Little Miss Annie

The beat from my father’s lyre courses through my body like a rabbit in a foreign warren. He fiddles with it, eyes closed as if thinking about every beat with great devotion. The microwave beeps and my father springs from the smooth acacia seat. He runs to hail his warmed pumpkin soup. Everything about the day is weird. At least that’s what my mother wanted when she set the Halloween challenge. My father is half Dracula, half a clown. His shoes squeak like a kid’s toy. He straightens the collar of his coat, black and long with Count Dracula’s Coat of Arms on its back.

Our cat, spooky sits at the far end near the fireplace, she lazily licks her right foot and turns her gaze toward me, her eyes laser beaming and yowling at me. She pulls a weak meow at me. I bark at her and she heads for the window. She calculates how far it is from the window to the ground, and like that she vanishes.

“Spooky is off to the graveyard.” My father says as he lazily leans against the cupboard next to my mother.

“Where’s your costume, Thomas?” My mother asks with impatience in her voice.

“I’m not dressing up like a mummy,” I say.

“You’ve to. How will we play Little Miss Annie without a mummy?” She says as she stuffs some old rags in a brown moldy rucksack. She is dressed in a nice and neat pumpkin-like outfit. I wonder how she got time to craft such an amazing costume.

“We can do trick or treat.”

“No, we’re not doing trick or treat. This year it’s Little…”

“Little Miss Annie,” I interject.

“Listen to your mother.” My father says as he licks the last dregs of his pumpkin soup. “

“Perhaps you don’t know the full story of Little Miss Annie.” My father continues as he plumps into one of the chairs.

“Is it the story where we have to spend 6 hours cleaning the graveyard to appease ghosts and spirits?” I asked frantically

“Yeah. You do know the story.” Says my dad with a fake surprised face.

“That’s because you’ve been telling the story since morning.” My mother says as she beckons us to go.

“What’s the difference between a ghost and a spirit?”

“Thomas – that’s a question you’ve to ask Miss Annie as you clean her graveyard.” My father says with an unhelpful gesture.

The street is bathed in lights as we step outside our house. My father sighs, his chin up with an air of a man taking pride in what he’s doing. In his right hand, he holds a lantern, for once I wonder why a vampire would need light but then I hear the sound of his squeaky shoes – it’s perfect to crown his clown character. My mother has her pumpkin costume embroidered with yellow lights, and a white veil covers her grizzled hair. The weight of my costume makes me lag behind. My entire body is wrung in white linen strips. My eyes pierce through the tight linen on my skull. I can’t wait for this to be over.

“That’s my boy!” My father yells as we go past Mr. Flinch’s house. “Your movement suits a mummy.”

A chocolate sprinkled wooden skeleton figure leans against Mr. Flinch’s fence gawking at any passer-by. One of the fence poles sprouts from its ribcage to the right cheekbone. My dad gives it a high five as he passes by. These are the days when he is full of energy. The front part of the house is sprinkled with green lights and ghastly figures peep through the windows on either side like prisoners catching a glimpse of the outside world. The old man always gives his home a haunted scene to fend off trick or treat children. In contrast, my parents decide to venture to a graveyard. 

The street is lit by huge jack-o’ lanterns stacks on either side. One of the stacks has a witch riding a broom engraved on it. It is magnificent and quiet. My father leaps from one stack to another as my mother flounces behind. She dislikes his childish behavior but never forgets to call him honeypie every single night. I drag my feet across the empty street, the mummy costume weighs down on. Sweat drips from under my armpits.

“Move along pancake.” My mother turns to me with a deep sigh.

“We’re almost there.”

The streets are bathed in a mixture of jack-o’ lantern lights – blue, purple… it is colorful and confusing at the same time. The moonlight hovers overhead buildings and trees, never descending down for fear of defiling the jack-o’ lantern lights. Like a hawk waiting for prey to let down its guard, the moonlight beautifully lashes down on the path leading to the graveyard. The path is quiet, unlike the main street that is filled with laughter and noise from the night revelers. Owl hoots, probably to let us know this is its territory. A large iron gate with enormous dry logs bars the stay-with-us graveyard. Like those who lay beneath this ground, everything that stands and treads here is dry and cold – lonely in need of one to stay with them.

“It would be nice to get to the graveyard as a family.” My dad says.

“Huh, big boy, scared of the dark.” My mum chuckles as she pats me on the back.

The graveyard shines brightly under the moonlight, a tree trunk casts a shadow of a wizard on the ground. At the far end, a dry oak tree and sculpted figures of undead hordes cast a haunted scene against a full bright moon.

I give out a yelp as a cold hand reaches out for my fingers and a whisper in my ears.

“Over there, Thomas.”

My father grins as he picks me up, his palms now warm and steady send a jolt of warmness through me.

“What was that, Dad.”

“Actually, it was your mom’s idea. You’ve been standing here for over five minutes” He says as he leads me to a spotlit with candles and flowers. A moth-eaten book lays at the center of the candle circle with lilies on either side.

 “Son, it’s time we introduced you to Little Miss Annie.”

“I thought we’re cleaning the graveyard, Dad.”

“Rituals first, son. You never know what’s inside the envelope unless you break the seal.”