copse of trees—Bradley’s favorite place after the field where he’d placed his trailer.
Logan—one of Bradley’s oldest friends and a very charismatic salesman—started things off. He told us all how he’d met Bradley at a party and found him a thousand times more fun than his pedantic college classmates. He told us some of the fun times they’d had, like when they kept daring each other to do invent more and more ridiculous dance moves until they both collapsed into fits of laughter. Logan kept it short, then made space for me in the center of the crowd after a quick introduction. Logan’s light-hearted tales had brought smiles to some faces in the crowd, but they became strained as I made my way to the front.
I turned to look at the small crowd and let my eyes scan the faces. There was a surprising amount of people I didn’t recognize, but I’m sure Bradley had mentioned them in one of his stories or another. My eyes fell on Sarah and the girls and stayed there. Sarah matched my gaze, holding me steady as I began to talk.
“Bradley was my older brother, and like brothers, we didn’t always get along. We liked to mess with each other. Sometimes we went too far, sometimes we hurt each when we didn’t mean to, but—” I choked up for a moment but forced my way through—“but that didn’t make us bad people. We were kids being kids, and when it came down to it, we loved each other. I never doubted that he would do anything for me. Sometimes it seemed like he had a smile for everyone in the world, even with all the things he was carrying. I wish he’d been able to carry a little less, or ask for help. He wasn’t perfect, but he was my brother, and I’ll always love him.”
There were polite claps and nods of approval as I made my way back to my family. Sarah squeezed my hand when I reached her. A few more people gave speeches, then the funeral broke up into smaller conversation groups before people started to disperse. Logan was the last to go, giving me a firm handshake before heading to his car. As my family walked out of the park, I noticed the leaves were starting to turn. Fall was in the air.
Sarah and I shared a meaningful glance as we got in the car. I’d told her everything that Bradley had told me one night after we’d put the girls to bed. About the needle and my parents and Taylor Daniels’ death. She’d listened without interruption. When I finished, tears were spilling down her cheeks.
“You poor kids. That poor man,” she said. I almost laughed. Six words, and she’d just about summed up the worst experience of my life. Come one, come all. There’s plenty of misfortune to go around!
“I wish there was something I could do,” I said. “Confront my parents, go to Taylor’s funeral, talk to Bradley….” My voice cracked on the last part.
Sarah wrapped her hands around mine. “Honey, I understand the urge to fix things, but it’s too late. It’s in the past. It hurts like hell, but you have to let it go. Otherwise, it might drag you down too.”
I’d dismissed her words at the time, still too consumed by grief to think about the future. But as I started to drive they came back to me. Sarah was right; what had happened was awful, but I couldn’t keep stewing on it. If I did, it would poison me like it had Bradley. I looked in the rearview mirror to see my girls. Sophie was pointing out a dog on the sidewalk to Marnie. They were so young, so innocent. They didn’t deserve to suffer because I had. I never wanted them to be in that dark, empty place. The pain had to stop somewhere.
Making a decision, I turned the car around at the next opportunity. Sarah started at the change in direction.
“Jonathan, what are you doing?” she asked. I looked at her from the corner of my eye and smiled.
“Just making a little stop before going home,” I said. Sarah gave me a questioning look but leaned back in her seat, waiting to see what I was doing.
Five minutes later, we pulled up outside Stoker’s Halloween Emporium. It was the biggest pop-up Halloween store in town, stuffed full of costumes, candy, and decorations. Sophie and Marnie perked up as I pulled into a parking spot. Sarah looked at me with wide eyes. Are you doing what I think you’re doing? She asked without speaking. I grinned in confirmation.
“What are we doing, Dad?” Marnie asked from the backseat. I unbuckled my seatbelt and turned to face the girls, the grin still spreading across my face.
“How would you guys like to pick out some decorations for the house?” I asked.
“Really!?” They cried in unison. I barely had time to nod before they were scrambling to open the door and running for the entrance. Sarah and I hurried to follow them. As I watched my daughters run towards the store doors, fast as lighting, the smile never left my face. My eyes drifted over the displays of skeletons and ghosts in the windows, and a familiar glimmer of excitement sparked in my chest.