Trick or Treat
Harriet stepped into the Baxton Café, took one look at the jack o’ lantern by the door, and said, “Dammit.”
She’d forgotten. Or, rather, she hadn’t been thinking about the calendar beyond the day of the week when she left her home for her usual morning coffee run.
Why it hadn’t stayed on the top of her mind, with stores and homes vomiting decorations as early as mid-September, she hadn’t the faintest idea. The Baxton Café put out their obnoxious figurines as soon as Labor Day passed. Every morning for over a month, she had to pass the same mutilated pumpkin, with its twisted, too-wide grin, to get her large black coffee.
This morning, the sight of it reminded her: today was Halloween.
Harriet didn’t care for most holidays as a rule, but Halloween she detested most of all. The fact that there was an entire holiday wherein it was socially acceptable for strangers to knock on doors, with the expectation of receiving something, horrified Harriet right down to her marrow.
Scowling, she went to stand in line. Halloween-themed music played over the speakers. She knew that there was a little computer-type machine by the register that controlled the music. What would happen if she accidentally dropped her coffee on it? The image made her smile a little.
“Harriet!”
Her smile died. She turned toward the origin of the voice.
Marjorie, the president of her church’s Women’s Guild, bustled up to her in a chaos of orange and black. She wore an orange and black checked skirt, a bright orange top, and a necklace of ghosts and pumpkins. Her sickening green glasses matched her outfit—and Harriet’s mood.
“Good morning, Marjorie,” Harriet said, keeping her tone glacial.
Marjorie grinned. “Did you receive the invitation to my Halloween party?”
Harriet had and kicked herself for opening it. She was still sweeping up the black and orange glitter. “No, I’m afraid not.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. Well, it’s tonight. The fun starts at 7 o’clock. Please say you’ll be there.” She raised a brow. “Unless you’re afraid of driving in the dark. Then, I can have someone pick you up.”
“Marjorie, I am fifty-five, not eighty-five. I am not afraid of driving in the dark.” She sniffed. “Anyway, I already have plans.” She did not.
“I didn’t mean to offend. I just—” Marjorie sighed. “That’s too bad you can’t make it. I was really looking forward to seeing you. You know, we haven’t seen you around church in a while and I just wanted to catch up with you.”
“Uh-huh.”
The person in front of her finished ordering his overly complicated latte drink. Harriet stepped forward, saying, “Well, it was good seeing you.”
Marjorie hesitated, as if there was something else she wanted to say, but slapped her stupid grin back onto her face. “I’ll let you go, then. Happy Halloween!”
And she departed in a flutter of goodwill and high spirits.
The barista said, “That’ll be three-seventy-five, ma’am.”
“I hadn’t ordered, yet,” Harriet snapped.
The barista cringed. “A large black coffee?”
“Yes.”
“Three-seventy-five.”
Harriet smiled. At least someone in the place knew her passingly well.
As she left the coffee shop, her phone rang. Harriet waited until she reached her car before pulling it from her purse. By then, the call had gone to voicemail.
The number belonged to her son, Andrew. She contemplated calling him back, or at least listening to the message, but that suddenly felt like far too much effort. Spurning Marjorie, and then navigating the bustling coffee shop, seemed to have sucked most of the energy from Harriet.
She dropped the phone back into her purse and got into her car.
When Harriet returned home, she set her coffee on the hall table beside her car keys and a framed photo of her with her late husband. She turned the picture so that it better faced outward. Then, she went upstairs, pausing to pet her cat Milly on the top step. In the hallway closet, she dug through the debris of living in the same home most of her life until she came upon a bright orange and black sign. After that year she forgot to turn off her porch light, she’d had it made special.
Going back downstairs, she went outside. A delightfully cool breeze scattered yellow pecan tree leaves over her lawn. At the base of her steps, beside the walk, she slapped down the sign, sending the stake deep into the earth. The sign, in black lettering, read, “No trick or treaters!” A grinning jack o’ lantern was circled and crossed out.
Feeling accomplished, Harriet stomped back into her house, closed the door, and locked it.
The day slid into early evening. Outside, the laughter of children pierced the chilly air. The youngest kids, pulled along by parents or riding in wagons, trundled up and down the sidewalks in their costumes. As evening deepened, the sky turning purplish-blue, older kids came out.
Harriet peeked out of her front window from time to time to check on the progress of things. She noted with satisfaction that no one even looked at her front walk.
Feeling safe enough, she had her supper and, before long, found herself in front of her television. Milly snoozed in a ball beside her while she worked on knitting a pair of socks. As a rerun of Unsolved Mysteries droned along, Harriet’s eyes grew heavy and she slid into sleep.
Ding dong.
Harriet startled awake. Milly, who had moved to her lap, opened her orange eyes just long enough to glare before slipping back to sleep. Harriet rubbed her face.
Unsolved Mysteries had finished and a black-and-white horror movie played. Frankenstein’s monster lurched across the screen.
Had her doorbell really rung, or had she dreamed it? Harriet listened.
Ding dong.
“What the hell,” she muttered, glancing at a nearby clock. It was eight-thirty. Much too late for trick-or-treaters, wasn’t it? Besides, there was the sign outside. No one had the bad taste to ignore both the lack of a lit porch light and a sign, surely.
She waited, her heart thudding in her ears. Maybe whoever it was would go away. In this age of cell phones, it couldn’t be a person broken down and in need of making a call. Too late in the night for a neighbor asking to borrow something, not that any of her neighbors ever did. They left her alone. She left them alone. It was a nice arrangement.
Ding dong.
She sighed hard. Apparently, they needed to be told to go away, though she had half a mind to call the police.
With a groan, Harriet hauled herself off the couch, sending Milly to the floor. Grumbling, Milly stalked off to meld with the shadows in a way only black cats could. Harriet went to answer the door.
A bad feeling skittered down her spine just as she reached for the knob. She hesitated.
Darkness greeted her beyond the narrow window by the door. She swallowed and reached over to switch on the porch light. Slowly, she peeked through the window.
Three children in angel masks stood in front of the door. They wore matching white gowns and gaudy gold halos suspended by wires. Rather unimaginative, to be honest.
She opened the front door and then pushed open the storm door. Chilly night air spilled into her warm home. She leaned her head out around the storm door.
Before she could say anything, the trio cried, “Trick or treat!” They held up plastic jack o’ lantern buckets.
“Go away,” snapped Harriet. “And go home. It’s too late for you three to be out.” She stepped back inside, pulled the storm door closed, and then slammed the front door shut. A loud thunk resounded as she sent the deadbolt home.
Someone giggled behind her.
Gasping, Harriet whirled around. Her little front hall was empty. Her heart thumped faster. Slowly, she looked back out of the narrow window. Her front porch was empty. She switched off the light.
Maybe one of the kids giggled while they left, and she only thought it had been inside.
She started to go back into the living room when her kitchen light flicked on. She froze. Listened.
The back door was locked. It was always locked. Had she left a window open? Had someone slipped inside?
Dramatic screams spilled from the television as the monster chased his victim.
Where was that damn cell phone? The smart thing to do would be to call the police. Perhaps turn around right then and leave through the front door.
But the longer she went without hearing anything, the more Harriet wondered if, perhaps, it was faulty wiring. The house was old, after all.
Swallowing hard, Harriet slowly walked down the hall. She paused just on the other side of the doorway. She took a deep, steadying breath. She stepped into the room.
Horror curdled her stomach.
The round kitchen table was set for three with plates, cutlery, and glasses.
Pattering footsteps echoed down the hall behind her. Harriet turned around to look, clutching her chest.
“Hello?” she called.
“Harriet.”
She jumped, screamed, and turned, losing balance and catching herself on the doorframe.
Her late husband, in his favorite blue collared shirt, sat at the table. He smiled.
“Peter?” she whispered, still clutching the wood frame. She stared at him, waiting for him to fade or for her to wake up. Neither happened. “Am I dead?”
“No,” he replied. “Sit down.” He gestured at the chair beside him.
Slowly, Harriet let go of the doorframe and walked over, sitting across from him. “Who is the third place for?”
“They’ll be here soon, sweetheart.”
She clasped her clammy hands. “I don’t know what you’re doin’ here.”
“It’s All Hallow’s. I got to come home for a visit.”
“Come home from where?”
Peter stared at her. His eyes were the same deep green she remembered. It was those eyes she fell in love with first. They always seemed to see right through her, when most people preferred to stay on the surface.
“You don’t even light a candle for me, anymore.” Peter said.
“I had Masses said for you.”
“Not anymore, though. It’s hard, where I am. I need prayers.”
She opened her mouth to insist she prayed, only to close it. There was no point in lying. Harriet couldn’t remember the last time she prayed.
Peter said, “You haven’t been to church in a long time.”
“I don’t like the new priest they got. Some young guy. He keeps bringin’ back the old stuff they got rid of before we were even born. They don’t even play your favorite song anymore.”
Peter reached over, laying his hand on her arm. Harriet froze, staring at it. She could feel the warmth of his skin through the thin material of her shirt. Longing welled up in her. Slowly, she laid her hand over his. Tears pricked her eyes.
“Harriet,” he said in the soft voice that always made her melt, “when was the last time you talked to the neighbors?”
“They ain’t got nothin’ to say that I want to hear.”
“You don’t decorate for holidays anymore.”
“What’s the point when it’s only me?”
He squeezed her arm. “Sweetheart, just because you’re lonely doesn’t mean you have to wallow in it—or inflict the pain of it on everyone else.”
Ding dong.
Peter let her go and straightened. “You should get that.”
Harriet shook her head, staring hard at the plate in front of her. “I don’t wanna.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“You’re dead. Nothin’ is okay.”
Nothing had been. She’d gone to their favorite coffee shop every morning for the last five years, like they had done when he was alive, as if that would make it all magically better. And it hadn’t.
Ding dong.
She looked up. Peter was gone, as were the dishes that had sat in front of him, save for her favorite coffee cup. It was the one he bought for her on a trip to Wilmington. Pain like she hadn’t felt since the funeral rippled through her.
Ding dong.
The other two place settings remained. It felt as if a heavy weight sat on Harriet’s shoulders, pinning her to the chair. She realized the weight had been there for some time. She’d only gotten used to it.
Ding dong.
She rolled her shoulders, stood up, and went back out into the hall.
The porch light was back on.
Mouth dry, limbs trembling, she slowly walked down the short hallway. Stopped. Harriet thought briefly about looking through the narrow window.
It’s going to be okay. Peter’s voice, like a half-forgotten song in her mind.
She unlocked and opened the door.
A young man wearing a dark red jacket, hands in his pockets, smiled at her. “Hey, Mom. I figured you were probably asleep in front of the TV again. That’s why I kept ringing the doorbell like that. Hope you’re not mad.”
Harriet looked into Andrew’s green eyes. “Didn’t think to call ahead? It’s late.”
His smile slipped a little. “Well, I did. You-you didn’t answer. I left a message. So, I thought I’d come anyway. We’re late because of a wreck on the Interstate. Would’ve been here hours ago, otherwise. So.” He threw his hands out to the sides. “Surprise!” The rest of his smile faded away, like the last lingering glimpse of sunset. “Can I come in? I, um. I brought someone for you to meet. She’s-she’s in the car.”
Guilt curled around Harriet’s heart. She had ignored Andrew’s call. She hadn’t even bothered to listen to the voicemail later in the day. She looked behind herself, half-expecting to see Peter standing behind her. But he was still gone. Those two place settings at the table remained, she remembered.
Just like Peter, she thought. Always finding a way to cut into the heart of things.
“Mom? What’s wrong?”
“What?” She turned back and opened the storm door. “Nothing. Come on in, Andrew. Bring your girl. Have you eaten yet?”
Andrew’s smile lit up his face. “No. We haven’t.”
“Does she like cats?”
“She loves them.”
“Well, go get her.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Turning, Andrew jogged down the steps and to a car parked on the edge of the road. The dome light was on, and a woman stood by an open passenger door as Andrew approached.
Giggling drew Harriet’s attention across the street. Three little angels ran past, their jack o’ lantern buckets swinging in their hands.