Doorbells at Dusk

by Josh Malerman

  Ronnie didn’t like the witch. Didn’t like how out of proportion the big nose was. Made him think of Adam’s bedroom.

  Why?

  “You got it,” the crewmember said.

  You got it. Damn right Ronnie had it. Screw Claire. And you know what? Some of Adam’s friends had fine moms. Beautiful moms. Maybe today Ronnie could make them laugh a little, get a second little party going. And from there? Who knew? A little rum, a little coke, and maybe Tiffany Gold would end up staying the night. Maybe. Weirder things had happened. Especially for Ronnie Stern. Women and fun popped out of the shadows all the time. One of the biggest mistakes a man can make is thinking nothing extraordinary will happen, not here, not today. Hell, one time Ronnie met a woman in court. Figured the officer wasn’t going to show. He did show. But so did a needy little thing named Ursula, fresh off the boat. And Ursula had never been on his boat and thank-fucking-Zeus for that ticket. They went at it for three days. Practically roommates. Seventy-two hours of highs and lows that saw Ronnie naked on the dock at midnight, posing for pictures as the woman took them. That was a good one. A great one. The shadows, man. Woman and fun. Hell, Ronnie had more luck in unlikely situations than he did when he went out looking for it.

  So, screw it.

  Halloween. Also Adam’s birthday. Plenty of shadows from which to pluck some fun.

  He’d invited all Adam’s little friends and their parents, too. He even told the parents to bring whoever they wanted, because you never knew what might show. Wear the most scandalous costume you got! He’d said, but he knew nobody would. He’d ordered a huge cake, a mammoth sub, balloons, orange paper plates, black forks and knives. Yard games and the grill, cobwebs and plastic spiders. Clowns, too. Clowns were a good idea. Make Tiffany Gold laugh until her laughter caught the attention of the women on the lake. Like a lure.

  How much longer is this kid party going on, Ronnie?

  Not so long. Stick around.

  Why should we?

  We’ll do some blow. Smoke some grass. Boat our butts off after the kids leave. Steal each other’s faces out on the water. Got any acid, Carrie? I’ll do it. Let me just get Adam to bed. Of course he has a bed here. Has a whole bedroom. A kickass bedroom. Destroys the one he has at Claire’s.

  Ronnie brought his arms up to his chest and looked to the sky. He’d felt a chill so defined it was as if, in hindsight, he’d been able to see it physically cross the lake, come up his lawn, greet him on the deck.

  Adam’s bedroom. Why did Adam’s bedroom always freak him out? Was it because it was empty most of the time?

  “Ronnie?”

  He didn’t remember finishing his drink but there he was, slurping the watered down remains. Ashley stood on the lawn at the foot of the deck steps, holding a Frankenstein banner.

  “Hang it on the oak,” Ronnie said.

  He watched Ashley and her crew set up the tables, the cake stand, the chairs, the volleyball net, the fake coffin, the green slime, and the rest.

  A party unfolding like a XXXXX before him.

  “Where’s the birthday boy now?” Ashley asked, making sure each plate had a napkin.

  “Out front. On the phone with his mombie.”

  “Mombie?”

  “Zombie mombie.”

  Ashley laughed. “You’re terrible, Ronnie.”

  “Thank you, Ashley.”

  He entered through the back glass door and, for a moment, had the house to himself. But he didn’t like having the house to himself. Liked having women and fun in his house. Did all he could, always, to not have the house to himself.

  He crossed through the kitchen, took the stone corridor to the stairs, climbed them, and paused at his bedroom door. He looked over his shoulder, down the upstairs carpeted hall to Adam’s bedroom.

  The door was closed. Was Adam in there after all? Ronnie thought he was out front in the driveway or sitting on the hammock in the front yard, talking to Claire.

  But was he? Whether he could see into the room or not, it felt like someone was in there.

  Ronnie took a step toward it. Stopped.

  “Screw it,” he said. Then, louder, “Adam! Get ready, buddy!”

  He waited for a response, got none, and entered his own bedroom with a mind to take a shower, a loud one, as he closed the door behind him.

  2

  Seventy-five people, Ronnie thought. Wish Claire could see this.

  Oh, fuck Claire. Adam was having the time of his life. Dressed up like a little Ronnie in a red wig and a Hawaiian shirt (Adam had insisted), the kid was racing all over the yard with his friends, playing games that didn’t make any sense to Ronnie at all. Who cared? Ronnie was drinking, talking, hosting. He was also wearing those Groucho Marx glasses and using the grill spatula as a cigar. Just enough to play along, but not so much that he’d cover up his shorts or bare feet, giving anybody the impression he wasn’t up for some fun.

  Speaking of fun, the clowns weren’t as big a hit as he’d hoped. The kids weren’t interested at all. Maybe it was because they weren’t scary clowns. Maybe it was because they were obviously middle-aged men in makeup. Who knew? Ronnie caught one of them smoking a cigarette on the side of the house. Reminded the guy he was getting paid to entertain kids. The guy was obviously hung over. Bad shape. They all seemed a little hit. But what did Ronnie care? As long as they kept making balloon animals and pretending to fall down and hurt themselves, he couldn’t really fault them. Not Ronnie. Not with Paula Thomas walking around the yard in a pair of jean shorts small enough to be a blindfold. Part of her cowgirl costume. Forget Tiffany Gold. Paula was outrageous. Ronnie had to shake his head a couple times after looking at her, wipe the sight from his eyes.

  “You buy that place up north yet, Ronnie?”

  Dan. Fucking Dan Mickey. Dan liked to talk business no matter where they were and no matter what was going on around them. Guy would talk stocks at a strip bar. One time, back when Ronnie and Claire were still married, they went out to a movie with Dan and Beth. Back when Dan and Beth were still married, too. Halfway through the movie Dan leaned across the wives and asked Ronnie if he’d bought the Porsche they’d talked about last time they saw each other. Ronnie told him he had. Dan asked for how much. Ronnie told him how much. Dan asked if that was a good price. Ronnie told him he was watching a fucking movie here. No wonder Beth left the prick.

  “No, I didn’t.” Ronnie sipped a Corona. Dan Mickey wore a checkered tie. As if that counted as showing his Halloween spirit.

  “Why not?”

  “Didn’t sing to me.”

  Dan laughed. “You’re into singing now?”

  Two clowns ran into each other in the yard. Didn’t look planned. Looked like they actually ran into each other.

  “Careful,” Ronnie called. “I’m not paying for the emergency room.”

  “Happy Halloween,” Dan said.

  Ronnie flipped a burger on the grill. When he turned around again he saw a couple more men on the deck beside Dan. They were already talking money. Even at a birthday party on Halloween, all business these guys.

  They sipped beers and Ronnie flipped burgers and watched the kids play. Adam was racing through the yard, the party streamers in his hand drawing tracers in the air behind him like some wild acid trip. The clowns tried to play with him, egged him on. But Ronnie could tell Adam didn’t give a hoot about the clowns.

  “You believe these fucking guys?” Ronnie said to the others.

  “To think,” Mark Brewster said, “that this is how they make a living.”

  “Well,” Ronnie said, “it beats making a dying.”

  The men laughed but Ronnie was thinking of Adam’s bedroom again. As if their laughter came from the second floor window of his own house.

  A kid threw a rock toward a crowd of others and Ronnie raised a hand to say something but the kid’s mom, dressed as a playing card, came quickly and grabbed him by the wrist.

  “You do not do that,” she said.

  But you do, Ronni
e thought. You pull fun from the shadows.

  Music played through the speakers mounted on the deck. Seventy-five people made a lot of noise. Ronnie looked out to the lake. A handful of boats out there. Orange Halloween streamers on one. He checked his watch. How long did parties last? A few hours? Tops? He thought about Claire. Wished Adam was spending the night at her house.

  “Want a poodle, Mister Stern?”

  Ronnie looked to the foot of the deck and saw one of the hungover clowns holding up a flaccid balloon. Through the smoke of the grill and the poor application of face-paint, the guy looked like a mess.

  “Do I want a poodle?” Ronnie asked. The men laughed. Paula Thomas walked to the deck steps. “You like poodles?” Ronnie asked her. Her legs like gold pouring out of her shorts.

  “Not really,” she said.

  “Not really,” Ronnie echoed. “Neither do I.” Then, to the clown, “Sure, make me one.”

  Adam raced up to the deck, flew between the clown and Paula, raced to his dad’s legs and tugged on his shorts.

  “Daddy, Daddy!”

  “Hey hey, What’s up, spaz?”

  “Can we go swimming?”

  “Of course you can go swimming. Let’s eat first though.”

  “Then you gotta wait thirty minutes,” Dan said.

  Ronnie rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit. And always has been. We’ll go swimming after we eat, Adam.”

  Ronnie flipped a burger. Tiffany Gold joined Paula by the foot of the deck. Ronnie liked this. Liked the two of them together.

  The clown worked on the poodle.

  “That dog giving you a hard time?” Ronnie asked.

  He imagined all the clowns drunk at a bar the night before, throwing darts, doing shots, moaning about the party they had to work the next afternoon.

  “No, sir,” the clown said. He raised the finished red poodle.

  The women clapped.

  “Do another one,” Dan said. “Do an eagle.”

  Ronnie flipped a burger. Placed a hand on Adam’s head.

  The clown pulled out another balloon.

  Ronnie looked up to the lake, thought about Marla Meyer and Lana Ann. Fine women who would no doubt be on out the water today. The music was loud through the deck speakers. Maybe they’d hear it? Maybe they’d come?

  “I don’t wanna bird!” Adam said. “I wanna poodle!”

  “He already did a poodle, buddy,” Ronnie said.

  He sipped his beer.

  He looked to the shore where the boat born waves crested the grass. A man stumbled there, stumbled toward the party and the house, as if he’d just pulled himself from the water.

  “Who the fuck is that?” he asked.

  The man had one hand on his belly, the other raised, like he was reaching for the party, the deck, the house. Ronnie couldn’t make sense of his costume. Was he wearing long johns? Looked like it. Brown? Green? He couldn’t tell. Jesus, the guy looked out of place.

  “Fucking clowns,” Ronnie said.

  But this one was really something else.

  He limped through a slat of sunlight, just shy of the kids playing, parents gathered in wicker chairs on the lawn. Pieces of green paper were visibly taped to his brown long johns. Ronnie could see that now. Were there clumps of hair, too? Looked like he’d been sleeping with a cat.

  And a mask. A green rubber face.

  Wolf snout? Ronnie thought. Teeth? What is this?

  It was the most haphazard costume Ronnie had ever seen. Not lazy like Dan Mickey. Not poor like he himself had once been, when he cut holes in a bed sheet to join the middle school parade.

  It looked more like the handiwork of someone who never considered what others might think of him at all. A crazy man’s costume.

  “Jesus,” Ronnie said.

  “A bird!” the clown declared. Tiffany reached out to touch it.

  The man in green and brown, the man in the mask kept limping up the lawn.

  Ronnie felt a chill. Despite the heat of the grill and the heat of the day, despite the fact that his son was having the time of his life on his birthday, on Halloween, Ronnie suddenly felt downright cold. The man had reached the kids, through the party like a vision of a hobo, peeled from his rightful place down by the docks and placed here at Adam’s party.

  He was closer now. The snout was not a snout. Rather, a nose. A hag’s nose. A troll’s nose. Big as Adam’s head.

  Ronnie pointed at him with the spatula.

  “Seriously. Who is that?”

  Smoke rose in a cloud from the grill.

  “Adam!” the man called from behind the mask. “Adam!”

  Adam, Ronnie thought. He’s calling Adam by name.

  Adam turned to look.

  The man waved his raised hand.

  “Daddy,” Adam said.

  Ronnie set the spatula down. “Is this guy with you?” he asked the clown.

  “Us? No.”

  “Adam!” the man cried. He was halfway to the deck. He’d split the party in two. Every child watched him stumble. Every parent pulled their kid closer.

  Ronnie saw more of the costume now. The thick green construction paper made to look like hair. Or scales. Wrinkles in a rubber face. Eyes completely obscured by the folds of green skin.

  “Adam!” the man waved.

  “Hey,” Ronnie called, still pointing the spatula. “Who the hell–”

  But the man interrupted him.

  “Adam! Adam! I’m the monster under your bed!”

  “Ashley,” Ronnie said. “Get this fucking guy out of here now.”

  Two members of Ashley’s crew were upon him immediately. Two men in black gripped a shoulder each and dragged the stranger off the lawn. The man did not struggle. Only turned his disproportionate and wrinkled mask toward Ronnie and Adam as he was eclipsed by the side of the house.

  Ronnie looked up to the second floor window. Adam’s bedroom.

  I’m the monster under your bed!

  He knelt by Adam’s side.

  “Hey, buddy. Don’t worry. Bad clown. Shitty costume. Okay?”

  But Adam didn’t look convinced. Adam didn’t look anything at all. He stared blank to where the man had last been, by the bushes framing the path along the side of the house.

  “Don’t worry, buddy. It’s your birthday party. It’s Halloween. Some freak.”

  Adam raised a thumb to his mouth.

  “Oh Christ,” Dan Mickey said. “Your boy is . . . peeing, Ronnie.”

  Ronnie looked to the deck then leapt out of the way of the spreading urine.

  “Adam? What the fuck’s going on?”

  “Oh my God,” Paula said. She went to him. “He’s not okay.”

  Ronnie looked to Dan. “You didn’t hire that guy, Mickey? None of you did?”

  “Hire him?” Dan said. “Jesus, I don’t even understand what he was supposed to be.”

  “Supposed to be?”

  Now Paula and Tiffany both led Adam inside. Other kids were gathering by the deck to look at the piss there.

  Ronnie looked back out to the lake. Speedboats. Men howling. Women screaming.

  Adam!

  I’m the monster under your bed!

  Again, Ronnie looked to the second floor window. He should be mad and mad alone. But he wasn’t.

  He was scared, too.

  You’ve heard things in the house, buddy, he thought. And either you admit it now and face it or you go mad denying it.

  But what did this mean? What had he heard?

  “The police are here,” Ashley said, appearing suddenly by Ronnie’s side.

  Ronnie nodded. He followed her through the house. At the bathroom by the kitchen he saw Paula and Tiffany comforting Adam.

  “You okay, buddy?” Ronnie asked.

  Adam looked up at him. Didn’t look like he recognized him. Not at first. Then he nodded. A good solid shake of the head.

  Ronnie smiled. “That’s my boy. I’m gonna go talk to the police outside. Make sure that crazy man ne
ver comes by here again.” Then, “Cool?”

  “Cool.”

  Little red wig. Hawaiian shirt. Wet shorts.

  Ronnie felt tears in the distance. Then he was out the front door, walking toward two squad cars shining under the high Halloween sun.

  “Mister Stern?” An officer asked. There were four of them.

  “Yes.”

  “You had an uninvited guest?”

  “I did. Yes.”

  “What did he look like?”

  “Don’t know. He was wearing a mask. Looked like a . . . like a . . . ”

  He looked to Ashley for help.

  “Like a witch,” she said.

  “A witch?” Ronnie asked. He shook his head no. “Maybe.”

  “He didn’t take off the mask?”

  “No.” Ronnie looked around the neighborhood. He didn’t want two squad cars in his driveway. Didn’t want this scene. “Look, it was no big deal. Maybe check the doors? Check the windows? Make sure he didn’t try to break in?”

  “You think he might’ve?”

  “I don’t think so. I don’t know. Just check. If you don’t find anything . . . okay.” Then, “And make sure he never comes back here again.”

  The cops exchanged looks.

  “What?” Ronnie asked.

  “Well your security let him go at the head of the drive. They said he limped away, up the street.”

  “Let him go?” Then Ronnie nodded. What else should they have done? “Well go find him. And warn him. I don’t know. Scare the shit out of him for me.”

  “Did he say anything?”

  Ronnie hesitated. Then, “Yes, he did.”

  “What was it?”

  Ronnie looked to the side of the house, could see the very edge of the party in the backyard.

  “He called out my son’s name. Said, ‘Adam, I’m the monster under your bed.’”

  3

  The party wasn’t worth saving. People kept bringing up the stranger even when Ronnie asked them not to.

  “You’re gonna freak Adam out. Come on.”

  It was the last thing Ronnie needed Claire to hear. And he was sure she was going to hear about it.

  What’s this about a prowler calling out to our son at his party?

  It was nothing.

  Nothing? How’d he know his fucking name, Ronnie?

  There was a sign as big as my dick hanging on the deck, Claire! Happy Birthday Adam!