Three bags of candy and a clothesline.
The candy for any kids that might come knocking on his door. Snack-size Snickers bars, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, M&Ms.
The clothesline for later, because he had never liked guns, didn't trust pills, and knew that slitting the wrists was only effective when done just right.
Happy Halloween.
He stood with his cart in the long grocery store line. The checker wore a clown suit, all baggy spotted pants, frizzy hair, and bulbous red nose. Orange crepe paper had been strung over the aisles, and jointed skeletons swayed on long threads.
Would Laura take Mindy and Jim trick-or-treating? Were they, right now, happily carving jack-o-lanterns and hanging up construction paper bats and witches in the windows?
Sean eyed the heap of pumpkins and thought about buying one. He wouldn't even have to carve one; some came pre-painted with images of ghosts or vampires or bolt-necked Frankenstein monsters.
It might be days, even weeks, before he was found. It wouldn't do to leave a pumpkin to sag and decay on the porch.
He reached the head of the line. The clerk scanned his candy bags and his clothesline, took his money, rendered change β somehow handling all this while wearing large floppy gloves β and wished him a happy Halloween.
Sean managed a tight smile and headed for his car.
The neighborhood shops were doing a 'safe and sane' treat handout early in the afternoon, and the sidewalks outside were full of costumed children and their parents. Even some of the adults were dressed up.
A trio of college girls bounced by, turning heads and drawing stares. The blonde wore a 'naughty nurse' uniform. The brunette was a harem girl in gauzy pants and spangled bra. The redhead was Little Red Riding Hood in fishnets and miniskirt.
Only a year ago, that sight would have interested Sean. He would have watched with the appreciation of any healthy straight man, married or single, young or old. He might have indulged in a moment's fantasy, imagining himself taking the three of them back to his place for a wild night of acrobatic sex.
Not anymore.
Nothing delighted him anymore.
He drove for home, mindful that at any moment some little cowboy or ballerina might dart out in front of him. The day was properly Octoberish, with dark clouds seething and churning across a slate-grey sky. Wind whirled dry leaves in a riot of fiery colors. A briskness in the air promised a chill when night fell.
Everywhere he looked, he saw houses decorated for the holiday. Scarecrows propped up in yards. Jack-o-lanterns with candlelight flickering in gaping mouths and eye sockets. Papier-mΓ’chΓ© tombstones.
A dummy hanging by a noose from the stout branch of a tree.
It gave Sean a shiver. He couldn't help glancing at the bag in the passenger seat. At the clothesline. Three hundred feet of it, looped into accordion folds and girdled with a plastic wrapper. More than enough to get the job done.
The sky had grown darker by the time he reached his house, the sun behind the clouds and sinking toward dusk. The wind snatched at Sean's hair and collar as he got out with his purchases.
An ungodly screech made him jump. He spun, saw nothing, and heard it again.
The sounds came from a little park on the other side of a wooded greenbelt. More screeching and yowling mingled with cruel laughter, a shout of pain, and a curse.
Sean set his bag on the porch and moved through the trees. He emerged to see a group of teenagers. Five of them. In jeans and tee-shirts, some advertising metal bands, others with witty sayings printed on them such as "This is my costume" and "Just gimme the fucking candy."
They had a cat. Two of them did, anyway, struggling to hold onto it while a third and fourth opened a pillowcase. The fifth retreated a step, nursing a row of bleeding gashes on the back of his hand.
The feline, black as a felt cutout of the night, was putting up a ferocious battle. Its fur was standing on end, its green eyes were wild, its ears were flat against its skull, its sharp white teeth were bared.
Somehow, the boys got it in the pillowcase and tied the end shut. They clustered together, comparing injuries, while the cat in the pillowcase thrashed and shrieked.
"Hey!" Sean said. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Except that he knew. Didn't they warn people to keep their pets inside on Halloween? Especially pure black cats. He found it hard to believe that these punks were genuine devil-worshippers, but he wouldn't put it past them to get their malicious kicks by killing a helpless animal.
The boys turned toward him, their expressions sullen and angry and guilty all at once.
"What the fuck do you care?" one of them snarled. He had long greasy hair and too much silver death's head jewelry, as well as crude tattoos scrawled on his arms.
The five of them shifted position, and now they weren't a loose group of teenagers just standing around, but a tight little fighting unit.