A Hacked-Up Holiday Massacre: Halloween Is Going to Be Jealous

by Shane McKenzie, ed.

  The house was a big, drafty thing circled by a wide flower bed that didn’t look to have been worked in years. A narrow porch ran half-way around it, and the front porch had man-tall windows on either side of the door.

  Inside, Preacher Judd hung his hat on one of the foil wrapped rabbit ears perched on top of an old SYLVANIA tv set, and followed the widow and her child into the kitchen.

  The kitchen had big iron frying pans hanging on wall pegs, and there was a framed embroidery that read GOD WATCHES OVER THIS HOUSE. It had been faded by sunlight coming through the window over the sink.

  Preacher Judd sat the bucket on the ice box—the old sort that used real ice—then they all went back to the living room. Widow Case told him to sit down and asked him if he’d like some ice-tea.

  “Yes, this bottle of FROSTY ain’t so good.” He took the bottle out of his coat pocket and gave it to her.

  Widow Case held it up and squinted at the little line of liquid in the bottom. “You gonna want this?”

  “No ma’am, just pour what’s left out and you can have the deposit.” He took his Bible from his other pocket and opened it. “You don’t mind if I try and read a verse or two to your Cindy, do you?”

  “You make an effort on that while I fix us some tea. And I’ll bring some things for ham sandwiches, too.”

  “That would be right nice. I could use a bite.”

  Widow Case went to the kitchen and Preacher Judd smiled at Cinderella. “You know tonight’s Halloween, Cindy?”

  Cinderella pulled up her dress, picked a stray ant off her knee and ate it.

  “Halloween is my favorite time of the year,” he continued. “That may be strange for a preacher to say, considering it’s a devil thing, but I’ve always loved it. It just does something to my blood. It’s like a tonic for me, you know?”

  She didn’t know. Cinderella went over to the tv and turned it on.

  Preacher Judd got up, turned it off. “Let’s don’t run the SYLVANIA right now, baby child,” he said. “Let’s you and me talk about God.”

  Cinderella squatted down in front of the set, not seeming to notice it had been cut off. She watched the dark screen like the White Rabbit considering a plunge down the rabbit hole.

  Glancing out the window, Preacher Judd saw that the sun looked like a dropped cherry snow cone melting into the clay road that led out to Highway 80, and already the tumble bug of night was rolling in blue-black and heavy. A feeling of frustration went over him, because he knew he was losing time and he knew what he had to do.

  Opening his Bible, he read a verse and Cinderella didn’t so much as look up until he finished and said a prayer and ended it with “Amen.”

  “Uhman,” she said suddenly.

  Preacher Judd jumped with surprise, slammed the Bible shut and dunked it in his pocket. “Well, well now,” he said with delight, “that does it. She’s got some Bible training.”

  Widow Case came in with the tray of fixings. “What’s that?”

  “She said some of a prayer,” Preacher Judd said. “That cinches it. God don’t expect much from retards, and that ought to do for keeping her from burning in hell.” He practically skipped over to the woman and her tray, stuck two fingers in a glass of tea, whirled and sprinkled the drops on Cinderella’s head. Cinderella held out a hand as if checking for rain.

  Preacher Judd bellowed out. “I pronounce you baptized. In the name of God, The Son, and The Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  “Well, I’ll swan,” the widow said. “That there tea works for baptizing?” She sat the tray on the coffee table.

  “It ain’t the tea water, it’s what’s said and who says it that makes it take… Consider that gal legal baptized… Now, she ought to have some fun too, don’t you think? Not having a full head of brains don’t mean she shouldn’t have some fun.”

  “She likes what she does with them ants,”

  Widow Case said. “I know, but I’m talking about something special. It’s Halloween. Time for young folks to have fun, even if they are retards. In fact, retards like it better than anyone else. They love this stuff… A thing my sister enjoyed was dressing up like a ghost.”

  “Ghost?” Widow Case was seated on the couch, making the sandwiches. She had a big butcher knife and she was using it to spread mustard on bread and cut ham slices.

  “We took this old sheet, you see, cut some mouth and eye holes in it, then we wore them and went trick-or-treating.”

  “I don’t know that I’ve got an old sheet. And there ain’t a house close enough for trick-or-treatin’ at.”

  “I could take her around in my car. That would be fun, I think. I’d like to see her have fun, wouldn’t you? She’d be real scary too under that sheet, big as she is and liking to run stooped down with her knuckles dragging.”

  To make his point, he bent forward, humped his back, let his hands dangle and made a face he thought was in imitation of Cinderella.

  “She would be scary, I admit that,” Widow Case said. “Though that sheet over her head would take some away from it. Sometimes she scares me when I don’t got my mind on her, you know? Like if I’m napping in there on the bed, and I sorta open my eyes, and there she is, looking at me like she looks at them ants. I declare, she looks like she’d like to take a stick and whirl it around on me.”

  “You need a sheet, a white one, for a ghost-suit.”

  “Now maybe it would be nice for Cindereller to go out and have some fun.” She finished making the sandwiches and stood up. “I’ll see what I can find.”

  “Good, good,” Preacher Judd said rubbing his hands together. “You can let me make the outfit. I’m real good at it.”

  While Widow Case went to look for a sheet, Preacher Judd cite one of the sandwiches, took one and handed it down to Cinderella. Cinderella promptly took the bread off of it, ate the meat, and laid the mustard sides down on her knees.

  When the meat was chewed, she took to the mustard bread, cramming it into her mouth and smacking her lips loudly.

  “Is that good, sugar?” Preacher Judd asked.

  Cinderella smiled some mustard bread at him and he couldn’t help but think the mustard looked a lot like baby shit, and he had to turn his head away.

  “This do?” Widow Case said, coming into the room with a slightly yellowed sheet and a pair of scissors.

  “That’s the thing,” Preacher Judd said, taking a swig from his ice tea. He set the tea down and called to Cinderella.

  “Come on, sugar, let’s you and me go in the bedroom there and get you fixed up and surprise your mama.”

  It took a bit of coaxing, but he finally got her up and took her into the bedroom with the sheet and scissors. He half-closed the bedroom door and called out to the widow. “You’re going to like this.”

  After a moment, Widow Case heard the scissors snipping away and Cinderella grunting like a hog to trough. When the scissors sound stopped, she heard Preacher Judd talking in a low voice, trying to coach Cinderella on something, but as she wanted it to be a surprise, she quit trying to hear. She went over to the couch and fiddled with a sandwich, but she didn’t eat it. As soon as she’d gotten out of eyesight of Preacher Judd, she’d upended the last of his root beer and it was as bad as he said. It sort of made her stomach sick and didn’t encourage her to add any food to it.

  Suddenly the bedroom door was knocked back, and Cinderella, having a big time of it, charged into the room with her arms held out in front of her yelling, “Woooo, woooo, goats.”

  Widow Case let out a laugh. Cinderella ran around the room yelling, “Woooo, woooo, goats,” until she tripped over the coffee table and sent the sandwich makings and herself flying.

  Preacher Judd, who’d followed her in after a second, went over and helped her up. The Widow Case, who had curled up on the couch in natural defense against the flying food and retarded girl, now uncurled when she saw something dangling on Preacher Judd’s arm. She knew what it was, but she asked anyway. “What’s that?”

  “One
of your piller cases. For a trick-or-treat sack.” “Oh,” Widow Case said stiffly, and she went to straightening up the coffee table and picking the ham and makings off the floor.

  Preacher Judd saw that the sun was no longer visible. He walked over to a window and looked out. The tumble bug of night was even more blue-black now and the moon was out, big as a dinner plate, and looking like it had gravy stains on it.

  “I think we’ve got to go now,” he said. “We’ll be back in a few hours, just long enough to run the houses around here.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” Widow Case said. “Trick-or-treatin’ I can go for, but I can’t let my daughter go off with no strange man.”

  “I ain’t strange. I’m a preacher.” “You strike me as an all right fella that wants to do things right, but I still can’t let you take my daughter off without me going. People would talk.”

  Preacher Judd started to sweat. “I’ll pay you some money to let me take her on.”

  Widow Case stared at him. She had moved up close now and he could smell root beer on her breath. Right then he knew what she’d done and he didn’t like it any. It wasn’t that he’d wanted it, but somehow it seemed dishonest to him that she swigged it without asking him. He thought she was going to pour it out. He started to say as much when she spoke up.

  “I don’t like the sound of that none, you offering me money.”

  “I just want her for the night,” he said, pulling Cinderella close to him. “She’d have fun.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that no better. Maybe you ain’t as right thinking as I thought.”

  Widow Case took a step back and reached the butcher knife off the table and pushed it at him. “I reckon you better just let go of her and run on out to that car of yours and take your ownself trick-or-treatin’. And without my piller case.”

  “No ma’m, can’t do that. I’ve come for Cindy and that’s the thing God expects of me, and I’m going to do it. I got to do it. I didn’t do my sister right and she’s burning in hell. I’m doing Cindy right. She said some of a prayer and she’s baptized. Anything happened to her, wouldn’t be on my conscience.”

  Widow Case trembled a bit. Cinderella lifted up her ghost-suit with her free hand to look at herself, and Widow Case saw that she was naked as a jay-bird underneath.

  “You let go of her arm right now, you pervert. And drop that piller case… Toss it on the couch would be better. It’s clean.”

  He didn’t do either.

  Widow Case’s teeth went together like a bear trap and made about as much noise, and she slashed at him with the knife.

  He stepped back out of the way and let go of Cinderella, who suddenly let out a screech, broke and ran, started around the room yelling, “Wooooo, wooooo, goats.”

  Preacher Judd hadn’t moved quick enough, and the knife had cut through the pillow case, his coat and shirt sleeve, but hadn’t broke the skin.

  When Widow Case saw her slashed pillow case fall to the floor, a fire went through her. The same fire that went through Preacher Judd when he realized his J.C. Penney’s suit coat which had cost him, with the pants, $39.95 on sale, was ruined.

  They started circling one another, arms outstretched like wrestlers ready for the run together, and Widow Case had the advantage on account of having the knife.

  But she fell for Preacher Judd holding up his left hand and wiggling two fingers like mule ears, and while she was looking at that, he hit her with a right cross and floored her. Her head hit the coffee table and the ham and fixings flew up again.

  Preacher Judd jumped on top of her and held her knife hand down with one of his, while he picked up the ham with the other and hit her in the face with it, but the ham was so greasy it kept sliding off and he couldn’t get a good blow in.

  Finally he tossed the ham down and started wrestling the knife away from her with both hands while she chewed on one of his forearms until he screamed.

  Cinderella was still running about, going, “Wooooo, wooooo, goats,” and when she ran by the SYLVANIA, her arm hit the foil-wrapped rabbit ears and sent them flying.

  Preacher Judd finally got the knife away from Widow Case, cutting his hand slightly in the process, and that made him mad. He stabbed her in the back as she rolled out from under him and tried to run off on all fours. He got on top of her again, knocking her flat, and he tried to pull the knife out. He pulled and tugged, but it wouldn’t come free. She was as strong as a cow and was crawling across the floor and pulling him along as he hung tight to the thick, wooden butcher knife handle. Blood was boiling all over the place.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Preacher Judd saw that his retard was going wild, flapping around in her ghost-suit like a fat dove, bouncing off walls and tumbling over furniture. She wasn’t making the ghost sounds now. She knew something was up and she didn’t like it.

  “Now, now,” he called to her as Widow Case dragged him across the floor, yelling all the while, “Bloody murder, I’m being kilt, bloody murder, bloody murder!”

  “Shut up, goddamnit!” he yelled. Then, reflecting on his words, he turned his face heavenward. “Forgive me my language, God.” Then he said sweetly to Cinderella, who was in complete bouncing distress, “Take it easy, honey. Ain’t nothing wrong, not a thing.”

  “Oh Lordy mercy, I’m being kilt!” Widow Case yelled. “Die, you stupid old cow.”

  But she didn’t die. He couldn’t believe it, but she was starting to stand. The knife he was clinging to pulled him to his feet, and when she was up, she whipped an elbow around, whacked him in the ribs and sent him flying.

  About that time, Cinderella broke through a window, tumbled onto the porch, over the edge and into the empty flowerbed.

  Preacher Judd got up and ran at Widow Case, hitting her just above the knees and knocking her down, cracking her head a loud one on the SYLVANIA, but it still didn’t send her out. She was strong enough to grab him by the throat with both hands and throttle him.

  As she did, he turned his head slightly away from her digging fingers, and through the broken window he could see his retarded ghost. She was doing a kind of two step, first to the left, then to the right, going, “Unhhh, unhhhh,” and it reminded Preacher Judd of one of them dances sinners do in them places with lots of blinking lights and girls up on pedestals doing lashes with their hips.

  He made a fist and hit the widow a couple of times, and she let go of him and rolled away. She got up, staggered a second, then started running toward the kitchen, the knife still in her back, only deeper from having fallen on it.

  He ran after her and she staggered into the wall, her hands hitting out and knocking one of the big iron frying pans off its peg and down on her head. It made a loud BONG, and Widow Case went down.

  Preacher Judd let out a sigh. He was glad for that. He was tired. He grabbed up the pan and whammed her a few times, then, still carrying the pan, he found his hat in the living room and went out on the porch to look for Cinderella.

  She wasn’t in sight.

  He ran out in the front yard calling her, and saw her making the rear corner of the house, running wildly, hands close to the ground, her butt flashing in the moonlight every time the sheet popped up. She was heading for the woods out back.

  He ran after her, but she made the woods well ahead of him. He followed in, but didn’t see her. “Cindy,” he called. “It’s me. Ole Preacher Judd. I come to read you some Bible verses. You’d like that wouldn’t you?” Then he commenced to coo like he was talking to a baby, but still Cinderella did not appear.

  He trucked around through the woods with his frying pan for half an hour, but didn’t see a sign of her. For a half-wit, she was a good hider.

  Preacher Judd was covered in sweat and the night was growing slightly cool and the old Halloween moon was climbing to the stars. He felt like just giving up. He sat down on the ground and started to cry.

  Nothing ever seemed to work out right. That night he’d taken his sister out hadn’t gone fully right. They’d gotten t
he candy and he’d brought her home, but later, when he tried to get her in bed with him for a little bit of the thing animals do without sin, she wouldn’t go for it, and she always had before. Now she was uppity over having a ghost-suit and going trick-or-treating. Worse yet, her wearing that sheet with nothing under it did something for him. He didn’t know what it was, but the idea of it made him kind of crazy.

  But he couldn’t talk or bribe her into a thing. She ran out back and he ran after her and tackled her, and when he started doing to her what he wanted to do, out beneath the Halloween moon, underneath the apple tree, she started screaming. She could scream real loud, and he’d had to choke her some and beat her in the head with a rock. After that, he felt he should make like some kind of theft was at the bottom of it all, so he took all her Halloween candy.

  He was sick thinking back on that night. Her dying without no God-training made him feel lousy. And he couldn’t get those TOOTSIE ROLLS out of his mind. There must have been three dozen of them. Later he got so sick from eating them all in one sitting that to this day he couldn’t stand the smell of chocolate.

  He was thinking on these misfortunes, when he saw through the limbs and brush a white sheet go by.

  Preacher Judd poked his head up and saw Cinderella running down a little path going, “Wooooo, wooooo, goats.”

  She had already forgotten about him and had the ghost thing on her mind.

  He got up and crept after her with his frying pan. Pretty soon she disappeared over a dip in the trail and he followed her down.

  She was sitting at the bottom of the trail between two pines, and ahead of her was a clear lake with the moon shining its face in the water. Across the water the trees thinned, and he could see the glow of lights from a house. She was looking at those lights and the big moon in the water and was saying over and over, “Oh, priddy, priddy.”

  He walked up behind her and said, “It sure is, sugar,” and he hit her in the head with the pan. It gave a real solid ring, kind of like the clap of a sweet church bell. He figured that one shot to the bean was sufficient, since it was a good overhand lick, but she was still sitting up and he didn’t want to be no slacker about things, so he hit her a couple more times, and by the second time, her head didn’t give a ring, just sort of a dull thump, like he was hitting a thick, rubber bag full of mud.