By evening, a cold wind from the north began to blow through Troy. The autumn leaves, neatly raked and piled only a few hours earlier, were now whirling around in the air. Neither the cold nor the leaves seemed to bother the little ghosts and goblins out trick or treating. For them the night was full of adventure.
Most parents in the city preferred to bring their costumed kids to a supervised Biggie Mart party down at the mall. This wasn’t the case in Troy. Every house on the block had the porch light on, awaiting cries of “shell out, shell out, the witches are out.” The small town streets were safe enough for the excited ghouls to scamper door to door uninhibited. A few of Troy’s teenagers could be counted on to get out of hand later on in the evening, but it was only seven o’clock and there not a burning leaf bag in sight.
One thing was for certain that night; everyone, no matter how old they were, paused to look at the LaRose house. The full moon cast an eerie shadow through the branches of Helena’s now leafless maple tree, the barren limbs forming an effigy of a hunchbacked crone. Every thirty seconds or so, Helena’s rented strobe light added to the illusion, making the shadow figure appear to boogie to a danse macabre. “Step on a crack, break the old hag’s back,” the children sang, as they hopped over the walkway to avoid stepping on the silhouette.
“I can’t believe it’s the same house,” Wendy Robinson remarked, holding her young daughter Annie by the hand. “All summer long the porch had the most amazing display of pink and purple fuchsias, hanging down from moss-covered baskets. Helena won a blue ribbon for them from the horticultural society. What on earth is hanging there now?”
“I think they’re spider webs,” her husband said. “It looks like the stretched cotton batting we use down at the mill. The dead guy on the porch looks pretty real. Let’s go take a closer look.”
“How about if we just move along to the next house?” Wendy replied. “If you think I’ve forgotten the skimpy cat outfit Helena LaRose wore last year, you’re wrong.”
As the family moved on to the neighbor’s house, a little girl, dressed in blue gingham ran behind their backs. She disappeared around the corner as fast as her little feet would take her.
“Where’d she go?” a young boy dressed up like a cowboy asked his friend. They had just come around the corner themselves and the little girl had almost knocked them over in her rush to get away.
“Brooke runs pretty fast, for a girl,” his ghostly companion said. He adjusted the huge sack of candy he was lugging over his shoulder. They had been to almost every house on the street and his bag was getting heavy.
“Yeah, but…”
“Forget her,” the ghost said to his lasso-laden friend.
They appeared to be about the same age, but the ghost was a little bit taller and quite a bit pudgier than the cowboy.
“Let’s see what Mrs. LaRose is giving out this year,” the bigger kid said. “Last year I reached into that big cauldron on the porch and pulled out a roll of dimes. Five bucks!”
“I only got a chocolate bar,” the cowboy lamented.
“Everybody knows she puts the good stuff at the bottom, Stan. I dare you to do it this year. Put your arm all the way into the pot.”
Stan Lachey was not so eager. “Something might happen to it. You don’t know this house like I do, Kevin. I heard a kid went missing here last year. Somebody dared him to go into the back yard and he’s never been seen alive since. I’m not taking any dares, that’s for sure. A chocolate bar’s not so bad. If that’s what’s on top.”
Stan pulled the string under his chin a little tighter, ensuring his black faux-Stetson wouldn’t fall off. His hand reached down to the toy gun in his plastic holster, like he had seen many an officer do on COPS. It did little to comfort him. Taking a deep breath as he gazed at the house, he wished he had brought his inhaler. He could feel his chest tighten and wasn’t sure if it was his asthma acting up or whether he was truly going to be scared to death, right there on Maple Street.
“Don’t be such a wussie,” Kevin complained. “If the story was true, the place would have been crawling with cops. Mrs. LaRose would be in jail, not treating my mom for her sciatica, whatever that is. I'm going up to the porch. Remember last year she had that awesome scarecrow propped up in the rocking chair? There was blood coming out of his nose and his ears and white frothy stuff gagging out of his mouth—it was totally wicked.”
Stan shuddered. He wasn’t much for blood and gore. “Shut up Kevin. Maybe I’ll just give it a miss this year.”
Stan’s older brother Ryan, who had been casually observing the situation from his spot behind a hydro pole, approached his younger sibling. Being sixteen and too old for trick or treating, Ryan Lachey and his friend Tom Williams found themselves babysitting Stan on the annual candy raid. It would only take an hour or so, and besides, Ryan’s mom had slipped them a twenty for their troubles. They weren’t quite sure how they had gotten stuck with Kevin, but Kevin was an okay kid and Stan’s only friend, so they had let it slide.
“We’ll use the money to get Old Man Wagner to get us some beer,” Ryan assured Tom. “And we can prowl for chicks while we’re out here. It’s like a job with benefits. That’s how I see it.”
“Old Man Wagner’s a beer scalper,” Tom complained. “That twenty will barely get us a six-pack if we ask him to get it. He’ll make us throw in another five. He’s been ripping us off all summer.”
“What are ya gonna do?” Ryan shrugged. “No one else believes we’re twenty-one.”
“He doesn’t believe we’re twenty-one,” Tom replied. “He just does it. He says he’s too old to worry about jail, but not too old to make a buck or two. Cheap bastard.”
It took a while for Tom’s assessment to register with Ryan, and even then, Ryan didn’t want to believe it.
“He’s okay though, for a guy who’s almost dead,” he assured his friend. “My mom said he was a fucking sly dude when he was younger. The cops were always hauling his ass off for something. They ripped out his whole garden one summer in the sixties, or so my granny told her.” He took an imaginary toke and shrugged. “He probably figures—what the hell? Give the dudes some brew. Tell you what, if my mom knew he bought us beer, he would be fucking dead. So he’s okay by me. Even if he is a cheap bastard.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Tom said. Sometimes it was easier just to agree with Ryan than try to explain things to him.
“Fuck. I wish I had worn a coat tonight,” Ryan admitted. He pulled down the sleeves of the jersey he wore beneath his black number twelve football jersey, but it didn’t help. He shivered. The nylon pants he wore hanging down below his crotch gangsta-style, didn’t offer much protection from the wind.
“Fashion alert,” Tom taunted. “You can wear hoodies after September. Even jocks like you.”
“Why don’t you tell me stuff like that before I leave the house? Shit,” he complained.
Ryan stood six feet tall and weighed in at a bone-crunching two hundred and ten pounds. “What? What are you gawking at?” he asked Tom rhetorically. He knew damn well what Tom was staring at. He had shaved his head earlier in the afternoon in preparation for the upcoming football game.
“The ‘do’ dude,” Tom replied, shaking his head. “I can’t get used to it. It’s a little Smallville.” He didn’t know if the evil-son/bad-guy look was quite what Ryan was aiming for. “They killed him off, you know.”
“Reborn, my friend, reborn. Anyway, I was aiming for a scary wrestling dude,” Ryan corrected him. “A lean, mean, fighting machine. I mean, would you want to run into me on the field? Like, fuck no. I thought about this a lot before I did it. It’s all part of my master plan for total territorial dominance. Besides, I’ll save on haircuts.”
He wished he had thought about how his hairless head would handle a Troy winter. He pulled a ski-band out of his pant pocket and placed it over his ears. They were starting to numb in the cold.
“What's the matter, Stan?” he asked, moving closer to hover over his brother. “Sca
red?”
“No,” Stan answered. “I’m not scared. But I’m not stupid either.”
Stan watched as Kevin, who had recently turned nine and was full of bravado, made his way up the walkway towards the front porch. “How come,” Stan asked his brother, “there’s lightning all around this house when it’s not raining? Don’t you think that’s a little weird?”
Ryan looked at Stan in disbelief as the special effects worked their magic. “You’re a little weird. You might want to re-think that stupid remark.”
“Stan, come on,” Kevin begged. “It's awesome. I can see a dead body on the swing. The hand is sticking up like it's stuck or something.” Kevin kept going up the stairs until he reached the dead guy. Daring to touch the arm, he was amused by its stiffness. “Look, when I push it down, it doesn’t move. Awesome!”
Feeling the chill of the night air himself, Tom Williams did up the zipper on his brown leather jacket. He put his hands deep in his pockets and striked a pose of indifference. Tom was the total opposite of Ryan. His tight jeans clung to his slightly shorter, lean body in a manner only a sixteen year-old could pull off. He casually ran his hand through his blond, spiked hair, pausing to look at his reflection in the side-mirror of a car parked on the street. Liking what he saw, he nodded, and turned his gaze to the house. “Didn’t your mom teach you to respect the dead, Kevin?” he asked, taking note of the Halloween prop. “Leave it alone.”
“Whatever!” Kevin said, holding his arms out zombie style, his fingers rigid, towards Stan. “I am a creature of the night,” Kevin claimed. “I come to suck your blood.”
“You’re seriously mixing up your monsters there,” Tom corrected him.
“Like they’ve got rules?” Kevin laughed.
Stan’s eyes went wide as his whole body froze in fear. “That’s not funny, Kevin. This house is really haunted, no lies. You shouldn’t make fun of them like that.”
Ryan tapped Stan lightly on the shoulder from behind, causing Stan to jump about a foot. “Boo.”
“Cut it out, Ryan. I'm telling Mom.”
Ryan could see tears forming in Stan’s eyes. “It's just the LaRose house, you big suck. The same house you raked the leaves at yesterday. What the hell is wrong with you tonight?”
“Tonight?” Tom jeered. Ryan’s little snot-nosed brother was being a royal snot-nosed jerk.
“It’s freaking Halloween, Ryan. Don’t you know anything?” Stan stammered.
Ryan could see the strain on his brother’s face. For an eight-year-old, Stan was already starting to look old. The deep furrow in his brow was going to be with him for life. He slapped his brother across the head. “Don’t swear. Don’t even pretend to swear. You’ll fuck it up, and I’ll get in shit. So, no swearing, you got it?”
Stan nodded.
“What do you mean, anyway?” Ryan asked. “What don’t I know? Just stop blubbering and tell me.”
“Everybody knows Halloween is the one night a year they can make their move because everyone else looks just like them,” Stan whispered, his voice cracking with fright.
“Who’s them?” Ryan asked, throwing his hands into the air. “Booger people? Who?”
“You are so dumb, Ryan! T.H.E.M! The-Human-Eating-Monsters!”
“Stan...”
“Okay,” Stan began slowly, trying to get his point across to his brother. “Explain to me how come five seconds after I bagged all the leaves in the backyard yesterday, they were all over the ground again? I’m telling you, cross my heart, all the leaves moved. It’s like someone else was there, tossing them all around. Only I couldn’t see him.”
“I don’t know, Stan,” Ryan sighed. “Maybe there are some kick-ass Man from Glad ghosts in the neighborhood hiding behind the trees just waiting to jump out and make you shit your pants. That’s the only other explanation I have. Yesterday was not Halloween, so there goes your theory.” There was a look of exasperation on Ryan’s face as he looked to Tom for help.
“No, he’s right, Ryan.” Tom admitted reluctantly. “I’ve heard about it before. There’s this force that can move all around you, even touch you, without you seeing it. But usually you can feel it. It makes your body cold.”
“See,” Stan said. “Tom knows what I am talking about.”
Tom laughed, putting his hands on Stan’s shoulders and shaking them. “I’m talking about the wind, Stan. Chill buddy.”
Ryan grabbed his brother by his six-shooter belt, pulling him closer to his own body. He put his massive hand over Stan’s cowboy hat and shook his brother’s head up and down a couple of times, forcing him to nod in agreement. “Okay, Stan. It’s time to wrap this up. Make this the last house. Tom and I want to get home and Mom doesn't want you out on the street alone.” He looked slyly at Tom. It was time to toughen Stan up, one way or another. “Not after that kid went missing last year,” he added. “You remember me telling you about that, right? I heard that Mrs. LaRose has got the body buried behind the house. Did you notice any patches in the backyard when you were over there? Something that looks like a grave? You did, didn’t you?”
Stan nodded his head slowly. “Uh huh.”
“You probably even raked over some of his hair poking out from the ground. News flash. That wasn’t a new rake she got you to use last week, Stan. It’s a corpse-o-matic 500 styling comb.” He ran his hand across his bald head, shaking imaginary hairs from his fingers in front of Stan’s eyes. “Psyche,” he said, looking back at Tom and nodding with satisfaction.
“See, Kev,” Stan yelled. “I told you.” He turned to Ryan. “Maybe we should go home now. I don’t need any more candy. I think I’m going to barf.”
“Stan. We’re only messing with your head. There’s no missing kid. There’s no body. There’s no grave, there’s nothing. I swear. You’ve got to loosen-up bro. I’m not always going to fucking be here to hold your hand.”
“You wait until Kevin goes missing and winds up on the news. Then we'll see.”
“Stan’s already got a bag full of candy, Ryan. Let's just go,” Tom said impatiently. “Maybe Jacey knows where there’s a party going on. We can call her from your place. Maple Street isn’t exactly a prowl party.”
“Hang on,” Ryan said, reaching into Stan’s bag and pulling out a couple of chocolate bars. He handed one to Tom. “This is the last house, I promise. I want to see what Mrs. LaRose is wearing tonight. Maybe she'll be dressed in a long, black, silky thing. Or a short, black, silky thing.” He grinned lasciviously. “Whatever.”
“You worry me, buddy,” Tom said, shaking his head. “Mrs. LaRose, she's like a grandmother. Why don't you ever go after someone our age?”
“Grandmother or not, Mrs. LaRose is hot. You find me someone our age that looks like her and I'll make my move. Until then, I don’t mind hanging around here for a few more minutes.” He turned towards Kevin. “Kev. Don’t just stand there. Ring the bell.”
Kevin was too busy digging through the candy in the cauldron to pay any attention to Ryan.
“Guess I’m gonna have to do it myself,” he said. “Come on, Stan. Get on my back. I’ll take you up there.”
He began to lower his massive frame so his brother could piggyback on him. But his plans were interrupted as his attention turned to the sound of a loud van coming down the road. “What a piece of shit,” he said, as it pulled to the curb in front of the LaRose house.
Tom noticed the corporate logo on the side. “It’s the city death squad.”
“There’s chics inside it,” Ryan noticed, standing back up without his brother on his back. “Why would chics be riding around in a roach mobile? It’s got to be part of Mrs. LaRose’s Halloween thing. The show’s getting better every year.” He nodded for Tom to join him back in the shadows of the tree. They silently watched the passengers get out of the vehicle.
Ellie took a good look at the LaRose home. “I didn't know Nan decorated her house up every year,” she said to her mother. “It’s pretty cool. It looks like the Adams Family
house. I'll fit right in.”
Helen came and stood on the sidewalk beside Ellie. “Hmm...” she pondered, looking at the decorations. “I just hope she takes it down before Christmas.”
“You know, you sounded just like Marge Simpson when you said that,” Ellie commented. “Not to mention your hair’s looking a little bouffant.”
Helen patted her windblown bangs down. “I would have kept the window up but I was getting a little car sick,” she admitted. “I am definitely bringing the van back as soon as I can.”
“Check it out,” Ryan whispered to Tom. “They could be Mrs. LaRose's sisters, they look so much like her.”
“I guess they kind of look like her,” Tom shrugged. “I don't spend as much time looking at grandmothers as some people around here do.”
“Dude, they're babes.”
“Ryan, the one on the right is like forty.”
“Really? My dick can’t tell them apart.” His eyes became as intimate with the female forms as their bulky autumn clothing would allow.
Tom took a long look at Ellie. “Are you on crack? Goth-Chic is our age. She's got a math book under her arm. Look familiar? I guess not to you.”
“Not Goth-Chic. I meant the preppie babe. Her and Mrs. LaRose. I'd do 'em. You can have Goth-Chic.”
“Isn’t there some polygamy law against that?” Tom asked. “You haven’t joined some fundamentalist religious sect on me, have you?”
“It’s only illegal if you marry them,” Ryan shrugged. “I don’t make the laws, dude. And like you said, I don’t have to worry about the age thing.”
“I find it disturbing that you’ve thought about it,” Tom admitted.
Kevin, bound and determined to find money at the bottom of the cauldron whether there was any or not, was starting to get impatient. “Stan, are you coming or what?” he asked, his arm buried deep in the candy. “Should I just throw you something?”
“Stan,” Ryan yelled, giving his brother a push. “Get the FUCK up the stairs. I want to go home.”
Helen turned, noticing the boys for the first time. She did a ten-second sum up. Two of them looked to be Ellie’s age. The bald-headed kid with the foul mouth was trouble, no doubt about it. He had a look only a mother could love. Maybe. The other boy wasn’t much better in her eyes. He was too good looking for his own good. He’d also be trouble. Two minutes in Troy and there were already two reasons to leave.
“Lovely language they speak here,” Helen commented to Ellie. “Don’t be in a rush to learn the local dialect.”
A flash of the strobe caught Ellie, illuminating her in slow motion. The unflattering light outlined her mascara-laden eyes and made her complexion eerily pale.
She looked at the boys. Trash-mouth, well she could teach him a few choice words of her own if only her mother weren’t around. The other one—the cute one—left her momentarily speechless.
Tom looked at Ryan. “Oh yeah. Goth-Chic's a hottie,” he said sarcastically. “Thanks for giving her to me.”
“My name is not Goth-Chic,” Ellie snarled back at them.
“Fuck, she’s got bat hearing or something,” Ryan whispered to Tom.
“I guess we were being kind of loud,” Tom offered. “We’d better cool it if we want to make a good impression.”
“Too late for that. The Mom’s already got the ‘lock-up-her-daughter’ look going on.” He sighed. “I know it well.”
Ellie noticed Stan standing by himself on the sidewalk. She offered her hand to him. “Come on, kid. You want candy? I'll take you up there. This is my house now.”
Her dark demeanor was not assuring to Stan in the least. He noticed the chipped black nail polish on her fingers. He also noticed a spider tattoo peeking out from under her sleeve. “Thanks, Cruella,” he said nervously, “but I'm not supposed to go anywhere with strangers.”
“Suit yourself,” Ellie shrugged.
The front door of the LaRose home opened, framing Helena in a long, sexy, slit-to–the-navel, black dress.
Helen rolled her eyes. “I knew it.”
“Sweet,” Ryan smiled.
“I thought I heard a car door slam!” Helena squealed, slinking down the stairs in six-inch stilettos.
Stan looked towards her and froze in fear. He could have sworn he saw something pass swiftly behind her on the walkway, then turn and head into her backyard. It was only there for a moment, and it looked right at him. Whatever it was.
“What's the matter, Stan? Cat got your tongue?” Helena asked. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Don’t let my outfit scare you. It’s just a little ensemble I threw together for the occasion. I couldn’t decide whether I wanted be a witch or a vampire queen. I went for both.”
Stan grabbed at his throat, choking as he gasped for air.
“For heaven’s sake, Stan. It’s just a figure of speech!” Helena said. “There’s not a cat in sight.” She looked at Ryan for help. “Did he swallow a gumball whole? Do I need to do the Heimlich maneuver on him?”
“It’s okay, Mrs. LaRose,” Ryan assured her. “He’s just scared. I have his inhaler in my pocket.” Ryan pulled it out and gave it to Stan, who promptly filled his lungs in hurried puffs. “He’s always forgetting it. I figured he’d need it sometime tonight.”
“He’s lucky he’s got you to look out for him, Ryan. Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Ryan assured her. “Just give it a minute.”
“A boy Stan’s age shouldn’t have shock-related asthma. You tell your mother to bring him around to my office one day this week. I’d like to see if I can help. I think a lavender elixir would work wonders for him.”
“I’ll ask her, Mrs. LaRose. But I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
Helena turned and reached her arms out towards the girls. “My darlings! I didn’t mean to ignore you. Come give me a hug. This is the most wonderful visit I’ve had all year. Go inside and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be about another half an hour with the kiddies, so that will give you some time to settle in. Helen, you can have the room down the hall from mine on the second floor. Mine would be the big room. Ellie, the room at the top of the peak with the little balcony there is all yours.” She pointed at it from the walkway. The light was on awaiting Ellie’s arrival. “You must be tired. We can catch up in the morning.”
“Thanks, Gram!” Ellie said, looking up at the house. “Wow. I’ve never had my own private balcony.”
Helena shuddered, and then waved her manicured finger at her granddaughter. “Uh, uh, uh, enough of that, Ellie. If you choose to let the odd expletive loose in this household, it will be overlooked. But utter THAT four letter word again, and believe me, hell hath no furry, as they say.”
“I warned you,” Helen reminded her daughter, repeating the neck slashing gesture she had made in the van. “Ix-nay on the gram-nay.”
“Sorry, Nan?” Ellie said apprehensively.
“Much better,” Helena said, giving Ellie a big hug. Ellie’s arms gave her a big squeeze in return. “Well that’s what I’ve missed,” she said to her granddaughter.
Helena then stepped towards Helen, hoping for the same reaction, but her daughter pulled back from her. “Is everything okay, Helen?” she asked.
“Really, Mother,” Helen began, “are you telling me, that in all the closets in that big old house of yours, you couldn't find something a little less revealing to wear into the middle of the street than a flimsy evening gown? It looks so...cheap.”
“Helen,” Helena sighed. “Don't be such a stick in the mud. It's Victoria's Secret, dear. I can assure you it wasn't cheap. Now give me a proper hug.” She threw her arms around her daughter and gave her a big kiss.
Helen wiped her face with her glove. Even as a child she had hated when her mother left lipstick on her cheek. “How come Ellie gets the room with the balcony?” she pouted.
“Because she is young and beautiful and will probably have a wilder sex life than either of us can dream about. She'll need to get by yo
u somehow.”
“She is only fifteen. She doesn’t have a sex life. At least she better not have. I’m counting on you to set an example.”
“Another conversation for another day,” Helena said knowingly.
“Don’t go putting ideas into her head, Mother.”
“Can we help you, Mrs. LaRose?” Ryan asked.
“No, you cannot help,” Helen stated. “Why are you still here?”
“Helen, don’t be rude to the boys. They can help bring the luggage in,” Helena answered. “Just the things they'll need for the night, please, boys. We can unload the rest in the morning. The van will be safe enough.” She looked at the exterminator logo on the vehicle parked in front of her house. “Really, Helen. And you have the nerve to question my style.”
“I warned you,” Ellie echoed to her mother. “We should have come by bus.”
Ryan followed Helen as she walked to the rear of the van. “Can I carry something for you, Mrs. LaRose? I mean you, the other Mrs. LaRose. Or whatever your name is. I figure you probably don’t want me calling you Helen. Or do you?”
“It's Bocelli, actually,” Helen replied, irritated. “On second thought I'll probably be switching it back to LaRose. Ms. LaRose is fine. Helen is not.” She opened the rear doors and pointed at a suitcase. “Take the heavy blue one, will you? Thank you. Ryan, is it?”
He nodded. “I live next door. Nice and handy, in case you need anything. Anytime.”
“Great,” Helen muttered, under her breath. Just what she needed. A swearing, sex-crazed behemoth living a stone’s throw away from her impressionable daughter.
“So… it’s Ms. LaRose. I take it you’re single?”
The look she threw him said it all.
“Okay then, I’ll just take these into the house,” Ryan said, giving her the same look back.
Tom walked over to the side of the van and opened the sliding door for Goth-Chic. “So you’d be Ellie Bocelli?” he smirked.
Ellie stared him down, having heard that one before. “You can rhyme. Very good. You must be the smart one.” She pulled her duffle bag from the car seat and threw it on the ground.
“Nice to meet you too,” Tom said sarcastically, unsure what had set her off.
“I’m not Ellie Bocelli. I am a LaRose. I'm technically a bastard. But that's more information than I usually give somebody I don't know. Happy now?”
“Working the ‘Miss Congeniality’ thing are you? Why do I get the feeling that's not a costume for you? I'm surprised you can stand there under the streetlight. Doesn't that hurt you people?” he sassed back.
Ellie grinned, appreciating the quick comeback. She took a lingering look at Tom. There had been plenty of good-looking boys at home, but Tom, he was definitely worth the move.
“We took that into consideration when ‘my people’ designed energy efficient bulbs. You’ll notice the soft-pink light they produce reduces glare. Not only does it not make me want to immediately crawl into a coffin,” she paused, suddenly losing her icy edge without wanting to do so, “it’s easy on the eyes.” She felt her heart begin to beat faster. Just looking at him did that. She desperately hoped her voice had not just given her feelings away.
Tom, upon closer inspection of Ellie, saw that Ryan was right. They all did look alike, which meant that Ellie was also a babe. Her hair was long, dark and silkily beautiful. His eyes lowered to her chest, where he guessed that underneath the baggy black sweater she was wearing, she was built a lot like her grandmother. It was hard to tell. He smiled at Ellie, slightly embarrassed.
“Easy on the eyes,” he repeated, a sexy smile coming across his face. “Okay, Goth-Chic. Let’s start again. I'm Tom. Tom Williams. I live two streets down on Pine Crescent. I’m a straight-A student and I work part time at my dad’s hardware store down on Main. I couldn’t throw a football if my life depended on it. That makes me a loser in this football crazy town. Tossing a pigskin would be my buddy Ryan’s job. He’s the all-star. And a letterman. That last part might surprise your mom. Of course he got it for football, but apparently it still counts.”
Ellie smiled back shyly. He was beyond cute. Her shoulders raised and her fists tightened uncontrollably as she tried to prevent herself from gushing right in front of him. “My name's really Helen, like my mom, but everyone calls me Ellie. Ellie LaRose. It gets too confusing otherwise. I’m athletic, but I’d never get a letter for sports. I like the javelin. Weird huh? I like to pierce things.”
Tom noticed her ears held several earrings. His mind began to wonder about what else might be pierced. Nothing would surprise him.
“And I like to dress in black,” she summed up.
“So I see,” he said, subconsciously running his hand through his hair, making sure every one was still in place.
“Anything else you want to know?”
“Helena, Helen and Ellie?” Tom asked quizzically.
“You've got it. You are the smart one.”
“It’s kind of ironic then...”
Ellie looked at him bewilderedly.
“The two of you moving to Troy,” Tom said. “Population 3,000 and well, two.”
Ellie suddenly got it. “Oh my God,” she said, slapping her forehead with her hand. “That makes us the Helens of Troy. Please don’t point that out to anyone else.”
“See. You are smarter than a fifth grader. Don’t worry, I won’t.”
Ellie laughed. Tom took it as a sign their verbal jousting had come to an end. He relaxed a little. There was something unusual about her, he thought. And it wasn’t just the outfit. Maybe it was her big green eyes, framed by lashes that were longer than any he had seen on a girl in his life. Maybe it was just that she was hot, like Ryan said. Maybe it was the fact that for the first time in his life, he was actually seeing an aura around someone.
“I heard your grandmother ask you to call her Nan. Nan, Gran, what’s the difference?” he asked, his head tilting from side to side looking at her, following the patterns of light around her that only he seemed to be able to see.
“A big one, apparently. She doesn't like to be reminded of her age. She thinks people will think Nan's short for Nancy or something. I guess I could call her Helena. I don’t know. Whatever makes her happy. What are you looking at?”
“Nothing,” he said, trying not to look at her glow. “Ryan’s in love with her, just so you know. Ryan’s pretty much in love with anything that’s female and alive.”
Alone on the sidewalk, Stan was feeling abandoned. “Hello? I'm over here. Remember me? The kid who wants to go up the stairs before next year,” he yelled, finally finding his voice. “What? Am I invisible or something?”
“Stan. Will you just go up the...” Ryan started.
“Could you please not drop an f-bomb?” Helen interrupted.
“Stan, go up the stupid stairs,” Ryan continued, looking at Helen defiantly. “You little wimp-ass,” he added.
Stan thought it over. He didn’t want to go down in history as the only kid afraid to go up Mrs. LaRose’s porch. Especially now that these new people had arrived. Kevin, Ryan, Tom and even Mrs. LaRose pretty much knew he was afraid of the littlest things, but he still had a chance with the strangers. He slowly walked up the stairs, onto the porch and reached into the cauldron. Fearing to look inside, in case something truly evil lurked there, he turned towards the swing. He screamed. He could feel his head swirling, and he knew no matter how much he didn’t want to do it, he was going to faint.
Ellie darted to the porch. As Stan spun around, she held out her arms, catching him.
“Well! This has never happened before,” Helena exclaimed.
“Kid,” Ellie said, easing him to the ground. She slapped him across the face. “Kid, wake up.”
“Don’t do that,” Ryan yelled, running up behind her. “His name’s Stan. He’ll come to in a second. He always does this. He has a short synapse or something. It makes him pass out when his adrenalin gets charged.”
“You mean thanks
, right?” she asked him. “For catching him so he didn’t split his head open when he fell?”
Ryan nodded sheepishly.
“How’d you know he was going to do that?” Tom asked, joining them on the porch. “You were running up to him before he even turned to look at the dead guy.” The aura about her had changed. It was dimmer, as if some of its power had been lost.
She thought about it. “I don’t know. I just had this feeling.”
Stan began to stir. He tried to open his eyes, but his pupils were stuck somewhere up in his head.
“Do you want your inhaler, Stan?” Ryan asked.
Stan shook his head. His speech was slurred, but the color was starting to return to his face. He tried to focus. “There’s a dead body on the swing.”
“Yes dear, I know,” Helena said, feeling his forehead. He was a little clammy. She reached for his wrist and felt his pulse. It had returned to a normal rate and he seemed to be breathing easier. She heaved a sigh of relief. “Maybe this one’s a little too realistic this year.”
Tom looked at the dead guy on the swing. He pulled the blanket down from his face, wanting to get a closer look at him “Um, Mrs. LaRose?”
“Cover his face up again, Tom. I don’t want him scaring any more children.”
Tom didn’t move.
“Tom? Are you okay?”
Tom, like Stan before him, was turning ashen before her eyes. It was only a moment before he too, passed out on her porch.
“Well, I didn’t see that one coming,” Ellie said.
“What is going on here?” Helen asked. “Mother?”
Helena had no idea.
“I can’t take them anywhere,” Ryan joked, but even he was feeling uneasy. “I’m used to Stan visiting Neverland, but that was a first for Tom.” He turned and looked at the swing. An odd look crossed his face. “Mrs. LaRose?”
“You stay firmly planted, Ryan,” Helena stated, pointing at his feet. “There will be no more fainting tonight. Three’s a crowd.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Ryan said, his voice suddenly becoming solemn. “There really is a dead body on the swing. It’s Old Man Wagner.”