Richard had hung the spiderwebs, carved the pumpkin, set out the bowl of candy by the door, and lit the three candles at the little shrine on the mantlepiece, one for each lost love.
Now, the sun falling behind the bare crowns of trees, the rest of the house dark, he turned on the porch light and waited.
The first few crowds of children, crowing or whispering the requisite "trick-or-treat," were too young, their parents too near, their eyes too large, too innocent. Richard gave liberally from the bowl of candy and wished them well. Between visits, he watched avidly from his front window, hoping this would be the year his wife and children returned.
Could that be her, behind the Bride of Frankenstein mask? But the tall figure went door to door across the street, ignoring his meagerly decorated porch.
Could those two teenage mutant ninja turtles, throwing candy at each other, be Meg and Peter? But their teasing little war resulted in one chasing the other down the street and away from his door.
A few other likely people walked by, disguised in their costumes, half-hidden by the failing light. The ones that stopped by his house were now older, traveling in smaller groups. He didn't recognize any of them
He was patient, as he'd been every Halloween, hoping for the things the old crone had seen in her crystal ball, but in a mildly incredulous way. Of course, he hadn't told a single person about it, knowing they'd look at him sideways if he admitted any sort of belief. But, still, he had done everything she'd told him to, every Halloween, for the past two years. Three was the magic number, was it not? One for each beloved family member. One for each life taken from him.
The ring of the doorbell summoned him from his reverie and he noticed night had finally come as he opened the door. The Bride of Frankenstein had made her way to his porch.
"Happy Halloween!" her voice issued from behind the mask. It really was her voice. He was certain of it.
"Happy Halloween," he replied, trying to keep his voice light. But his heart was beating so loudly in his ears. He was staring at her, the bowl of candy forgotten in his hands.
There was a moment of stillness. Her eyes, oddly framed by the white mask, met his, and widened slightly in shock.
"Richard?" she whispered.
"Willow," he said, emotion making his voice tremble.
"No," she said automatically, then, "yes. Oh, yes! That was my name!"
"Willow, come inside. Tell me what it's like on -- on the other side," he begged in a quiet voice.
"I -- I can't come in," she whispered, uncertain.
"Yes you can; I invited you in. Come in!" He was fierce without raising his voice, afraid that another reveler would notice something wrong and interrupt their seance.
The woman in the mask and costume stepped hesitantly forward. When Richard moved aside for her she entered his house -- what had been her house. Her eyes were drawn to the candles on the mantle, the only source of light in the room. She crossed the room to the fireplace and looked at the three photographs, catching her breath at the last one.
"This -- this is -- me," she said wonderingly, picking up the framed photo in one hand, an ugly orange plastic bag of candy held loosely and forgotten in the other.
Richard closed the front door behind himself, then joined her beside the candles. By their dim light, the couple traced the delicate features of the woman with their eyes, her slightly upturned nose, the little lines around the eyes and mouth hinting at a smile, her dark hair tucked behind her ears and falling over her shoulders.
"I was beautiful," she said.
"Yes," he said, "But you never believed me when I told you so." There was humor in his voice, a warmth and tenderness that had been missing for what had seemed like an eternity.
"You loved me," she said as she returned the framed image to its place. Her hand went to her mask, pushed it up over her black and white wig, wore it like a silly hat. She turned to look at him. In the candlelight, she looked like Willow, her nose and eyes and lips were shaped like his wife's.
"Yes," he said, "That, at least, you believed."
"I did -- I do," she said softly, wonderingly. She broke their gaze to look around the room.
"Did I live here?"
"No," he said, "I moved after you left. I -- I couldn't stay there."
"Of course," she said simply, looking up into his face again. Richard dared to take a step closer to her and she did not draw back.
"What is it like where you are now?" he asked, "Are you happy?"
"Oh," she said, her voice a little stronger, more certain, "I'm --" she looked around, casting about for the right words, "happy most of the time. I had completely forgotten about --" she faltered for a moment, then, "about our time together."
The doorbell rang and Richard, a small premonition twisting in his gut, went to answer it, candy bowl in hand as he opened the door.
Two teenagers held out a pillow case between them, which was nearly overflowing. They hadn't bothered with costumes, merely painted flowers on the girl's cheeks and bloody scars on the boy's.
"Trick-or-treat!" they said loudly, in unison. They looked so happy that Richard almost lost the will to say their names, but the longing he had felt for three years could not be denied.
"Meg," he said, almost sadly, "Peter."
Their grins faded as the figure before them seemed to change from that of a stranger to the profile of someone they knew.
"-- Dad?" said the girl, her nose scrunching slightly, as though she was trying to determine who he was by smelling him.
"What?" said the boy, confused.
"Please come in, Meg and Peter," Richard said, stepping aside and holding the door open for him.
The teens stepped into the house. The moment they saw the woman standing across the room from them, they dropped their bag, candy spilled across the dark wood floor, forgotten as they ran to her, crying, "Mom!" "Oh my God!" and wrapped their arms around her shoulders. She dropped her own bag and drew them tightly to her with her own arms around their shoulders. The three of them wept.
Richard closed the door and joined them as they talked over each other, everyone having something to say. He had his family back, for the few hours that were allotted.
Willow grabbed his arms as they encircled their children. Meg and Peter's hands wrapped around his waist. But despite their smiles, their teary-eyed excitement at being together again, at remembering, Richard felt cold, and he desperately wished he didn't still feel separate and alone in the midst of their reunion.
"What do we do now?" Willow asked, looking at Richard. Their children look at him, too, their face paint smeared.
Richard said, "I was told we had three choices: either you stay here with me, or you go back to your world without me, or I come with you, too."
The candles began to gutter, casting wildly-dancing shadows along the floor as the family stood silently, still embracing each other.
"I was happier -- there," Willow said, "Where I was not Willow, but part of some nameless, far vaster, thing. It was wrong of you to call us back to this sorrow."
"Was it?" Richard said, "Was it so wrong? My heart had broken anew, each and every day, since the three of you -- left me. If it's wrong for you to stay then, please, take me with you."
"They may not approve of your coming with us," said Meg, "but, I, too, do not want to stay here."
"Even if we wanted to stay, dad," said Peter, "What happens to the souls that were in these bodies we've inhabited? And how do we leave them?"
"If you choose not to stay," Richard replied, "Then you will leave at midnight, as all other ghosts do. I have been given the instructions on how to help you stay if you want to, but leaving me is the choice that will happen all on its own. But, please, I want you to stay."
His wife and children looked at him pityingly, saying nothing, and he knew they would not stay for him.
"Then take me with you!" he pleaded, "I can't stand to be without you again."
"Dad," said Meg, "If we take you with us, we still won't be a family. That's not how it is there."
"Yeah," said Peter, "It's not like that at all."
"But whatever it's like, you prefer it," their father replied, "so I will, too."
"Perhaps," said Peter, "though there are some who are not happy at all. They are the ones who step through on Halloween."
"Did you not step through?" Richard asked, "Were you not searching for me?"
His son and daughter looked at each other, then back at him.
"We were only --" Meg began.
"It was only curiosity," Peter said, "We just wanted --"
"-- to make sure you were alright," Willow finished for him. She looked up into Richard's face, her brown eyes on his. "But you are not alright, my love."
"No," he said, relieved that she understood, "No, I'm not."
"Did the woman give you instructions about how you would join us?"
Richard nodded, his throat suddenly too dry for words. During the past three years he had always imagined the crone's story with the ending he had hoped for, that his wife and children would stay with him, that they would return to their daily routine of work, school, dinnertimes together, Willow's warm body twined with his as they fell asleep. Now, he understood, the fairy tale ending was not theirs. Instead, he would follow them when they left this world and returned to their own.
---
From the local paper, Saturday, Nov 1, 2014:
. . . neighbors say the single tenant at ____ Road, Winebridge, CT, did not respond when they knocked on the doors and shouted repeatedly. Emergency responders confirm that Mr Richard _____ died of smoke inhalation before burning in the fire. Investigators say the fire was most likely caused by unattended candles. Authorities are quoted as saying, "This tragedy should serve as a serious reminder to everyone that fire safety is paramount when celebrating events such as Halloween."
Records confirm that Mr _____ was the sole survivor in a three-car crash on _____ Street three years ago, which killed his wife and children as well as two other families, all of whom had been en route to attending a school Halloween function. Foul weather was thought to have played the primary role in that tragedy.
No comments:
Post a Comment