He shook his head, jerked the strap of his black North Face daypack further up onto his left shoulder and sighed. He inhaled the pungent aromas of wood smoke and pine sap deep into his lungs and sauntered past the sign. He raked his right hand through his short reddish-brown hair, stuffed his hands deep into his front pockets and strolled away from the sign, his backpack (and the contents inside) shuffling across the middle of his back.
A sharp autumn breeze roused the treetops and sent burnt-orange leaves dancing like drunken cheerleaders; tree shadows inched their way across the road, streaking the pebbly gray shoulder with odd cryptic fingers. The faint-purple sky and the red-orange treetops below looked pleasant and magical to any adolescent eye; it spoke of quiet nights sipping hot chocolate in the company of a crackling fire.
He followed the main road into town, a cookie-cutter stretch of one and two-story stucco and clapboard houses sitting on postage-stamp lawns surrounded by white picket fences laced with orange and black streamers; something out of The Saturday Evening Post. Some houses were brightly decorated with a cardboard cutout of ghosts and green-faced witches with crooked boil-covered noses, dark Styrofoam tombstones with gimmicky names (he chuckled at the one aptly named BEN DEAD) and gap-toothed jack o’lanterns with blazing orange eyes. He spotted a few bright colorful inflatables that made their front lawns look like a car dealership; one depicted a witch grinning eerily from behind a bubbly black caldron or a cluster of tombstones surrounded by old-fashioned ghosts in long white gowns with wide haunted faces.
Long paper-white banners were strung above the street proclaiming little greetings like HAPPY HALLOWEEN and other enthusiastic tales in a dripping black font. He was halfway across the block when he expected the next one to say something else closely resembling that but instead what he saw was DON'T FORGET ABOUT JACK. He gave a confused sigh, shook his head, cupped his right hand around the right strap of his daypack and considered asking someone for a ride but he hadn’t seen a single vehicle in sight; not a car or truck anywhere.
He watched the children parade across town dressed as ghosts, witches, ghouls, horror-movie slashers, comic-book heroes and villains and zombies only to stop and compare their loot with the other kids before bursting off toward the next house. Their parents gave chase, dressed in sweaters and jeans and boots, the expressions on their faces shifting from bright-eyed ecstasy to a heavy-lidded exhaustion.
Small snippets of conversation floated around him as he walked by each person.
"...to wait for me." A young girl of about thirteen said to a little bald boy in a bloody doctor's uniform.
“...the ones they give us at school.” said a short heavyset kid walking alongside his father in a vampire’s costume.
“...and you won’t get any. Do you understand?” said the scornful voice of a young brunette kneeling in front of a sniveling little boy dressed as a foot soldier.
Of course, it was Halloween. In all the confusion brought on by his own self-inflicted wounds, there were plenty of reasons for him to forget. The mingled expressions of joy and wonder on the children’s faces filled him with a lingering sense of nostalgia.
He knew those days were long gone but he still treasured them. On the other hand, he felt a little sad for these children as well. Sooner or later, the roles would switch then they’d be the ones chasing their children across town; another recycled fact brought to you by the kind folks who brought you Life.
He caught a few curious glances from other residents who passed out candy from the confines of their front porches and gave them a hospitable smirk followed by a gentle nod. An overweight redhead and a plump dark-haired boy were sitting on the front porch of a brown stucco bungalow passing out candy to a group of children when he saw it. An ancient memory resurfaced from his childhood and just the thought of it filled him with a dominant glee that was too strong for him to ignore.
A fat pumpkin with a jagged toothy grin sat perched on the edge of their fence where it and the main gate met, gazing across the street with round orange eyes. When Chad approached the fence, he swung his right hand in a whistling arc and slapped the left side of the jack o’ lantern. It spun, wobbled end over end like a Jell-O mold and toppled face-down onto the sidewalk. It burst apart, spilling its pulpy orange innards across the asphalt; the brightly-lit candle that was placed inside of it died with a quick angry hiss.
He greeted them with a mischievous grin, followed by a mock salute and sauntered away, chuckling under his breath. He didn’t hear what the ugly bat or her even uglier son had to say because he’d never cared then and he wouldn’t care now. As a child, Chad had earned his degree in “bullying” and wasn’t afraid to show it; nothing was off limits when it came to what he wanted and there were plenty of kids who knew the penalty if he didn’t get it. It was the whole reason he’d been kicked out of college in the first place and now he’d get to ply his trade once he got back home.
He reached the end of the block and stopped at the mouth of a four-way street crowded with other residents passing pleasantries with their neighbors before being dragged away by their sugar-induced offspring. He squinted past the crowd, their voices rising and falling amongst the gentle whisper of the breeze when a nearby voice rose from behind his left shoulder.
“...that same ratty black jacket that he wore last year.”
He peered over his shoulder and saw two women marching across the street; they looked to be in their mid-twenties or so he hoped. The blonde wore a knee-length black skirt, knee-high brown leather boots and a checkered gray vest over a white blouse. Her friend, a striking brunette, wore a blue cotton sweater with a pair of denim jeans and hiking boots; she was way cuter than her bleached blonde companion.
They looked and acted more like college students than high school seniors. If he were back at college, he would’ve turned on the charm for sure.
“Excuse me, ladies.” He said, raising his right hand. “I seem to be a little lost. I was—”
“You’re not lost.” The blonde nodded, her cheeks blushing. “You’re in the right place at the right time.”
“I’m on my way to Cincinnati.”
“You’ve got plenty of time to get there.” The brunette said. “Why don’t you stick around for the big festival tonight. Everyone’s going to be there.”
"Stop it, Lacey." The blonde slapped her friend playfully on the shoulder. "We don't even know—”
Before she could finish, he introduced himself. They shook hands one at a time, first the blonde and then the girl named Lacey; the blonde introduced herself as Teagan.
“Are you new in town?”
“No, I’m just passing through.”
“Did you go to college?”
“Yeah.” He said uncomfortably.
“Why don’t you stick around?” Lacey pleaded. “Jack would love to see a fresh face in the crowd tonight.”
“Is he the mayor or something?”
They glanced at each other, their faces flushed from restrained excitement, and giggled. The cute maniacal sound of laughter not only made Chad feel distant and a little uneasy.
“Lacey is playing her flute this year.” Teagan stated, her lips drawn up into an supportive grin. “I tried to play my banjo but it didn’t go too well.”
They took each other’s hands, stepped around him and walked toward the west side of town. When he thought he’d never see them again, they stopped beside of the curb, turned and peered over their shoulders. Their pearly white smiles stretched across their faces and the small twinkle in their eyes told him he hadn’t been the only victim of their young and suggestive beauty.
“If you decide to come by tonight," Teagan said, then snuck a glance at Lacy. "we'll make you feel really comfortable."
She winked at him and followed her friend down the street until they were consumed by the crowd. He glanced at Lacey’s apple-bottom ass jutting out from beneath her skirt and lost the battle with his inner urges. His stomach gave a low guttural growl, reminding him tha
t he hadn’t ate anything since back at that truck stop in Haydenville seven hours ago.
He slipped his free hand into the inner pocket of his brown-leather bomber jacket and checked the time on his I-Phone. It was five after seven and the sky was beginning to darken; no stars but he could see the faint impression of a cuticle-white moon floating high above.
He scanned his surroundings and noticed a little Mom and Pop sitting at the same end of the street where Teagan and Lacey had gone. He hadn't seen a McDonalds or any other greasy spoon since he'd left the highway, so his options were slim. He couldn’t wait until he got back to Cincinnati, although his parents would be as mad as Republicans, and get a good home-cooked meal.
The street lights gave a low hum, flickered and spread a fresh cone of sodium-purple light onto the crowd. Shadows lengthened across the curbs and sidewalks, each one reminding Chad of the same army of rats that once marched to the hypnotic chorus of The Pied Piper’s flute.
He slipped his cell phone back into his pocket and gazed up at a third banner strung high above the end of the street. In the same dripping black font, it said JACK LOVES US ALL.
Who the hell was this guy?
Was the town founder, alas Christopher Columbus? He hadn’t even met the guy and he was tired of hearing about him.
He hadn’t been in this town but ten minutes and he was already begging to put it as far behind him as humanly possible. From where he was standing, the only way back out of town was in the same direction that Teagan and Lacey had gone but even that was a risk. He could always grab a bite to eat (Lord knows he could pretend that “chicken-fried steak” was not someone’s dead cat for once in his life) hit the highway and thumb another ride.
He scanned the small cluster of two-story stucco houses flanking the curbs, stepped over the curb and weaved his way through the crowd. The sea of faces shuffling past him were nothing more than psychotropic blurs, their expressions varying between delight and annoyance or both. Once he cleared the crowd, he shook his head and breathed a sigh of relief as the sharp October wind slid its cool tranquil fingers gently down the back of his neck.
The street stretched across the front of a low-slung aluminum-sided building before veering around a tall tree-choked hill; WALPURGIS FIRE DEPT. was stenciled in wood-burnt letters across a large wooden sign posted on the far right corner of the lot. Relief washed over him as he glanced toward the horizon and saw the necklace of tiny headlights floating across the thin gray ribbon of asphalt lying off in the east. He stopped underneath a pair of street lamps bathing the left curb above a gleaming metal Airstream trailer that’d been fashioned out into a small café, its windows fitted with lighted clocks and friendly greetings; a blue neon sign fixed to the far right side of the building said PETEY’S; IF YOU MENTION JACK, YOU’LL GET A TWENTY PERCENT DISCOUNT ON YOUR NEXT MEAL was drawn across a large slick-white banner hung across the crown of the Airstream about three inches above the front door.
He sighed, shook his head and felt his stomach clench like an angry fist. I’d rather eat jack shit then hear another word about this guy one more fucking time, he thought.
He knew better than to have gotten off the highway in the first place; he should have taken the truck driver’s offer to take the rest of the way. He’d rather take Lacey and Teagan up on their offer to “make him feel really comfortable” rather than see Jack do anything. He’d never done a threesome (although most of the co-eds back in college were easy after six beers) but there was a first for everything.
When he reached the front of the firehouse, Chad spotted Teagan and Lacey standing between two middle-aged men in street clothes and thick jackets. The man on Teagan's left had a tall spindly frame, bowl-cut black hair, and a thick porn-star mustache. The man on Lacey's right had a big barrel chest, short blond hair and puppy-dog brown eyes set inside of a stone-chiseled face.
They were huddled together, their shadows eclipsing four plump bright-orange pumpkins sitting evenly across the middle of a long gray Formica table. A tall broad-shouldered man in a crisp khaki sheriff’s uniform leaned forward, bracing the tabletop with both hands and gave both men a steely-eyed gaze.
“We’ve got to remember, Robert.” The sheriff said to the dark-haired man. “We’ve got to set these down just right or this won’t work.”
"We don't want a repeat of what happened last time." Robert said, then looked over at the blond. "We don't want to go through that shit again now do we, Gary?"
"I can't see another one of my prized cows go down again." Gary said in a somber tone, then added for good measure. “And let’s not forget what happened to your wife Audrey last year.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Chad ignored the sheriff’s comments, looked down at his feet to avoid any uncomfortable stares and ambled past Petey’s. He gave a quick glance at the road lying ahead, the same road that would take him back onto the highway and as far away from this place and their self-righteous Jack and back home where–
“Hey, Chad.”
The sweet welcoming lilt of two female voices stopped him dead in his tracks. He closed his eyes and cringed, thinking about how he should’ve just ignored them and kept going or maybe ran as fast as he could until their voices were replaced by the bellow of evening traffic.
He opened his eyes and glanced toward the front of the firehouse. Teagan stepped around the man he remembered as Robert, brushing her hand against his arm and stopped at the thin narrow crack separating the parking lot from the street. Lacey hurried to meet up with them, her blonde hair bobbing around the back of her head like a gunnysack.
“Where are you going?”
“I was just going to head back toward the highway.”
"Nonsense, young man," Paul said, sidling up next to Teagan's right shoulder. “Jack would love to see you.”
A knife-edged grin spread across his face, bracketing the corners of his mouth with a fresh net of wrinkles. Chad saw a glint in his eyes solely reserved for fathers who bragged about their child’s academic achievements.
“I’d love to stick around,” Chad said in an jittery voice. “but I’ve really got somewhere to be right now.”
"It won't take too long, son," Gary said, waving him toward the table. "We’d have you out of here in no time.”
Chad saw movement from behind Gary’s left shoulder and peered beyond it, at the parking lot in front of the firehouse. Robert placed an old burlap sack onto the edge of the table and slipped his hand inside. Something inside of the bag jostled, making furtive scuttling sounds and loud hissing noises. He chuckled and slid his arm back out, clenching the thick furry neck of an orange tabby cat like it were a can of his favorite beer.
The cat’s second growl caught inside of its throat before spewing a strangled cry across the parking lot. It hissed, baring its tiny jagged teeth and whipped its tail across the air. It snapped its head to one side to free itself, but Robert kept his grip and held it up so that its eyes were reflected in the downward glare of a nearby street light.
Chad met the cat's gaze, saw the tiny flecks of sadness flickering in its piercing green eyes, and felt his skin prickle with fear. He gasped, feeling his heart palpitating with extreme. The fear pumping through his veins now churned into a tidal wave of adrenaline that freed his feet from the cold dark pavement.
He raced toward the table so fast he couldn’t remember ever feeling his feet touch the ground, and ignored the rhythmic sound of his contents shuffling inside of his pack. He stretched his right arm across the table, his fingers raking the air in a whistling arc when his left foot twisted around his right ankle and sent him tumbling back toward the edge of the table. The cat panicked, dug its back feet into Robert’s collarbone, scratched tiny frail divots across his right cheek, leaped out of his grasp and hurried off into the trees.
His boots scraping against the pavement for last-minute toehold, Chad cursed under his breath and crashed face-first onto the table. The table split in half and landed with a bone-jarring t
hud that sent waves of excruciating pain flaring across his hips. His backpack slid forward, jostling the contents inside and struck the back of his head, bouncing the tip of his chin off the table and rattling his teeth.
He sneered, rolled onto his left hip, rubbed the stars out of his eyes and glanced up in time to see a crowd gathering around him. His cheeks flushed, he met their gaze and sighed; beads of sweat coated the back of his neck and his brow and left lucid grilles stamped along the sides of his gray CINNICINATI BEARCATS tee-shirt. He extended his hand toward Robert, hoping he would help him but he didn’t.
Teagan, Lacey nor the sheriff even moved.
No one offered to pull him up. Instead, they drowned him in a sea of shadows and disapproving stares. His face twisted with confusion, he felt something soft and squishy under his right hand.
When he raised his arm to see what it was, a middle-aged brunette woman gave a deflated sigh and fainted. No one helped her, either (which wasn’t a surprise to Chad). Strings of bright orange pulp clung to his cuticles and lay like strange lattice across his fingers; tiny white seeds dotted his slick wet palms.
The anger in Gary’s eyes pinned Chad down onto the parking lot like fresh roadkill. He glanced down at the shards of broken pumpkin shells sprinkled around his feet and felt his throat constrict with fear. Teagan knelt beside of him, gathered a piece of broken pumpkin from the pavement and cradled it in her arms like a newborn; a lone tear slid down her right cheek.
“Are you out of—”
"Can I get some help." Chad pleaded, lying on the ground like a turtle lying on its shell.
“How could you?”
“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
It was then that he could feel Teagan and Lacey’s “offer” sliding through his fingers. Here today, gone today, a phrase he was so familiar with it should be chiseled on his tombstone.
It’s just a broken pumpkin, he thought to himself, not a dead goldfish.
Behind her, a chorus of whispers rose and fell amongst the townspeople. Some shook their heads in disgust, shedding a few tears of their own.
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