Glowing jagged teeth and wide eyes glare at me from each corner of the wrap around porch as I pass the jack-o’-lanterns surrounding the house. The scarecrow on the rocking chair facing the back woods is even scarier. I don’t do well on Halloween. I don’t like to be scared for fun and I don’t understand people who do. I march around quickly, until I find myself back at the front door.
Hip hop music I recognize from a long-ago college bar crawl blares from the open windows, drowning out the crickets. The house sits on the acreage along the outskirts of Newcastle. There are no neighbours to mind the noise for miles down the road. The bass intensifies the pressure in my chest, squeezing air from my lungs as I lean against the wooden railing by the stairs.
Taking a deep breath of smoky fall air, I remind myself: Morgan wouldn’t have left me. She’s the only reason I came. Even Steve would get in shit from Jordan if my brother found out he left me alone at some costume party out in the country without a way home. Jordan’s always been protective of me, maybe more now that we’re adults. He’d never let Steve hear the end of it for abandoning me. That had to be enough of a reason for him to stick around.
So where are they?
I stop before the storm door as the music fades between songs, and the wind chimes ring in the breeze. Goosebumps cover my arms and exposed legs at the thought of having to do another lap inside among the stench of beer and obnoxious drunks waiting to start something—be it a game, a mess, or a fight. I don’t want any part of it. I wish Morgan hadn’t insisted on coming, but I know why she did. Halloween is her favourite time of year and going to a party is her only way to enjoy the night. Steve wouldn’t have wanted to do a movie night with us watching Hocus Pocus. I wouldn’t have tagged along on a date with them to a haunted house like he wanted. Morgan settled on this—we all did—but I wish I hadn’t come.
Steve wouldn’t agree to wear a couple’s costume, so Morgan insisted we wear matching cheerleader costumes from Bring It On. I just look like a random cheerleader without her around, and I’m already out of place. I don’t know anyone. It’s cold out. I want to go home.
I walk toward the door as it opens, music blares, and a man in a Speedo bursts through. He holds a beer in each hand, scanning me up and down with a creepy smile.
“You’re Chelsea?” he slurs.
I frown, staring at the bottle. “How’d you know?”
“Your friend Morgan said I should find you and keep you company.” He wiggles his brows at me.
I fold my arms over my chest. “Could you tell me where she is?”
“She was makin’ out with that guy, in the leather jacket? Who’s he supposed to be?” I continue to stare at him with a blank expression until he takes a swig of beer and holds the other out until the cold glass touches my arm. I take a step back and he laughs, shaking his head. “She said you might be resistant. I promise, I don’t dress like this all the time.” He nods down to his Speedo.
I continue staring at him.
He sighs. “They were in the kitchen.”
“Thank you.” I uncross my arms and brush past him to the door.
“But,” he says.
I swirl around and scowl.
“They went out back to the woods. So she told me to keep you company.” He pushes the bottle at me again.
“No thanks. I’m going to find her,” I push past him and scurry down the stairs, mumbling, “And then we’re getting out of here.”
As I round the side of the house with a view of the woods behind the home, it feels like the guy is following me. I squint at the shadows behind me, but no one’s there.
I knew I’d be uncomfortable around a lot of drunk people. Why did I come? Why does it feel like he’s still watching me?
I glance back and spot something in black. Someone in a Ghostface mask walking on the porch, in the same direction, parallel to me. They stop, staring at me as I walk faster, my chest tight with dread.
“You know,” a guy’s deep voice calls, and I jump. “You’re the only other person here not drinking.”
I stop and turn around.
The guy removes the mask and offers a small smile. His eyes sparkle by the porch light. His short blonde crew cut is messy from the mask he holds in both hands.
I shrug. “I don’t drink.”
“Yeah? I’m just not feeling it tonight,” he says. He leans against the wooden railing, biting his lip as he stares at his mask in his hands. “So how come you’re here?”
I shrug, even though he’s not looking at me. “I got dragged here by a friend. You?”
“I’ve been to this party every year since high school.” He looks up at me from beneath his brow, speaking in a low tone I can barely hear. “Tradition, I guess.”
I take a few steps closer so I can hear a little better. “So, you know the host?”
The porch light glows beside his head. “Yeah, my best friend, Austin. He’s the one in the Speedo.”
I raise my brows. “That asshole?”
He laughs. “He’s not so bad. Little stubborn. I guess he dragged me here, too.”
“You didn’t want to come?” I take a few more steps toward him and notice the sparkle in his eyes is gone.
“I came every year with my brother.” He fiddles with the mask, eyes down. “He died last year.”
“I’m so sorry.” I stop in his shadow, able to see his sharp features and the sadness in his eyes.
He clears his throat and shakes his head, looking down at the mask again. “It was his fault. He, uh, he had a problem with alcohol, and…”
I recognize the anger and hurt in his voice.
“My dad did, too.” I fill the long silence and he looks up at me. Do I sound like him when I talk about my father? “Drank and died. Cirrhosis.”
He nods once as he pushes off the railing. “Murray drove drunk for like, the hundredth time. Crashed. Least he didn’t take anyone else out with him.” The last sentence holds an ingenuine bravado and he begins to put his mask back on.
“I’m Chelsea.” I extend my hand up to him.
He takes it and gives it a gentle shake in his rough hand. “John.”
This isn’t some idiot trying to hook up at a party like Speedo guy; this is someone whose vulnerability makes me feel like I can be vulnerable, too. I let go first, worried I’ve held on for too long. I laugh, pressing my skirt down as far as it can go.
Behind him, something creaks. He twists to face the figure behind him. It stands from the shadows of the porch, the rocking chair creaking behind it.
The scarecrow is real.
I gasp and stumble back. John laughs and shakes his head.
“Didn’t want to interrupt your meeting,” the scarecrow says in a friendly tone, “but can I join the club?”
John takes a step back, creating a space for him, glancing at me with a curious look back at the scarecrow as he speaks.
“My mom left when we were young,” he says as he approaches the railing beside John, pulling the burlap sack off his face. His dark, messy hair hangs in his eyes until he sweeps it away with one hand, clutching his mask with the other. “She lived on the streets, got addicted to meth, and died before our eleventh birthday.”
“Our?” John asked.
“I have a twin sister,” he says to him before turning to me. “Lennox.”
His deep brown eyes sparkle as he reaches his hand down and shakes mine. The sensation of being held and understood permeates our skin as when John and I connected. Lennox lets go first and shakes John’s hand next.
“Is your sister here?” John asks. “She should be, for our first club meeting.”
Lennox and I laugh a little.
“Nah. I actually came here on a date—a first date.” He looks at us and chuckles before elaborating. “It didn’t go well. That’s why I’ve been hanging out here.”
“Define didn’t go well,” I say.
“She brought me into the bathroom for what I thought would be a make out session, but instead, she hit a line of coke and wanted me to join her.”
“Oh wow.” John shakes his head, fussing with his messy hair. “On a first date?”
Lennox shrugs. “I just wish we hadn’t come together. Same car. I’m just waiting until she’s ready to go.”
“Do you know Austin?” John asks.
“Who?” Lennox blinks at him and pushes out his bottom lip in confusion.
“The guy in the Speedo.” I fold my arms over my chest from the chill of the October evening. Lennox shrugs and I laugh, turning to John. “He hasn’t had the distinct pleasure.”
“Chelsea’s not a big fan.” John leans his elbows against the porch.
“I caught that.” Lennox smirks at me.
I’m impressed he can read me already and has a firm grasp on sarcasm.
“We played football together, back in the day.” John stares past me towards the woods, drifting into a far-off daze. “With my brother, too. Some of the best times we shared were on that field. Murray was never drunk when he played. He wasn’t selfish, either—not on the field. He was my hero.”
Lennox and I exchange a shy glance.
“And being here reminds me of him, being around all these drunk people, and I don’t want to think about him tonight because… sometimes all I can remember is the last time I was with him. He was drunk, just crushing beers on the back porch before he went out that night. He asked me to go with him to some party, but I said no. I hated being around him when he was so sloppy, and crude, with no regard for anyone else. I just left him there, drinking alone. That image is stuck in my head. Just Murray, drinking alone.” John shakes his head, slaps his palm against the wooden porch railing, and stands up straight. “Don’t mean to be a downer, guys.”
“No. I can, um. I can relate.” I clear the emotion from my throat and tuck my hair behind my ear for comfort as they both watch me. “My last memories of my dad were when he was dying in the hospital. He wasn’t drunk anymore, but he was just a shell of who he used to be. And it hurt.” Emotion rises in my throat, and I clear it again, turning to John. “It hurts to see them like that—"
“Chels!” Morgan calls from somewhere beyond where the light from the porch touches the back lawn.
I squint to find her figure, stumbling from the trees.
“Told ya she’d be fine,” Steve’s voice echoes from somewhere further.
I roll my eyes and return my attention to John and Lennox. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Let me get your number,” Lennox says, digging his phone from his pocket. “Both of yours. You guys local?”
I nod and he passes me the phone to put my contact information in.
“I’m in the city,” John says, “but I’d be down to hang out.”
“I’ve got this place on the waterfront in town. My sister and I just bought it together. It’s huge; a fixer upper. That’s the only reason we could afford it. I’d love to have you by. Have a real first meeting, with Ellie, too.”
“Chels!” Morgan releases a drunk burst of laughter, opening her arms wide as she stumbles toward me. Steve tugs her skirt down as it flies up in the breeze.
I pass the phone to John and nod to Lennox. “Sounds good. Just text me.”
“Will do.” Lennox nods as I start to walk away. “Nice to meet you. Didn’t mean to scare you. This is just for the crows... and the girl in the bathroom.” He winks.
I release a little chuckle and wave to them both. “Nice to meet you guys.”
“Get home safe,” John calls as he hands the phone back to Lennox.
Morgan wraps her arms around me, laughing in my ear as Steve stops a few feet behind her with an unimpressed look at the guys on the porch.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Morgan asks.
“Why would she be mad?” Steve stands behind her and wraps his arms around her waist. “You’re not her babysitter. You’re not responsible for holding her hand. Chels is a big girl. She can handle herself.”
I sneer at him and rub at Morgan’s cheek where her red lipstick is smeared. Steve must have seen it. He was just going to let her walk around like this.
“She’s a mess, huh? Time to go, messy pants. You know, next time, you’re wearing pants. This is just… what?” Steve stares at my costume. “A cry for attention?”
“You’re a dick,” I say, hoping John and Lennox are too far away to hear him. I reach for Morgan’s hand and she squeezes mine with a smile.
“Girls who dress like this any time of year scream daddy issues.” Steve shakes his head. “Somehow, you all think on Halloween, it doesn’t count.”
He grabs Morgan’s other hand and pulls her away from me, propping her up under his arm. Her eyes don’t focus as she stares back at me. I wonder if she can even hear what he’s saying, or if it ever hurts her like it hurts me—it occurs to me that he’s never so brash around my brother. Funny how that works.
“Let’s just go.” I grumble and lead the way back to the car.
I look back over my shoulder. The porch is empty, except for the glowing jack-o’-lanterns.
I wonder if Lennox will call, and if we’ll really get together sometime. If being around people who’ve experienced deep loss because of addiction might somehow strengthen us—give us an outlet to vent and relate to each other—or even heal us.
I think it might be possible—but not likely. It was probably just a couple of nice guys, happy to connect, if only for a little while. Even now, with them out of sight, I wonder if it even happened. It feels like a dream.
I step onto the driveway leading toward the road as an odd grunting noise comes from somewhere close. To my right, the guy in the Speedo, John’s friend, Austin, is bent over, hurling in the bushes.
“Gross,” Morgan slurs, pressing her fingers to her red lips.
Steve and I exchange a wide-eyed look. When Morgan hears someone else being sick, it makes her sick, too. With no time to spare, we rush her past the bushes and onto the street. We load Morgan into the backseat of the car and Steve walks to the driver’s side.
“Hey,” I call to him. “Have you been drinking? Should I drive?”
“Nah,” he shoots back, irritation in his tone.
“Are you sure—”
“You want all the reasons I’m not letting you question me alphabetically? Categorically? In order of importance?” He rests his hand on the top of the car. “I had one drink. You’re a terrible driver. This—” he smacks the roof, “Is my car. Your place is in the back, Thompson. Remember that.”
“Asshole,” I call before sliding in beside Morgan.
She doesn’t need to deal with us fighting again. I reach for the door to close it and my cellphone vibrates in my bag beside me. I take out my phone and there’s a text from an unknown number.
Lennox here. Meet me at my house, the first Sunday of November. 306 Waterfront Road, Newcastle.
“Close the door! It’s cold!” Steve shouts as the engine grumbles to life.
I slam the door shut with a smile and put my phone away. Then, I cozy up beside Morgan for the ride home.