“So, how’ll you pull that off?”
Angela flashed Tommy a mischievous grin. “Right now, by beating you into the water.”
She stood up without hesitation and took off. Tommy was right behind her. She dashed across the beach as fast as her legs could carry her and then leapt from the rocks. Tucking her knees to her chest, she plunged beneath the water. As it washed over her she felt soothed by its coolness, especially on a day bright as this one. She wanted to bathe in that feeling forever.
She never came back up.
This story originally appeared in Unnatural Disasters, edited by Daniel Pyle. To read more about Robert Duperre, who lives in Connecticut and edited this collection, please visit http://theriftonline.com.
THE CANDLE EATERS
by K. Allen Wood
Katie Adams cut a white swath through the dark of the woods, a ghost to all but the dead.
The crisp night air was its own special vintage, and it soothed her lungs as she weaved between the shadows. A soft breeze caressed her with the smells of October: smoldering brush piles; damp, hungry soil; the breath of cold brick chimneys just waking from their summer-long slumber.
It was her favorite time of the year. The in-between, when the bushes and trees strutted their autumn wardrobes and the wind endlessly whispered the promise of winter.
She emerged from the woods and into a field on the edge of Farmington Circle. The tall grass and weeds whipped across her thighs as she ran toward the small isolated community of Bridgetown Pines.
As she reached the sidewalk, she slowed and caught her breath. She plucked a few sticky burrs from the tattered sheets that made up her ghostly costume and cast them away. Under the canopy of oaks that lined the street, Katie let the beauty of twilight calm her. Like a cleansing rain, the night descended and washed away her loneliness, the anger she harbored toward her mother, and the fear of what lay ahead now that her father was gone.
Grief and regret were such destructive things, parasitical emotions that feasted upon sorrow and pain. Katie had learned this the hard way, having played host to the vile things for the past six months, worrying over what could have been done differently, words that could have been said more often. But she had found no answers in what could have been, only in what was. So she’d fought back, fought hard, and though her battle was yet won, though she still struggled with the pain and anger and despair, she had a stranglehold on her suffering.
And she wasn’t letting go.
Her mother, on the other hand, had given up, given in to the crippling heartache that weighed down upon them both. Katie felt as though she’d shed more tears for the metaphorical loss of her mother than for the real, knife-to-the-heart passing of her father.
Tonight, though, this final October night, she would let it all go, for however brief a moment. Tonight she would once again embrace the wonders of childhood.
For some reason, however, as she continued down the street, her empty pillowcase swinging at her side, Katie had the strange feeling that something was amiss, as if the shadows held secrets best left in the dark. The neighborhood beyond was dead calm, as always; the lawns and shrubbery immaculately groomed and swaying gently in the breeze, but somehow…wrong. The knotted fingers of the trees seemed to loom a bit closer. The symphony of night sounds—insects, birds, small animals rustling in the leaves—was hushed.
Goose bumps prickled her skin. She picked up her pace.
She tried to push her unease aside, ascribe it to overactive imagination, but the feeling dogged her all the way to 18 Farmington Circle, where it vanished like morning mist.
Katie skipped up the driveway—perhaps a little faster than normal—and onto the cobblestone path leading to the side door. Twin wicker chairs sat empty on the wooden patio, a deck of cards splayed on the table between them as if ghosts were enjoying an evening game of Rummy. On the door before her hung a WELCOME sign haloed by an autumnal wreath, its faux berries like clusters of dark beady eyes. Under their scrutinizing gaze, she rang the doorbell.
She glanced over her shoulder, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and wondered what could have made her feel as though something lurked among the shadows. Knowing the truth of things, she supposed, coming to know the reality of the world, the insidious truth that childhood innocence had kept hidden from her for seventeen years, until it was swiftly revealed in the most agonizing of ways. Loved ones didn’t live forever; best friends would sometimes become enemies; and worst of all, life had razor-sharp, poison-filled fangs that could pierce the human heart—her heart. And Katie knew, looking back the way she’d come, literally and figuratively, that darkness always reigned beyond the light.
It wasn’t just something that was different. Everything was different.
The door opened and the scent of spiced apples washed over her. Katie turned, closed her eyes and breathed it in. It reminded her of home, of sweet hugs and cookies in the oven. It reminded her of better times.
“Katie! Come in, come in.” Mrs. Hapler opened the door wide. “Matthew will be right down.”
Mrs. Hapler was made of sweetness and joy, the kind of woman you loved within minutes of meeting her, as if you’d known her your whole life. Katie smiled, but before stepping inside, she held out her pillowcase…
“Trick or treat?”
Looking dismayed and out of character, Mrs. Hapler frowned. “Matthew didn’t tell you, did he? Never mind. I’m not surprised. Unfortunately, dear, we don’t have any candy.”
“Well, that’s too bad.” Katie stepped inside and Mrs. Hapler closed the door behind her. “Trick it is, then. May I borrow a roll of toilet paper?”
Mrs. Hapler laughed, warm and friendly. “Don’t you even think about!” She opened the refrigerator and removed a Diet Coke. “We don’t usually get trick-or-treaters here—you know how it is—so Harold and I are going out to dinner at Cassandra’s and then catching a late movie. If he ever gets out of the shower, that is. Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“We bought candy our first year here, and no one came. Can you believe that?”
Katie nodded. Bridgetown Pines hadn’t been conceived as a retirement community, but for all intents and purposes it had become one. The average age of its residents was just shy of dead. Few children ventured this far north of the city in hopes of getting a handful of wintergreen mints from a few old curmudgeons. And getting a handful of mints was a best-case scenario. The Haplers were the oddity of the neighborhood, still young and sprightly in their forties. Matt was the only kid on the block.
“Not a single person,” Mrs. Hapler continued. She tapped the top of the soda can twice, opened it, and took a sip. “And with that big bowl of candy sitting on the table taunting us—I swear Harold and I gained ten pounds a day until it was all gone.” She laughed. “But now with his diabetes and all…well, you understand.”
Katie’s face must have reflected the sadness she’d not yet found a way to hide when she was reminded of her father’s passing, for Mrs. Hapler walked over, wrapped her in a loving embrace, and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry, dear. I wasn’t thinking.”