The Little Skeleton

The October wind blew through the dark sky, howling like a dozen wolves to the moon, leaves swirling through the streets like cyclones. Frost begins to form, blanketing each blade of grass in icy crystals. Children crowd the sidewalks with pumpkin pails and pillow cases and wagons full to the brims with candy. Doorbells are ringing and the street echoes with “trick or treat” howls. Little fairies and princesses and superheroes and ghouls shivering as they make their way from house to house.

A group of children are walking down Maple Meadows, giggling with delight as they peek at their tasty treasures. A small girl bumps into them. She is dressed in a black jumpsuit with glow-in-the-dark bones painted all over with black gloves and a skeleton mask. A waterfall of blonde curls peek out from under her collar.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see you” she whispers, adjusting her skeleton mask.

“Watch where you’re going,” one of the boys shouts.

“Oh, hi,” she looks through her mask at a girl dressed as Minnie Mouse.

She recognizes the group from school, but none of them acknowledge her. She shrugs it off and walks up the next house’s walkway. She stands for a moment and admires the home. The candy red shingle siding reminds her of the gingerbread house in her favorite book. A roof of white like icing, dripping down into the window trim. The little skeleton reaches up and knocks on the door, mesmerized by its electric blue finish.

“Trick or treat”, she says quietly.

An older woman opens the door. Her white hair is knotted in curlers, a purple smocked nightgown with witches hat printed all over hangs over her sagging body.

“What a darling skeleton,” the elderly woman smiles. She digs her veiny and wrinkly hand into a bright orange pumpkin shaped bowl. “How about a King Size Snickers?” She pulls out the candybar and drops it into the pumpkin pail.

“Thank you. If you see my mom come by with my little brother, please tell her I was here. He’s probably dressed up like a cowboy, those are his favorite.”

The woman cocks her head in curiosity and adjusts a curler as its grip loosens. The little skeleton smiles politely and makes her way back down the walkway. She slows and starts to lift her mask as she sees another classmate approaching. The little skeleton’s father’s hand stops her and reminds her that her costume needs the mask or no one will know what she is.

“No one knows who I am with the mask on,” she whispers.

Reluctantly she ventures to the next house. A small white cottage with a white picket fence and bright red shutters. She looks up at her father and sees that he has busied himself with one of the mother’s from the neighborhood. He has his back to the house, his hands entangled in the chocolatey locks of the mother, whispering in her ear. The little skeleton shudders.

She runs to the porch and hurriedly rings the doorbell over and over until someone answers. A young couple dressed as vampires opens the door, showing their plastic fangs.

“Happy Halloween! Take anything you’d like,” the  bearded vampire holds out a bowl overflowing with colorful candy.

The little skeleton pushes the bowl away and shoves her mask on top of her head, revealing her fair skin and ocean blue eyes.

“My, what beautiful eyes you have,” the vampire with long, silky black hair beams.

The little skeleton pushes up her sleeves to show raw, blistered marks around her wrist.

“My name is A…”

Before she can finish her sentence, her father steps up to the porch and places his hand on her shoulder.

“Please excuse my daughter, sometimes she forgets her manners,” he chuckles, pulls the mask back over her face, and leads her away from the house with a scowl.

The Little skeleton continues on her way, weaving in and out of trick or treaters, clutching her pumpkin pail tightly in her tiny hand, her father trailing closely behind her. She notices someone she is familiar with and raises her hand to lift her mask. Just as she does, her father grabs her arm to stop her. When she tries to wriggle her arm free, he grips it tighter. She relaxes and her head falls, her shoulders drop, and she focuses on crunching leaves along the pavement as they walk.

“It’s not Halloween without a mask,” he tells her. “You should be thankful you’re out trick or treating after how you’ve been acting.” His smile sends chills down her spine.

As the little skeleton walks up to the next house, her father follows. She looks back at him and shivers.

“It’s a cold one tonight, huh? Mother Nature never seems to give us decent weather on Halloween” he smiles at the other parents waiting for their trick or treaters.

The little skeleton mixes herself in with a group of children dressed as crayons. She looks around and recognizes their faces from school.

“Hi,” she says. They squint their eyes at her, peering through her mask.

“Do we know you,” the blue crayon replies as they all push past her to grab handfuls of chocolate.

The little skeleton looks at the ground and accepts her candy from the werewolf man.

“Who was that weird girl,” she hears the yellow crayon, as they all walk away laughing.

“Let’s go sweetheart,” her father yells. The little skeleton ignores him.

The werewolf man looks down at her and notices tears in her eyes. He lifts her mask and hands her a tissue.

“Don’t worry about those kids. Clearly no one has taught them any manners,” he smiles.

He bends down to look a little closer just as her father runs up to the porch and grabs the little skeleton. The werewolf man straightens back up and looks back and forth from the little skeleton to her father and back to the little skeleton.

“I could swear I’ve seen you before,” he says to them hesitantly.

Her father’s breath quickens and he nudges the little skeleton away from the house.

“I’m sure you’ve seen us around the market or riding bikes in the neighborhood,” he replies nervously.

He takes her hand, tightly, and they walk until they’ve reached the vacant lot. They stand at the corner of Maple Meadows and 5th Street under the streetlamp. Her father waits a few minutes, then pulls his phone from his pocket and scrolls through the news and checks for any new alerts in the neighborhood. The little skeleton waits patiently and glances up at the streetlamp. She sees a faded poster stapled to the pole.

MISSING CHILD:

AMELIA WASHINGTON, AGE 8

Last seen on February 3 with her father, Elliot Washington, a white male with red hair. Amelia is 4 feet in height, 55 pounds, blonde curly hair cut just below her shoulders, blue eyes, fair skin. She was last seen wearing black leggings, white hoodie with pink flower print, and black slip on sneakers. Elliot Washington was last seen wearing blue jeans, a black hoodie, and black sneakers. Please call 911 with any information on their whereabouts. Do not approach. Elliot Washington is presumed to be armed and dangerous.

Amelia’s mother, Charlotte Washington (53), and brother, Benjamin Washington (5), are eager for answers.

The little skeleton takes off her mask and drops it into her pumpkin pail, resting on a pile of candy.

“You need to keep your mask on. That’s the first rule of the game. You don’t want to lose the game, do you? If you win, you can go home to mommy.”

She looks up at her father with watery, ocean blue eyes and a pouty lip. She takes in his pale skin, glowing like a ghost in the night, his styled hair as red as the autumn leaves, a shiny knife tucked neatly in his left pocket. She sighs heavily, puts her mask back on, and tucks her Goldilock curls under her jumpsuit.

“I want to win the game so I can go see mommy and Ben,” she wipes her tears.

“That’s a good girl, Amelia.”