Whatever troubled Mason then left his face.
He teased, “No way, girls are weaker than boys. You’ll slip off real easy and I’ll still be hanging on when it gets dark…like Batman!”
As we raced to the goal, I scoffed, “You’re not Batman! I’m Batman. You’re Bane.”
To this day, I couldn’t tell you my reasoning.
Mason protested, “No. Why would I be Bane? That’s dumb. You’re dumb. You can be Harlee Quinn then.”
“Nooooo,” I whined, climbing the pole, “I want to be Batman!”
We went a few more rounds like this, each time Mason teasing me with increasingly obscure DC heroines. If someone had told either of us that there could be more than one Batman, I think they’d have blown our little minds. If you’d told me Bat Girl was a thing, and what happens to her, perhaps I wouldn’t have minded being identified as that female character quite as much.
We continued play fighting, swatting at each other as we hung upside down from the bars. Slowly, my eye was drawn away from Mason, allowing him to land a few playful swats for free. At first, he laughed triumphantly but as I took more hits, his swatting became limper and his laughter more unsure. His eye was then drawn to what I saw. What he’d missed was the ground beneath us shifting, warping, contorting. A small mound had then formed, gathering more and more of the Earth surrounding it into itself. The mound grew and soon stood as tall as the goal posts. It was then we could see it wasn’t just a mound any more but a man made of mud. When Mason saw the hulking great mass of mud, he quietly detached himself from the top bar of the goal post and set himself down. Without another word, he took a step towards the mass of mud.
I found the words the scene was so desperately lacking, “No, wait! What are you doing?”
Mason paused, shrugging, “I’ve got to go.”
I was on the ground then, watching in slow motion as he walked away from me. Even without a face or a mouth, the mud man somehow looked hungry. I threw out my hand to pull Mason back but even as the world slowed down and I sped up, he seemed to stay just out of reach. The hulking figure eclipsed him and the world took on the same hue carried by the man made of mud. There was no separating the pair and the world of that particular version of the memory faded away along with Mason.
The world that came into focus around me was only a little later on from the one it replaced. I was older now, but not by much. This place was splashed in shades of purple, black and dancing orange. Unlike the last space I’d found myself in, this one seemed more reluctant to put on an idyllic façade; the colours were just as intense but the structures and people here were indistinct and faceless. I felt excited…or at least I felt like I was supposed to.
The knot in my stomach had not left and instead was pulling itself tauter still. There were so many people – or what I assume was people – and yet there was such a stillness. I watched the people go by, each person indistinct and unique. I looked to a nearby house, its structure warping and swirling rapidly. Long tendrils of matter were slowly expelled from its centre, the whole growing rapidly, becoming spindly. The indistinct grey of the mass took on a fluttering, orange hue and soon the structure looked nothing like a building.
An unflinching, smiling face loomed within the yellows and reds, leering down at me. Soon, all I could see was the flickering orange light, in front of me, below me, dancing on my skin. I caught glimpses through the always shifting gaps in the light at the far away world outside of it.
I saw my Mother, still and now a uniform grey – turned to stone. I saw everyone else that had been out on that night, moving in slow motion towards me and past her. I saw the mud man at the head of the pack. The crowd seemed to be slowing down, running towards me but still managing to distance themselves.
Through the streams of light, I could see that there was one person by my side: Mason. He was desperately trying to get to me but every time he thrust his hand into the light, the light bit back at him and swelled up in an attempt to deter him. But Mason has never been one easily daunted. He fought back at the light, his palms becoming red and bloody, until he was able to lay a reassuring hand on me. Then there were more hands and the light danced around, trying to avoid them, but the army had come and the charge had begun. Soon the light was extinguished but its presence lingered on my skin, now black and red, exposed and weeping.
I woke up, my face wet, my hands clenched.
I decided it was time to give up on sleeping and silly notions of my best friend of all people being a mad man with a knife.
I threw myself out of bed and, with an uneven march, headed for the door. As I put hand to handle, I heard the low hum of talking a ways outside of my bedroom door. Soundlessly, I pressed my ear up against the wood. I could certainly hear Mason speaking, even if I couldn’t decipher exactly what he’s said. I could also hear…something else that was definitely not Mason.
Consumed by cowardice, I stood frozen, stuck to the door. Dark thoughts swirled around my mind, and I could’ve easily dispelled them if I would just open the door and become part of the conversation on the other side. I stood frozen, my skin becoming prickly, listening to the murmuring outside.
Soon, there was a shift; I heard someone shuffle slowly, uncertainly, down the hallway and close the front door. Silence. Whatever dumbfounding spell that had been cast over me was broken and I was once again able to move. I pulled down on the handle and opened my bedroom door. The main hallway was almost completely devoid of any moonlight or any sign of Mason. Using the wall for support, I all but hopped as quickly as I could to the front door. Staring through one of the three glass panes on either side of the door, I saw Mason stumbling into the darkness. His pace was slow and stilted, sleep walking. I’d only seen it happen once before.
I was about to swing open the front door and call out to him but then I saw that something else had already caught his ear. Something beckoned to him with open arms and a flash of shining teeth into the darkness of the woods. My blood froze over. I could scarcely see who or what it was, but every ounce of my being was screaming at me to lock the front door and hide before it noticed me as well. Fear paralysed me. The only reason I didn’t run away screaming was because it had definitely more than noticed Mason. And that’s why I stood and watched as the creature in the woods reached out and pulled Mason into the dark veil of night beyond the treeline.
In that moment, I thought of Eeyore, I thought of how I’d found him. It was the slap in the face I needed. I threw myself back down the hall way and into my bedroom. I plunged my arm into the wardrobe. Scrabbling around in the darkness, like a desperate, blinded animal, I searched for my very first bow and quiver of arrows. The draw weight wasn’t anything spectacular – definitely not a hunting bow – but my thinking was that a few warning shots would be all I’d need. Or so I hope.
My hands shaking, fingers fumbling, I strung the bow and slung the quiver over my shoulder. I scrambled back up the hall way – I always shot better from my knees, anyhow. I pounced at the door way, taking aim at whatever I’d find on the other side.
What I found was an anti-climax; I stared at the night and it stared back into me. There were just enough specks of moonlight streaming through the trees to illuminate the abundance of nothing and, still cautious, I lowered my bow. Sticking my arm through the void between the string and the wood, I perched the bow on my shoulder and started clambering down the porch steps. Half of my attention was on scanning the omnipresent darkness for any signs of movement. The other half was occupied by my best efforts to ignore the now dried blood splattered down the steps. Unfortunately, the Earth below the steps was still wet and sticky. As my hand plunged into the bloody Earth, my gaze was drawn down with it. Slowly, it dawned on me what I was touching. My eyes stung. My breath clung to the sides of my throat. I tore my eyes away and settled them back on my goal: the wheel chair at the bottom of the porch steps.
Arms and legs shaking, I pulled myself up into the seat. Soon, all I had for company was the
squeak of the wheels as I pushed myself down towards the tree line. My eyes had long since adjusted to the omnipresent darkness and the closer I got to the undergrowth, the more I saw of the nothing there now.
I began to doubt what I’d seen before. But then why did I see nothing, not even a trace of Mason, now? I couldn’t even hear the gentle hum of the forest at night: No bats, no insects, not even the distant rumble of cars on the main road. There was no sound, no movement and the air hung stagnantly.
I considered making a break for it. Whatever was going on, I seemed to have been given a moment of reprieve. It would be foolish not to make the most of it and get help. I remembered the empty, Paquin murder house down the lane. If it could be helped, I didn’t want to go within several hundred feet of it. I dared not think about how the reason it was empty and what was happening to me now may be linked.
The house in the other direction was empty but I didn’t know about the house a little bit beyond that. Could I really make it there without crossing paths with…whatever the hell that thing was? What if no one was home? What if someone was home but they ignored me? Was it worth the risk? Running a hand over the worn treads of my chair’s wheels, a nagging thought reminded me of the treacherous, potholed terrain I’d be up against. Did I really want to chance getting stuck? Rubbing at my palm, I decided that ultimately it was worth the risk. I launched myself down the paved drive way, hoping the momentum would allow me to skim over at least some of the first few pot holes I’d encounter on the muddy, unpaved lane beyond.
Rolling towards freedom, the darkness clumped together in front of me and took form. I threw my hands down, clutching the wheels and bringing myself to an abrupt stop. The figure was tall, hulking and shambling straight towards me. Frantic, I threw myself into reverse.
“Wait, Nina!” A hoarse whisper cried.
Something about it nagged at me. Of course it hadn’t clicked at first. Their features were warped by blood and dirt. Eventually, neither the darkness nor any amount of dishevelment could conceal his identity any longer.
“Mason? What happened to you?” I wheezed.
Rushing my chair, he cupped my face and commanded, “Nina, don’t look it in the eye. Don’t let it in. Stay in the house and wait until dawn.”
His eyes were wild, his face was streaked with blood, a huge gaping wound screaming silently in the crook between his neck and his shoulder. Tears welled up in my eyes at the sight of him.
“Mason, what is it-?” I began.
I was silenced by something halfway between a growl and a scream. The shrillness of it cut right through me, my skin feeling as though it had been pricked by a thousand needles. It sounded not unlike a pig squealing from between the jaws of a snarling lion.
Mason was breathless, “I’m sorry, Nina.”
Before I could react, Mason had seized control of my chair and was pushing me back up the drive way, towards the house. Hurtling towards the porch steps at top speed, I dug my nails into the arm rests. The chair collided into the porch, sending me hurtling out of my seat and crashing into painful contact down onto the hard wood steps. I craned my neck to look over my shoulder. Mason was thrashing around, clawing at his neck. Wrapped around him, clinging firmly to his back, was what looked like a pure black mass covered in long shaggy fur.
Mason screamed, “Get into the house, Nina! Lock the door!”
I squawked back “No, not without you,” and took aim at the creature that dared to harm my best friend.
Having seen me pull back the bow string, Mason threw out his arm to me and yelled, “No, wait-!”
Peering through the hair draped over the left side of my face, I muttered, “Hold still,” and loosed the arrow.
It arced through the air and embedded itself neatly into the side of the creature. The beast tore its teeth away from Mason’s shoulder only to howl at the cloudy night sky. The thing did not seem to have eyes or a nose, just a mouth full of too many very, very sharp teeth.
Mason seized the opportunity, reaching behind and yanking the bloody beast from his back. He raised the mass of black fur overhead and flung it as far away from us as he could. Without even stopping for breath, fuelled only by adrenaline, he swept me up in his arms and helped me up the porch steps. Gently, he left me leaning on the cool corridor wall. A sigh of relief escaped me and it was all I could do to hold myself upright. I peered over my shoulder to see Mason facing the night once more. I hurled myself at his arm and latched on.
“Please don’t go out there. Just stay here with me. Please don’t leave.” My voice came out hoarse and shrill.
Mason’s voice unfaltering, unnerving, he said, “I have to. I need to make sure the jobs done.”
Before I could scream sense at him, that he was unarmed and definitely outmatched, he’d freed himself from my grasp and slammed the door behind him.
The last of my strength threatening to abandon me, I opened the door and called after him, “Come back! How much blood have you lost? How are you still even standing? Just come inside, Mason, please.”
Clutching a hand to his neck, the wound now weeping profusely, Mason shook his head.
Delirious, he spoke, “She’s taken something from me. I have to get it back. I’ve got to protect you,” Shuffling forward, I then heard him utter the words, “It’s what we’ve always done.”
“Don’t be so stupid!” I shrieked, clinging to the door frame.
His pace unsteady, Mason headed towards the tree line once more.
I could barely hear him as he uttered the words, “Lock the door and stay inside until dawn. Just stay inside…”
I was about to plead with him again, own up and tell him that I’d taken the knife, but the words failed me as a shadow darted into view and knocked Mason down. What it did to him after that...
I cried out, as though his pain was my pain. That one horrific moment engulfed the past and the present, becoming a temporal prison I thought I’d never escape. Two shining red eyes bore into me and broke the spell. Overcome by cowardice, I slammed the front door shut, bolted and locked it.
Immediately, my strength failed and I was gasping for breath, my entire body racked by sobs.
My thoughts became cyclic. This couldn’t be happening. It was always meant to be us two together against the world. That was what was supposed to happen. People always joked about it and so one day we made a pact: if people wouldn’t allow us to be who we were, we’d choose each other and be ourselves. I wasn’t meant to be left alone, that had never been the plan.
When my Mother was avoiding me, which was always, I’d go to him. When he wanted to get away from his Father, which was always, he’d come to me. That’s how it went. That’s how it was meant to be. Always.
This couldn’t be happening. I never asked him to but Mason was always there to fight my battles. That’s why Winney had fractured his jaw. He’d never ever laid a finger on her, he’d just asked her to leave me alone and she punched him in the mouth. I felt so guilty, I buried the guilt. He never complained, he was just always there. He was always meant to be there. This could not be happening.
He was never meant to leave me alone but I’d sealed my own fate. I couldn’t trust him for more than five minutes and so I took away his one chance in hell to put up a fight. It was all my fault. I was alone and it was all my fault.
I’d pushed everyone else away but Mason was always meant to be the exception. He was always there for me. Always.
But now, never again.
I opened my mouth to scream. I could feel the force of it radiating from my belly and clawing its way out of my throat but the sound of it was as though it was coming from someone else far away. I screamed until my throat felt raw and stung, until barely any sound above a mournful croak would come out any more. Gasping for air, strings of spit and mucus trailing from my eyes, my nose, my mouth, I slowly turned to face the door.
Everything was dark and nothing mattered anymore; there was an easy way out of this. Resigned, I placed my fin
ger tips on the door handle and peered through the glass. I decided I was ready.
But everything was still outside. I heard no gnashing of teeth nor any stripping of flesh, much less did I see any sign of Mason or indeed that creature. My desperation revealed another side of itself.
I have to bury him.
The creature had robbed Mason of so much and it wanted to keep taking from him. There was just something so abhorrent to me about not giving Mason a proper burial. With no body, there would be no peace - I had to get him back.
Strength returned to me in a powerful surge. I hauled myself to my feet, scrabbling up the wall for support. I threw myself down the corridor towards the living room. Leaning on the back of the sofa, I studied the bay window. Nothing, not a trace. I threw myself over to the opposite side of the hallway, towards the utility room. Leaning over the sink, I peered out of the window there. I paused. I’d been ready to dismiss the view with no sign of Mason in it but something else caught my gaze. Between the hand smears on the glass that I’d noticed earlier, there was something on the grass to the side of the house. On the patch of green that neatly bookended the driveway, there was another colour. I saw streaks of black on the ground, the contrast thrown into relief by the stream of moonlight illuminating it. Barely perceivable wisps of smoke still rose from the disturbed Earth.
Scorch marks…?
There was no smell of smoke, no glimmering embers. When had there been a fire? And how on Earth had it been ignited and put out all before I’d even noticed? I shook my head – this was just a distraction. I told myself that some small, awful child must’ve tried to set alight to something as a Halloween prank and then lost their confidence half way through. Thinking about it much more than that wasn’t going to help me find Mason. I tore away from the window and back down the corridor.
It didn’t matter where I looked, there was no trace of Mason save for the black pool of blood where he had fallen…where he had been knocked down…I didn’t want to think about it.
I Hate Halloween Page 5