Twisted Family Holidays Collection

by JR Wirth

  I’d considered working at Pup & Taco for a while, figuring a regular income was probably a good thing. And, I heard from a friend, who had a friend, whose cousin worked there before, that I could make my own pastrami sandwiches, any way I wanted. That meant extra mustard and extra pickles, and, of course, extra pastrami. Pastrami sandwiches were a luxury I couldn’t afford on a regular basis, which automatically made the fringe-benefit-package of Pup & Taco, a deal maker.

  With no one in line I rode my bike right up to the takeout window. When I looked up, to my surprise, I was greeted by Debbie McGruder, in full Pup & Taco regalia.

  “Hi JR,” she said with a suggestive tone, wink, and smile.

  I smiled back. “Hi Debbie, what’s up with you?”

  “I’m working, silly.”

  “Oh yeah,” I responded, somewhat embarrassed.

  Debbie was a year older and had already graduated high school. She was always quite flirty with me and even offered to pay my friend, if he’d help her get a date with me. She was willing to pay for the entire date, including picking me up in her daddy’s car. The thing about Debbie was… well, she was too perfect. She was a Farrah Fawcett look alike, which, I think, intimidated me. Plus, I was smitten. And I was not about to ruin the new thing that might soon become legendary. On the other hand, I didn’t want to mess up any possible future interest. You know, just in case the Destiny thing didn’t work out.

  “What can I get you, JR?” Debbie asked. She then subtly batted her eyes in a way that the average guy wouldn’t pick up on. But, with heightened alertness, I certainly did.

  “Well, I want a burrito and an application,” I boldly stated, strong and confident. Proud that I’d rebounded from my awkward moment, I smiled.

  “Perfect,” she whispered.

  “Huh?”

  “Nothing.” Debbie looked behind her, and then back at me. Staring into my eyes, her green eyes sparkled, crying out for love and attention. She then whispered, something like, “What kind of burrito would you like, JR?”

  Her soft, sultry voice caught me off guard, causing my mind to become a bit fuzzy. Immediately, I started wondering if maybe I was a little too rushed in making such a definitive connection with Destiny.

  “Umm.” I was, again, at a loss for words; dumbstruck is how I’d phrase the feeling. I looked away to collect my thoughts and when I turned back, the whites of her eyes were gorged with bloodshot, and her pupils were dilated—bigger than any I’d ever seen. I’m sure my face turned white with a horrible cringe, until I realized it was a just Halloween trick for the customers. I was then able to relax and smile.

  “Well, JR, what would you like?” she repeated and adjusted her already snug top.

  “Nice eyes,” I said with a meek smile. “I’ll have a combo burrito with green sauce.”

  “Coming right up.” Debbie turned and yelled, “Combo green, Joey.” When she turned back, she smiled again; and now she had fangs—pearly white. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear they were real, which had me wondering how she managed to put in teeth and eye props with such little time?

  I had to get an answer, so I asked, “How’d you do that eye and teeth thing so fast?”

  Debbie smiled. “Just natural, I suppose.” She then licked her lips and fangs, highlighting the big, white, carnivorously-sharp-teeth. “Seeing you and thinking you might be working next to me, got me all excited inside, and I’m thinking that the two of us could do a lot of fun things together, including some blood-sharing.” She winked. “What do you think about that?”

  “I think I might have to take a raincheck,” I reluctantly replied. “I have some things to do before tonight.”

  “Awe yes, Halloween. What are you going to do tonight, JR?” she asked. Appearing pink-skinned and slightly-flushed, her body wiggled.

  Ignoring the intense moment, I looked down. I tried to remain calm and act natural. “I’m taking the younger kids trick-or-treating,” I said and considered whether I should share the rest.

  “So what are you doing after that?” she asked, with a twist of her torso and a cross of her legs.

  And there it is, I thought. What do I tell her? I turned and glanced at the corner. To delay my answer, I watched a large truck slowly drive through the intersection. The driver was wearing a werewolf mask; at least I hoped it was a mask. He stared straight at me. As he crossed the intersection, seemingly in slow motion, he leaned forward, tilting his head in my direction. It was as if he was tempting me to react.

  “Yikes,” I whispered. “That’s pretty spooky.”

  To break eye contact I turned toward the TV repair shop across the street. When I did, I realized that the distraction didn’t help, and actually increased my sudden anxiety. Without a clue and awkwardly running out of time, I decided just to be honest with Debbie. I turned back, and quickly blurted, “I have a date.”

  “I thought you’d never ask!” Debbie exclaimed. “I’ll pick you up at eight. I know where we can go to have some fun, and there’ll be lots of blood.”

  “Oh shitski,” I muttered, under my breath. “Now what do I do?”

  Again dumbfounded, I stared straight into the restaurant. According to the reflection in the window, my eyes had grown extremely large. It may have just been a distorted self-image based on the intense anxiety that seemed to surge by the second. Or, it could’ve been the dingy plastic window. Nonetheless, I had to continue to act naturally when I turned down, perhaps, the hottest girl in town. Luckily, Joey came to my rescue. He showed up with my burrito.

  Debbie snatched the burrito from his grasp. She handed it to me, caressing my hand in the process. She then whispered, “It’s on the house. Just like me, tonight.”

  “Thanks,” I gowned, or maybe it was a moan; hard to tell under the circumstances. But I was able to recognize that I was in a compromising position. I quickly considered what I should tell her?

  “Well?” Debbie whispered, now with a huge, completely realistic, fanged-smile. “It’ll be fun, I promise; better than your wildest fantasy.”

  Completely rattled, and on impulse, I rushed my shouted-response. “I have to go!” I put my right-foot down on the pedal and moved as fast as I could. Then, rounding the building, out of the side of my mouth, I yelled, “I have a date with Destiny!”

  It seemed like I pedaled as fast as I’d ever pedaled before. Yet, after what seemed like ten minutes of head-down-butt-up, intense pedaling, I’d only made it as far as the Pup & Taco driveway. Like in a nightmare, I couldn’t get anywhere fast enough.

  Slightly out of breath, I stopped my bike and looked at the rear entrance of the restaurant. I breathed in a cloud of smog and blew out a heavy sigh. Then, in a moment of reflection, with a welcomed breeze in my face, I realized that I wasn’t acting very cool. I wasn’t being very “JR-like” at all. “I need to go and make this right,” I whispered. “Just in case.” I shrugged. “Never-say-never, I always say.”

  When I started toward the takeout window, I heard the haunting scream of a guy in trouble.

  “What the heck?”

  I hurried to the counter and opened the sliding screen. Not seeing anything in my immediate view, I leaned and shoved my head through the window’s opening. What I saw freaked me out. It was Debbie, kneeling over Joey, pretending to rip his neck apart; at least I thought it was pretend. And there was thick, fake-blood all over the floor, like they’d spilled a pot of refried beans, covered in red sauce, all over the ground.

  “What the heck are they up to?” I mumbled. I then directed my voice toward Debbie. “You really take this Halloween thing serious, don’t you?”

  Not amused, Debbie looked up. Red-faced and fury-eyed, she howled a loud, inhumane-growl, while she laser-killed me with her scowl.

  “I’m out of here,” I yelled, and took off, even faster than before. Almos
t immediately, I looked back and Debbie’s head was sticking out the window. Blood dripped from her lips, and with grotesquely-large, gnashing teeth and fangs, she no longer seemed human.

  “Ride JR!” I screamed. “Ride!”

  Chapter Three

  Happy to be home, I took some time to debrief; or maybe it took me. I’m not really sure how long I was in the head-tilted, body-leaning, awkward-stance, or the mind-numbing trance; but when I came to my senses, I found myself staring blankly at the poster of the movie “Jaws.” The giant shark hung on my mystic-blue wall, snuggled between posters of the punk bands: The Ramones, and The Weirdos.

  I looked around and noticed that Black Sabbath’s album—Sabbath Bloody Sabbath—was still on the turntable. It seemed apropos for my morning, so I cranked it. With melodically-dark, loud music filling the airspace, I sat, eating and gazing out my terminally-dirty, bedroom window.

  While I enjoyed my slightly crushed, considerably abused, burrito, I contemplated my recent life decisions, as well as the possible existence of real-life ghouls. The internal dialogue had me checking my burrito before every bite, looking for anything out of the ordinary. I even double-checked the sauce, assuring it was truly green. As paranoid as I was, I really couldn’t tell what I was eating, but hungry and weary, I ate it nonetheless.

  Through the self-examination process, I talked myself into the conclusion that Debbie was just a huge Halloween-freak, and the show was for the benefit of the Pup & Taco customers. I also decided it would be best to put the employment application on hold for a while. So, following my lost morning, feeling somewhat nourished, yet a bit shaken, I went back to the familiarity of the neighborhood and my meager, yet steady, lawn-mowing business. Little did I know it would become a profitable cottage industry that I might have turned into something special.

  My little business helped me pay for several of my toys, including sports trading cards, albums, my receiver and turntable, and now, a brand-new Walkman cassette player. I’d spent all Friday night recording mixed cassette tapes from the albums I’d collected over the years. I tried to find the best, most spooky songs possible. Though, I didn’t have a lot of traditional Halloween music, I did have classics such as: “Human Fly,” by the Cramps; “Wait for the Blackout,” by the Damned; “Wimp,” by the Zeroes; and the haunting sounds of F-Word’s rendition of the Germs’, “Shut Down.” I also had an assortment of Bauhaus and, of course, Black Sabbath, as well as other fun, not-so-top-forty music.

  Since I’d canvassed my street the previous weekend, I decided to journey around the corner to see if any lawns looked a bit ragged. After all, who wants a dilapidated lawn on Halloween? I thought. Then, upon further inspection, I realized I needed to reconsider that assumption. Perhaps the hardcore decorators might welcome their lawns to be in shambles. Unsure of the possible outcome, with my Walkman strapped to my jeans for its maiden adventure, I made the trip. The expedition also allowed me the opportunity to scout the neighborhood for houses that were preparing for the onslaught of evening trick-or-treaters. While my lawnmower and I made our way through the old neighborhood, we found several prime candy-grabbing targets and a few neglected lawns with generous owners.

  The first stop was at the neighborhood odd-man’s home. He lived just around the corner and everyone knew of him. He was most notable for his prying eyes and devilish intentions. No one knew what he did for a living, or what he might be up to on any given day. But we were pretty sure that he would sit in his living room and stare out into the street. When we’d walk by we could see his drapes move, in coordinated fashion, to view us. Night or day, the routine never seemed to end. The eerie custom included spying on neighbors and unsuspecting passer’s by.

  I must admit I was a little fearful approaching his house, since rumor had it that a local little leaguer went to sell him candy one day, and never returned. It was believed that the odd-man grabbed the child from his porch, chopped him up, and then fed him to his pet alligators. Through the years, the report was neither confirmed, nor dispelled. But, as the story goes, the police could never find a reason to enter the odd-man’s home.

  His lawn was high, however, so I put my fear aside and approached his front door. As I approached, I noticed a curious family of six, gathered across the street. All dressed in black, they watched me approach the decrepit home. They were huddled under a canopy and each wore heavy garments, highlighted by dark sunglasses. And, conspicuously, they all wore rimmed hats. Their appearance didn’t matter to me. All I wanted was for them to keep their attention focused on me, guaranteeing that I would not be abducted. So, I walked backward toward the house, and kept a never-ending wave in the family’s direction.

  They all waved back.

  “Thank God,” I whispered over-and-over.

  Suddenly feeling spooked, I turned and faced the door, continuing my slow, careful approach. Every three-feet or so, I turned and glanced at the family across the street. Each time I turned, I whispered, “Keep watching me please,” while I either waved or nodded upward at them.

  They all nodded and smiled in return. Then they’d talk amongst themselves. It was as if they were making bets on whether I’d make it out alive, or if they’d have to call the police.

  The tension mounted the closer I got. Then, two-feet from the door, I made one last turn. The family was on their feet waving me on, almost giving me a standing ovation, for the show of bravery. I waved back, enthusiastically. And, with grinding teeth, I smiled, and continued my whispered plea. “Keep watching me, please,” I urged.

  Then, to eliminate any distractions, I clicked off the Walkman. If I’m going to tussle with the devil, I thought. I’ll need all of my senses. I took a deep breath, rang the bell, and quickly stepped back behind my mower.

  The door opened slowly with an almost predictable-creak. “Yes,” came from the raspy voice, hidden behind the screen.

  “Umm,” I stammered and paused. “I noticed that your lawn was quite high and in need of some grooming. Ahh, maybe you’d like someone from around here to mow it for you?”

  I’m not really sure why I said it that way, but I’m pretty sure it’s what they call a Freudian slip—saying something from your subconscious, instead of what’s in the forefront of your mind. And I’m pretty sure I felt it would be better if someone else were to cut his lawn. Regardless—terrified—I waited for a response.

  After several minutes, which could have been mere seconds, I began to shake. Why is he not responding? I silently asked.

  In case I needed identify my assailant, I tried to get a good look inside the dirty, grimy screen. But, I could only make out the tiny frame of what looked like an elderly person—of unknown sexual orientation. Without words, the aged-wooden screen door opened. It too creaked. From behind the screen, a tiny, elderly-hand wrapped around the wood frame. The fingers were thin and long, with a multitude of cracks, which, like rings of an aged tree, indicated many years of life, and, perhaps, decades of abuse. The faded, elderly-skin, furthermore, melded with the worn, wooden border of the screen. They were indistinguishable, except for the long discolored fingernails that extended from the fingers and came to a point at their tips. The knuckles were enlarged and disfigured, indicating a long bout of severe arthritis. Nestled between the fingers and screen’s molding was a ten dollar bill for me to take.

  I was a bit fearful of making contact with the lone hand, or having it snatch me. But I was able to muster up the energy, and courage, to walk around the mower and peel the bill off the screen.

  “Thank you,” I said, and quickly headed for the front yard to begin the work. When I looked back at the family, to give the all clear, they were gone.

  I thought the whole thing was quite weird, and reminiscent of a horror movie, which, in turn, gave me the heebie-jeebies, and inspired me to finish the yard in record time.

  “It’s not even Halloween night y
et,” I muttered, over-and-over, as I made the hurried laps of the odd-man’s front yard.

  I cut a couple more lawns for far less money, but with much more people-friendly occupants. I was about to end the workday when I noticed one last lawn needing attention. It belonged to old lady Johnson. She happened to be the most giving of the landowners; perhaps it was due to her obvious alternative intentions. And when I finished her lawn, she invited me in to her dust-ridden home for stale cookies and a look at her boudoir. It was only after a few timely words, coupled with a stumble into a desk—causing a need for immediate medical attention—that I was saved from an early Halloween nightmare.

  Having survived old lady Johnson, and with a few bucks in my pocket, I was ready to make my final preparations. I rode my bike down to the local thrift store to create my costume. Avoiding Pup & Taco, I had to take the long route, but I didn’t mind a few extra miles considering the morning I’d had.

  My costume was going to be Johnny Rotten, which wasn’t too much of a stretch since I was already into alternative music and dressed a little out of the norm anyway. My look ended up more like Sid Vicious, however, but I didn’t mind. Even though I was never a fan of Sid, with or without the Sex Pistols, he did have a pretty cool presentation.

  Chapter Four

  Next on the agenda was taking the young ones trick-or-treating. It was an annual event that was sometimes difficult, but always adventurous. Lately it felt more like an amusing adventure rather than a chore imposed by our parents. Perhaps it was because of my own maturation process that I felt the way I did. Or maybe it was the kids growing into their own witty personalities that made the difference. Whatever the case, Halloween candy-walks became more enjoyable with each passing year. Come to think of it, I’m not really sure why it was necessary for me to continue leading the Halloween crew, since each was probably old enough to go it alone. But I think our parents thought I was responsible, and that I could, somehow, keep the others from doing too much harm, or from getting arrested, or worse.