Amanda didn’t even attempt to do the fake cobwebs and dangling plastic spiders Jim usually decorated the porch with. He loved Halloween.
Amanda hated it.
She shivered now, looked down the street at a group of small ghosts and witches heading her way with their parents. Amanda went in, readied herself with the giant plastic bowl of chocolate bars and lollipops.
Jim had dressed up every year, answering the door dressed as a zombie, a vampire, a mummy. Always a monster. Always something slightly frightening.
The trick-or-treaters had loved it. Erin had always made a show of running from him as he chased her around the house, arms outstretched, reaching for her as she screamed in mock horror.
Amanda had hidden in the back of the house, claiming she had so much work to catch up on, or a migraine coming on.
“Trick or treat!” the little crew gathered on her porch now called. She forced a smile, opened the door.
“Oh my goodness, what do we have here?” she said, holding out the bowl. “A ghost, two witches, and — what are you, sweetie?”
The girl in the back stepped forward, into the light. She looked about five or six years old.
“I’m a chicken,” she said, showing off her cardboard wings with yellow feathers glued on. She wore a yellow shirt all splattered in red.
“And what a fine chicken you are,” Amanda said.
“I’m a dead chicken,” the little girl said delightedly. “See my blood?”
“Oh my,” Amanda said. The woman with them (too young to be a mother, surely — must be an older sister, or a babysitter maybe) gave her an apologetic you-know-how-kids-are smile.
Amanda spotted another group coming down the street. Older children. One of them wearing a rainbow wig.
“Happy Halloween,” she said, closing the door on the small children, wanting to lock it.
She went back into the kitchen, opened a bottle of merlot, and poured herself a full glass. The uncarved pumpkin sat on the island, taunting. She took a good swig of wine, caught a glimpse of her reflection in the dark window over the sink: a frazzled-looking woman in jeans and a black turtleneck, dark circles under her eyes. She took another long sip of wine, feeling it warming her from the inside out, and turned toward the pumpkin.
She could do this. And wouldn’t Erin be surprised when she got home and saw the soft glow of a grinning jack-o’-lantern decorating their porch?
See, your old mom’s not such a Halloween party pooper after all.
Amanda opened drawers and cabinets, pulled out a large carving knife and small paring knife, a big metal spoon, a plastic bowl for the guts, and a baking tray for the seeds because that’s another thing Jim had always done — roasted the seeds after sprinkling them with cinnamon and sugar. Erin loved them that way. “These,” she’d say, holding a handful of seeds, “are the epitome of fall.” Then she’d give a coy grin, clearly pleased with herself for showing off her vocabulary.
There was a knock on the door. Amanda set her glass of wine down, picked up the bowl of candy, and opened the door.
Not one but two Hannah-beasts greeted her, blue faces leering, smiling, rainbow wigs glowing.
“Trick or treat,” they said.
Amanda took a step back.
There was a third girl, wearing a white lab coat and big black-framed eyeglasses, just behind them. She said, “Dumbasses, you’re supposed to say boo! That’s what the real Hannah-beast said.”
Amanda’s breath caught in her throat.
Say boo.
Say boo, Hannah.
1982
“Say boo, Hannah,” Mel instructed as they stood on their first porch, holding open their bags.
Hannah’s face itched and felt tight from the blue makeup they’d put on, left over from Katie’s clown kit — she’d used up all the white and red on her own face, and blue was the only color she had left, so they’d coated Hannah’s face in it. At first it had been greasy, sticky as they rubbed it on. Now, as it dried, it itched.
The old man passing out candy stared at her, taking in her rainbow clown wig, feather boa, and silver cape. He asked, “And what are you supposed to be?”
“She’s a Hannah-beast!” Mel crowed. “Say boo, Hannah. Say boo and show the man how scary you can be.”
“Boo,” Hannah said quietly.
The man shook his head, laughed. The girls laughed too.
Hannah stood up taller, rocked back on her heels, and lunged forward like a snake about to strike. “BOO!” she screamed.
The old man jumped, startled. Then he frowned, muttered, “Crazy kid,” and closed the door in their faces.
The girls squealed, squealed with joy, patted her on the back.
“Nice job, Hannah-beast.”
“Holy shit, did you see his face?”
“Hannah-beast is scary!”
“Hannah-beast is crazy!”
“Hannah-beast is spectacular!”
They ran down the sidewalk, laughing. All the other groups of trick-or-treaters, all the adults on porches, turned to look their way.
The soles of Hannah’s pink boots clapped as loud as a horse’s hooves along the sidewalk. “The boots look good on you,” Manda whispered in her ear, her breath sweet with sugar.
They ran through the center of town, past the park where the Halloween party for the little kids had been earlier — the park where tiny ghosts and goblins and princesses had bobbed for apples, played pin the arm on the skeleton, and attacked a ghost piñata strung up with heavy rope from a beam in the center of the white gazebo.
They ran and ran until Mel stopped them at a house with a porch decorated with Halloween lights, several happy jack-o’-lanterns, and a patchwork scarecrow slumped in a chair.
They all crowded together on the tiny front porch with sloping floorboards, shoulder to shoulder, and it felt good, so good to be bumping against these girls, laughing with them under the Halloween wind chimes hung above the front door — little ghosts dancing, banging into each other, making music. They were like those ghosts, Hannah thought, smiling up at them.
They knocked too loud on the door, sang out, “Trick or treat, trick or treat!” and a woman answered, held out a bowl of candy, said, “Happy Halloween!” A poodle danced around the lady’s feet, barking in that little yappy-dog kind of way, a pink collar with fake diamonds glittering around its neck.
And the girls didn’t have to tell Hannah this time; she did it without being asked. She pressed forward, stood on her tiptoes to make herself taller. She held up her arms, cape flapping behind her, got right in this lady’s face, and screamed, “BOO!” which made the poor lady recoil and scream a little, and once she caught her breath, she asked, “What is wrong with you?”
“She’s Hannah-beast,” Mel said, giggling. “That’s what’s wrong.”
“She can’t help it,” Katie said. “She’s crazy. I’d bring your puppy inside if I was you. She might just eat it up!”
And Hannah bared her teeth and growled. The lady pulled her dog inside, slammed the door in their faces.
The girls all laughed loud and shrieking laughs.
“You’re the real thing, Hannah-beast,” Katie said, twirling around her like Hannah was the sun and she was just a little planet trying to get warm.
“I am spectacular!” Hannah crowed to the night as she flew down the steps, the others following her now, chasing her, calling after her: come back, slow down, don’t leave us, we love you, Hannah-beast.