TOMMY ROTTEN

Halloween Night

Tommy Rotten lies immersed in a billowing blanket of fog, wringing his cold hands in elated anticipation. He is optimistic this year someone will finally come. He fantasizes about the potential candidates who will come tromping through the neighborhood. They will roam the night in delightfully hideous homage to the serial killers and demons and ghouls which normally inhabit their nightmares, but serve to bring endless delights on Halloween.

He thinks back on previous years, remembering how few, if any, people ever wandered close to his domain. Those daring souls who did only ventured here to fulfill adolescent rites of passages in the form of dares and acts of vandalism. One day the right one will come along, though. Tommy knows it.

The pumpkins grow wild out here in the field that blankets the distance between the abandoned Victorian house and the street whose name he no longer remembers. He gazes out over the moonlit expanse of vines and orange gourds, so deep that anyone with the courage to cross it risks nothing less than an agonizing twisted ankle for their trouble.

The moon is huge and full, hanging low in the twilit sky, like its weight is too much to bear and it will soon plunge behind the horizon. The lunar light lends a sweet gravity to the night. Tommy stares at the moon and tingles with the promise it holds.

Tommy knows he must not stay out in the open much longer. The night is approaching, bringing with it a small vestige of hope. Halloween is the night when his hopes of finding a companion might actually be realized. He grasps handfuls of pumpkin vines and lovingly caresses their dense tangles, as if his gentle touches might coax from them the answers to their sinister riddles.

How he yearns to know the unknowable. If only he possessed comprehension of why he was doomed to dwell in this desolate prison, perhaps things would be better.

Perhaps he could come to grips with it all, and with acceptance, finally find peace.

But no answers come. There is nothing but stubborn silence.

With his ministrations, the ropy creepers tremble and slowly come to life. The vines relax, unwind and release their hold on him, if only for a little while. Exhilaration surges through him, knowing Halloween is the one evening each year he is permitted to wander freely. He knows not who made these rules or why, but gladly takes what little liberty he’s given.

Chambers which once housed gleaming blue eyes survey undulating terrain, seeing nothing and everything, somehow.

Squirming maggots drip like tears from empty sockets.

Maybe this will be the year the night finally brings him a new friend. He knows he shouldn’t allow himself to become excited. Pumpkins have whispered empty promises of companionship for Tommy so many times before.

But if one does come close enough by happenstance, he will call them to him.

The house carries many sordid stories from its past. Some of the tales are true. He doesn’t blame people for keeping their distance, but things are so lonely here without them.

There is always the chance that one of the kids will cross through the pumpkin patch to the house on a dare. Most become too afraid to actually do it, though.

Tommy understands their fear.

He sometimes even frightens himself.

He vaguely remembers the time long ago when he, like them, had been goaded by his friends into coming here.

He was never a coward. He’d proved to his friends that he wasn’t scared and there was nothing to be afraid at that spooky old house.

If only that had been true.

Something had spoken to him that night, urging him to come back later, alone.

Unable to deny his curiosity, he’d returned. But the house had refused to let him leave. To this day he is still here.

Still achingly alone.

Dare he hope this might finally be the night he can say goodbye to his loneliness?

When Tommy starts yearning for his lost life, one of his Daddy’s favorite adages always pops into his head: It is what it is.

Tommy smiles at the memory of Daddy. It is what it is, he supposes. He can still hear his father’s voice in his head, clear as ever, but he can no longer recall the man’s face. Some memories have completely faded away, washed away by an endless river of years.

It is what it is.

It is what it was.

He untangles himself from his foggy resting place and drifts back to the long deserted Victorian house which called to him all those years ago. He heads back to the front porch where he will wait and see what the night brings. The moonlight glow in his eye sockets is gone now, replaced by haunted shadows.

CAROL’S FEET were aching already. She could not wait until the boys got tired and wanted to go home and gorge themselves on their loot.

She was getting tired of Antoine’s whining more than anything. The kid was such a tool. You could build him a house of gold and, rather than appreciate it, he’d complain about the glare. Eddy, her only slightly less annoying little brother, was also clearly becoming fed up with his friend’s endless stream of complaints.

As Antoine lamented the lack of full-size candy bars their trick-or-treating had yielded this year, Eddy punched him in the shoulder, inflicting more damage to his bony fist than Antoine’s beefy arm, judging by the way he winced.

The bigger boy turned around and glared at him, a crooked smile slashing his pimply face. “Did you just hit me with a piece of paper, you butt plug?”

That made Eddy laugh.

“You’re such a puss, Eddy.” He lunged at Eddy and pulled back at the last second, laughing harder when the smaller boy nearly fell on his butt in the grass. “Two for flinching, boy-ee.” He clapped Eddy on the shoulder and squeezed with his big paw.

Smiling, he winked at Eddy and said “I’ll get you later, homey.”

“That’s enough, both of you!” Carol snapped. “We can go home if guys can’t play nice.”

She was sixteen, and for the last three years she had been forced to chaperone her little brother and his miscreant friends on their trick-or-treat outing. Each year, the little wisecrackers grew more unruly. She was optimistic that Eddy was becoming jaded with the whole thing, and perhaps the time would soon come when she would no longer have to endure this dreadful annual ritual.

They finally reached Stokes Lane, a half mile from the fringe of civilization, but a few blocks still from the place where she hoped to have a little fun with them. The boys were already showing signs of boredom. Antoine continued to complain, this time about the lack of candy accumulated so far.

“Antoine, just keep walking, dude,” Eddy said, exhibiting a calmness alien to him. “I have a feeling we’re about to hit the jackpot. Besides, we’ve only been out for fifteen minutes.”

Jerry, the smallest and youngest of the three boys, chimed in.

“Yeah, tubby. You’ll get your candy soon enough. Don’t blow a gasket.”

Antoine shot Jerry a smoldering look.

“Watch it, Fairy! I will kick your ass.”

Jerry looked intimidated, but he stood up for himself anyway.

“I’m not scared of you, Ant. And stop calling me fairy.” He looked nervous, but Carol was proud of him all the same.

Quickening his pace, Eddy came up alongside his sister and tugged on her sleeve. “Hey, why are we going this way, anyway? Holiday Hills is where all the booty is.”

She grinned at him mischievously, her teeth reflecting the brilliant full moon.

He knew that look all too well. It was the one that meant she was about to punk him out. They kept walking, Antoine and Jerry bickering several paces behind. As they passed another quiet, darkened house on their left, he realized where she was taking them.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Tommy Rotten, does it, Sis?” Eddy’s voice quavered.

She looked at him again and stopped walking, her smile conspicuously absent.

“’What doesn’t it have to do with Tommy Rotten?’ might be the more appropriate question, Eddy.” Her voice was ghoulish, drawing out his name until she sounded like she was gargling broken glass.

His heart jumped in his chest.

“Chill out, Sis. That’s not funny.” He blushed at his childish reaction, but she could be pretty scary when the opportunity arose.

Antoine and Jerry nearly barreled into the brother and sister stalled in the middle of the road. Eddy looked at them, swung his head back towards Carol, and then spun a three-sixty in the middle of the street. As he gazed around, it dawned on him that there wasn’t anyone else out here besides them. That would have been strange on their street, but was perfectly normal out here where whispered curses ruled the night.

Eddy and his friends had been close since they were all in diapers, or pretty close to it. Even though they irritated her ninety-five percent of the time, they were fun kids. And they were about as good and wholesome as they made them these days, she supposed. She wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about taking them around to get their candy, but it kept them, and probably her, out of trouble. She couldn’t keep them safe and watch their backs forever, she knew. Eventually, at least one of them would become a troublemaker, probably Antoine.

But that wasn’t her problem to deal with. She would have her fun and make sure they got home safely, and then the real fun would begin.

She planned to go to Danny Bartlett’s Halloween party after the younger kids were tucked away in bed tonight. Danny wasn’t her boyfriend, not officially, but she’d heard from a reliable source (her best friend, Dewayne Carter, who happened to be an endless fountain of gossip) that Danny was going to ask her to go steady at the party tonight.

Attending the hoedown would require a clandestine exit from home, but she snuck out all the time, had it down to a science. She was really looking forward to it.

If Antoine had been perturbed earlier, he was completely annoyed now. “What’s the holdup you two?”

Eddy rolled his eyes and said, “You see where we are, Ant? Look around. Carol duped us into coming out here to mess with our heads.”

Jerry figured it out first. He became distressed instantly.

“Aw nuts!” he cried, tears already threatening to fall from his big green eyes. “You brought us to Cypress Lane? How the hell didn’t you guys notice we were heading out into the middle of nowhere?”

“You’re a shit stain, Jerry,” Antoine pointed out. He said no more. Just stood there sucking on a Sugar Daddy.

“So, Eddy,” Carol said, “why don’t you tell us what you know about Tommy.”

Her brother blanched, but reluctantly spoke up.

“Ten years ago, a boy named Tommy Rachen disappeared on Halloween night, and a search party found him in the pumpkin patch in front of the old Donnerly House a few weeks later. There was no evidence of any foul play. No witnesses were ever found. Even back then, everyone thought Donnerly House was haunted, so it was still really mysterious and had everyone creeped out for a long time. Anyway, the case was ruled death by misadventure, and Tommy’s remains were buried. The story goes that his body was so decomposed when they found him he had to be identified with dental records. From then on he was called Tommy Rotten. It was a no-brainer.”

Carol nodded and motioned for him to continue with an impatient gesture.

Eddy went on, “Tommy Rotten is like the exact opposite of Linus’ Great Pumpkin from The Peanuts. Supposedly, every Halloween night he waits in the pumpkin patch for some poor unsuspecting kid to walk by so he can snatch them up and eat them alive. There are a bunch of unsolved missing person’s cases that a lot of people say have something to do with that house, but no one has ever proven anything.”

Antoine was unimpressed. “Everyone in Culloden knows that story you guys. What’s the big deal?”

“The big deal, Antoine, is that you haven’t ever been down here at night, have you?” Now Carol was putting on a very poor Vincent Price impersonation.

“No. I want to get some more candy, man. This sucks.” Carol could see right through Antoine’s nonchalant posturing. He was scared shitless.

She shook her head dramatically and told them all to be patient. They were just going to walk to the edge of the pumpkin patch and check it out. Then she promised to take them to the Hills, and turn them loose so they could load up on candy.

They stood huddled together against the chilly wind which had suddenly kicked up. Two blocks down Cyprus Lane, the thick scent of rotting pumpkins was pervasive and cloying in their nostrils.

The full moon was a huge, uncaring eye hanging in the cloudless late October sky. From its position just slightly over the top of the Donnerly place, it revealed the pumpkin patch with its silvery light. The hulking domicile itself was backlit, the front cast into swirling shadows and luminous fog. It dripped menace and oozed dread.

Eddy looked over at his Sis and his buddies, and was overcome by an irrational but altogether harrowing sensation of loss and dismay. He was suddenly and acutely aware that they were all going to die. The dreadful thoughts came unbidden, coiled around his mind like sanity-sucking serpents.

Maybe not tonight or the next night, they whispered, maybe not until you’re old, bald, and incontinent, but you’re all going to rot, just like Tommy Rachen.

His thoughts grew despondent, dismayed, bereft of the joy Halloween had always brought. He could think of nothing other than the fact that he and everyone he loved were nothing more than walking corpses. He felt like puking or crying or both.

“I dare you to go up to the house and ring the doorbell, Eddy,” Carol whispered.

His jaw nearly unhinged from his face. He found himself both alarmed and relieved. He’d never been happier to hear anyone say anything. The sensation of doom that had been tightening around him dissipated.

But he would be damned if he went anywhere near that awful house.

“Shit no, sis.”

“Punk,” she whispered. Eddy looked at her and noticed her still staring raptly at the house. Her eyes were wide, mouth moving wordlessly.

It was an oppressive place, yet it held her mesmerized. She didn’t understand what was causing it, but she felt as if she should be the one to go to the door. How could that be? She was too afraid to do that. At least, she thought she was.

The most peculiar and comforting thought occurred to her.

A soothing voice in her head told her all was well with the world. She should let go and let the night take her away, away to somewhere better, where her life’s purpose could be fully realized.

She swayed on her feet as she stared into the pumpkin patch. She watched, fascinated, as the vines began to move, a sea of green foliage dotted with gourds which shone with beautiful and mesmerizing color. The vines and leaves danced to a silent tune, sending the fog into disarray.

She wanted more than anything to go to the house. But why? She could not rationalize her desire. It was ludicrous.

“Carol!”

Eddy had her arm in his hands and was shaking her urgently, panic etched across his features.

“What the hell, Eddy?”

She felt like she had just been awoken from the most wonderful dream. She wanted nothing more than to return to that beautiful place where she had been, before Eddy had so rudely forced her back to reality.

“We’re ready to get our candy on, Sis.” Eddy turned pale, his voice barely louder than her heartbeat. “Come on. We want to go.”

The strange elation she had felt dispersed like the fog that swirled around her shoes. She took one last look at the house and shivered. “All right, dudes. Let’s go. Sorry I brought you here. It was lame.”

“It’s all good. Let’s just get going.”

As the four of them shuffled back down Cyprus Street, Carol couldn’t help but glance back towards Donnerly House and its rather peculiar pumpkin patch.

They made their way back to Stokes, and within fifteen minutes were cruising along in Carol’s station wagon towards Holiday Hills and the promise of tons of chocolate.

HIS HEART SOARS when she appears on the street. She and her companions are the only ones who have come tonight, but that’s okay. She has to be the one.

The pumpkins tell him in their strange and magical voices that she will come to him. They tell him to call to her, and he does. He cries out in a voice only she will hear. He wonders if she will return.

He delights in the prospect. She must come to him. She would make a wonderful friend. He knows she’s the one. When she leaves with the others, he is crushed. His world collapses. The crushing weight of disappointment is unbearable.

He tells himself she will come back. She must.

AND SHE DOES.

Carol climbs out her window at midnight. She makes her way to the car, hops in and puts the old clunker in neutral. The driveway is steep enough for gravity to do the work. She gets in, careful to leave her door opened a crack, and the station wagon rolls into the street.

She starts the engine and pulls the door closed when she is safe to do so without waking her parents. She’s done this a few times before.

She drives straight to Donnerly House, abandoning her plan to attend Danny’s party. She is compelled to return, even though some infinitesimal voice is trying to reason with her, trying to warn her that she is being foolish and nothing good can be waiting for her there.

She isn’t listening to that voice, though. There is another one speaking to her now. It is a powerful voice, but it is filled with love and warmth, kindness and comfort.

She exits the car and walks into the pumpkin patch.

As the vines encircle her, twisting up her legs and curling around her torso and arms, she sees Tommy Rotten standing no more than ten feet in front of her.

He is beautiful. She then knows he is the one who called to her. He won’t let this happen. He will stop them. He will surely rescue her. He opens his arms with a smile to accept her into his tender embrace.

But it is not to be.

The vines wind around her throat. She can’t breathe.

They are so strong.

Her eyes bulge from their sockets.

The vines pull her down, enveloping her in the putrid field of rotting pumpkins. As they overpower and pull her to the ground, she knows she won’t be going home tonight.

The vines constrict with a final burst of murderous strength. Panic sets in as she tries to grab at them and finds her body does not respond to her commands. Her hands and feet are tightly bound, spread out to each side. If someone sees her, they may think she is about to make a pumpkin patch angel.

She gapes in horror as Tommy’s face appears, blotting out the moon in the sky behind him, smiling with a sadness which fills her with more fright than anyone should have to suffer. There’s an explosion of black stars before her vision dissolves into inescapable darkness.

She wonders, dimly, why Tommy isn’t helping. The thought is short-lived as blackness becomes her everything.

Tommy screams, blubbing incoherent curses at the futility of it all, smacking the nearest pumpkins in utter and total frustration and loneliness.

Then, the soothing whispers of the patch settle over him, an insect-like chattering that builds and builds, filling his cranium to the point it might burst. The whispers turn to shouts and the noise consumes all.

Tommy finds himself filled with a joyous choir of unholy voices, unleashing an emotion he has never experienced before . . . and he knows happiness at last.

One year later

HE STIRS from his damp, leafy bed in the pumpkin patch and stretches his mildewed body in an exaggerated yawn, bones creaking inside his moldering clothes.

He sits up in the darkness.

The waning gibbous moon is just bright enough to outline her silhouette in the deep darkness.

She stares back at him with empty eyes, smiling a shining toothy grin.

The anticipation is electric.

It is Halloween, again.

No one comes up to any good comes through this neighborhood, they know; but they are lonely and hope this will prove to be a special night.

Both are eager to build their family. Carol tells him again how wonderful it would be to have a child to call their own.

The idea makes Tommy Rotten tremble with excitement.

A son would be perfect, but as long as it’s healthy and has all its limbs . . . then they are blessed.