1
Halloween. Also Adam’s birthday. Five years old.
Dad, Ronnie, would rather have spent the day on the boat. But, for the love of Christ, he had a son. For five years now he’d had a son. It was tough. Sometimes. Being a dad. He loved the kid. Yes. Bragged about him endlessly. Bothered his friends with pictures, videos, and quotes. Yet, the Florida sun called, and the lake that lapped at Ronnie’s lawn was like an old college buddy who hadn’t given up the ghost, who constantly said, Come on, Ronnie. Let’s have fun.
Still, Ronnie liked nice things. Especially things that made him look good. His Florida lake house was one. His cars another. His full head of red hair, his tan skin, and his athletic frame, too. And Adam. Yes. Despite the baggage, Ronnie couldn’t shut up about his boy. And he wouldn’t stop comparing him, either. What age was Tony when he started walking? Adam started before then. Jeremy drew that? Look at Adam’s drawing. It’s better. Good kid. Great kid. A little flighty, okay. Cries for Mommy on the days I have him, okay.
Afraid of the dark in his bedroom at night.
But aren’t they all?
Ronnie was rich. Rich enough where the kitchen wall overlooking the lawn and lake was entirely glass. Rich enough that he could spend days on the lake, flirting with the women who boated, drinking ’til he blacked out, with no fear of work in the morning. There were people who were richer, but Ronnie was the richest of his friends. That meant something. To him it did. It was a great feeling, actually. Fucking fantastic. Most the time Ronnie felt fantastic. There wasn’t a holiday or reunion Ronnie didn’t look forward to. Why wouldn’t he? Every time everyone got together, Ronnie felt the glory, sporting, harmless, by way of his admiring friends. It felt good to be successful. Ronnie felt good.
Halloween was one such holiday. So was Adam’s birthday. Both on the same day. Every year. And while Ronnie wanted to spend it drunk on the lake, a little love from his peers never hurt.
“Over there,” Ronnie said, in shorts and sandals, standing on his deck, directing Ashley and her crew as to where to set up the tables, the props, the decorations. A lot went into being a good dad, especially if you wanted everyone to notice.
Down in Florida, Halloween didn’t look much like it did in the movies. No colored leaves and crisp air. No sweatshirts over the costumes. No cloud of breath accompanying the words trick or treat. It was eighty degrees and sunny. And the lake in autumn kissed the lawn like it did at the height of summer.
“Is Claire coming, Ronnie?”
Ashley was asking. Ashley who had worked as Ronnie’s personal assistant for three years. Who knew Claire wasn’t coming, but asked it every time.
“Naw.”
“That’s too bad.”
She stepped by him then, from the deck to the dark green grass, directing her crew as she went.
Claire.
Ronnie brought his drink to his mouth and smiled. His ex-wife was something else. Constantly haranguing him about being a better father, but never asking for Adam on his birthday.
“It’s because she loves Halloween,” Ronnie said to nobody. A muscled man in a tight black shirt paused while hanging fake cobwebs in a tree, looked over his shoulder towards Ronnie on the deck. “She likes dressing up like a skank,” Ronnie said, cheering the crewmember, “while I provide the memories of a kid’s lifetime.”
“You got a costume of your own, Mister Stern?”
This from another guy in a black shirt.
“Well, I’m not dressing up like a nurse, I can tell you that much.” Smiles from the crew. “But yeah. I’m game.”
He pulled from his pocket a pair of Groucho Marx glasses, nose and mustache and brows attached. Placing the plastic on his face, securing it around his ears, he extended both arms, silently saying, See?
The crew continued working. A speedboat passed fast across the lake. The echo of women laughing reached the deck.
Claire, he thought. I could be out there right now, too.
Ronnie would love it if Claire hosted one of these Halloween birthdays. Just once. That way he could stop in, make an appearance, play Dad for a couple hours, show off to some of her friends. He’d have time to get back home, here, play on the lake, make some magic happen. Halloween was the perfect day to pull up next to Lana Ann and her crew of half naked bombshells, ogle their costumes, offer them a joint, offer them a party.
You know who didn’t wanna party? The parents of two-dozen five-year-olds.
Maybe Claire knew that.
“Hey, pal,” Ronnie called, gesturing to a man hanging a witch piñata from a low branch. “Let’s keep the center aisle open. A clear path to the dock.”
Ronnie didn’t like the witch. Didn’t like how out of proportion the big nose was. Made him think of Adam’s bedroom.
Why?
“You got it,” the crewmember said.
You got it. Damn right Ronnie had it. Screw Claire. And you know what? Some of Adam’s friends had fine moms. Beautiful moms. Maybe today Ronnie could make them laugh a little, get a second little party going. And from there? Who knew? A little rum, a little coke, and maybe Tiffany Gold would end up staying the night. Maybe. Weirder things had happened. Especially for Ronnie Stern. Women and fun popped out of the shadows all the time. One of the biggest mistakes a man can make is thinking nothing extraordinary will happen, not here, not today. Hell, one time Ronnie met a woman in court. Figured the officer wasn’t going to show. He did show. But so did a needy little thing named Ursula, fresh off the boat. And Ursula had never been on his boat and thank-fucking-Zeus for that ticket. They went at it for three days. Practically roommates. Seventy-two hours of highs and lows that saw Ronnie naked on the dock at midnight, posing for pictures as the woman took them. That was a good one. A great one. The shadows, man. Woman and fun. Hell, Ronnie had more luck in unlikely situations than he did when he went out looking for it.
So, screw it.
Halloween. Also Adam’s birthday. Plenty of shadows from which to pluck some fun.
He’d invited all Adam’s little friends and their parents, too. He even told the parents to bring whoever they wanted, because you never knew what might show. Wear the most scandalous costume you got! He’d said, but he knew nobody would. He’d ordered a huge cake, a mammoth sub, balloons, orange paper plates, black forks and knives. Yard games and the grill, cobwebs and plastic spiders. Clowns, too. Clowns were a good idea. Make Tiffany Gold laugh until her laughter caught the attention of the women on the lake. Like a lure.
How much longer is this kid party going on, Ronnie?
Not so long. Stick around.
Why should we?
We’ll do some blow. Smoke some grass. Boat our butts off after the kids leave. Steal each other’s faces out on the water. Got any acid, Carrie? I’ll do it. Let me just get Adam to bed. Of course he has a bed here. Has a whole bedroom. A kickass bedroom. Destroys the one he has at Claire’s.
Ronnie brought his arms up to his chest and looked to the sky. He’d felt a chill so defined it was as if, in hindsight, he’d been able to see it physically cross the lake, come up his lawn, greet him on the deck.
Adam’s bedroom. Why did Adam’s bedroom always freak him out? Was it because it was empty most of the time?
“Ronnie?”
He didn’t remember finishing his drink but there he was, slurping the watered down remains. Ashley stood on the lawn at the foot of the deck steps, holding a Frankenstein banner.
“Hang it on the oak,” Ronnie said.
He watched Ashley and her crew set up the tables, the cake stand, the chairs, the volleyball net, the fake coffin, the green slime, and the rest.
A party unfolding like a XXXXX before him.
“Where’s the birthday boy now?” Ashley asked, making sure each plate had a napkin.
“Out front. On the phone with his mombie.”
“Mombie?”
“Zombie mombie.”
Ashley laughed. “You’re terrible, Ronnie.”
“Thank you, Ashley.”
He entered through the back glass door and, for a moment, had the house to himself. But he didn’t like having the house to himself. Liked having women and fun in his house. Did all he could, always, to not have the house to himself.
He crossed through the kitchen, took the stone corridor to the stairs, climbed them, and paused at his bedroom door. He looked over his shoulder, down the upstairs carpeted hall to Adam’s bedroom.
The door was closed. Was Adam in there after all? Ronnie thought he was out front in the driveway or sitting on the hammock in the front yard, talking to Claire.
But was he? Whether he could see into the room or not, it felt like someone was in there.
Ronnie took a step toward it. Stopped.
“Screw it,” he said. Then, louder, “Adam! Get ready, buddy!”
He waited for a response, got none, and entered his own bedroom with a mind to take a shower, a loud one, as he closed the door behind him.
2
Seventy-five people, Ronnie thought. Wish Claire could see this.
Oh, fuck Claire. Adam was having the time of his life. Dressed up like a little Ronnie in a red wig and a Hawaiian shirt (Adam had insisted), the kid was racing all over the yard with his friends, playing games that didn’t make any sense to Ronnie at all. Who cared? Ronnie was drinking, talking, hosting. He was also wearing those Groucho Marx glasses and using the grill spatula as a cigar. Just enough to play along, but not so much that he’d cover up his shorts or bare feet, giving anybody the impression he wasn’t up for some fun.
Speaking of fun, the clowns weren’t as big a hit as he’d hoped. The kids weren’t interested at all. Maybe it was because they weren’t scary clowns. Maybe it was because they were obviously middle-aged men in makeup. Who knew? Ronnie caught one of them smoking a cigarette on the side of the house. Reminded the guy he was getting paid to entertain kids. The guy was obviously hung over. Bad shape. They all seemed a little hit. But what did Ronnie care? As long as they kept making balloon animals and pretending to fall down and hurt themselves, he couldn’t really fault them. Not Ronnie. Not with Paula Thomas walking around the yard in a pair of jean shorts small enough to be a blindfold. Part of her cowgirl costume. Forget Tiffany Gold. Paula was outrageous. Ronnie had to shake his head a couple times after looking at her, wipe the sight from his eyes.
“You buy that place up north yet, Ronnie?”
Dan. Fucking Dan Mickey. Dan liked to talk business no matter where they were and no matter what was going on around them. Guy would talk stocks at a strip bar. One time, back when Ronnie and Claire were still married, they went out to a movie with Dan and Beth. Back when Dan and Beth were still married, too. Halfway through the movie Dan leaned across the wives and asked Ronnie if he’d bought the Porsche they’d talked about last time they saw each other. Ronnie told him he had. Dan asked for how much. Ronnie told him how much. Dan asked if that was a good price. Ronnie told him he was watching a fucking movie here. No wonder Beth left the prick.
“No, I didn’t.” Ronnie sipped a Corona. Dan Mickey wore a checkered tie. As if that counted as showing his Halloween spirit.
“Why not?”
“Didn’t sing to me.”
Dan laughed. “You’re into singing now?”
Two clowns ran into each other in the yard. Didn’t look planned. Looked like they actually ran into each other.
“Careful,” Ronnie called. “I’m not paying for the emergency room.”
“Happy Halloween,” Dan said.
Ronnie flipped a burger on the grill. When he turned around again he saw a couple more men on the deck beside Dan. They were already talking money. Even at a birthday party on Halloween, all business these guys.
They sipped beers and Ronnie flipped burgers and watched the kids play. Adam was racing through the yard, the party streamers in his hand drawing tracers in the air behind him like some wild acid trip. The clowns tried to play with him, egged him on. But Ronnie could tell Adam didn’t give a hoot about the clowns.
“You believe these fucking guys?” Ronnie said to the others.
“To think,” Mark Brewster said, “that this is how they make a living.”
“Well,” Ronnie said, “it beats making a dying.”
The men laughed but Ronnie was thinking of Adam’s bedroom again. As if their laughter came from the second floor window of his own house.
A kid threw a rock toward a crowd of others and Ronnie raised a hand to say something but the kid’s mom, dressed as a playing card, came quickly and grabbed him by the wrist.
“You do not do that,” she said.
But you do, Ronnie thought. You pull fun from the shadows.
Music played through the speakers mounted on the deck. Seventy-five people made a lot of noise. Ronnie looked out to the lake. A handful of boats out there. Orange Halloween streamers on one. He checked his watch. How long did parties last? A few hours? Tops? He thought about Claire. Wished Adam was spending the night at her house.
“Want a poodle, Mister Stern?”
Ronnie looked to the foot of the deck and saw one of the hungover clowns holding up a flaccid balloon. Through the smoke of the grill and the poor application of face-paint, the guy looked like a mess.
“Do I want a poodle?” Ronnie asked. The men laughed. Paula Thomas walked to the deck steps. “You like poodles?” Ronnie asked her. Her legs like gold pouring out of her shorts.
“Not really,” she said.
“Not really,” Ronnie echoed. “Neither do I.” Then, to the clown, “Sure, make me one.”
Adam raced up to the deck, flew between the clown and Paula, raced to his dad’s legs and tugged on his shorts.
“Daddy, Daddy!”
“Hey hey, What’s up, spaz?”
“Can we go swimming?”
“Of course you can go swimming. Let’s eat first though.”
“Then you gotta wait thirty minutes,” Dan said.
Ronnie rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit. And always has been. We’ll go swimming after we eat, Adam.”
Ronnie flipped a burger. Tiffany Gold joined Paula by the foot of the deck. Ronnie liked this. Liked the two of them together.
The clown worked on the poodle.
“That dog giving you a hard time?” Ronnie asked.
He imagined all the clowns drunk at a bar the night before, throwing darts, doing shots, moaning about the party they had to work the next afternoon.
“No, sir,” the clown said. He raised the finished red poodle.
The women clapped.
“Do another one,” Dan said. “Do an eagle.”
Ronnie flipped a burger. Placed a hand on Adam’s head.
The clown pulled out another balloon.
Ronnie looked up to the lake, thought about Marla Meyer and Lana Ann. Fine women who would no doubt be on out the water today. The music was loud through the deck speakers. Maybe they’d hear it? Maybe they’d come?
“I don’t wanna bird!” Adam said. “I wanna poodle!”
“He already did a poodle, buddy,” Ronnie said.
He sipped his beer.
He looked to the shore where the boat born waves crested the grass. A man stumbled there, stumbled toward the party and the house, as if he’d just pulled himself from the water.
“Who the fuck is that?” he asked.
The man had one hand on his belly, the other raised, like he was reaching for the party, the deck, the house. Ronnie couldn’t make sense of his costume. Was he wearing long johns? Looked like it. Brown? Green? He couldn’t tell. Jesus, the guy looked out of place.
“Fucking clowns,” Ronnie said.
But this one was really something else.
He limped through a slat of sunlight, just shy of the kids playing, parents gathered in wicker chairs on the lawn. Pieces of green paper were visibly taped to his brown long johns. Ronnie could see that now. Were there clumps of hair, too? Looked like he’d been sleeping with a cat.
And a mask. A green rubber face.
Wolf snout? Ronnie thought. Teeth? What is this?
It was the most haphazard costume Ronnie had ever seen. Not lazy like Dan Mickey. Not poor like he himself had once been, when he cut holes in a bed sheet to join the middle school parade.
It looked more like the handiwork of someone who never considered what others might think of him at all. A crazy man’s costume.
“Jesus,” Ronnie said.
“A bird!” the clown declared. Tiffany reached out to touch it.
The man in green and brown, the man in the mask kept limping up the lawn.
Ronnie felt a chill. Despite the heat of the grill and the heat of the day, despite the fact that his son was having the time of his life on his birthday, on Halloween, Ronnie suddenly felt downright cold. The man had reached the kids, through the party like a vision of a hobo, peeled from his rightful place down by the docks and placed here at Adam’s party.
He was closer now. The snout was not a snout. Rather, a nose. A hag’s nose. A troll’s nose. Big as Adam’s head.
Ronnie pointed at him with the spatula.
“Seriously. Who is that?”
Smoke rose in a cloud from the grill.
“Adam!” the man called from behind the mask. “Adam!”
Adam, Ronnie thought. He’s calling Adam by name.
Adam turned to look.
The man waved his raised hand.
“Daddy,” Adam said.
Ronnie set the spatula down. “Is this guy with you?” he asked the clown.
“Us? No.”
“Adam!” the man cried. He was halfway to the deck. He’d split the party in two. Every child watched him stumble. Every parent pulled their kid closer.
Ronnie saw more of the costume now. The thick green construction paper made to look like hair. Or scales. Wrinkles in a rubber face. Eyes completely obscured by the folds of green skin.
“Adam!” the man waved.
“Hey,” Ronnie called, still pointing the spatula. “Who the hell–”
But the man interrupted him.
“Adam! Adam! I’m the monster under your bed!”
“Ashley,” Ronnie said. “Get this fucking guy out of here now.”
Two members of Ashley’s crew were upon him immediately. Two men in black gripped a shoulder each and dragged the stranger off the lawn. The man did not struggle. Only turned his disproportionate and wrinkled mask toward Ronnie and Adam as he was eclipsed by the side of the house.
Ronnie looked up to the second floor window. Adam’s bedroom.
I’m the monster under your bed!
He knelt by Adam’s side.
“Hey, buddy. Don’t worry. Bad clown. Shitty costume. Okay?”
But Adam didn’t look convinced. Adam didn’t look anything at all. He stared blank to where the man had last been, by the bushes framing the path along the side of the house.
“Don’t worry, buddy. It’s your birthday party. It’s Halloween. Some freak.”
Adam raised a thumb to his mouth.
“Oh Christ,” Dan Mickey said. “Your boy is . . . peeing, Ronnie.”
Ronnie looked to the deck then leapt out of the way of the spreading urine.
“Adam? What the fuck’s going on?”
“Oh my God,” Paula said. She went to him. “He’s not okay.”
Ronnie looked to Dan. “You didn’t hire that guy, Mickey? None of you did?”
“Hire him?” Dan said. “Jesus, I don’t even understand what he was supposed to be.”
“Supposed to be?”
Now Paula and Tiffany both led Adam inside. Other kids were gathering by the deck to look at the piss there.
Ronnie looked back out to the lake. Speedboats. Men howling. Women screaming.
Adam!
I’m the monster under your bed!
Again, Ronnie looked to the second floor window. He should be mad and mad alone. But he wasn’t.
He was scared, too.
You’ve heard things in the house, buddy, he thought. And either you admit it now and face it or you go mad denying it.
But what did this mean? What had he heard?
“The police are here,” Ashley said, appearing suddenly by Ronnie’s side.
Ronnie nodded. He followed her through the house. At the bathroom by the kitchen he saw Paula and Tiffany comforting Adam.
“You okay, buddy?” Ronnie asked.
Adam looked up at him. Didn’t look like he recognized him. Not at first. Then he nodded. A good solid shake of the head.
Ronnie smiled. “That’s my boy. I’m gonna go talk to the police outside. Make sure that crazy man never comes by here again.” Then, “Cool?”
“Cool.”
Little red wig. Hawaiian shirt. Wet shorts.
Ronnie felt tears in the distance. Then he was out the front door, walking toward two squad cars shining under the high Halloween sun.
“Mister Stern?” An officer asked. There were four of them.
“Yes.”
“You had an uninvited guest?”
“I did. Yes.”
“What did he look like?”
“Don’t know. He was wearing a mask. Looked like a . . . like a . . . ”
He looked to Ashley for help.
“Like a witch,” she said.
“A witch?” Ronnie asked. He shook his head no. “Maybe.”
“He didn’t take off the mask?”
“No.” Ronnie looked around the neighborhood. He didn’t want two squad cars in his driveway. Didn’t want this scene. “Look, it was no big deal. Maybe check the doors? Check the windows? Make sure he didn’t try to break in?”
“You think he might’ve?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know. Just check. If you don’t find anything . . . okay.” Then, “And make sure he never comes back here again.”
The cops exchanged looks.
“What?” Ronnie asked.
“Well your security let him go at the head of the drive. They said he limped away, up the street.”
“Let him go?” Then Ronnie nodded. What else should they have done? “Well go find him. And warn him. I don’t know. Scare the shit out of him for me.”
“Did he say anything?”
Ronnie hesitated. Then, “Yes, he did.”
“What was it?”
Ronnie looked to the side of the house, could see the very edge of the party in the backyard.
“He called out my son’s name. Said, ‘Adam, I’m the monster under your bed.’”
3
The party wasn’t worth saving. People kept bringing up the stranger even when Ronnie asked them not to.
“You’re gonna freak Adam out. Come on.”
It was the last thing Ronnie needed Claire to hear. And he was sure she was going to hear about it.
What’s this about a prowler calling out to our son at his party?
It was nothing.
Nothing? How’d he know his fucking name, Ronnie?
There was a sign as big as my dick hanging on the deck, Claire! Happy Birthday Adam!
Adam had made his way back out to the party. But even his return couldn’t bring it back to life. Soon, Ashley and her crew picked up the empty plates and Halloween decorations. Most of the people left. Adam and two friends played with Adam’s new presents on the deck. One was a Captain America mask. Adam took a few seconds before trying it on. Many feet from them, Ashley was on hands and knees, scrubbing urine.
Ronnie watched all this through the glass wall, seated at the kitchen island with Paula, Tiffany and a very drunk Ben Ornstein.
“That was fucked up,” Ben said for the fourth time. He poured another vodka tonic. He’d spilled his last one on his flowered shirt.
“Yeah, okay,” Ronnie said. “Enough. It’s exactly what he wanted, for us to be talking about him all day.”
“Where’d he come from?” Paula asked.
Ronnie shrugged. “Who the fuck knows? The lake?”
They looked out the wall of windows, out to Ronnie’s dock.
“He was ill,” Tiffany said, firing up a joint.
“Ill?’ Ronnie asked.
“Yeah . . . mental.”
She took a deep drag and handed the joint to Ronnie.
Ronnie watched Adam on the deck as he took a hit and passed it to Ben.
The ceiling creaked then, the unmistakable sound of weight upon a second floor.
They all looked up. But only Ronnie felt a chill.
You’ve heard this sound before, buddy. When Adam’s not here. When you’ve got the house to yourself and all you wanna do is get outside. When all you wanna do is get stoned and drunk on the lake. When all you wanna do is–
The girls started giggling. Then Ben did, too.
“What?” Ronnie asked.
“You look scared as a snake in a belt factory,” Ben said.
Ronnie got up and looked outside. Scanned the yard, the dock, the water beneath the dock, his son.
“Watch them a minute,” he said to Paula.
“The kids?”
But Ronnie was already stepping through a thick cloud of smoke as he left the kitchen and took the long stone hall to the foot of the stairs.
“Ashley? You up there cleaning?”
But Ashley was outside. He knew that. He’d seen her there.
Ronnie looked once to the kitchen, saw Ben’s elbows on the island edge. Then Ronnie bounded up the stairs.
“Someone up here?”
He checked the master bedroom first. The bathrooms. The guest room. The closets.
He saved Adam’s room for last.
“Anybody up here?”
He opened Adam’s door and entered. In the open closet he spotted older toys from Halloween birthdays past.
He was stoned. Really stoned. A rare nostalgia crept over him. Adam as a baby. Adam’s first birthday. Now Adam on the weekends.
He turned around. Looked to Adam’s bed.
Adam was a good kid. A great kid. Made his bed all on his own whenever he slept over. Kept the room clean. Ronnie loved him.
On top of the dresser he saw the pajamas Adam would wear to bed tonight. Blue and white striped cotton.
He looked to Adam’s bed again.
Adam!
The red comforter was tucked tight under the mattress ends. Nothing hung over the edge, nothing hung to the floor.
Ronnie knelt. Looked under the bed.
He could see clean through to the wall. Nothing there.
Getting up, he felt a rush of grey to his head. Stoned. He left Adam’s room, checked the bathroom, and hurried to the stairs. Halfway down he heard the stoned women. They’d gotten higher. Was Ben conked out on the table? Ronnie bet he was. At the bottom of the steps he ran his fingers over his arms and looked back up once more.
Houses creaked. Who cared? He had two fine women giggling gibberish at the kitchen table.
He went to them.
“You girls wanna go on the water?”
Ben was asleep, his forehead on the island.
“Where’d you go?” Paula asked.
“Upstairs.”
“Why?”
They were both laughing. It bothered Ronnie for a second. Were they laughing at him?
“I was checking on spooky sounds, remember?”
“Oh yeah!” It was like Ronnie had told them a very big secret. Ronnie didn’t like that. Didn’t want to think that checking his second floor was a big thing.
He crossed the kitchen and opened the deck door.
“Ashley?” he called.
Ashley was still on her knees, removing the yellow rubber gloves now.
“Yes?”
“You mind watching the kids while we go for a spin?”
“Of course.”
Adam leapt up, tore of his Captain America mask.
“I wanna come!”
Ronnie smiled to humor him. He was about to say, Not this time kiddo. But he thought of the toys in Adam’s closet. Felt some of the nostalgia he’d felt upstairs.
“Of course you can come.” Then, “It’s Halloween, for crying out loud. And you know what else it is?”
Adam smiled but it looked like it took some effort. The way adults smile when they’re exhausted.
“Can my friends come, too?”
“Bring ‘em,” Paula said. “We’ll go tubing.”
They headed down the grassy slope toward the dock. The same slope the stranger had stumbled up less than an hour and a half ago.
“Jesus,” Ronnie said.
“What is it?” Paula asked.
Ronnie turned to answer her but the sun was hitting her chest just right. Two sandy hills under a perfectly blue sky. It was exactly what he needed to see to wipe the unsettling feeling away.
“You’re gorgeous,” he said.
4
Fuck it felt good to be high on the water.
“Faster!” Paula howled. Ronnie was surprised. Hadn’t pegged her as Queen Fun, party girl, louder than the engine he revved. He was glad for it.
“You got it,” Ronnie said.
Adam’s friend Bobby was at the end of the long white rope, hanging tight to the tube, fear in his eyes. The kids wanted to go tubing? Okay. Ronnie would take them tubing. His way. Party spin. Good Dad. Great Dad. Scare the shit out Bobby and he’ll remember this day forever. And you shoulda seen Paula Thomas tying the rope to the back of the boat. Ronnie watched the whole thing, hardly heard it when Bobby asked where he was supposed to grip the tube. Adam showed him.
“Go Bobby!”
Adam and his friend Nate were crowded at the back of the boat, their little faces just jutting out of their orange life jackets. The ladies were up front, hanging onto the cushions, the bow of the speedboat up in the air. The faster Ronnie went, the higher that bow went, and it started to feel like he was directing a movie; panning the camera up, a better angle on Paula and Tiffany both.
“Bobby!” Nate called out.
Bobby on the tube looked like he was going through something. Like he would never be the same again. Ahead, the women were laughing. They’d circled the lake and Ronnie saw his house again. Couldn’t even tell there was a party today. Ashley and her crew were great. If not for the HAPPY BIRTHDAY ADAM sign still hanging, you’d think nobody was home.
Except somebody was.
Somebody was on the deck, looking out at the lake.
“Hey,” Ronnie said, slowing the boat down.
A second person came out the glass door and Ronnie recognized it as Ashley. So the first guy must’ve been part of her crew.
But for a second there . . .
Jesus, Ronnie felt piqued. He thought of the ceiling creaking. Thought of the feeling he had upstairs, any time Adam’s bedroom door was closed. Thought of the fact that, come tomorrow, he’d have the house to himself all over again.
He revved the boat and Paula fell back into the bench, spilling half her beer on her belly and crotch. This made her laugh even harder and Tiffany reached from one bench to the other and helped her wipe the beer off her body.
Ronnie smiled.
Women and fun. Exactly what he needed. You just never knew when they’d pop up. Never knew which shadows they were hiding in, just waiting to leap out at you.
In the rearview mirror Ronnie saw Bobby duck his head into the tube. He was hanging on one handed. When he came up again he was wearing a mask.
A green one.
Wrinkled flesh over the eyes. A nose that reached its lips.
“HEY!” Ronnie yelled, turning the boat fast.
Bobby was tossed from the tube.
“Ronnie!” Paula said.
But Ronnie was turning the boat around faster than he should. Approaching Bobby faster than he should, too.
But when the boy was in sight, Ronnie saw he was wearing a Hulk mask. Nothing more.
“You sure you’re okay to drive this thing?”
It was Tiffany, close to his ear. Her breath cooler than the warm Halloween air.
“Yeah. I’m good.”
“That was awesome,” Nate said.
“Awesome!” Adam repeated. It sounded good, hearing Adam’s voice back to the way it should sound.
Ronnie went to the back of the boat and drew the rope in. Bobby swam to the ladder.
“You looked like you saw the devil out there, Bobby,” he said, helping the kid back onboard.
Bobby looked at him funny. “You did, Mister Stern.”
Ronnie stood up straight. “I did what?”
“You looked like you saw something.”
Then Adam and Nate were pulled Bobby into the boat. Ronnie looked out to the water. As he crossed the boat, heading for the wheel, he overheard Adam say the word bed.
“What’s that?” Ronnie asked, stopping.
“Nothing.” But Adam looked like he was keeping a secret.
“No. You said something. What was it?”
“I didn’t say anything, Daddy. Bobby did.”
Ronnie looked to Bobby. To Nate.
“Adam,” he said. “There’s nothing under your bed. I just checked. You don’t even have any lint under there, buddy.”
Tiffany laughed
“You just checked!” she repeated.
“You hear me?” Ronnie said.
Paula got up and hunched her shoulders, arched her eyebrows, made her hands into pretend claws.
“I’m the monster!” she said. “Under your bed!”
The kids screamed.
“Jesus, Paula,” Ronnie said. “You’re gonna scare the shit out of them.”
But the way they were all looking at him, he could tell the person who looked most afraid was himself.
5
The kids were in the basement on the couches. Ben was long gone. Ronnie had the two women upstairs, sitting at the bar, his bar, down the stone hall, past the stairs. They passed a joint.
Night had come.
“Don’t trick or treaters come by?” Tiffany asked.
Ronnie shook his head. Standing behind the bar, he mixed three drinks. “No. Our drive leads right to the main road. Who’s gonna walk that with their kid?”
“Let’s scare them,” Paula said. She pointed to the floor.
“Jesus,” Ronnie said. “What is it with you and scaring little kids?”
“It’s fun,” she said. Then she took her top off.
Women and fun. Out of the shadows. Who knew?
Ronnie leaned on the bar, smiled at them both.
“So,” he said. “What happens next?”
But the doorbell interrupted whatever might’ve happened next.
Ronnie walked the hall to the front door. He opened it and stared blankly at a woman who looked like an IRS agent next to the two he’d just walked away from.
“Hi. Are Bobby and Nate ready?”
Ronnie almost said, I didn’t know who they belonged to.
“Sure. Give me a second.”
He left her there, went downstairs, and rushed the kids out of the basement.
The lady thanked Ronnie for the party. For watching the kids. For everything. Ronnie nodded. Waved goodbye. Closed the door.
Relief washed over him like a bigger, unseen drink. The party was over. Adam would go to bed. He could lose himself in these women.
“And you,” he said, kneeling down to Adam’s height in the dark foyer. “Did you have fun today?”
Adam nodded. Then, “Is it time for bed?”
Such a good kid. You didn’t have to tell him. He told you.
“Yep city, Adam. Come on, I’ll tuck you in.”
At the foot of the stairs, Ronnie heard the women giggling and wondered what he was missing. He looked up the stairs.
Adam climbed first and Ronnie followed. Adam, obviously tired in the way only kids are, went straight to his bed. Ronnie didn’t bring up brushing his teeth. Had him in his pajamas and tucked under the red comforter in minutes.
He kissed Adam’s forehead.
“Had a great time today, buddy. Thank you.”
“Thank you, Daddy.”
Ronnie looked once around the room.
“Hey, Adam.”
“Yeah?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not . . . ”
He wanted to ask Adam if he was freaked out. Wanted to ask him if that man in the fucked up dollar store green troll mask freaked him out. Did he need Daddy to sleep with him tonight?
“What, Daddy?”
“I was just gonna ask if you wanted pancakes in the morning.”
“Yes!”
“Good. Me, too. I love you, kiddo. I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Knock first.”
“Okay.”
Ronnie got up and paused at the doorway, a finger on the light switch. He watched Adam close his eyes. Such a good kid. Looked so tiny under all that red.
Adam!
Ronnie looked to the floor beneath the bed.
He was stoned. Imaginative. That’s all. Heard Adam’s breathing and tried not to think it could be someone else. Down there under the bed.
Before leaving, Ronnie knelt to the floor. Put his ear to the wood. Looked all the way under the bed.
Nothing.
He got up and, thinking of the women downstairs, turned off the lights and went to them.
6
“Oh, come on,” Ronnie said. “You’re leaving?”
Paula shrugged. She looked dour. They’d both lost a little something since he last saw them. Ronnie knew the feeling well. When the drinks and the drugs wore off, when the sweet spot of the night was behind you.
“Fuck!”
“Hey,” Tiffany said, no longer the party girl. “Don’t get mean.”
“Hey, I’m not. I just thought we were going somewhere.”
“Where?” Paula asked.
Ronnie tried to buy some time.
“How are you guys getting home? How about that?”
“Called a cab,” Paula said. Then she burped.
“Jesus.”
“Hey,” Tiffany again.
“All right. Whatever. Go home. I hope you had fun. Happy Halloween.”
He wished he hadn’t said it. Reminded him of masks.
Tiffany’s phone lit up.
“Cab’s here.”
Ronnie felt a sudden stab of something deeper than loneliness. He didn’t want these women to leave. Ridiculously he considered going back out on the lake. Anything to get out of the house.
But he walked them to the door and saw them off. Made jokes. Laughed at theirs. Said goodbye.
Then they were gone. And the house felt much colder for it.
Except he wasn’t alone. Adam was asleep upstairs.
Ronnie locked the front door and returned to the bar. He fixed himself a rum and coke and drank it. Mostly in the dark. He thought about calling someone. Who? He’d suggest skinny-dipping. Night swimming. Women liked that kind of thing.
“Dammit.”
Ronnie set his phone face down on the bar. He was stoned. Drunk. Very. He fixed a second drink and carried it with him through the house. Through the kitchen. Out the deck door. Onto the deck. He stood in the dark and listened to the frogs and crickets. Mating calls.
Life could be hard sometimes.
“I feel you guys,” he said, raising his glass to nature.
He looked down to the slope and thought about the guy who wasn’t with the clowns.
He considered calling the police, see if they had an update. Did they find the guy? Did they talk to him? He reached into his pocket but his phone was still on the bar.
Fuck it.
He carried his drink inside. He liked the feel of the cool floor against his bare feet. That was something, anyway. Not a threesome with two bombshells in daisy dukes, but something.
He sipped as he took the stairs, upstairs, on his way to his bedroom. The carpet felt good under his feet, too. Good. Good was good.
At his door, he paused, looked over his shoulder, down the long hall to Adam’s bedroom.
The yard light, shining through Adam’s window showed him an approximation of his son.
Showed him the foot of the bed.
Ronnie turned to enter his own bedroom but stopped.
He looked back down the hall.
“Come on,” he said, the way people do when they don’t realize they’re speaking, when they need to say something to stave off fear. Real fear.
Something was under Adam’s bed.
A blanket? Had Adam shoved a blanket down there? Maybe he was scared. Wanted to fill the space. That way nothing could . . .
Ronnie started shaking. He didn’t want to believe it, but the ice was rattling in his drink so it meant it was true. Meant he was scared.
Was something beneath Adam’s bed?
He reached for his phone again.
Dammit!
Still on the bar.
He took the hall slow, stopping every two steps to squint, to look harder.
Something moved. Under Adam’s bed.
Ronnie stopped.
Fuck, you’re breathing loud.
He thought something moved. But did it? Just a bit? Enough to show a flash of color?
A spot of green?
Halfway to Adam’s room, Ronnie hurried downstairs, then down the hall, into the bar. He grabbed his phone and rushed through the contacts.
Claire.
“Hello?”
“Claire, Claire!”
“Why are you whisper shouting?”
“Something’s beneath Adam’s bed.”
“What?”
“Something. Is. Beneath. Adam’s. Bed.”
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Ronnie? Are you on drugs? Are you out of your fucking mind?”
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Turn the fucking lights on! What’s under his bed? A spider? What the fuck is wrong with you? Is he alone?!”
“I’m here. He’s not alone.”
“Are you in his bedroom? Look under the fucking bed! Did you call the police? Get on your knees and–”
Ronnie hung up. He called the police.
“Police?”
“Hello hi, this is Ronnie Stern.”
“Sir, can you speak up?”
Ronnie was standing at the foot of the stairs. When did he walk there?
“This is RONNIE STERN. You guys came by my house today.”
“Mister Stern? Is there another problem?”
“There’s something beneath my son’s bed.”
A pause.
“Can you say that again?”
“THERE’S SOMETHING BENEATH MY SON’S BED.”
“Can you elaborate? What’s beneath his bed?”
Claire called. Ronnie didn’t switch over to answer her.
He looked to the top of the stairs, to last trickle of light coming from Adam’s bedroom window.
“Send someone,” he said.
He hung up.
He took a huge gulp from his drink, set the glass on the floor.
He climbed the stairs.
Two steps from the top he got on his knees and put his ear to the hall carpet. He tried but couldn’t quite see into Adam’s room.
There might be a prowler beneath your son’s bed, Ronnie thought. GET UP AND FIND OUT.
He got up.
Then, trembling, he ran to Adam’s room.
He turned on the light, saw Adam already wide eyed, clutching his red comforter to his chin.
“Daddy,” Adam said. “There’s someone under my bed.”
Ronnie looked to the floor.
That’s an arm, that’s a real arm. That’s green hair at the elbow. Those are fingers gripping the bed frame. That’s a face, THAT’S A FACE, Ronnie, not a mask, no mask, looking at you, has eyes, looking at you, Ronnie, looking right at you.
“Jump!” Ronnie yelled. He saw the eyes under the bed, deep in a troll’s wrinkled face, roll up toward Adam. “Now!”
Adam jumped. Landed hard on the wood floor. Went to his dad.
Ronnie gripped him and ran.
Not a mask, no mask, not a man.
Adam clung to him, whining, crying, yelling in his ear.
Down the stairs, down the hall.
Ronnie kicked the front door, realized he’d just locked it. He unlocked it, shaking.
Police lights outside, red and blue. Not green.
“Help!” Ronnie called.
The officers were out of their cars, guns drawn, surprise in their eyes but not like the shock in Ronnie’s.
“He’s in there.”
Ronnie turned to point but it was already there, standing in the doorway, lifting its hand to wave.
“Adam!” it called.
For a moment, even the officers didn’t move. Then they were upon him and the stranger dropped like drapes to the threshold.
“Jesus CHRIST!” Ronnie yelled. He gripped a hard hand over Adam’s eyes.
The officers cuffed the man, telling him what he could and couldn’t do. But they didn’t remove his mask. Not yet. And Ronnie stared into the green folds that covered his eyes.
“You’re not gonna be able to take off his mask!” Ronnie said. “It won’t come off!”
An officer went to Ronnie. Put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay, Mister Stern. We got him.”
“But the–”
The other officer removed the mask. In the cruiser lights Ronnie saw an unshaven man looking back at him.
Not a mask, no mask, no.
“Same man from earlier today?” the officer beside him asked.
Ronnie only stared. What he’d seen upstairs. This man was not what he’d seen under Adam’s bed.
“Mister Stern?”
Ronnie lowered Adam to the driveway. He walked to the front door.
Just a man. Thin. Brown long johns. Green construction paper.
“Let me see that mask,” Ronnie said.
The officer held it up.
No, Ronnie thought. No.
“Just another Halloween nut,” the officer said. “Glad you two are safe.” Then, “All that matters.”
But it wasn’t all that mattered. Not to Ronnie.
The two cops got the man standing and walked him quick to the cruiser.
Then, more bright lights. Another car in the driveway.
Claire. Oh, Claire.
“Adam?! ADAM?!”
She was running up the drive.
Ronnie met her at Adam.
“We’re spending the night at your house,” Ronnie said. “No argument.”
“What’s going on? What happened?”
Then Claire was on her knees, hugging Adam. One officer had the man in the car as the other explained it to her. Ronnie stared at the man’s face through the glass.
No mask, he thought. No man.
“You’re just gonna . . . take him away?” he asked.
The officer looked confused. “What would you have us do?”
Get rid of it, Ronnie thought. Erase it from this world.
Later, after Ronnie had told the story ten times, told her about the man in the yard, about hiring the clowns, about the party, the boating, about putting Adam to bed, about seeing it, down the hall, about calling, about seeing it then for real, not a mask, real eyes, peering, wise eyes, old eyes wedged into deep green folds, Ronnie laid down on Claire’s couch and looked to Adam, sleeping on the floor under a blanket.
Claire didn’t speak. Bless her. If she spoke, if she said Ronnie had done something wrong, Ronnie might’ve gone mad, might’ve leapt from the couch and ran out of her house, onto the street, tumbling, mumbling no mask no mask no man as he fell then got up and ran again, still chanting no mask no mask no man.
Instead, he lay as still as he could, looking into Claire’s eyes, and raised a finger to his lips, silently telling her to listen, do you hear that? Do you hear something breathing inside this room? Behind this couch?
Under it?
Can you, Claire? Can you hear it? Maybe it’s not breathing I hear. Maybe it doesn’t breathe. But it lives all the same.
Can you hear it living in this room, Claire?
Living under the couch I lay on?
Living under Adam’s bed?