by Steve Frech
After church this morning, I’m thinking of not going, but I know I have to. If I don’t, and the shop is closed, people are going to know something is wrong. If I want to keep my standing in town, I need to go, but I don’t know how long I can keep this façade going.
I arrive home from church, and let Murphy outside to do his business. I throw his tennis ball a couple of times, and then head back inside. I go to the hall closet and take out the box that has been sitting on the shelf for over a month. I ordered it from a special effects company in Los Angeles that does make-up for a lot of television shows and movies. The kit cost almost $300, due to the pieces being specially made, and came with a how-to manual that was over ten pages long. There was even a personal note included from one of the make-up artists who had assembled the kit.
Dear Mr Reese,
Don’t know who you are, but I admire your balls in trying this one on your own. The how-to manual isn’t going to cut it. I’m not supposed to tell you this, but a rival company makes a similar kit, and instead of a manual, they have an online video. I suggest you use that. The link is at the bottom of the page. When you’re done, send us a pic of the finished product, and we’ll post it on the wall in our shop.
Happy Haunting!
I had been looking forward to this night since 12:01 a.m. of November 1st of last year. Normally, this is my Christmas, New Year’s, and Super Bowl Sunday, all rolled into one, but I’ve just watched potentially millions of dollars go up in smoke in addition to the fact that I have no idea who’s doing this. However, if I’m going to keep the shop open, I need to keep a presence in The Hollows. It’s the only thing I can do.
I check my phone. It’s three o’clock. Time to start suiting up.
I take the box into the bathroom, along with my iPad. Murphy attempts to follow, but I close the door. He waits outside, sniffing near the bottom of the door. A few moments later, I hear him give up and go to his bed.
I unpack the box on the counter, and double-check the inventory. I lay out all the pieces of plastic and latex, along with the brushes, make-up, a full wig, and a bag of braided crepe hair. I pull up the browser on my iPad and type in the link for the tutorial video listed in the letter.
The video starts with a guy sitting at a make-up counter—the kind you see in the movies, with the mirrors, bordered in light bulbs. Lined up on the counter are items almost identical to what’s in front of me.
“Hi, I’m Jesse Whitaker, and today, we’re going to show you how to apply your werewolf prosthetics and make-up.”
In a moment of serendipity, “Little Red Riding Hood” by Sam the Sham and the Pharaohs begins playing on the online radio station.
I look in the bathroom mirror, take a breath, and say, “Let’s do it.”
*
It takes over two and a half hours to apply the make-up. At first, it’s hard to take my mind off the cockroaches and the shop, but eventually I’m able to focus on the video. My mind is desperate to think of anything else and latches on to the instructions. I follow them to the letter, pausing and rewinding to make sure I’m doing it correctly. I scrub my face, apply the base coat, and move to the finer details, like heightening and sharpening my cheeks and jawbone. Then come the pieces of foam latex. I apply the spirit gum to anchor them to my skin. I know from experience that it’s going to hurt like hell to rip them off later. I blend the edges of the pieces to my skin with liquid latex. Then, I use the base coat make-up to blend the colors.
The effect is flawless. Gradually, my image in the mirror goes from a confusing image of some guy with white bits of plastic and latex all over his face, to something vaguely wolf-like, to full-on werewolf. Next comes the snout. I fasten the nose and upper lip piece over my own nose, so that it looks like I’m permanently snarling. I put on the wig over my slicked-down hair, and fasten it with hairpins. I use more liquid latex to blend the edge of the wig with my forehead. I pull strands of hair from the braided crepe hair to create a hairline all around my jaw, leading to my neck. Now, for the latex ear pieces that turn my dull, human ears into pointy canine ears. Surprisingly, these are the hardest part of the whole affair.
The sun is going down outside the window when I finally complete the last two steps.
I take the false teeth, and pop them out of their packaging. These aren’t some cheap knock-off teeth you get from a Rite Aid or Walgreens an hour before you want to be at the party. These are the latest in false canine tooth technology that go over your teeth. The tops are firm, but the bases are water soluble and your saliva will cause them to shrink and mold to your teeth. The result is natural-looking fangs.
The last step is the red and yellow contacts.
I’ve never worn contacts, so it takes a moment for me to ready myself and put them in. Instantly, there’s the instinctual horror of touching your own eyeball. I’m filled with an urge to rip them out. I brace myself against the counter, and wait for my tear ducts to calm down. I worry that it might smear my make-up but it holds. Finally, my eyes adjust.
I slowly look up into the mirror.
“… wow …” I breathe.
The costume contest is over.
“Eat shit, Andrew Paulini.” I chuckle. I remember the werewolf from Reverend Williams’ sermon and growl, “I am Wrath.”
I wash my hands, and open the bathroom door. Murphy’s there, waiting for me.
As soon as he sees my face, he bolts.
“Oh, Murphy! I’m sorry, buddy! It’s me!”
He runs out of the room, and I hear him haul ass down the stairs. Of course, I feel bad, but it’s kinda funny. I go to the bed, and put on the ripped jeans and flannel shirt I’ve trashed, just for the occasion. I also pull on the elbow-length gloves, which are designed to look like werewolf hands with claws and hair.
I go downstairs and find Murphy cowering in his usual hiding spot behind the couch.
“You okay, buddy?”
Between the voice he knows so well, and my appearance, he’s really confused. It’s not like this is something new. He wasn’t too high on the demon costume, either. I tried taking him to the festival last year, but he was so freaked out by the costumes, I had to leave a little early. I don’t want to put him through that again.
“I’ll be back later, Murphy.”
I put some treats in his bowl, which still isn’t enough to get him out from behind the couch. I grab some bags of candy from the pantry, and head out the door.
The ragged flannel shirt isn’t very effective against the dropping temperature, but werewolves don’t wear coats.
I hop into the truck and glance at the cottage in the rearview mirror. I haven’t thought about Laura or the shop in hours … and I don’t want to.
*
The drive into town on Halloween is the closest thing The Hollows has to a traffic jam. Once I reach town, the local police and volunteers direct everyone to the high school, where it’s a half a mile walk to Main Street.
Even before I park the truck, I’m getting thumbs-up from other drivers, and wide-eyed stares from kids who press their noses against the car windows for a better look. I wave to them, and their faces light up.
After parking at the high school, I get out of the truck, carrying the bags of candy I’ll hand out at the shop after the parade. Even though we’re closed, it’s still tradition. The walk towards downtown brings more compliments. Everyone is going in the same direction, towards Main Street. Marissa McCormack, an English teacher at the high school who is dressed like a cowgirl, breaks away from her husband and kids, and crosses the street to walk beside me.
“That is unbelievable.” She smiles, peering closely at my face.
“Thank you.”
“My kids wouldn’t come over because they were too freaked out. Who is that under there?”
“It’s Jacob Reese.”
She rolls her eyes. “Of course, it is. For God’s sake, are you and Andrew ever going to let someone else win this thing?”
“Nope.”
/> She lightly punches me in the arm. “You look great. Have fun.”
“You, too.”
She hurries off to rejoin her family.
There’s a thickening of the crowd, one last turn, and Main Street bursts into view in all its Halloween glory. Kids and parents are swarming the green, playing the games and enjoying the food stands. Most of the lights in the shops are off, leaving the gas lamps to illuminate the festivities. There are jack-o’-lanterns everywhere. In one corner of the green, there’s a concentration of them, waiting to be judged for a contest. The smell of kettle corn and caramel apples hangs over everything. Everyone is in costume, children and adults, alike.
For this one night, The Hollows is a fairy tale.
My stroll down Main Street adds to my ego as people stop and ask for photos. Parents point me out to their kids, who wave apprehensively until I wave back, letting them know that I’m not a Big Bad Wolf. I’m a Big Good Wolf.
The Old Stone Church is a scene-stealer by virtue of the fact that it carries no decorations or lights, as if to say, “I’m the real deal.” The soft glow of the gas lamps causes the shadows of the graveyard to crawl across the ground, with the Hanging Tree looming over the headstones.
I spot the collection of business owners on the green. They’re easy to identify because it’s a grouping of the best costumes around. Maggie Vaughn is dressed as Cleopatra—simple, elegant, and she looks good. She’s standing next to Marcus Stanton, owner of the hardware store, who’s dressed as Dracula. He’s not as impressive. It’s the stereotypical Dracula, so even if he went all-out, which he has, it’s not entirely original. Sally and Emmett Irving have done another “couple’s costume”—The Mad Hatter and Alice from Alice in Wonderland. If I have any competition this year, they’re it. Thomas Martinez, who owns The Hollows Diner, is dressed as some sort of steampunk guy. There’s one other person who’s part of the group. They’ve got their back to me, so I don’t know who it is, but they’ve got green hair.
Maggie glances at me, and her eyes light up as I approach.
“Oh my God! That is amazing!” she cries.
The man with green hair turns to look. It’s Andrew Paulini, dressed as the Joker from The Dark Knight. Lame. I think I’ve already seen a dozen Jokers on my walk to downtown.
“Since Andrew is right here,” Maggie continues, “that can only be Jacob!”
I bow. I can’t help the feeling of satisfaction as Andrew rolls his eyes. The trophy for Best Costume will be on display at Groundworks for at least another year. The others all chime in with their approval.
“Great costumes, everybody,” I say. “Except you, Andrew. Why didn’t you dress up this year?”
“Oh, ha ha ha,” he says with a sneer. He points to the darkened, blind-drawn windows of Groundworks. “What’s up with the shop?”
“Burst pipe,” I reply.
“Burst pipe?” Maggie asks. “Didn’t you have a burst pipe in your cottage?”
Shit.
“Yeah,” I say. “What are the odds?”
“I saw a van parked in the back of your place, yesterday,” Andrew continues. “Didn’t look like plumbers. They looked more like exterminators. Got a little vermin problem?”
For a brief second, I think that Andrew may have been behind the cockroaches, but quickly realize that’s a stupid conclusion. How could he have Laura’s music box? No. He’s just trying to get my goat.
“We’ll be back up by Wednesday.”
I try to sound confident, but I see a flash of doubt in Maggie’s eyes, like she’s suddenly worried about rat droppings in the free coffee I give her.
The mention of the shop also causes me to do an involuntary quick scan of the crowd for anyone with red hair, but there’s no one.
We exchange a few more pleasantries and talk about the costumes, decorations, and the parade. Every year, this town gets better. We wish each other good luck in the costume contest, the winner of which will be announced after the parade.
As we slowly scatter, I tap Andrew on the shoulder. “Hey, I can’t wait to see the Iron & Ivy’s float in the parade.”
He smiles. “You won’t be disappointed.”
I stroll around the green, checking out the kids carving pumpkins next to the display of elaborate jack-o’-lanterns that have been entered into the carving contest, while other kids decorate caramel apples. The dipped apples look like bronzed orbs perched on the end of sticks. The compliments I receive for my costume are constant, and every few moments, someone stops me and asks for a photo. I’m loving it so much, I start passing out the candy I’ve brought for the trick-or-treating. I’m not supposed to officially start until after the parade, but I don’t care. I run out of candy and decide that when the trick-or-treating starts, I’ll run into the shop, grab all the cookies we’ve got, and hand those out. We moved the cookies to one of the coolers and they’re individually wrapped, so they’ll be free of any pesticide. Sandy will flip because it will mess with the inventory.
At eight o’clock, some of the volunteers who are running the festivities, begin clearing Main Street, and string twine between the gas lamps. There’s a slow exodus from the green, and everyone begins lining up to watch the parade. I take up a spot outside the window of Groundworks. That way, when the parade is over, I can go inside and grab the cookies. The sidewalks become crowded. The smaller kids are sitting on the curb to get a good view. Main Street is a gallery of families, kids, and adults, all enjoying the spirit of the occasion. There are even smatterings of high school kids, who would normally be too cool for such things, but they are just as enthusiastic as the youngest kids.
The walkie-talkies mounted to the hips of the volunteers begin to chatter. A hush falls over the crowd, and everyone turns their heads towards the shadows at the south end of Main Street. Through the walkie-talkies, there’s a call of “go”. The volunteer closest to me raises her walkie-talkie and replies, “Go.” It passes down the street to other volunteers.
Everything falls under an expectant silence.
From the shadows at the south end of Main Street, there are three sharp chirps from a whistle. It’s followed by the tapping of a snare drum to establish a cadence. Then a bass drum picks it up and continues the beat. It grows louder, and out of the shadows, into the soft glow of the gas lamps, appears a drum major, accompanied by a color guard, carrying a banner that reads, “The Hollows High School Devils Marching Band”. The marching band begins to play “Werewolves of London”. I shake my head and smile. More than a few people turn to me and point or give me a thumbs-up. It’s a fluke, but I bask in it.
It’s a high school band, so the horns are a little soft, and the note precision is far from perfect, but it only makes the hometown prouder. The marching band comes into view, sporting their red and black colors. The crowd erupts in cheers. The kids sitting on the curb strain their necks to watch as the band approaches. The music grows louder, and gives way to “The Monster Mash”. That gets a big round of applause. Next is the theme to “Beetlejuice”, followed by “People are Strange” by The Doors. It’s odd to hear these songs played by a marching band, but in the present setting, it absolutely works. Parents are snapping photos. You can tell when it’s their kid walking by, because the light from the camera on their phone becomes a strobe.
The marching band is followed by Mayor Ballard and her husband, riding in a convertible. She’s got a sash over her shoulder, identifying her as the Mayor, as if there was some chance that we wouldn’t know. Next up are the Homecoming King and Queen. They, too, are sitting in the back of a convertible, and waving. He’s the star of the football team, which, admittedly, has won one game and lost five, but hey, Hollows Pride! I don’t know anything about the Homecoming Queen, except her name because of the festival program that was dropped off at the shop two weeks ago.
After that come the floats built by the various high school clubs and teams, each being pulled by a pickup truck. First is the homecoming committee’s float, which is a gia
nt jack-o’-lantern, constructed out of wood and papier-mâché. Its crude construction gives it a sense of charm. The football team is next. Just like every year, it’s kind of half-assed. It’s mostly players in rubber devil masks, dancing around a “fire” that’s made of strips of red and orange tissue paper attached to a fan. There’s a Devil mascot dancing on a raised platform.
There’s a float for the show choir, and one for the science team, which is a mock-up of a Doctor Frankenstein’s lab. There’s a student dressed as Frankenstein’s monster lying on a table. Other students in bloodstained lab coats run around on the float, mixing different-colored concoctions that occasionally lead to a burst of smoke. They must have spent a fortune on dry ice, because the mist drapes off the base of the float down to the asphalt like a curtain. There’s also one of those machines that makes sparks between two wires. For the life of me, I can’t remember what it’s called.
The student playing Frankenstein’s monster raises his hand, and the main mad scientist shouts, “It’s alive! It’s alive!” The monster sits up, waves at the crowd, and throws out candy, which is quickly scooped up by the kids. After the lame effort by the football team, the science team’s effort is much appreciated.
Next are the floats from the Main Street businesses. They ask me to do one every year, but with my limited staff, it would be too much work. I’d rather just win the costume contest and enjoy the parade.
The float for the Elmwood Hotel is next to roll down the street. It’s a replica of the pumpkin patch from It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! Pumpkins litter the float. There are two high school kids dressed as Linus and Sally, waiting among the pumpkins. The kid dressed as Linus holds a sign that reads “Welcome, Great Pumpkin!” in one hand, and a blanket in the other as he sucks his thumb. Sally is playfully annoyed. Every few moments, a girl dressed in all white sweat pants and shirt, with a black-painted nose rises from the vines, and Linus screams, “There he is! There he is!” It’s really cute.
There’s a collective gasp from down Main Street, and the float for the Iron & Ivy comes into view.