Halloween Eve

It was extra dark that night. No moon. No stars.

Isaac and Tommy sat in the back seat. They both looked out their windows. The trees were crooked blurs.

Their dad was driving fast—too fast.

No one spoke. The radio was off. Engine hummed. Tires gripped the pavement, an occasional bump split the vibration. Otherwise, silence.

Isaac’s clown mask sat on his lap; his ridiculous long shoes wedged under the passenger seat. Tommy’s football shoulder pads were like an added safety measure, in case of impact. His helmet sat between his legs.

It was Halloween—rather, it would be—in about an hour. The night before is when things get scary. Something must be fed. If not—it eats on its own.

Tommy looked towards Isaac. His skin pale like bone. He breathed shallow through his nose.

This was Tommy’s first time—he had come-of-age this year. Isaac was two years older. The brothers never spoke of this night. No one did.

Tommy tapped Isaac’s arm with the back of his hand. Nothing. Just breathing. Eyes fixed on the trees.

“Dad, can you put the radio on or somethin’?” Tommy asked.

“No,” Dad said.

“Why?”

No response.

“Mom, can you put the radio on?” Tommy pleaded.

She sniffed a bit. She was crying. Glanced at Dad. He shook his head.

“Then can I get one of your phones? I’ll keep the volume down.”

“Tommy,” Isaac croaked, “come on, man.”

“Come on what?”

“Shut up, we’re just together right now.”

“We’re always together.”

“Yeah,” Isaac sighed, returning his gaze to the window.

Tommy looked at Isaac—then Mom and Dad. Went to speak—didn’t. Eased back, mouth shut. His lips pursed; forehead tensed.

A few moments passed. Tommy drummed his fingers on the helmet.

“I don’t get why we’re wearing our costumes tonight—all the other kids are gonna see what I am, and it won’t be a surprise tomorrow,” Tommy said.

Dad’s hands gripped the wheel tight. The rubber squeaked under the pressure.

“We’re close,” Mom muttered. A small nod from dad.

The car started to slow. Faint taillights glowed up ahead. Doors clunked shut. Dad pulled to a stop on the side of the road, behind an old minivan. It was the Hendersons’ van. They had three kids of age and two toddlers. A decal of a stick figure family holding hands clung to the rear window.

Dad put the car in park and turned the key. His heaving sigh filled the silence. His right hand gripped the back of the passenger seat. He turned.

“Don’t be scared. We’ll be fine,” he said, looking back and forth between the brothers. “It’s time.”

Isaac opened his door and lurched over. He vomited on the side of the road. Dad nodded and closed his eyes. Mom reached around the seat and rubbed Isaac’s shoulder. Her eyes were swollen, her face clung to her skull.

Tommy’s eyes narrowed. His cheeks flushed. He quickly slid on his football helmet. A single tear fell, obscured from view by the shadow of the face-mask.

Dad opened his door. The sound of crickets and distant voices of children rode in on the breeze. Isaac finished retching and weakly shut his door. He wiped his mouth with a loose napkin from the floor.

“I’ll get out on your side,” Isaac managed.

Tommy opened his door. He contorted just enough to fit the pads and helmet through the opening. His cleats clattered on the asphalt.

Isaac followed—clown shoes first. He stood up and wobbled, grabbing Tommy for balance. He slid on his mask, erasing his pallor.

Mom shuffled to Dad’s side. They led the way across the car-lined street, entering a worn path through uncut grass and weeds. Up ahead, a loose collection of jostling flashlight beams. The drone of hundreds of people. Murmurs. An occasional giggle.

Tommy craned his helmet-clad head, trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening through the moving sea of bodies. He saw kids from his school. Some were running around, others huddled around their parents. A fairy. Couple of witches. Another boy from his class dressed as a football player.

“Damn,” Tommy muttered, looking down at his costume.

The older kids were gathered. Mostly silent, like Isaac—others cracking jokes.

None of the parents acknowledged each other. They all stared forward, towards something Tommy couldn’t see.

Dad gripped Tommy’s shoulder and leaned down. Tommy turned to look at him.

“Listen—follow your brother,” Dad instructed.

“Dad—what is this?” Tommy asked.

“Just follow your brother.”

“Dad—why won’t you te—“

A bell split the night air.

Dad and Tommy turned towards the sound. Dad stood up straight, patting Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy looked at Dad. He nodded. Isaac’s trembling hand grasped Tommy’s other shoulder.

“Let’s go,” Isaac said.

The crowd parted. Kids filtered from the crowd, forming a line in the center. Tommy and Isaac took a spot in the line.

Everyone was silent now.

Tommy took a few steps into the open space next to the line. The town librarian stood near a bell at the front. About thirty feet behind her—

A house. Small. One floor. Drab—boarded windows. A couple brick steps leading to the door.

The librarian motioned to the door. A girl in a bunny costume stepped forward. She stopped halfway, glanced over her shoulder.

“Go,” someone said from the crowd.

She did. Walked up the steps. Knocked on the door.

Nothing.

She hurried down the steps and disappeared into the crowd. Whispers from the other kids. Exchanged glances from the parents.

Next was an older kid. Grim reaper. He did the same—nothing happened.

Tommy looked at Isaac. “Isaac—I don’t get it.”

Isaac didn’t look at Tommy, “you will,” he whispered.

One by one, two dozen kids did the same and retreated to the crowd. The parents buzzed a bit. People shushed.

Tommy and Isaac were sixth in line now. Isaac was crying silently—Tommy was too. The mask and helmet protecting them.

The three Henderson kids were next. The first one went. It was Polly. The other two held hands—tight.

She knocked.

Nothing.

She returned to the crowd, blew a kiss to her siblings. Tears streamed down her face.

Next was “little” Pete. He was the runt of the litter. A white sheet with the eyes cut out dragged on the grass. He walked slowly—a tiny apparition.

He knocked. A few moments passed. He started to turn. The door moved—hinges creaking. It opened—pure blackness inside.

The crickets stopped.

The crowd gasped. The remaining Henderson child screamed—tried to run to him. The librarian hugged her tight. She scratched and clawed—crying and drooling.

The Henderson family hovered like ghosts from the crowd.

Pete stood—frozen.

“You have to go son,” the Henderson father said through tears.

“I’ll be okay—right?” Pete asked.

“Of course, buddy—we love you.”

Pete turned. He hesitated. The sheet heaved a bit. He stepped forward into darkness.

The door slammed shut. A sickening cracking sound—then another. Cracking sounds erupted all at once. The house started breaking and warping—folding inward. Dirt exploded up around the perimeter. The sound was deafening.

About two minutes passed. Terribly long, but frighteningly quick.

The house was gone. Just an empty lot. Like it was never even there.

The Hendersons fell apart. Screams. Crying. The librarian released the child—she ran to her family.

Tommy stepped forward and lifted a hand, went to speak. A hand grabbed him swiftly. It was Dad.

“No,” He said.

Tommy looked around. Hundreds of people watched a family become unmoored. No one reacted. No one spoke. Only staring.

Isaac slung an arm over Tommy’s shoulder pads.

The librarian struck the bell. Everyone turned and started retreating.

Little Pete was gone.

Dad and Mom led them back to the car. Doors slammed and engines burst to life along the dark road. Headlights beamed. Cars slipped into gear.

Dad opened the back door. Isaac slid in. Tommy looked at the Hendersons’ van—the decal. Dad looked too. Mom stopped and rested her hand on it.

They all got in. Dad started the car. They started to drive.

Tommy didn’t speak. He looked to the empty lot. The Hendersons were still there, huddled in the darkness.