A Halloween Story

A Halloween Story

I walk down the street, enjoying the crisp autumn air, the crunch of leaves under my beat-up sneakers, the smell of people burning their raked up leaves. I sigh.
Fall is my favorite time of the year, regardless of school starting. I look at the jack-o-lanterns, leering from their porches, as if to say, “Go away! This is my place.” And then I'm at my house, with its fake cobwebs, (or at least I hope their fake!) our smiling jack-o-lanterns, which look weird with the cardboard tombstones, plastic skeletons, and rubber body parts scattered around the yard. I walk up the porch steps, open the front door, and am greeted by my mother and a cup of hot cider.
“So have you decided what you’re going to be for Halloween?” my mom inquires. I nod, my mouth tingling with the warmth of the cider. “What?” I swallow, allowing time fir the sweet liquid to channel down my throat.
“I’ve decided to be a-” then the phone rings, cutting me off. My mother holds up one finger, indicating “One moment, I have to take this.” I nod, sip more cider, and thank God that I have a few more minutes to think.
Then my mom is done, she asks again. I finish my cider before replying. “I’ve decided to be a plate of spaghetti.” My mom looks at me, smiling. I know she likes it when I think outside the box. (which is, like, never) And I think a plate of spaghetti is about as far from the box as it gets. Then I have to go upstairs to do my homework, because even a week from Halloween, teachers assign homework. Blegh.
When i finish my homework, its dinner time, and I smell good things coming from the kitchen. My mom is a fabulous cook. I walk down the stairs to the kitchen.
“Is Dad home yet?” My mom nods, stirring some cheese into some macaroni. “Where?” She indicates the living room. I sigh. “I shoulda figured. It’s football season.” I walk into the living room and hug my dad. He hugs me, quickly then his eyes travel back to the TV. I double-sigh, and tell him dinner’s ready. He nods and waves his hand absent-mindedly. I roll my eyes, and tell him its the end of the world, and the state of Nevada is about to blow up. He nods and waves. I roll my eyes again and walk into the kitchen to help mom finish dinner.
When we’ve have gotten dad away from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, and we’re finished eating, I go to my computer to IM my friends. I tell them I'm going as a plate of spaghetti, and that I'm still going trick-or-treating this year, and are they going?
About half say they are. We all agree to go together.
By then my crummy cardboard costume is done. And its about seven, so I dress warmly and put on the spaghetti on a plate costume. Then me and my big empty bag walk out the door.
I meet up with my friends at our usual place, in front of the Jenkins's house. They always give out the best candy, whole candy bars. We walk down the driveways, ringing doorbells, yelling, "TRICK-OR-TREAT" in suspecting faces, holding out bowls, plastic pumpkins or plastic cauldrons full of brightly wrapped miniature candy bars.
Of course, since there's no adult monitoring our every movement, we go on until our bags are full to bursting, and our feet hurt. Then we walk home, spastic on sugar and eating more. I had already confirmed with my mom that I was bringing my best friend, so we walk to my house.

We spend the night eating candy, watching horror movies and playing giggly girl games. Thank god it's a Friday. I will have such a sugar hangover tomorrow. My dad raps on the door and tells us to turn it down or go o sleep. We turn down the screaming TV.
"I know!" My best friend says when the movie is done. "Let's summon a spirit!"
"I dunno," I say.
"Come on! What could it hurt?"
"Did you not pay attention to that movie?" She shrugs.
"No."
"I figured." I eventually agree, and we prepare everything. Then we grab hands, and close our eyes. We chant what the people in the movie chanted, and a cold feeling washes through me. I crack an eye open to see a specter, bathed in a eerie light.
It's not even human. I shut my eye again as I recognize the ghost before me. It's the spirit of my late dog, Patched. We put him down because he was epileptic. Tears slide noiselessly down my cheeks as I feel his now cold, wet tongue on my face.
I never tell anyone about my encounter with the spirit world, just that the whole experience freaked me out. I always stay in on Halloween, kinda hoping, kinda not that my favorite dog will visit me again.