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I would never consider myself to be a religious man, but I consider myself a believer. For one I believe that the moon landing was, in fact, real. I also believe that milk should be poured after cereal; and that the sole reason for my existence is to both keep Taco Bell in business and to be the only one in all of Aldershot to hate Halloween. Probably in the history of forever if I had to guess.
"There's literally a bucket of lonely candy just begging for irresponsible teenagers to steal, Shiro. Free."
It's been an hour of this: Keith trying to convince me to go out and case the neighbourhood for candy, and me half-baking excuses not to. Keith is stubborn to a fault and is a big-picture thinker, so I have faith he'll realize he's not superglued to my bed and can go terrorize the neighbours on his own. Until then he just has to put up with a pound of sour watermelons and video games.
And when he finally looks like he's figured it all out and stands to leave, I reel him back in with my arms around his waist and my full weight anchored to my bed. "Nooo, Keeeith, don't leave. What about Claudis?"
"The... pumpkin?" he shifts in my grasp to eye the sloppily carved jack'O. He says it like he hadn't made me carve it out two weeks ago and left it in my room to rot 'for the ambiance'.
"I'm not ready to be a single father."
Keith's face is the google images stock photo of a man walking out on his boyfriend and pumpkin son. "...Will you accept sexual favours?"
"You mean like the ones you already give for free?"
This boy's got my number alright. "Wow. Never thought you of all people would complain. I'll remember that."
"It's fine, my birthday already passed." And with that and my face for leverage, he pushes at me for freedom-- but what he doesn't realize is that my human imperative to be as lazy as possible, and the fifty or so pounds I have on him, is working in my favour. I roll him back down onto the bed, on his back, and flop over him. Just my luck the duvet catches his beanie and unleashes Keith's full mop of hair: my only weakness. After clowns. He squawks under my weight and tries to buck me off. Weak. "You're such a pest!"
I would never say I'm a proud man. To prove him right I catch the dip of his collarbone with my lips, knowing full well he'll crane back for more. And then I've won for another ten minutes or so. "I think you like it though."
I don't get an actual answer aside from a hum and the press of palms to my sides. Slim and calloused fingers curl around the hem of my shirt. "I’ve put up with worse."
"Wait, like wha--"
"Keep going." Well, since I'm getting my way I oblige the hand yanking my head down under his jaw; there's a soft patch of skin under his ear that I swear to god makes him purr. I push the half thought that I'm probably being played against myself and slide my hands up under his flannel.
The door opens with the merciless brutality of a grandmother who 'never had locks when she was a kid.' Uphill both ways. Us kids today with our fancy locking doors; that's what's wrong with our generation.
"Takashi there's a-- Oh! Oh I--" Like a TSA agent to a tube of liquid over 3.4 ounces she zeroes right in on my hands up Keith's shirt and is fumbling to cover her eyes. Eh, she's caught us doing worse and if she doesn't want to learn to knock then she's only torturing herself.
For her sake I roll over to slump onto the bed while Keith rushes to fix a couple popped buttons and shoves his beanie back onto his head. "What is it, Baba?"
Through her fingers she cracks a glance our way and does nothing about the look of relief on her face when Keith rises and rushes to the abandoned bottle of coke on my desk. "You know the librarian Nancy Clanton? Well her son's step-daughter is friends with--"
"Teenagers?"
"I think so..."
"Ouija board," I call. Kids these days may have the gobsmacking technology Baba never had, but they're not too creative with their paranormal endeavors. Also if it were a 'satanic ritual in the park' gone wrong usually everyone bolts and pretends like nothing happened. That's assuming they can actually lay the pentacles in straight even lines and perfect circles. Which they can't. That being said if a kid invites a spirit into their home they're gonna call us to get rid of it before the parents get home.
But Keith doesn't look convinced; have you ever seen someone scowl while chugging a bottle of coke? "I'm gonna say Bloody Mary," he punctuates it with a belch, putting me in the uncomfortable in-between of impressed and repulsed.
"Bloody Mary," Baba confirms and hands Keith a piece of paper with a scribbled-on address. Because of course Keith is coming with me.
"Cool." Keith pockets a handful of sour watermelons and the address to grab his things, swapping out his beanie for his red scarf and reaching for his lightsaber. "Does this mean I can drive?"
Keith does not drive-- but not because I don't trust him with my mom's 12 year-old sunfire, like a good boyfriend I trust him implicitly. I just don't trust the local kids not to throw themselves onto the road and under the car.
The address is in the Southwest part of Aldershot: a place bursting at the seams with BMWs and real housewives that sell Mary Kay and have affairs with no-collar high school kids like us because their husbands are 80. "Jesus Christ..."
Jesus Christ is right. On a tree-lined street we pull up to the only lawn without a single. Damn. Leaf. The grass is even cut in those perfect criss-crossing diamonds. I'll bet they give out the full-sized candy bars. "It actually kinda looks scary."
"I'd be scared too if I had that much time and money on my hands."
Because it's Halloween no one seems at all disturbed when I pull on my mask and fasten my utility belt and sickle under my duster-- I literally look like I'm about to walk into this house and kill someone with Darth Sidious and no one spares us a second glance. When I turn to Keith he's already brandishing his-- "Seriously?"
"What?" he asks, swinging the purple lightsaber I got him for his birthday. It makes the 'Vwoom' sounds when you swing it.
I shove my head into my mask and adjust the beak before giving it a sniff-test. Holy shit it smells like jock in here. Note to self: it's not a sin to wash this thing out every now and again. "Sidious has a red lightsaber."
"Well my Mace Windu costume wasn't finished and this one is cooler than my Darth saber. Besides, I don't think the ghosts care."
Damn straight it's cooler. The lightsaber isn't out for long as Keith tucks it safely away as he stomps across the meticulously manicured lawn to the stoop. We take in the three-storey building in all it's orange projector lights and green porch-lighted glory. An inflatable cat sits in the yard. It's the rich man's tacky: the true neutral evil of the universe.
A zombie cheerleader greets us at the door, looking like she has a gun to her back; "C-can I help you?"
An awkward moment passes over the stoop. Look I can get that it's Halloween, and sure I'm not exactly a celebrity, but I'm not exactly subtle. It's Keith who speaks up: "...Trick or treat."
"Actually," I cut in before the door's slammed in our face-- on second thought that might not be so bad. But we're here now. "We were called over for a disturbance," Right away we're yanked inside and to the living room off of the foyer where at least ten girls about our age are chattering with nervous looks in front of the fireplace-- the ones with the fake logs that never burn. Holy shit, these guys are rich.
Zombie Cheerleader hands us off to Sexy Nurse, who right way zeroes in on Keith's lightsaber and is decidedly skeptical. It's fine, you always need one in a group to try and rationalize everything. They're my favourite litmus test; if you can't find one then either you're in a very gullible group or the skeptics had something scare the living shit out of them. "What's with the bird-man getup?"
Keith snorts on my behalf and pops a couple more sour watermelon into his mouth before stepping further into the house towards the stairs. "Plague doctor," I correct, feeling the mask start to heat up and the goggles fog at the edges.
The ceiling above us thumps and the group startles and snaps into a dead silence. Beside me Nurse stiffens. Crap. "So who summoned Mary?"
The girl's name is Jenna and she looks like the kind of person who would be pressured into summoning a malicious spirit for “the lolz”. Or at least ready to take the blame. We follow her upstairs to a master bedroom that easily shadows my livingroom in size alone. Big enough to fit a bad decision and its friends.
"What size bed is that?!" I gape; this bed is wider than I am tall-- and I'm not a short guy! Jenna turns to look at the bed like I'm asking the make of a toaster and shrugs.
Beside me Keith snickers quietly; "Impending divorce size."
"No kidding," Jenna smirks, motioning to the ensuite. It's 'barricaded' by a chair pushed up under the knob. "We were just fooling around, you know? I don't even believe in that ghost shit. No offense."
"Then why call us?"
"Because it might be real."
Perchance, but it's time to let the Dead speak for themselves. With a secret smile Keith nudges the chair out of the way with his foot and opens the door, poking his head in with a low whistle. "...They really like elephants."
Damn, and here I was hoping some kid was just tripping on acid.
We leave Jenna in the bedroom as we step inside to investigate; aside from the counter being totally trashed there's no sign of anything other than teenage shenanigans. But then even ghosts are smart enough not to stick around the scene of a crime. "Did she attack anyone?" Keith asks, noting the black candles toppled by the sink. There are a couple more standing upright on the floor. Huh.
"When you say her name three times she's supposed to come out of the mirror and scratch your eyes out. I think she missed because..." Jenny pulls up her sleeve and the hasty bandage to show us an admittedly cool weeping gash along the outside of her arm.
Keith whistles again. "That's one hell of a scratch. Good thing she missed," he finishes with a steady glance at me over his shoulder. I get the message loud and clear: there's something else to this story she's not telling us. Either way, it'll come out. Now or later.
"Only one mark," I note. Good news for us; it's not a demon. Those assholes have a hard-on for doing everything in threes to mock the holy trinity. Bunch of fucking rebels they are. They also don't hesitate to show off their impeccable counting skills. Regardless of who made it, the scratch is deep enough that whatever it is is strong. Or really really pissed. "Alright. Let's play."
With the lighter left on the floor we reset the candles and decide who's playing bait over a quick round of rock-paper-scissors. I lose. But I tell Keith to do it anyway; his face is bare and Mary apparently has a thing for eyes. His are ripe for the pickin'.
I take up post just a few feet away from the mirror by the door; out of the way enough to avoid being targeted but close enough to peer into the mirror for any angry ghost ladies. With a final glance my way Keith turns his blank stare to the mirror, drifting off to channel.
"Bloody Mary..."
The candle flickers ever so slightly.
"...Bloody Mary..."
His voice goes dark, commanding and unyielding. Wherever she is she's being dragged to him; he won't be ignored. "Bloody Mary."
The candles puff out and a snap-chill cuts through my duster, making my skin leap. Keith keeps his eyes shut. Waiting... listening.
His reflection's grinning, cracking an eye open to flash me a teasing wink. Son of a bitch. "Open your eyes!"
Keith in the mirror jerks quick but not quick enough for real Keith who leaps back against the shower, catching his balance on the curtain with a hiss. He's only narrowly missed a mean gouge to his eye and instead caught it on his cheekbone; a bit stunned but otherwise fine. When I turn back his reflection is still at the sink, watching on with smug satisfaction as Keith dabs at the trickle of blood.
There's little time to waste so I shove my hand into my pocket to fish out my title. It's a good thing that after five years of having to ghost hunt for Halloween I finally learned to charge and clean my pendulum before doing any dirty work; even the gold cage and chain glitters in the purple light as the stone inside comes to life under my touch.
While Mary's still admiring her work I slap my hand against the mirror. The pull, a leaching cold like a pinhole drain trying to draw me through, is strong and opens under the tips of my fingers. "I've come to reap, grant me passage..."
Beneath my hand glass splinters and cold bites a clean hole into my palm, rushing up my arm and overcoming me like a river of ice water.
When I open my eyes I'm staring back at my stilled reflection, Keith a few feet away, straightening up. By now I know better than to expect to see him standing behind me when I turn around; the air here is sluggish with cold and perpetually dipped in ink and just so undeniably dead. There's no counting how many times I've been here in the past couple of months alone but I can't bring myself to hate it any less.
"She's downstairs with the others."
Mary isn't hard to find-- actually I don't think she's even trying to hide at this point. Sounds of cackling lead me back to the living room off of the foyer.
Energy, wild and crazed and so unbelievably frightened, zings through the room like an electric current; there are Living in this room and Mary's feeding off of their fear. She throws a stack of magazines and they fly across the room against the fake fireplace.
Squinting into the darkness I hold up the pendulum to light my way. It's not exactly bright but it pierces the chronic darkness and slips into every corner; I grab my sickle from my belt and step into the room. "I hope you know you're ruining my Halloween, Mary."
In the corner I see her teeth catching the purple from where she's looming over the back of an armchair. At least now she doesn't look like Keith but a regular high school girl: bleached hair, skinny jeans, early 2000s Britney Spears makeup.
"My name's not fucking Mary. It's Sarah."
"With an 'H'?"
"Yeah."
"Cool." There's really no way of telling from how far I am from everyone else, I just hope that I've distracted Sarah long enough to give the others a chance to get away. Above the fireplace is a big flatscreen TV where I can see Keith leading the last of the girls out to the other room. "Why are you doing this, Sarah?" I turn back to watch her slap a porcelain elephant off a side table.
By the way it knocks against the far wall I know I've really got my work cut out. With that strength I wouldn't guess her more than 5 years dead-- and that's being generous. "Look, you don't have to tell me anything, but you know I can't let you stay."
That draws her attention back from the wall unit where she was eyeing a small set of crystal flowers. "So, what, you're just gonna get rid of me?"
Basically? I mean that's literally ninety percent of my job. I'm not wasting gas to be a ghost therapist. For the sake of civility I give her the less murdery spiel: "You're dead. You don't belong here anymore and you can't keep trespassing on their lives--"
"What about my life?!" she shrieks into the relentless twilight of the room and behind me a picture frame rattles on the wall. "I'm dead, my sister took my room, my boyfriend is dating Jackie Tellerman, and everyone gets to sit in my livingroom eating fucking bon-bons! Doesn't that seem a little fucked up to you?"
"Fucked up," I agree reflexively, stealing a quick glance up at Keith in the TV. "But life moves on and, as much as it sucks, Dead have to leave the living to the Living."
She’s watching in the dim purple light as I pocket my sickle and offer up the empty hand to take. Through the goggles of my mask I can see her consider it-- so deprived of basic human contact she reaches back without realizing. "If you come with me I can help you find peace."
If I managed to talk any sense into her it's gone the second a scream drifts through the house. I swear to god if someone's about to hack my body into flank steaks I'm gonna be pissed. Anything short of that I can handle... maybe. Life likes to surprise you. "I'm not going anywhere."
Experience has my hand on the hilt of my weapon, but she has the advantage when the pendulum swings and shifts the light, letting her slip through the darkness and charge me. Last time a girl knocked me on my ass I was wearing a gingerbread man costume and I got up and punched her in the boob. A week of suspension later I was a class hero.
Now I've moved beyond tit-boxing.
Feeding the pendulum's long tail through my fingers I twirl it in wide-sweeping circles until it gathers enough momentum to start humming. The effects, though expected, are immediate: she goes batshit and charges me again. But this time I see her coming and just dodge her by the skin of my ghost teeth; on her way by I whip the chain out to catch her by the wrist and yank her to the ground. "I've come to reap--"
"Fuck you!"
I'm ready for her thrashing and yanking but one can never be ready for the devastating blow of a ghost foot kicking you right in the ghost gnads. And yes, it hurts just as bad. Time to invest in a ghost cup. I hit the ground to worship the pine laminate.
"What the hell is going on?"
Keith! I look up to find him just a few feet away, standing with his back to me. There's colour to his face still which means he's just barely peeking behind the veil; he can't see me without a mirror or stepping fully Darkside, but he can hear me gasping and groaning just fine. "Mary is actually Sarah," I grunt up at him, nursing my crotch and slowly climbing to my feet. "And she's pissed because someone here is dating her boyfriend?"
It takes a second but he turns to my voice, grinning over his shoulder. "All this over a boy? It's the high school party you were never invited to."
"I was invited! I-- argh, just ask around about Sarah or we'll be here all night."
"You got it."
He pulls away from the veil and melts away into the gloom, leaving me to my dirty work. Leading with my title I run up the purple-lit stairs two at a time and follow the stench of dead teenaged angst back to the master bedroom. There's a Living voice near my body, screaming. Jenna!
Pendulum and sickle in one hand, the other shielding my dick, I creep into the bedroom; a few steps in, I can already feel a sludgy, oozing feeling crawling up my arm.
My body.
"Sarah!" Caution to the wind I barrel into the bathroom in time to watch my gloved hand slip off the mirror. I get front row seats to my body moving on its own. It reaches up and pulls off my mask.
I'm grinning back at me. If I were high right now I'd most definitely be wetting myself. The mask clatters in the sink and my body reaches down for my sickle, turning it over in its hand before closing around the the wooden hilt. Believe me when I say that you have never known true fear until your own hand flips you the bird.
Through near-pitch black I race through the hall and stumble down the staircase. Thankfully my body doesn't move even remotely as fast as the spirit, but the draw is that I'm not close enough to the others to track Keith through sound. Right. Old school.
I start in the living room, looking into anything reflective I could possibly get my hands on; mirrors, glass, phone screens, anything! It's only when I hear the distinct sound of whimpering do I notice the growing distant chatter. My body's getting close.
Eventually I find them all in the dining room with Keith leaning against the China-sized china cabinet on the far wall. It has window panelling!
"Keith-- KEITH! Goddamnit turn around!" But he can't hear me: he's not listening. From cabinets to the window to the fucking silverware he eventually catches my reflection in the gold plating on the chandelier.
He channels in and I can hear his voice echoing nearby. "What's happening?"
"She stole my body!" I can start to make out words and the sound of glasses setting on the table.
To my utter fucking surprise he laughs. "You're joking. How did--"
"Oh my god we can argue about this later but right now I'm about to commit second degree murder!"
Something from the next room catches his attention and the dull glint of a knife flashes against the overhead light. "Is there a room with a lock on this floor?" he asks Nurse as a cold sweat breaks out across my neck; she's telling him about the guest bedroom behind the kitchen when the adjoining door creaks open.
Then shit gets hairy.
Keith disappears from the chandelier and all I can hear is just screaming. Girls screaming, Keith screaming at girls, and me screaming at Keith. Real me, not skin-suit me. Disembodied chaos echoes around me and I can't seem to find a mirror long enough to get a good look.
This is getting me nowhere; my body is so close I can feel it, but I can't even tell where it is let alone be any more than my own witness to mass murder. Mass murder is more than four people right...?
Sound changes, feeding back colder and tinny. The kitchen! I run over to the--
"Ah-- What the hell!" I hear my voice whine as I fall to my hands and knees, a bruise stinging the space between my shoulderblades. Did somebody just break a chair off my back? There's a framed picture above the breakfast table (that's rich-person speak for a kitchen table) and peer into the glass. Right away I catch Keith standing in the middle of the kitchen, crammed between my body and the girls retreating into the back bedroom.
My body isn't doing so hot, struggling to its feet with the cabinet door behind me being smashed in. "Sarah," Keith grunts between heaving breaths."Look I know you're upset, but you died, like, three years ago. Move on."
Finally on solid footing my body grins in a way that really doesn't fit on my face. A hand flexes around the handle of my sickle, body tensing for another attack. Right away Keith sets to defend and I know that Sarah-me is screwed.
He lets her think that my sickle is dangerous and balances, his dagger tucked into its sheath. "Says the half-Dead. At least I know my life is over, you're just pretending you're Living like the rest of them. What a hypocrite.
Keith is stone from his feet planted on the ground to his scowl. Unmoving. Unrelenting. Insanely hot. "I'm giving you one last chance to leave on your own."
Sarah takes a half-step and spits at his feet, taking the moment his gaze dips to lunge at him. The sickle swings and though she's aiming for his chest she barely catches the top of his arm with the dull outer curve of the blade. It's been so long since she's had a body she moves around like a newborn deer in stilettos. It's actually kinda embarrassing. But it's a flaw Keith will have no problem exploiting.
Reeling from the blow on his arm he stumbles into the counter. Hands scramble for purchase on the lip of the sink before he turns and spartan-kicks my body back into the fridge. That's cool, it's not like I needed to be able to bend over at all.
Not to mention my next paycheck when the homeowner sends the bill for property damage. That fridge is my entire college fund.
Like a bumbling idiot my body rolls a moment on the floor, flailing before she rolls onto hands and feet and has me crawling across the floor a la Grudge style. Okay, guess I didn't need knees either.
Never without a backup plan Keith blasts the tap and grabs the hand sprayer and trains it right between my eyes and I can feel the freezing water running down my face and god it's terrible. But I guess it's better than being kicked in the face. Marginally.
My water torture ends and while Sarah's still distracted Keith takes a running leap at our back-- not that it really matters at this point-- and manages to snake his arms around my neck.
I know he watches UFC and I've a pretty good idea as to where this is going.
"Stop!" shouts another voice just out of view of the picture frame. Luckily for Sarah (and for my back) Keith startles just enough to be caught off guard when my body to drops and lands hard on his back, slamming him John Cena style into the linoleum. They fall behind the counter out of sight and I'm left listening to Keiths grunting and my heavy panting until Keith's voice turns to choked gasps.
I try to convince myself it's fine: Keith makes weird sounds all the time. But it's the twitch of muscle against my palm, the flutter of a heartbeat under my fingertips.
"N-no. NO!" She can hear me, I know she can. If not she can hear the rattling of the picture frame against the wall when I slam my fists on the glass. Sneakers squeak against the linoleum and the sounds of struggle begin to fade; "Please! This won't change anything!"
"Sarah, stop!" the same voice says again and Nurse rushes to grab the back of my duster and yanks at me until the throbbing in my hands stop and my body bolts up to its feet. Even in killer heels I still loom over her. Damn, when had I gotten so tall? "What the actual fuck are you doing!? This isn't you!"
"I'm dead, Heather, I've not been me in a long time, okay?"
Oh my god, do I really sound like that?
"No shit, that's why we used the ouija board--"
"Wait, you what?!" Keith sputters, pulling himself to his feet using the stove door.
Well would you look at that. I was right. After 43 banished 'Bloody Marys' in the past 15 years we were bound to get it right eventually.
"She's been terrorizing us!" Nurse Heather says, like opening a portal to the Dead and all things that go bump in the night was the most reasonable response to being bothered by a ghost. "For three years she's been torturing her family and friends-- even her parents don't want her around anymore; they're moving out to Chaudhry or whatever to get away."
"They're just going to leave me--?"
"You're dead! You're fucking dead and we all have lives!" Heather has dissolved into tears, but Sarah (a.k.a the meat punching bag that looks like me) is having a hard time taking it all in.
"Heather..." The look of hurt is undeniable when Heather shakes her head and retreats a bit towards the back room where I can't follow in the picture frame. When she sniffs her voice sounds raw from years of mourning her friend. There's also anger there too, stale but still aching with guilt while trying to fend off resentment. "If you love us you would go. Please."
Tears, hot and angry but distinctly not mine, trickle down my cheeks. An unexpected snap, just barely audible, and my body goes limp biscuit. Across the room in the shiny vent over the stove I see Keith diving for me and breaking my fall.
And Sarah's there. Right where I can see her. For the first time since I stepped foot in this white-and-chrome nightmare house I feel not anger... but dejection. Mourning.
Distantly Keith's calling to me, his hands smoothing over my face. He's so warm against my cheek; "Come baby, come back to me..."
"I can't believe it." Over her shoulder she glances at where Heather stood beyond the veil."They're all scared of me."
I mean, well, yeah. Homicidal maniacs are pretty terrifying. "No. They're scared of what you're doing. It might be hard to see after you chased them with a knife, but they love you very much. It's just harder to deal with when someone dies so young. But sometimes when you love someone you have to let them go." The look she gives me is downright disgust. In my defence, it's been one hell of a night and I'm not exactly feeling up to waxing poetic. "I read that on a Hallmark card."
Her grimace finally lifts and she smiles in a way that doesn't make my hair stand on end. But there's also a sadness that can't be remedied by bad commercial cards. "I wish I could have seen it."
"Well I think it's a breakup card... so maybe not."
At the end of the day Sarah's just a lonely, lost girl who can't go home. Laughing for a stranger who's been threatening to murder her for the better part of an hour just because I'm the last person who can offer some kind of comfort. In the end I only have my hand to offer to her, and this time she takes it.
This kind of work doesn't always have a happy ending, but it really is all subjective. I can't give people like Sarah their lives back, but if I can walk a soul through Death then that's good enough for me. "Sorry I tried to kill your boyfriend."
Honestly? I'm kind of over it now; "You wouldn't be the first and you won't be the last."
We share a chuckle at Keith's expense that isn't half awkward as I walk her to the front door where she lets go of my fingers.
The moment she steps out the door and into the Abscind, into final death, is a moment I'll never forget; it's the sound of rustling leaves in a gentle breeze, the smell of old wood and mint. The only thing that could make this moment any better is a Coldplay soundtrack.
When I open my eyes Keith is hovering over me, my head cradled in his lap. Our eyes meet and there's a reasonable moment of apprehension that I chase away by reaching up and flicking at his nose. "Oh, don't look so disappointed."
"Holy shit, Takashi..."
Hands on my face pull me up for a hard kiss-- one that's quickly broken up by a band of tittering girls--girls who apparently had no sense of self-preservation and walked into a room where someone tried to hack them all to bits not fifteen minutes ago.
Teenagers.
For now a kiss will have to do; I want to get out of here before CSI comes around and takes moulds of my ass and match them to the cabinets.
Like the post office, I'm not exactly supposed to be making a profit from these jobs. But Keith isn't a Shirogane so he can get away with negotiating some Halloween candy for our troubles. Hell, they give us everything down to the fancy bowl with the hand that moves when you try to play sticky fingers with the candy. It's almost worth being possessed. Almost.
"Can we go home now?" I puff and unlock the car, tossing my sweaty mask in the back seat where it won't get washed until I have to sit in it and gag for an hour straight.
Keith, with a mouth full of starbursts, slumps into the passenger seat with the bowl of candy in his lap. "Why? You know Baba's probably heard about the satanic circle by now."
"The what?!"
"Oh, right," Keith remembers that I graduated this past summer and unwraps a piece of chocolate. "Ryan, Trey, and Jemeal were talking about taking a group out to Purple Woods for a campfire and--"
I clap my hand over his mouth. My love for Keith is endless and infinite, but I swear to all that is good I'm about to leave him here. "Let's... go trick or treating."
"Now you're talkin'."