by Jack Wallen
Sally wrapped her arms around my neck and squealed with glee. “Then it’s a date! Friday?”
I nodded. Sally lowered her head back onto my shoulder. The smell of her hair wafted to my nose. It was a smell so familiar to me; a smell that took me back to the first time we kissed. The beginning of something so amazing that nearly ruined our friendship. It took only six months to realize that, at the time, we worked better when romance wasn’t involved. I hated that, because I loved her. But Sally’s friendship was the one thing in the world that anchored my mind and my heart to reality. And as much as I wanted to dive back into her, heart and soul, I feared losing more than I’d gain. It didn’t help that Sally was amazingly hot. She was waif-like short, with a style that meshed punk and prep in a way only Sally could pull off. There was nothing about Sally I would change. Every time I looked at her my heart skipped and my brain hurt.
“So, tell me more about why I should like Vamp.”
“Think about it – you have these drop-dead beautiful Hollywood stars playing hideous vampires who disguise themselves as gorgeous super models. It’s a seven layer dip of lies that celebrates itself by mocking everything it stands for. It’s the Jekyll and Hyde of Hollywood made real. At its very base, it reminds us that no one likes what they see in the mirror. We’re all afraid we’ll look and see a monster staring back. It’s the perfect blend of train wreck and irony.”
Sally sat up, grabbed a pillow, and clobbered me.
“I hate it when you use that word. You sound like a hipster.”
“In an ironic way,” I laughed.
She smashed me in the face with the down-filled weapon.
“You’re going to choke on irony one day, Scott.”
“I have to find it first. You know how that fickle lady escapes me.”
That wasn’t a joke. Irony was a concept I never could grasp. I’d be a failure of a hipster. Such authentic tragedy.
Silence wafted down over the room. Unlike most within the teenage wasteland, shared silence with Sally never bothered me. I guess that was part of knowing someone so deeply.
“Okay, Scott, if you could recast any horror movie with kids in our class, what movie would it be and who would you cast?”
My heart skipped a beat at Sally’s change of tactic. I tilted my head toward the ceiling to give the idea some thought.
“Wow, that’s a good one, Sal. Why can’t Mrs. Fisher ask questions like that in Lit Theory class?”
“Um,” Sally started, “because she’s as boring and predictable as the average middle-age, middle-class soccer mom. Okay, enough dodging…answer the question.”
Thoughts raced around the curves and crevices of my mind. It took much longer than I’d anticipated to come up with a fully realized answer.
“Got it. I’m going old school with The Bride of Frankenstein. I know, it’s your least favorite of the classics, but it does offer so many wonderful insights into the world of Hollywood horror.”
“Okay, Scott…there’s no need for a dissertation. Just tell me how you’d re-cast the film.”
I had to think; not because I couldn’t remember the cast of the film, or even the slightest moment of brilliance that underscored the black and white treasure. The stall was all about choosing the perfect cast.
“Okay, the obvious is Cody Sloan as the Monster. Next I’d go with Mrs. Middleton as the Bride.”
“Wait,” Sally interrupted, “Why Cody as the Monster? Isn’t the audience supposed to sympathize with that character? Sloan is your arch nemesis.”
I felt the grin spread across my face. “If I’m cast as Doctor Frankenstein, then…” I led Sally to the only possible conclusion.
“The Monster would be your tormentor. I get it now.”
“Oh hell yes,” I nearly shouted. It was my turn to re-direct the subject at hand. “Here’s the commercial for the haunt in Tyler’s End.” I grabbed the remote and turned the television up just enough so we could hear the glorious sounds.
“I looked, and there before me was a pale horse! Its rider was named Death, and Hades was following close behind him.”
The announcer, clad in the clichéd robes of the grim reaper, held a scythe and spoke with a voice that was the bastard love child of Vincent Price and Tony Todd.
“Death has risen from the grave. Should his bony finger tap you on the shoulder, your name has been called and Hell awaits your return. Dare you enter the House that Hell wrought?”
The commercial ended with short videos of men and women racing from the exit of the haunt.
“Oh my God,” Sally shrieked, “did that dude throw up?”
I grabbed the DVR remote and rewound the moment.
“He did. Wow, that makes me cry a bit.”
Sally slapped my arm. “You’re such a damned horror nerd, Scott. No wonder you can’t get laid.”
The second the words slipped out of Sally’s mouth, regret immediately registered.
“Oh, Scott, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“No, it’s okay, Sally. I know it’s true. Who cares, right? I don’t need to get laid…I have you.”
It was my turn to taste regret. Without skipping a beat, Sally’s joy was crushed in heartbeat.
“Crap. I’m sorry, Sally. You know I don’t mean…”
Sally held up a hand to silence me.
“Scott…It’s okay. I understand. We gave it a try once and it nearly wrecked our special.”
Sally and I always referred to our friendship as ‘our special’.
“It would kill me to lose what we have, Scott.”
“Me too, Sally.”
Sally stood from the couch.
“I’ll be back. I have to use the little girl’s room.”
I started to point out the way, but remembered Sally practically lived here with me. The moment she walked out of the room, the palm of my hand raced through empty space to connect with my forehead.
“God, Scott, why don’t you just tell her she’s fat?”
She wasn’t. Not at all. In fact, Sally was hot. I knew this, and yet I never could think of her in a sexual way. She’s just always been…Sally to me.
When she finally returned, the look on her face was all too clear. I’d hurt her.
“I think I’m just going to go home. It’s already dark and we both have a history test tomorrow.”
My heart sank. I felt the blood rush away from my face to pale my flesh.
“Oh, Scott, please tell me you studied”
She knew the answer before she even asked.
“How can you not study for one of the biggest tests of the year? Scott…” I could feel the disappointment pour from Sally’s system.”
I had no words. I had no excuses. I never did.
The look on Sally’s face softened.
“Fine,” she huffed, “we’ll do it your way.”
“You mean cram?”
Sally nodded.
“I’m down with that,” I added.
The truth of the matter was that I had studied…a lot. I just didn’t want Sally to leave. Her company was the only thing that mattered and I knew if she thought that I had neglected schoolwork, she’d stay longer to make sure I hit the books.
We flipped on the lights and re-arranged the television room to be more conducive to study.
“Scott,” the voice of my mom crashed the party.
“Yes, Mom?”
“It’s almost dinner time.”
“Thank you, Mom.”
“Sally, are you staying?”
“It’s pizza Wednesday, right?” Sally whispered.
I nodded.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m staying.”
“Be down in ten, please,” Mom shouted up the stairs.
“Does pizza make me look fat?” Sally’s wide grin brightened the room as her odd question dared to confuse me.
“No, the skinny jeans do a good enough job of that,” I laughed as the last few words spilled from my mouth. Sally knew I was joking. The p
illow assaulted my face anyway.
three | father, son, Halloween
Most kids planted their flags squarely in the soil of Planet Christmas. The presents, the lights, the food…I got that. For me, it was all about Halloween. Not only was it the time of year for haunted houses and all things creeptastic, it was when my dad and I really bonded. I came by my love for the holiday honestly. Every year, dad and I would horror-up the entire front yard. There was nothing I looked forward to with more joy than this very moment. It wasn’t just about the decorations scaring the crap out of trick or treaters…it was knowing how much like my dad I really was. To some kids my age, that would be enough to send them packing. For me…it was drawing nearer to some cosmic truth I desperately sought.
Sometimes the thoughts that seeped from my brain scared me. My mom has always called me an ‘old soul’. I never really understood that until it became clear my wiring wasn’t exactly like the lemmings who called themselves my classmates.
My thoughts, my words.
It wasn’t that I felt myself smarter than the average teen. I wasn’t. I did, however, drive my thought train a bit deeper than my peers. Honestly, I didn’t care if I was an ‘old soul’ or not. All I cared about was this:
Halloween.
Each year we focused on a different theme for the yard. This time we opted for the classic theme of Hell. It was broad enough that it lent itself to so many ideas.
The centerpiece was a giant demon clawing its way out of the dirt – a sort of Hellmouth. It took a lot of promising on dad’s part to get mom to agree. Not only would we have to re-fill the excavated hole, we’d also have to re-sod. Dad made me promise not to reveal that his plans involved filling the hole with a willow tree. I loved the way willow trees seem to weep for the world. I wasn’t so sure that mom would like the idea of a honkin’ big tree in the front yard, but here we were, digging a massive hole that would take an amazing effort to repair.
“We are going to crush the neighbors this year,” Dad bragged.
Halloween wasn’t just special for us. The whole neighborhood was obsessed to the point of holding a competition for best decorations. Every year we came close to winning. For whatever reasons, we never did win. Dad always swore it was because the neighborhood committee didn’t like the idea of a tattoo artist in their midst. Whenever the subject came up, his face would flush and mom would wind up having to calm him down.
I knew exactly how he felt.
This year, however, all of that would become completely irrelevant; there was no way we’d lose.
“I think that’s deep enough,” said dad. He tossed his shovel to the side and grinned wide. “Come on; help me bring Big Daddy to the Hellmouth.
Big Daddy was the demon we created. He was modeled after a character from the old Buffy the Vampire Slayer spinoff, Angel. Dad was obsessed with both shows, so every Halloween there would be an homage to one or the other (or both). Last year we created a dark witch with plenty of leather and eyes that begged the viewer to come near. The homage didn’t sit well with mom. There were a few spats over dad’s old Buffy crush. It was then that I realized just how much power women held over men…and how easy it was for women to win out in the end. I made a promise to myself to never let that happen to me.
Somehow, the promise felt hollow.
Thankfully, this year’s tribute was clearly male-specific. Dad wasn’t about to take another chance and wind up sleeping on the couch.
“So, no Willow this year,” I asked Dad as we returned with Big Daddy. As soon as he heard the name ‘Willow’, his eyes went wide and he shook his head.
“Son, if you know what’s good for me and you, you’ll keep that name to yourself. If your mother hears you whisper the name which cannot be named, she’ll tear our souls apart.”
I laughed at the Hellraiser reference.
“Let’s put this guy into place,” Dad said.
We struggled a bit to get Big Daddy locked down. He was a mashup of nearly every demon to ever grace the silver screen. A sculpted head of blood red, Big Daddy had gigantic horns that challenged Tim Curry’s character from Legend. It never ceases to amaze me how my dad, the tattoo artist, could pull off such feats of engineering.
Once Big Daddy was situated, Dad ran the power line and gave me The Look. It was time. One of the most thrilling moments of the year was powering up the centerpiece of our tribute to the holiday of holidays.
Dad nodded to the control deck. Our Halloween spread had become so complex over the years that it required a complete control board. Up until now, dad always ran the show. It was a point of pride with him. This year, however, it was going to be my turn.
“Sweet crap, yes,” I shouted as I jumped up and raced to the deck.
Dad stepped down to the sidewalk, turned, and gave me the thumbs up. The control board was clearly marked in sections. There was Right Tree, Right Center Grave, Down Center Gates, Flying Creature, and finally…Centerpiece. I flipped on the main power and then toggled the switch for Big Daddy. All Hell broke loose. Steam poured from the creatures nose, the eyes flicked and blinked with a blood-red light, and sound spilled from between the jaws.
“I have risen from Hell’s sulfuric gates to reclaim that which is rightfully mine – your souls.” The voice was barely recognizable.
“Great job, Dad,” I said. Besides being a tattoo artist, my dad spent a lot of time recording audiobooks – so he had a studio where he could record killer sound for Halloween. Our scenes always incorporated sound and music.
Another hiss of steam and the demon’s arms raised above his head and monstrous laughter spilled from the mouth.
“I will tear you, flesh from bone,” Big Daddy roared just before I switched off his power.
“That’s a great line, dad. Where did you find it?”
Dad looked at me and shook his head. “I may have heard it in a dream. Maybe…I don’t remember.” Dad’s eyes brightened. “Oh, Scotty, I almost forgot.”
I hated it when he called me Scotty. The name always made me feel like a little kid.
“Our masks.”
Dad presented me with two masks, both of which perfectly resembled Big Daddy.
“Oh my God, where did you get these?”
My dad grinned wide. He rarely gave away his secrets. This time wouldn’t be an exception.
“Oh come on. I’m old enough to know your secrets, Dad.”
Laughter poured from his mouth. “I may know some people in the business.”
I knew what that meant. Around here, everyone knew someone in the business. It was the equivalent of saying ‘I’m a biped made of mostly water.’ This time, however, it didn’t matter; Dad’s connection helped our cause.
“Put it on,” said Dad. I could see pride build in his eyes.
I slipped the mask over my head and growled, in my best Big Daddy voice, “I will tear you, flesh from meat.”
Dad nearly fell over laughing.
“What? Did I do it wrong?”
“Oh my God no, Scotty. It was perfect.”
“Then why did you laugh?”
A great grin spread across his face. “I’m just so proud of you.”
“What do you mean?”
Dad sat on the top porch step, grabbed his beer, and took a long drink. “When I was your age, I hid the truth from myself. I didn’t want to be different because I knew it meant being an outcast. What I wanted was to be popular – it’s the universal struggle in high school. That never-ending battle for popularity landed me in more trouble than it was worth. I did things I shouldn’t have, hung around kids I had no business being with, said and felt things I knew were wrong. It took me leaving my hometown to realize just how thick the lies were. When I finally escaped, my true self started to appear. It wasn’t until I got my first tattoo that I knew, to my core, what my future would be. Before I could arrive at that future, I had to strip myself of all the lies. It took a while, but I finally managed to find me.”
Dad took another dr
ink before continuing.
“You are already where I was after a long, hard battle with truth. You know who you are and you embrace it. Very few kids your age reach that state. You’re special, Scotty and I’ll never let you forget that. Older than your years, some might say.”
I sat down next to Dad and put my arm around him. “You’re pretty special yourself, Dad.”
“You’re just saying that in hopes I’ll give you a drink.”
I laughed…nervously.
“Forget about it,” Dad, laughed. “There’s no reason to jump ahead of yourself. Stay young, stay innocent for as long as you can. You’ve got plenty of time to wallow in the muck and misery of adulthood.”
I stared at dad, my left eyebrow rising high.
“I’m just kidding you, Boy. Life is wondrous.”
My eyes jumped from dad’s eyes to the hand holding the bottle.
“I said, forget about it. No way am I letting you get a head start in the Destroy Your Liver 5K. You’ve got plenty of time in your life for that. Besides…”
“Mom would kill you,” I completed his thought.
“Yeah…there is that.”
“Hey,” Dad yawn-spoke – a talent he’d mastered years ago. It meant he had something on his mind he wanted to talk about. “What’s up with you and Sally? Are you two ever going to officially announce your relationship to the world?”
I shook my head, hard. “No, Dad. Sally and I are just friends – we always have been and always will be.”
“Never say never, my son. She’s a cute girl who clearly digs the hell out of you. Those only come on a rare occasion.”
“I know, Dad,” I moaned. “Sally and I are just friends…that’s it. How many times do I have to tell you?”
Dad held his hands out. “I’m sorry, Scotty…it’s just that, well, you two complement one another so well. She could be your doorway to the land of cool.”
I laughed.
Dad gave me his ‘What I’m about to say is going to make us both really uncomfortable’ look.
“What is it, Dad?”
“Is it another boy?”
“You mean, for Sally?”
Dad shook his head.
Dad’s subtext was clear. “No dad, I’m not gay.”