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Eleven Years Ago
Al understood the mechanics of fear, but he didn’t get the appeal anymore. He watched streams of people flow through the backyard and down the dark path through the woods. Then he’d listen to the screams and watch those same people saunter back laughing. He supposed he used to understand it. Up until he left home, he’d helped his parents put the haunt together every year. People drove for miles to see it. They had a billboard up on the highway. A cheap one, rented from some farmer who didn’t tend his fields, but a billboard all the same.
Nearby, Joey chomped on some weeds while Al sat in a camping chair, sipping a mug of hot chocolate spiked with vodka. It tasted about as bad as it sounded. Behind him, the hogs squealed and grunted and squished in the mud. The rain had let up for now, but the air still felt wet and cold. He’d already finished his chores for the day, but tonight there would be no family dinner. His folks were too busy with the haunt, raking in almost as much money in just a few weeks as they made the rest of the year selling pigs and goats. Money that Al lived on, not entirely without remorse, but certainly without the willingness to change it.
Streams of people came and went, many of them families with kids far too young for a haunted house, and who continually tried to calm their children’s wailing. There were groups of teenagers, too, egging each other on and occasionally protesting that nothing could scare them. He’d seen the type before, and felt sure they’d jumped like grasshoppers when the chainsaw guy came at’em out of nowhere.
And then, of course, the couples. There were always couples, cuddled together to ward off both the fear and the cold. Some of them held hands. Some of them lingered, pecking their lips before disappearing into the trees. He didn’t think those ones ever made it to the haunt at all.
The whole production seemed like such a weird juxtaposition of joy and fear. If these people had seen true horror, they wouldn’t waste their time on a jump scare.
Joey clopped over next to him and nudged his hand. This had become a ritual. He hadn’t even known goats liked to be pet until Joey started asking incessantly for the attention. Al obliged, scratching the scruff on the side of Joey’s cheeks and patting him on the stomach. Once the goat finished chewing on the food he’d carried in his mouth, he broke away and rooted around for something else to eat.
“Is that your girlfriend?” the young voice cut through the night air and drew Al’s attention. A group of teenage boys stood in a cluster, laughing and pointing at Joey.
“Baaaaaaah,” another said.
Al shifted in his seat. Uncomfortable, but not quite ready to act. He felt anger stirring, but the vodka had calmed his nerves enough that he settled for a stern glare in their direction.
“Awww. Did we hurt your little feelings?” Laughter erupted.
People came and went past the group, most of them keeping their distance as insults flew Al’s way. None of the boys seemed brave enough to approach. Al was grateful. If pushed into a physical confrontation, he didn’t know what he might do. He certainly had the skills to cause some damage. He flexed his free hand out of instinct. His knuckles popped in the cold night air.
The largest of the boys yelled out, “Goat lover!”
Al prepared to stand. To do something.
Before he could get to his feet, though, the group of boys scattered, making way as one of them was yanked hard to the ground.
The boy glanced up at his aggressor. “What the hell, man?”
Pops. What was he doing up from the haunt?
“Get outta here!” Pops yelled.
“It’s a free country, old man,” the kid said, moving to get up. Pops took a step forward, pressing the toe of his foot against the kid’s ankle. The kid howled in pain.
“I said get the hell off my property or I’ll call the cops.”
“Fine, fine,” the kid said.
Released from Pops’ grip, the kid scrambled up and hurried off to join his friends. Pops stood and watched them go before regarding Al. They shared a look that trembled Al to his bones. His dad was a good dad. Never laid a finger on him. But he also had a temper, and even as a grown-ass man, Al feared it. He raised his mug and Pops nodded, carrying on towards the house for whatever errand he’d come on.
With his attention on his Pops, Al didn’t register one couple slowing down as they passed. A girl leaned over to a man and whispered something before they separated. The man continued walking away, but the girl moved towards Al. With her coat, hat, and scarf, he hardly recognized her at first, but then he saw that smiling, cherubic face, and all the agitation from the teenagers made way for a rush of nostalgic warmth.
She waved with a mittened hand. He responded with a nod and an expression he hoped landed somewhere between distancing and inviting. Not that she’d be able to see his expression, really, beneath his mountain man beard.
This time, she didn’t try to hug him, just stood in front of him as if he owed her something. With him sitting, they were almost eye level with one another. That made him uncomfortable, so he looked blankly at her chest instead, not really noticing the attractive way her coat pulled in at the waist to accentuate her curves.
It was the first time he’d seen her since he rode the bus in that day, so he guessed he owed her that catching up she’d asked for. But he already knew everything important about her new life.
“That Karl?” he asked. It came out a little more accusatory than intended.
“Yeah,” she said, her eyes scanning the pile of wallowing pigs behind him. She chewed on her bottom lip the way she did when she didn’t like a topic. “How ya doin’, Al?”
She set her lip free, and focused her big brown eyes on his.
“Gettin’ by.”
She didn’t believe him. He could tell by the narrowing of her eyes. Next, she’d smirk and push him for the truth. Maybe poke him in the ribs.
She broke with tradition, instead. “The haunt’s real good this year. Not as scary as I remember, though.”
“Haven’t been,” he said, almost as more of a grunt than a statement.
“No?” she asked. “I just assumed...”
She trailed off, fishing for more information and inviting him to engage. Part of him wanted to. He could feel the draw; the almost indescribable pull that she, and only she, could exert on him. But she was married now, and even without a job, Karl was better for her. Karl didn’t put a gun to his chin every single day.
When he didn’t answer, she kept talking. “That explains it. You were always more of a showman than your folks. It’s missing something without you.”
He tried to remember what it’d been like back then. Hell, it was usually him prodding his old man into getting to work on the production every year. Up in the corner of his room, an old drafting table still sat in the corner where he’d once drawn up intricate plans meant to delight and fright men, women, and children. He wondered how his parents were even managing it anymore. Maybe he’d go out there. Check it out. Maybe it’d even spark something.
He stood up, suddenly, almost before he willed it. The thought of going out to the haunt suddenly seemed imminently important. Joey stopped grazing to look up and bleat. She laughed when he did. Al had forgotten how he towered over her, almost by an entire foot. Unexpectedly, she fell into his chest and wrapped her arms around him, her hands not quite meeting in back. With her coat, she felt squishy, like he couldn’t feel the real her underneath. She pulled away from him shyly, before looking up into his eyes.
“Don’t give up, Al,” she begged. “There’s a whole world out there for you. It needs you.”
“The world needs me?”
She nodded slightly, averting her eyes and chewing on her lip again. “I gotta go. Karl’s waiting.”
He looked down at his feet and kicked at the mud. She leaned forward in the way she used to when she wanted a kiss. He knew she didn’t want that this time, but she did hold up her arms, inviting another hug. The girl sure did like to hug. When he bent, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
The friction of her jacket against his ears muffled the screams from the haunt, and the wet warmth of the kiss woke something inside him. A hope. A feeling he’d forgotten. A feeling he couldn’t afford. One more thing he’d lost forever.
She stepped away. “Hang in there, Al. It’ll get better.”
He just nodded, trying to keep the tears at bay.
When she turned to walk away, he took in the shape of her. It wasn’t the same shape he’d known so intimately before the war, but it still felt familiar. Larger, maybe. Curvier, certainly. And his. It still felt like she should be his. He downed the rest of his disgusting chocolate/vodka concoction.
She spun around suddenly, walking backwards. “And take a shower, boy. You stink to high heaven.”
