The original Facebook post offered new Halloween themes for family portraits. Ruth was offering fifty percent off for first time buyers. It was no secret Halloween was my favorite holiday and Ben and I hadn’t had a picture taken with the new kids.. Well, since….. never.

He toted them to the car one by one and I followed behind, buckled each one in and then scooted to the middle of the station wagon’s front seat so I could be as close to Ben as possible and still see the kids in the rearview.

“Babe, they’re not glowing,” he could barely hear me over the blinker.

“Not yet,” he smiled, his hands slid over the steering wheel as we made the last turn.

Ruth stood waiting in the dark, her equipment set up and ready for the shoot. She encouraged a pose, handed me a rabbit skull, and placed two of my kids on each side of me; Jack-A, Jack-B, Jack-C and Jack-O.

“Beautiful children,” her voice quivered.

Ben stood proudly behind her as she snapped our pictures. He rubbed his chin for a moment then pointed a finger towards the sky. “I have an idea.”

“Ruth, give us a moment to work with the kids. They’re not smiling as they should. My wife will not be pleased unless they’re happy.” Ben said.

He took a knife and gave them eyes, a nose, and a big beautiful smile that lit up with fire. “Now, there.”

Ruth’s body shook with nervousness as the shoot came to an end. “Mr. and Mrs. Lantern, there’ll be no charge, on the house. I’ll send you the pictures as soon as they’re developed,” she gathered her equipment and ran to her car.

“I married you for this good cooking!”Rufus spun the remainder of his biscuit around the metal plate, sopping up the last bit of bean juice. “Come over here and sit on Poppa’s lap.” he backed the chair away from the table, kicking up a little dust from the dirt floor. Meredith wiped her hands on her apron. She hadn’t a choice but to oblige. She sat down. His hand went immediately to her swollen belly.

“She’s kicking,” Meredith said, she then put her hand atop his as a security measure.

“You’re just so sure it’s a girl, why’s that?” He asked.

“I have dreams about her,” the woman replied. “That’s how I know.”

Rufus pushed her off him. He scooted his raggedy boots across the floor, and stumbled towards the bed in the corner of the one room shack. “You don’t say,” he ran his tongue across his front teeth, sucking what was left of his dinner back into his mouth before spitting it towards his wife.

“I guess that’s why you have this thing!” He violently ripped the woven hoop decorated in beads and feathers from the wall.

“Don’t! She stretched her arm out towards her cherished gift.

“I guess you thought I didn’t know!” He reached for his pistol.

The door to cabin flung open. Rufus’s eyes followed a speeding tomahawk – missing his face by millimeters before it embedded in the wall. He didn’t see the next one coming. It landed right between his eyes. He fell lifeless to the floor.

His muscular, tanned arms lifted her off the ground. He carried her away from the domestic hell she had been sentenced to. It wasn’t as they’d planned but they knew it was fate.

He took one last drag from his cigarette, tossed it to the ground, and snuffed it out with his white tennis shoe.

“Sir!” he’d never forget the sound of her voice or the clicking noise her heels made whenever she walked. “No smoking allowed on the premises.” she hurried to him, pretended to kiss his cheeks, stepped back and looked him up and down. “Darling, you haven’t changed a bit.” she brought her hand to her mouth and softly snickered.

Neither had she, but he knew better than to acknowledge such. She still stood out in a crowd with her red dress, ruby lips, and patent leather purse to match. Twenty years, a prenup, and a divorce later, what he once found attractive was now tacky. Her royalty had always disgusted him, however, he did find pleasure in knowing that if she were to remarry, half of her fortune would become his. Old money and her endless desire to remodel and open her family fortress to the public was a brilliant idea.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Leo sighed.

“Walk with me.” she hurried ahead as he tried to keep up.

“What is it, Elisia? I have to get back to work.” he knew he’d made a mistake by agreeing to meet her. He stopped amidst the crowd waiting to purchase tickets for the grand opening of Castle Fantaisie.

“Duck!” a voice called out from the balcony, a loud pop echoed. A bullet swayed gracefully through the air, taking with it bits of Leo’s skull.

Months went by…….

“Do you, Yoshi take Elisia to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

Note to self: When you get a new home, do not eat the other fish in the aquarium.

Yep, that’s me…. You may be wondering how I ended up on this small rock island in the middle of Grandaddy Joe’s pond.

It all started about three years ago, I was a tiny little something, splashing around in a parking-lot puddle. My owner found me, picked me up, and I went home with him in a coffee cup. It wasn’t long until I was living the good life! I even got myself a granny! There’s something you should know about granny’s, they love you a bunch and feed you even when you’re not hungry. When I’d see her coming towards my tank, I’d swim back and forth real fast, just a little something to let her know that I loved her.

About this time last year, my granny went to be with JESUS and I haven’t been the same. I searched for happiness but nothing worked. I rearranged my tank, knocked over all my decor, flipped a few logs, and finally I scarfed down all the algae eaters that lived with me. Still… nothing! Not one smidge of delight.

I tried my best to find that place called Heaven so I could see my granny again. I climbed up the filter hose, flipped down to the floor, and landed on my back. It took me three hours to roll over, and another three to make it to the front door. If only I had the speed of a rabbit. I still find it offensive that someone wrote a book about my kind and our slowness.

When I did get to the street, the garbage truck nearly took me out, lucky for me, Larry the Trash man, took me to the closest body of water. There was a sign posted, “Grandaddy Joe’s pond – no trespassing!” Larry wasn’t Joe, but he took a chance at being on another man’s property just to save my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever make it out of here. If I don’t, I’ve made a place for myself under this little tree.

I’m content with my memories.

“Ahhhh, Miyagi son!” Jimbo hopped around Frankie, patted him on the back then blew smoke in his direction from the punk they were using to light fireworks.

Frankie choked. “Bro, chill! You know I have asthma!”

Jimbo bent down to examine the last smoke bomb. “Yeah, this one’s a dud! There’s always that one,” he turned to Frankie who was sipping on a bottled water, still trying to quiet his cough.

“Put it back on the ground! Do you know how many people have lost a limb dealing with those things?” Frankie spit the last bit of water to the ground. “For instance…..” he stood silently staring down the street. After a moments time, he pointed towards a rickety wood-sided, two-story home that sat nearly abandoned on the corner. “Haven’t you heard about Len Shun? The old man that lives in that house.”

Jimbo put his elbow on his buddy’s shoulder. “I’ve heard, but it sounds like a bunch of hogwash to me,” he nodded in the opposite direction. “Let’s go.”

Jimbo stuck the last, unexploded firework in his pocket. “Wanna have some fun – remind Mr. Shun what happened to his arm?” he took off skipping towards the man’s house.

“Jimbo, have you lost your mind? Why on earth would you want to remind someone of such a terrible accident?” Frankie shook his head.

Jimbo pushed forward on a mission to destroy.

“Nah man, I’m not going!” Frankie said.

Seconds later, a loud pop traveled through the air – along with Jimbo’s fingers. “I’ve been shot!” Jimbo screamed. “Mom! Mom!”

“You’re not shot! You’re mean, probably the reason that firecracker just exploded! You’ll think twice about harassing old people next time.”

A friend, indeed…. Frankie went home to get a bag of ice, hoping he could save at least one of Jimbo’s fingers.

Image source: https://pixabay.com/photos/house-fantasy-place-dark-gate-4917063/

She spun through the foyer, her long black dress carried away what little dust it gathered from the floor. Her dark brown hair, cut into a bob, held tightly to her pale white skin. The keys from the organ created a powerful noise that echoed through the brick walled home – no one sat at its bench. 

The hazy room allowed shadows of spiders to form from the unique patterned window designs. She danced across each, sashaying as she avoided contact with their make-believe legs. She gazed out into the garden, and raised her crimson drink to the perfectly grown red roses, outlining her property. 

Her dark persona reflected in her over-sized pupils – her eye color was void. Her heart was void. “If I ever loved at all, it was you that I loved,” she horrifically belted out the lyrics to what she referred to as a masterpiece, a song that she had written during a drunken fit. An emotion filled rant created minutes after Javier presented her with an engagement ring. She requested a large ruby, he obliged. 

Seven months had passed since she chanted her evil, casting Javier into torment. If he wanted her, it would be on her terms. “Sophie,” he would call out to her on occasion, hoping the two could reunite, if only for a moment. 

The organ released a note; smoke filled the air. “Javier,” Sophie ran to him. Her bright red lips turned upwards, her eyelids flickered in adoration. “Missed you,” she said.

He leaned to place a kiss upon her cheek, she quickly turned – his mouth connected with hers. Their passionate energy drained every living thing, the roses withered, rotted and fell limp, only to rejuvenate when Javier was placed back into the sacred place that Sophie had wished for him.

She rolled over, stared at the clock, and screamed into a pillow. The clapping thunder kept her awake – She had to be at work in less than four hours.

Finally, her eyes got heavy, she dozed off.

The whirling fan came to a halt, the television shut off. She jumped from bed. Feeling her way down the pitch-black hall, she tried to find a candle. “Dang-it!” her toe collided with a chair.

The chain bounced off the facing, she turned the deadbolt and opened the front door, falsely thinking an outside source would provide light. She stepped out into the breezeway. Patrick, from across the hall, opened his door. They ran smack-dab into one-another. “Fionna?” he said, bopping his flashlight against the palm of his hand. Finally, a beam of light made Fionna, in her sheer pink nightgown, visible. “Hellacious storm!” He stuttered. The wind picked up, wet leaves and rain attacked them. “Get in here,” he pulled Fionna back into her apartment. He canvassed the room, then coaxed her towards the sofa. “You okay?” He wiped the rain from her forehead, moving her hair from her face.

“My hero,” she chuckled. Patrick’s shirtless chest revealed his muscular physique, she wondered if he could see her blushing.

“Mmmm,” his thought – audible. “Sorry,” he said while handing her the flashlight. “Keep it. I have another one.”

Fionna stopped him as he got up to leave. “Apology – unnecessary.” They moved closer to one-another, their lips locked, bouncing from wall to wall, they stumbled into her room. Patrick guided her backwards onto the bed.

The lights flickered, the fan begin to spin, the alarm clock blinked, the television rebooted. The neighborhood lit up like it was Christmas! They sighed in disappointment, if it had only been a weekend.

She stood emotionless, gazing through the streams of water, frozen in a time which she would never be able to explain. Her arms hung down by her side, blood dripped onto the concrete from the tips of her sprawled out fingers. Her hair, wet and matted, part of which covered more than half of her sliced up face. A fine silk gown clung hopelessly to her frail and bony body.

What had she escaped?

Many whispered and hurried by, afraid of what her presence confirmed. Being careful not to wake a human response to a mysterious being, as if she were from outer space. The unknown never calls the weak, only strength-filled beings are prepared to fight treacherous battles for the most delicate of souls.

She remained alone.

Her mouth opened wide as silent screams of horror failed to exit.

Draped in fine clothing, his identity hidden behind a costume – his suit, tie, and…. degree. He represented the evil at an extravagant price. His movements, swift. A document fell from the manilla folder that swung back and forth with his every step. DISCOVERY, typed as a header, stared from the ground up – towards the woman.

She pulled from the bottom of her foot, a broken piece of glass that had pressed itself into her sole. It stuck with her every moment of every day since her womanhood had been violated by a violent rapist who had inserted himself into her….. life. She vertically slit her wrists, exclaiming victory in the case that came before the judge minutes before the eleventh-hour docket. She fell into the pool underneath the courthouse fountains, her body cleansed by the crystal clear flow as she took her last breath.

The busy room redirected from the outside mission to respectfully remove her corpse from the premises.

The gavel slammed against the hardwood.

Order in the court was gained.

“Top window, to the right.” Joana pointed. “He’s in there, I swear it. We were walking through the courtyard and out of nowhere, two men appeared, hooked their arms under his and carried him off. There was nothing I could do.”

“What’d they look like?” The policeman held a small pad and pencil, preparing to take notes.

“Tall, skinny, they had on black leotard suites, their faces were fully covered by ski masks,” she wiped her sweaty palms across her pants as she moved nervously in place. “Can’t you call for back up and just go get him?” She pleaded. “Martin!” She screamed her boyfriend’s name.

The officer had yet to write anything down.

“You’re wasting precious time!” Her quivering voice got louder.

“Am I?” He asked.

The cop’s sarcasm was too much for the woman. She sat down on the concrete and bowed her head. The ground soaked up her tears.

A soft instrumental began to play. The beautiful tune caught her off guard. The policeman reached down to help her back to her feet. Digital photos of Martin in different and extravagant poses began to project off the building’s columns. The music paused. Martin’s voice echoed from a loud speaker. “Darling, I’m on the roof.”

He parachuted down carrying a dozen long stem roses. Safely landing, he removed his gear and began to sing along with the melody. The romantic words, written for her, by him, acted as a marriage proposal. He held the last note long enough for her to realize his need to be seen was far too tiring and a bit embarrassing.

“No.” Her answer, simple. She walked away from the theatrics. “I’ll take a back seat to this performance.”    

THE END

He resembled a skeleton as he sat in front of a folding table, under a small tent. The ground was soggy from an earlier rain but the metal legs of his chair held him above ground just fine. He wore a black suit – a tie to match hung around his collar. His silver-framed glasses sat atop his pointy-nose, a mask, inappropriately, covered his mouth. He still feared Covid years after the pandemic had ended. It made sense, afterall, he was a funeral director.

A giant speaker blared “Oh come all ye faithful”, as the sun began to set. The cold winter’s wind blew violently, he pulled his stocking cap down over his ears, making his appearance even funnier.

A line of cars tailgated one another trying to make their way into the cemetery for this year’s Christmas Eve candlelight vigil, a simple way to remember loved ones on such a special holiday. The funeral home supplied the pre-lit candles in fancy wooden holders, the least they could do after all the stolen money taken from the weary during their most vulnerable times. He figured what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. He handed out steaming cups of cocoa to those who wished for a taste.

He opened the metal lid to his prefilled thermos and plopped in a few giant marshmallows from a plastic sandwich baggie he had placed in his coat pocket. The scalding drink splashed, sending him quickly backwards. His feet became entangled in an extension cord that fed electricity to the outside. He grabbed on to the table to prevent a fall but instead brought it down with him. Hot chocolate ran through the grass and onto the power supply, the combination lit up the graveyard and sent Mr. What’s-his-name to his own grave.