I've resisted writing a Halloween story. I'm not one for witches, werewolves, goblins, monsters, vampires, or gothic horror in general. I know it's a popular genre. It's just not my thing. I think the last film I watched, at about age 9, featuring a monster, a werewolf or a vampire had all three. It also had Abbott and Costello. I laughed my ass off and probably would again. This year, I had an idea that I think fits within my oeuvre and seemingly meets the criteria for the Halloween contest. Here's my shot at a Halloween Contest story. It starts out as a bummer, but I promise it will get better. Hopefully, I've managed to construct an enjoyable read with some heat and a bit of humor.
Once again, I wish to thank my favorite beta reader (and werewolf enthusiast), Ada Stuart, for her comments and feedback. Her assistance has been proven invaluable once again.
I'll Be There for You
Halloween was my husband's favorite night of the year. Even before we had kids, he decorated the front yard, the front entrance to the house, piped eerie music outside, and went overboard with the treats he handed out. He displayed a child-like joy when interacting with the kids that rang our doorbell. Any kid wearing an inventive costume or that he found entertaining got a special treat, usually a full-size candy bar rather than a snack-size treat.
This night was to be a special Halloween. As usual, the front of the house was decked out for the holiday and a truckload of treats was on hand. After a quick stop at the supermarket after work to pick up a few things we needed, he was taking our daughter trick or treating for the first time. I'm not sure who was more excited -- Malcolm or Annabelle. She was finally old enough to appreciate what was going on. Our son Tyler had just taken his first steps and was still getting used to his feet. Taking a few steps on his own filled him with delight. Every successful little walk brought a peal of laughter from him. I planned to stay home with Tyler and answer the doorbell for the kids that came to the house.
I was helping four-year-old Annabelle into her Halloween costume when the house phone rang. Malcolm was already later than he told me he'd be. I worried he was calling to say he was stuck at the plant for some reason. But it wasn't Malcolm. It was a Sgt. Pearson. A car ran a red light and struck Malcolm's car. The sergeant didn't have much information. Just that brief description of the accident and the hospital Malcolm had been taken to. I called my mother and asked her to meet me at the hospital so I could hand off the kids.
I couldn't get much from the hospital staff at first. All anyone knew was Malcolm had come in by ambulance and was being treated. When a doctor finally came out to speak to me after an interminable wait, he was kind and compassionate. But the news wasn't good. Malcolm's prognosis was grim. In addition to a head injury, they couldn't stop the bleeding from his other injuries. The trauma team did their best, but I needed to be prepared for the worst. Malcolm looked horrible when they finally let me see him, more than six hours after I got there.
Malcolm hung on longer than I could bear. I sat beside him, refusing to leave for almost two days. Crying my eyes out while my mother, father, twin sister, and mother-in-law took turns tending to the kids and sitting watch with me while I held Malcolm's hand. Malcolm's father was career Navy. A senior NCO deployed aboard ship somewhere in the Pacific, he was granted emergency leave but couldn't get home until Malcolm was gone. He made it home in time for the services, though, crying beside me.
I was half asleep when I heard whispering. When I looked up, Malcolm had inexplicably opened his eyes. He couldn't turn his head, but his eyes darted to me. His lips barely moved. His voice so soft I had to move so my ear was right next to his lips. Hoping to hear his words and trying desperately not to let him see how upset I was.
"I'll be there for you," he whispered weakly. Malcolm blinked a couple times then his eyes drifted closed again. A few minutes later, the alarm on the heart monitor sounded. Two nurses arrived almost immediately. One turned the monitor off and retreated. The other held me while I fell apart. When my sister came back from getting coffee a few minutes later, she thanked the nurse, and took over holding me.
The months after the funeral were a whirlwind of grief, stress, and a kind of parenting I never expected to face. I got a handle on my financial situation, which fortunately, was pretty good. An insurance policy paid off the mortgage. Other policies gave me a substantial nest egg. Although I had time, years in fact, returning to work was the responsible thing to do. I grudgingly accepted I couldn't remain a stay-at-home mom.
Intending to return to my old career in hospital administration, I researched and read extensively to learn about the changes in hospital regulations over the last few years. I updated my résumé and after the New Year, began interviewing. I found childcare for my children once I accepted an offer. Acclimating to the realities of being a widowed, working, not yet thirty-year-old woman with young children was difficult, but I was resourceful and tough. And I had family supporting me at every turn.
In the first months, the worst part of the day came after the kids were in bed for the night. When I could finally take a deep breath and let go for a couple hours. But that deep breath came with a sense of unease. Because at bedtime, I had to walk down the hallway to the king-size bed where I would be alone through another long night. To get some sleep so I could hold myself and my children together for another day.
I tried sleeping on my side of the bed. But invariably, when the alarm clock woke me, I was curled up on Malcolm's side, clutching his pillow. I eventually gave in and just climbed onto his side when I went to bed. For a while, I took comfort in breathing in his scent. But it faded away. Eventually, a night came when I stopped crying myself to sleep.
Gradually, I grew accustomed to the new normal. I missed Malcolm and thought of him every day. Annabelle struggled with not seeing Daddy anymore and didn't understand why Mommy had to go to work. Tyler seemed less affected. But there were times when he clung to me. He instinctively knew something was missing. He had to be pried away from my father's side when my parents visited, or the kids spent the day with them. My father-in-law, Henry, returned to his ship after his bereavement leave but retired a few months later when his current enlistment contract was up. He took a job as a civilian technical consultant with the same military contractor where Malcolm was an engineer. Tyler was even more inseparable from Malcolm's father. Probably because Malcolm and his father looked and sounded so much alike. Even their mannerisms were similar. Sometimes it was hard for me to see Henry.
Life settled into a routine. Work, evenings and weekends with the kids, some time with my parents, twin sister, and Malcolm's parents. The occasional night out with some of my girlfriends. Even though most of my girlfriends were married, had families, jobs, and their own lives, they didn't abandon me. None ever suggested I start to date, knowing I had to get there in my own time. And, of course, there were those lonely nights.
It was tough getting used to being at home without Malcolm. At times I had this odd sensation that someone was in the house after the kids were asleep. I ignored it. Meaning I ignored it after my initial panic. After I checked every room in the house several times, the first dozen or so times I experienced it. Ordinary nighttime house noises made me jumpy and had me biting my lip.
Late one Saturday morning the spring after Malcolm died, the kids and I returned home from grocery shopping. Tyler was asleep in his car seat. Annabelle was anxiously awaiting Tabitha's arrival, a girlfriend's daughter coming for dinner and a sleepover. I took the kids inside, set Tyler's car seat on the kitchen floor and turned on a PBS children's show in the den for Annabelle, then went back outside to cart in groceries. Mrs. Petridis, the friendly, late-seventies widow across the street waved at me as she got into her car. I waved back.
When I popped the hatch on my SUV, I saw one of the shopping bags had tipped over, spilling its contents across the back of my SUV. I picked up a couple things that fell onto the driveway and began bagging the rest of the loose items. Suddenly, some unseen force picked me up and deposited me on the lawn. Sprawled out on the grass, I watched Mrs. Petridis's car slowly roll backwards into my SUV.
Without giving a thought to how I ended up on the grass, I rushed to the passenger side of Mrs. Petridis's car. She was behind the wheel, slumped against the driver's door. I opened the passenger side door, put the car in Park, turned off the ignition, and futilely tried to get a response from her. I checked that she was breathing, then checked her pulse. It was difficult to find, weak and irregular. I ran inside and grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. I grabbed Tyler's car seat and confirmed Annabelle was okay as I ran past on my way back to Mrs. Petridis.
I stayed on the phone with the 911 operator until an ambulance and a rescue vehicle arrived, then went inside. Tyler hadn't even flinched at the sound of the sirens. I went back inside to get out of the way while the EMT's worked. A policeman rang the doorbell a few minutes later. The officer took a statement from me, wrote up an incident report and gave me a copy. I told him the name of Mrs. Petridis's son and daughter, but I didn't have contact info for them. He drove Mrs. Petridis's car into her driveway, sat in front of my house in his patrol car for a few more minutes, then drove away.
Once Mrs. Petridis's car was out of the way, I looked over the damage to my car. Some scratches, a crumpled bumper, a dent in the hatch frame, and a broken taillight. The hatch wouldn't close and latch. I took a deep breath and began to take the groceries in. The ice cream I'd bought for Annabelle and Tabitha was soup, but everything else was fine.
As I was putting the groceries away, I realized something about the whole incident was off. I didn't get hit by Mrs. Petridis's car. Though startled and confused, I watched her car roll the last few feet before it collided with the back of my SUV from my spread-eagled vantage point on the lawn. I was uninjured. I should have been crushed between the cars, considering where I was standing. That was when things got really weird. I felt something gently squeeze the muscles between my neck and my shoulders, and a tickle on my cheek like a kiss. And I'll swear to my dying day I heard my husband whisper, "I'll be there for you."
A chill engulfed my entire body. I looked around in terror. A still sleeping Tyler and I were alone in the kitchen. Annabelle was giggling at something on the TV in the den. I didn't feel the "presence" that I sometimes experienced at night. I still panicked. I dropped my cell phone on Tyler's lap, snatched his car seat, grabbed Annabelle's hand and ran out the front door, dragging my startled daughter behind me. Once outside and across the street, I called my mother and begged her to come over. She must have heard the terror in my voice and known something was very wrong.
"I'm on my way," she said.
That was all I needed to hear. I hung up and stood on the sidewalk, clutching my daughter to my side. Tyler, starting to fuss as he woke, was in the car seat on the sidewalk at my feet. I was still in the same spot, staring at the house and clutching my children when my mother arrived.
"What are you doing over here? What's wrong?" she asked, worry in her voice as she looked toward the house. Probably trying to understand what I was staring at. "You're white as a sheet. Are you okay? You look like you saw a ghost. Is something wrong in the house?"
I'd somehow managed to hold myself together until she said ghost. Everything came out all at once in a nonstop stream of blubbering, tears, and sobs. "I-was-bagging-loose-groceries-at-the-back-of-the-car-and-all-of-a-sudden-I-was-on-my-ass-on-the-lawn-watching-Mrs.-Petridis's-car-slowly-ram-into-mine-After-the-ambulance-took-her-away-I-brought-the-groceries-inside-While-I-put-them-away-I-realized-Mrs.-Petridis's-car-didn't-hit-me-I-watched-it-hit-my-car." Out of breath, I stopped long enough to breathe before I passed out. "I have no idea how I ended up on the lawn."
My mother looked confused. "It must have knocked you out of the way. How else could you have ended up on the lawn? Are you okay? You're not hurt?"
"I didn't feel anything hit me. I'm not hurt. No bumps. No bruises. No aches or pains. And that's not all," I cried. "While I was in the kitchen, puzzling over what happened, I felt hands on my shoulders and a kiss on my cheek. Then I heard Malcolm whisper to me. Oh, God, Mom. I'm going crazy without him. Now I'm imagining him taking care of me from the grave."
