It was only when she dropped to the ground that she realized she was wearing the pink boots, Manda’s boots, but no one said anything; no one seemed to notice, not even Manda.
“Oh, Hannah,” they all said, putting their hands on her, patting her back, stroking her hair like she was something truly great, like their own pet unicorn. “We’re going to have so much fun. It’ll be a night you won’t ever forget.”
2016
Amanda stood looking out the living room window, watching Erin and her friends saunter off down the street. They moved so easily together, bumping against each other, moving the same way, the same direction, like a school of fish. She’d walked that way once with Mel and Katie, like they were one being, a three-headed beast, finishing each other’s sentences, breaking into Journey songs: “Don’t Stop Believin’” and “Who’s Crying Now.”
It was just past six now, already full dark. Amanda went out onto the porch, plugged in the plastic glowing witch, the strings of tiny orange lights wrapped around the porch railings. Putting up the lights had been Jim’s job too, but Amanda had gone out and bravely gotten up on a stepladder, wrapping them around the posts, but no matter how she’d tried, she couldn’t get them to come out even. “Being honest? Looks like shit, Mom,” Erin had said with a shrug. And she’d been right.
Amanda didn’t even attempt to do the fake cobwebs and dangling plastic spiders Jim usually decorated the porch with. He loved Halloween.
Amanda hated it.
She shivered now, looked down the street at a group of small ghosts and witches heading her way with their parents. Amanda went in, readied herself with the giant plastic bowl of chocolate bars and lollipops.
Jim had dressed up every year, answering the door dressed as a zombie, a vampire, a mummy. Always a monster. Always something slightly frightening.
The trick-or-treaters had loved it. Erin had always made a show of running from him as he chased her around the house, arms outstretched, reaching for her as she screamed in mock horror.
Amanda had hidden in the back of the house, claiming she had so much work to catch up on, or a migraine coming on.
“Trick or treat!” the little crew gathered on her porch now called. She forced a smile, opened the door.
“Oh my goodness, what do we have here?” she said, holding out the bowl. “A ghost, two witches, and—what are you, sweetie?”
The girl in the back stepped forward, into the light. She looked about five or six years old.
“I’m a chicken,” she said, showing off her cardboard wings with yellow feathers glued on. She wore a yellow shirt all splattered in red.
“And what a fine chicken you are,” Amanda said.
“I’m a dead chicken,” the little girl said delightedly. “See my blood?”
“Oh my,” Amanda said. The woman with them (too young to be a mother, surely—must be an older sister, or a babysitter maybe) gave her an apologetic you-know-how-kids-are smile.
Amanda spotted another group coming down the street. Older children. One of them wearing a rainbow wig.
“Happy Halloween,” she said, closing the door on the small children, wanting to lock it.
She went back into the kitchen, opened a bottle of merlot, and poured herself a full glass. The uncarved pumpkin sat on the island, taunting. She took a good swig of wine, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dark window over the sink: a frazzled-looking woman in jeans and a black turtleneck, dark circles under her eyes. She took another long sip of wine, feeling it warming her from the inside out, and turned toward the pumpkin.
She could do this. And wouldn’t Erin be surprised when she got home and saw the soft glow of a grinning jack-o’-lantern decorating their porch?
See, your old mom’s not such a Halloween party pooper after all.
Amanda opened drawers and cabinets, pulled out a large carving knife and small paring knife, a big metal spoon, a plastic bowl for the guts, and a baking tray for the seeds because that’s another thing Jim had always done—roasted the seeds after sprinkling them with cinnamon and sugar. Erin loved them that way. “These,” she’d say, holding a handful of seeds, “are the epitome of fall.” Then she’d give a coy grin, clearly pleased with herself for showing off her vocabulary.
There was a knock on the door. Amanda set her glass of wine down, picked up the bowl of candy, and opened the door.
Not one but two Hannah-beasts greeted her, blue faces leering, smiling, rainbow wigs glowing.
“Trick or treat,” they said.
Hannah took a step back.
There was a third girl, wearing a white lab coat and big black-framed eyeglasses, just behind them. She said, “Dumbasses, you’re supposed to say boo! That’s what the real Hannah-beast said.”
Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
Say boo.
Say boo, Hannah.
1982
“Say boo, Hannah,” Mel instructed as they stood on their first porch, holding open their bags.
Hannah’s face itched and felt tight from the blue makeup they’d put on, left over from Katie’s clown kit—she’d used up all the white and red on her own face, and blue was the only color she had left, so they’d coated Hannah’s face in it. At first it had been greasy, sticky as they rubbed it on. Now, as it dried, it itched.
The old man passing out candy stared at her, taking in her rainbow clown wig, feather boa, and silver cape. He asked, “And what are you supposed to be?”
“She’s a Hannah-beast!” Mel crowed. “Say boo, Hannah. Say boo and show the man how scary you can be.”
“Boo,” Hannah said quietly.
The man shook his head, laughed. The girls laughed too.
Hannah stood up taller, rocked back on her heels, and lunged forward like a snake about to strike. “BOO!” she screamed.
The old man jumped, startled. Then he frowned, muttered, “Crazy kid,” and closed the door in their faces.
The girls squealed, squealed with joy, patted her on the back.
“Nice job, Hannah-beast.”
“Holy shit, did you see his face?”
“Hannah-beast is scary!”
“Hannah-beast is crazy!”
“Hannah-beast is spectacular!”
They ran down the sidewalk, laughing. All the other groups of trick-or-treaters, all the adults on porches, turned to look their way.
The soles of Hannah’s pink boots clapped as loud as a horse’s hooves along the sidewalk. “The boots look good on you,” Manda whispered in her ear, her breath sweet with sugar.
They ran through the center of town, past the park where the Halloween party for the little kids had been earlier—the park where tiny ghosts and goblins and princesses had bobbed for apples, played pin the arm on the skeleton, and attacked a ghost piñata strung up with heavy rope from a beam in the center of the white gazebo.
They ran and ran until Mel stopped them at a house with a porch decorated with Halloween lights, several happy jack-o’-lanterns, and a patchwork scarecrow slumped in a chair.
They all crowded together on the tiny front porch with sloping floorboards, shoulder to shoulder, and it felt good, so good to be bumping against these girls, laughing with them under the Halloween wind chimes hung above the front door—little ghosts dancing, banging into each other, making music. They were like those ghosts, Hannah thought, smiling up at them.
They knocked too loud on the door, sang out, “Trick or treat, trick or treat!” and a woman answered, held out a bowl of candy, said, “Happy Halloween!” A poodle danced around the lady’s feet, barking in that little yappy-dog kind of way, a pink collar with fake diamonds glittering around its neck.
And the girls didn’t have to tell Hannah this time; she did it without being asked. She pressed forward, stood on her tiptoes to make herself taller. She held up her arms, cape flapping behind her, got right in this lady’s face, and screamed, “BOO!” which made the poor lady recoil and scream a little, and once she caught her breath, she asked, “What is wrong
with you?”
The girls all laughed loud and shrieking laughs.
“She’s Hannah-beast,” Mel said, giggling. “That’s what’s wrong.”
“She can’t help it,” Katie said. “She’s crazy. I’d bring your puppy inside if I was you. She might just eat it up!”
And Hannah bared her teeth and growled. The lady pulled her dog inside, slammed the door in their faces.
The girls all laughed loud and shrieking laughs.
“You’re the real thing, Hannah-beast,” Katie said, twirling around her like Hannah was the sun and she was just a little planet trying to get warm.
“I am spectacular!” Hannah crowed to the night as she flew down the steps, the others following her now, chasing her, calling after her: come back, slow down, don’t leave us, we love you, Hannah-beast.
2016
Amanda cut the top off the pumpkin in six quick slashes, lifted it off, a neat little cap with a curved stem. She went to work hollowing the thing out. She hated the cold, squishy feel of the pumpkin’s insides—“the guts,” as Erin called them.
She thought of that long-ago Halloween, the week before, actually, when Mel had presented her carefully laid-out plan.
“I think it’s totally brilliant, but are you sure it’ll work?” Katie asked.
“Of course I’m sure. She’ll come with us. She’ll do what we say.”
“But don’t you think it’s kind of . . .” Amanda hesitated.
“Kind of what?” Mel snapped, eyes daring Amanda to continue.
“I don’t know.” Amanda bit her lip. “Think of all the trouble she’s going to get in.”
Mel looked at her, head cocked. “So? Come on, Amanda. It’s not like she doesn’t deserve it. Think about it. Always pestering us all the time. Being so fucking weird.”
“And don’t forget, the bitch broke into your house and stole your old clothes!” Katie added. “She’s probably, like, all obsessed with you or something. Gross. Plus, it will be hilarious and you know it.”
Amanda frowned.
“What if she tells?” Amanda asked.
Mel laughed. “As if anyone would believe her.”
“As if,” Katie repeated, trying to copy Mel’s laugh.
Mel smiled. “It’s the perfect plan.”
Now, Amanda topped off her wine, told herself to stop it. Stop thinking about that night, stop reliving every moment, every terrible decision she’d made, stop playing the “if only” game. She’d trained herself well over the years. If you spend enough time blocking something out, built sturdy enough walls around it, then it’s almost like it didn’t happen.
Except on Halloween. One night each year it all came back when the parade of Hannahs showed up at her door, when the life-size rag doll dressed as Hannah-beast was cut down from the gazebo in the center of town, a noose around its neck.
Say boo, Hannah.
Now she picked up the knife and started on the eyes of the jack-o’-lantern. Round eyes, she decided. Jim had always done scary slit eyes with dramatic, angry arched eyebrows. A frowning mouth full of jagged, dangerous teeth.
Her pumpkin was going to be happy. Cheerful.
She was finishing up the second eye when there was a knock at the door, another round of trick-or-treaters. Supergirl, a soldier, two zombies, and one Hannah-beast who made sure to say, “Boo!”
Amanda gritted her teeth and held out the bowl.
She’d just started on the nose when there was another knock.
A Hannah-beast and a vampire.
Trick or treat.
Boo!
This Hannah-beast was collecting candy in a red plastic gas can with a hole cut in the top. Too goddamned much. Amanda stared at the gas can full of bright candy wrappers, thought of saying something, something adult, like “You’ve taken this too far” or “Don’t you think that’s in poor taste?” But before she got the chance, the girl was gone.
Before she even got to close the door, another group was coming up the walkway toward the porch.
Jesus. Why so many Hannah-beasts this year? It had to be a record.
This time it was a boy dressed as Hannah-beast. He was accompanied by a girl who looked to be dressed as a prostitute, and another boy in a long black trench coat and a ski mask.
This Hannah-beast had visible stubble on his chin under the thin blue makeup. “Boo,” he said, voice bullfrog deep.
Fuck you, Amanda said back to him in her head. She kept her lips tightly pursed so the words wouldn’t find their way out and thrust the bowl of candy in the boy’s direction. He took a whole handful, then was gone, the others trailing behind him.
Come back, slow down, don’t leave us, we love you, Hannah-beast.
“You’re only supposed to take one!” Amanda shouted at him. He gave her the finger behind his back, not even bothering to look at her.
Amanda closed the door, refilled her wine (the bottle was almost empty now) and went back to the pumpkin. She was further along with it than she’d realized. The nose was done and had a delicate triangle shape. Now for the mouth. A happy pumpkin needed a big grin. Some chunky teeth maybe. Cheerful, but not too goofy. She picked up the paring knife and started at the left corner of the mouth, working her way down, doing a light line at first, just breaking the skin to get the design roughed out, then going in deeper.
The pumpkin was soon smiling back at her.
“Hello, you,” she said to it, thinking, Won’t Erin be pleased?
Job well done, Mom.
A shadow passed in front of the kitchen window. Amanda glanced up just in time to see a figure moving by the living room window—someone in a cape with a black eye mask and a rainbow wig.
“Fuck!” Amanda jumped back off the kitchen stool, the knife slipping. She’d cut herself at the base of the thumb. There was blood on the mouth of the pumpkin, covering its lower teeth. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
There was a knock at the door.
“Trick or treat!” voices called. Amanda wrapped a kitchen towel around her hand, went to the door. A Hannah-beast and a slutty devil.
“You’re not supposed to cross the yard!” she scolded. “You’re supposed to stay on the walkway.”
“Um. We did,” said the girl devil.
“You crossed the yard. I saw you from the kitchen.”
“It wasn’t us,” the devil said with a shrug.
“Boo?” the Hannah-beast behind her said, cautiously.
“Fuck off,” said Amanda, slamming the door in their faces, looking down to see the blood had soaked through the towel.
1982
They went from house to house until her pillowcase was heavy, heavy like she really did have a dead dog inside it, which was what the girls were telling everyone they met.
Hannah-beast’s a real monster, that’s for sure! Be careful, or she’ll eat you up! She’s got a dead poodle inside her bag. She’s gonna snack on it later. Yum, yum, yum.
You’re doing so good, Hannah. We love you, Hannah. You’re scaring the shit out of the whole town, Hannah. This is your night. The night of Hannah-beast. Say boo. Boo! Boo! Boo!
They flew through town; Manda was holding her hand as they ran, and Hannah’s heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her face felt tight, her head itched under the rainbow wig, but she was happy, so happy, the feathers of the boa tickling her as she ran, the cape flying out behind her. Everyone in town, all the kids from school, they all saw her. They saw her with the other girls, and they knew . . . they knew she was something special.
But now it was late. Nearly ten. The streets were clear of trick-or-treaters. Porch lights had been turned off. They sat on the wooden floor of the gazebo in the park, eating candy, trading favorites. Manda didn’t like anything with nuts. Mel hated Mounds bars (which meant Katie did too). They gave Hannah all their peanut butter cups, didn’t even make her trade for them.
“I should go home,” Hannah said. Even though she knew Daddy would be sleeping his bourbon sleep until the alarm went off at sev
en tomorrow.
“No way! Not yet!” Katie said, grabbing her arm.
“We’ve got one more special surprise, Hannah,” Mel said.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a scavenger hunt,” Katie explained.
“Do you know what that is?” Manda asked.
“Sure, I guess,” said Hannah, thinking it sounded like a thing from birthday parties, even though she hadn’t been invited to a birthday party since second grade.
“It’s where you follow clues, gather objects, and find a prize.”
“Like a treasure hunt?” she asked.
“Yeah, like a treasure hunt,” Katie said, smiling, bobbing her head.
“Well, what’s the prize?”
Mel laughed. “Think about the word prize, Hannah. It’s short for surprise, right? And it wouldn’t be a surprise if we told you.”
“It’s gonna be good, Hannah,” Katie promised. “Something you’ll never forget.”
“Are you ready?” Mel asked. “Ready for the first clue?”
“I don’t know,” Hannah said. “It’s late, and my dad—”
“If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to,” Manda said.
“Of course she wants to do it,” Mel said, giving Manda a disgusted look.
“Yeah,” Katie said. “You want the surprise, don’t you, Hannah?”
Hannah hefted her sack, heavy with candy over shoulder. “BOO!” she howled at the top of her lungs, and the girls all laughed and patted her on the back, and she was the star of the show. It was the night of Hannah-beast. Hannah-beast unleashed, that’s what Mel said.
“You can leave your candy with me,” Manda said. “It’ll be easier without it. And I’ll keep it safe, I promise.”
Mel handed her a piece of paper, and Hannah squinted down at it through the eyeholes of her mask. “‘You’ll find me in Old Man Jarvis’s garage. I’m made of metal. I ring but I’m not a phone.’”
Hannah looked up from the paper to the others.
“What are you waiting for?” Mel asked. “Go!”
Hannah started off running toward Old Man Jarvis’s place. She looked back and saw the girls standing in the gazebo, watching her. “Aren’t you coming?” she called.
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