Halloween
Halloween was coming.
The morning air had turned crisp and cool and dried leaves covered the ground. The boy, cheeks red from the chilly air, was sitting in the front passenger seat. He was looking first at his reflection in the side-view mirror and then across the street,
to the neighbor’s houses which were already decorated with pumpkins, skeletons, orange and black streamers and mock spider webs.
He glanced up, towards his own house, and saw his mother lock and close the front door and begin to start walking toward their car.
His gaze fell from his mother’s figure and back to the decorations on the houses across the street. One decoration in particular, a cardboard spider of some sort with long hairy legs and large dripping fangs caught his attention. Despite the large menacing fangs, which the boy knew probably held poison that could kill a little boy like him in a minute if he were bitten, the spider wore a large, goofy smile.
The boy was still staring at the spider, and a cardboard witch that was plastered on the wall next to it, when his mother climbed into the car and started the engine. His mother mumbled something about the car being cold and needing to have to warm up, but the boy ignored her, for the most part, as he was entranced with the decorations.
He’d heard of witches before. He even knew one.
A boy in his class, Eddie, said the old black lady who used to always walk down Main Street, was a witch. All the kids knew her only as Old Lady Robinson.
She always carried a large, gnarled stick with her and it was rumored that she used it to hit naughty boys and teenagers who teased her because she was black..and because she was different…because she was a witch.
The little boy knew a lot about being different. He knew he wasn’t like other kids and this made him often feel very scared and very alone.
The boy also knew about Old Lady Robinson. He’d seen her one day, up close, when he’d once taken a trip to the drugstore with his grandmother. She dressed in rags, and she didn’t really smell too good.
That day, in the drugstore, as he stood by his grandmother’s side, Old Lady Robinson caught him stealing a glance at her. She turned and faced him directly, her old, mean-looking eyes looking straight through him, into his very heart. She smiled at him at first, and then suddenly scowled at him and..ever so slightly…..raised her old gnarled stick at him.
His grandmother never even noticed what had happened.
The kids all say Old Lady Robinson used to be very rich and very beautiful. Even
white men got lost in her beauty, which was practically unheard of in his town. The kids
all said this changed one day when a fire gutted Old Lady Robinson’s house. The kids said Old Lady Robinson lost everything in that fire. The kids all said she even lost a son, who was burned alive in the fire. The kids all said Old Lady Robinson made a deal with the devil to try to get her son back. The kids all said the devil paid her back, that he made her old and ugly and that she never got her son back.
The kids all said Old Lady Robinson liked to bring little boys home with her. And if those little boys weren’t nice she would boil them alive and eat their flesh from the bones.
But the boy didn’t care about Old Lady Robinson today.
Today he was excited about Halloween, there would be parties at school and
then trick-or-treating that night. So as he idly stared at the spider and witch decorations
across the street, while his mother re-started the engine, he made up a small poem about the decorations and about Halloween.
He said the poem out loud, quietly to himself, not really remembering what he said as he said it because he hadn’t learned to write yet like the older kids in the higher grades at his school
As his mother backed the car out of their driveway, she looked at him wistfully and asked in a cheery voice, “What did you say sweetheart?”
His mother’s voice snapped him from his daydream and he looked at her for a moment.
“What Mommy?” he asked her.
“I think you heard me,” his mom said, her voice still cheerful, but changing a little bit.
“I didn’t hear you Mommy,” the boy replied, wanting her to believe him.
“I asked you what you were saying,” she replied, all cheer gone from her voice now.
“You were looking over at the house across the street.”
“I was just looking at their decorations,” he said meekly, as he began to wish he had kept the poem to himself.
“But what did you say?” his mother asked, raising her voice now.
He didn’t answer. He was scared. It scared him when his mother yelled.
“I’m talking to you dammit,” she yelled this time.
“I was just saying a poem Mommy,” he replied, close to the verge of tears.
“Are you crying?” she asked. “Oh for God’s sake. I ask you one little question and you’re going to cry now. Jesus,” she muttered exasperated.
“I’m not crying Mommy,” he said, his own young voice, cracking a little.
His mother seemed to re-compose herself a little and they drove in silence.
“Would you tell me your poem?” she asked him, this time her cheerful voice returning some.
“I don’t remember it Mommy,” he told her. “I was just making it up. I saw the decorations, the spider. It was about the spider.”
His reply sent his mother back into a rage, controlled, but the boy could see she was getting mad at him again.
“I didn’t ask you what the poem was about I asked you to recite it for me,” she said, not yelling, but her voice becoming angrier.
“What’s recite mean Mommy?” he asked her.
“Don’t be stupid,” she yelled. “You know damned well what it means. It means to tell me the poem.”
“But I don’t remember it Mommy,” he said, practically pleading with her.
He tried forced his memory to remember the words to the poem, but he was too afraid. All his thoughts were jumbled and he shook every time his mother spoke.
“Don’t lie to me young man,” she said.
“I’m not lying Mommy,” he said, this time unable to stop the hot and frightened tears that rolled down his cheek.
“Bullshit,” she screamed at him. “You’re a little fucking liar. I won’t tolerate it. Two things I can’t stand in this world and that’s a liar and a thief. You’re father was a God
damned liar too, and now he doesn’t live with us because I won’t have that in my house.
Now tell me the poem God dammit.”
“But I can’t remember it Mommy,” he blubbered, as he sank deeper into the seat. He wished he could just disappear or even jump out of the car. “I’m not lying. I’m not lying. I just can’t remember.”
“You God damned little son of a bitch,” she screamed. “Don’t you dare lie to me again. You’re crying now, I’ll really give you something to cry about.”
“No Mommy, no,” he cried. “Please stop yelling Mommy. I’m sorry Mommy, I just can’t remember.”
She continued to yell at him until they pulled up in front of his school.
You’d better think about what that poem was because I want to hear it when I pick you up this afternoon,” she yelled at him. “That’s if I come pick you up. I should just leave you and you’re lying mouth here.”
“No Mommy,” he begged, trying to wipe the tears from his eyes. They wouldn’t stop falling. “I promise I’ll remember Mommy,” he added as he leaned over to kiss her.
She pulled away from him though and yelled at him, to just get the hell out of her car.
When he didn’t, she began to scream louder at him and, terrified, he got out of her car and began running towards his school, which seemed to be getting further and further away from him even though he was running faster.
Suddenly he stopped and looked back at his mother’s car as it faded into the horizon.
He turned around to begin walking back to the school and ran right into somebody.
It was Old Lady Robinson. Her hands didn’t have any skin on them. They were just bones, like the skeleton decoration across the street from his house. Those long bony fingers grabbed him by his jacket and shook him, forcing him to look up at her face. Her
breath smelled like dirt and there was only a skull where her face should have been. And
then her face changed….it changed into his mother’s face, but was blackened and scarred up, like it had been burned.
“You’re not going anywhere you little liar,” croaked an awful voice that sounded broken, and hollow in a frightening parody of his mother’s screaming voice. “I’ll boil you
alive and eat the flesh from your bones you lying little bastard. You’re Daddy lied to you’re Mommy and I ate him too.”
Steven gasped and woke with a start. He was bathed in sweat and his pillow was wet from the tears he’d apparently been crying in his sleep. Sarah lay next to him, in silent slumber. The clock read 3:15.
Matt and Ashley were in the bed on the other side of the hotel room. They too were still asleep.
For this, he was grateful. He sat up in bed, and then rose and went to the bathroom, his heart still pounding heavy in his chest.
He had been that little boy and the pain returned with startling clarity as he remembered the bad days, the short time when his dad had moved out of their home. As he splashed water in his face, his chest began to heave and tears fell hot down his face. He remembered that day and how scared he was all day that his mother would not come back to school to pick him up, as he sat through school silently wanting nothing to do with Halloween any more.
All the kids danced and laughed and played, but Steven couldn’t enjoy himself. He was also scared that he would not remember the poem by the time his mother did return to get him.
He ambled back into the bedroom. He couldn’t shake the horrible dream any more than he could extricate the awful feelings and memories it evoked.
Why now, he thought to himself? Was it because his mom was dead? Was this what he had to look forward to, in addition to the nightmares from his past life, a lifetime of unresolved issues with his dead mother and hate for his father because he’d made his mom the way she was?
Sure, when they got back together everything seemed fine. There were no more fights and the birth of Ashley brought a new calm and peace over their house and in their family. But no matter how much things returned to normal, it did not erase the memories he had from when things were bad.
Something in his mind clicked and he fumbled in the dark fro the camcorder, suddenly remembering the “ghost” like shadow Matt had “captured” on film when he snapped pictures of Lester.
Steven flipped the camcorder on with his thumb and began to review the tape again. He was in a panic of sorts and the damned machine couldn’t fast-forward fast enough. Suddenly he found what he was looking for; the little old lady who had completely slipped past Sarah and Matt. The little old lady who lived next door to Lester.
He froze on her image, not knowing how he’d missed it before. In her left hand was a short, but noticeable gnarled wooden stick.
Old Lady Robinson had been old when he was a child. How could she possibly still be alive? Could she be?
The kids all said Old Lady Robinson was a witch. The kids all said Old Lady Robinson boiled and ate naughty little boys. The kids all said Old Lady Robinson would live forever because she sold her soul to the devil…
Steven took a deep breath and tried to shake these juvenile mantras from his head. He knew what he had to do, whether he liked it or not. It was time to pay a visit to Old Lady Robinson.
Can people be haunted?
This was the question Steven asked himself as he sat in the darkened hotel room.
Steven continued to stare numbly at the frozen image of Old Lady Robinson on the camcorder and at the pictures, on Sarah’s laptop, of the “ghost” hovering near Lester’s casket in the funeral home.
It was then that he realized he was torn between two pasts- both equally filled with horror. One was from a life he didn’t know, the other was from a life he’d forced himself, over time, to forget.
It was difficult to tell which one caused him the most pain. While the memories of his mother’s instability during her separation from his father seemed to awaken the terrified child within him, the memories and nightmares of war- although more distant and blurry- were no less horrifying.
For a brief moment, he found himself transported somewhere else, to yet another place and time. The heavy curtains were drawn closed and the room was dank, cold and reeked of vomit and smelling salts.
“Mommy?” he asked quietly, as he forced his small legs to carry him deeper and deeper past her doorway, into her bedroom. A retching sound came from the bed, in the center of the room and he heard something wet, hit and splash against something plastic.
“Just go away,” came a pained groan from the darkness. “I’m just a little sick to my stomach,” the voice, which he barely recognized as his mother’s, croaked. “Now get out of here and go watch TV.”
The retching sound, a gurgle caught in her throat, returned…
A hand touched him gently on his naked shoulder and he nearly jumped.
It was, gratefully, turning light out, but with the curtains still drawn the hotel room was still fairly dark.
As he jumped, Sarah, in turn jumped to and whispered, “Honey, I’m sorry I didn’t
mean to scare you.”
He got up from his seat and took Sarah into his arms, not noticing that his cheeks were still moist from tears.
“Oh baby,” she whispered. “What’s the matter? Did you have another nightmare.”
But he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t reply. His body convulsed as he began to sob and he tried to bury himself in Sarah’s embrace. All he could do was nod
Eventually, he finally replied, between gasps of air, “I think I’m losing my mind. I
don t think I can follow through with all of this. I’m afraid I’ll be destroyed in the process.”
They quietly dressed, left the room and went downstairs for continental breakfast
Sarah grabbed a bran muffin and some fruit and Steven grabbed some coffee.
He told her about his nightmares, all of them, and told her what he could remember from the time of his parents temporary split.
“I can’t believe I’ve kept it all buried for so long,” he said lowly, with a sigh, as he
poured himself another cup of coffee. “That’s why I left home when I did. That’s why I left and never looked back.”
“Jesus, I can imagine,” Sarah said, not really knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. How can a parent, how can a mother do that those sort of things to a child?”
“She was crazy,” he replied.
“I hate her for what she’s done to you,” Sarah finally said flatly.
“I think hate, at this point, is a waste of time. She’s dead, she doesn’t have to worry about it any more. Fucking convenient if you ask me.”
Just then Steven’s cell phone rang.
“I’m sorry,” he said to Sarah.
“No, no, take it,” she said. “I have to go to the restroom anyway honey.”
Sarah rose to leave and Steven answered his cell phone.
“Steven?” a voice asked.
“Speaking” he replied.
“This is Detective Faciane,” the voice replied. “Happy Halloween.”
“Huh,” Steven said, caught a little off guard.
“It’s October 31 today, Halloween,” Faciane said. “Guess that kinda makes what I’m calling about sort of appropriate.”
“What’s up?” Steven asked.
“Well I know this is something we talked about before but the toxicology results finally came back from the state crime lab. Would you rather come down to hear this or
do you mind if I just tell you over the phone?”
“The phone is fine,” Steven replied. “Unless you found something unusual.”
“It is and isn’t,” Faciane said. “Neither of your parents had any alcohol in their system.”
“That’s good to know,” Steven said, thinking about the empty Jack Daniels bottle.
“You father’s toxicology results came back clean as a whistle,” Faciane continued.
“That’s promising I guess,” Steven said.
“Yes, it is because your father was driving the vehicle when it crashed,” Faciane said.
“I don’t think I’m following you,” Steven said. “In fact, I think you just lost me.”
“You’re mother’s toxicology results were a little different from your father’s,” Faciane said.
Steven could tell, even over the cell phone, that Faciane was uncomfortable.
“So she tested positive for,” Steven’s voice trailed off, purposefully, so as to allow Faciane to fill in the blanks for him.
Faciane picked up the slack, “She tested positive for a number of anti-depressants,” Faciane began. “Including Prozac, Elevail, Wellbutrin, Lexapro and a few others I’m not even going to try to pronounce. She also tested positive Klonopin, Thorazine, Valium and Xanex.”
“All that huh?” Steven asked, not really all too surprised, in light of the memories
which had surfaced over the night.
“There’s more,” Faciane said. “Flexoril, I think that’s a muscle relaxant. There was also Tranzene and Compazene, both heavy sedatives. There’s no way to really say this gracefully, so I’m just going to say it. She was like a walking medicine cabinet at the time of her death. I know you asked me to call if we found anything unusual. I figured this qualified. I don’t like making these sort of calls.”
“No,” Steven said. “You did the right thing. I kind of suspected as much actually. I knew she took anti-depressants. I even knew about the Xanex.”
“There’s actually one more thing they found, according to this report,” Faciane said. “There were only slight traces, but the forensic people are like 99.9 percent sure it’s what it is.”
“What was it?” Steven asked.
“Sodium pentothal,” Faciane said.
“Did you say sodium pentothal?” Steven asked.
“Yeah,” Faciane said. “Also known as truth serum.”
“How the hell did she get sodium pentothal?” Steven asked.
“I was hoping you could shed some light on this,” Faciane said. “For all intents and purposes, the accident investigation is closed. Since your dad was clearly driving, it’s still classified as nothing more than what it appears as, an accident. The crime lab guys are curious about the latter find. In fact, some sort of federal statute requires them to report this sort of thing with the DEA.”
“Is sodium pentothal even a controlled substance?” Steven asked. “Is it even real? Forgive my ignorance, but I always thought sodium pentothal was like an urban legend or
something; you know, like a finger in the sandwich at McDonalds.”
“It is a controlled substance, classified as a barbiturate,” Faciane said. “It actually has a few medical uses. It’s used as a pre-anesthesia component, and sometimes used to induce a coma. It’s also used, in combination with potassium chloride and a few other drugs, as a lethal injection cocktail in states with the death penalty. Apparently, back in the day, it was tested by government types, in the military and intelligence fields, but the results were inconclusive and folks started getting pissed when they knew the CIA was using people as guinea pigs, so they shut it down.
Steven felt a cold chill run up the base of his spine.
“You still there?” Faciane asked.
“Yeah, I’m just a little surprised is all,” he replied.
“So were the folks at the crime lab,” Faciane said. “This isn’t your run-of-the-mill controlled substance. It’s not like doctors walk around writing prescriptions for the shit.”
“So what does this mean?” Steven asked. “You said the accident investigation is
closed. Is there another sort of investigation going on now that I should be aware of? I
mean, what happens now?”
“My understanding is that a report gets filed and sent to the feds,” Faciane said. “What they do with it from there, I don’t know. Look, they told me I wasn’t supposed to even disclose the stuff about the sodium pentothal to you. It’s apparently that hush-hush. But I’ve known you since grade school, and you’ve always been okay in my book. I just thought you’d appreciate the heads up, especially if the feds pop up knocking on your door.”
“I do,” Steven said.
“In fact, I’d appreciate it if you never even told anyone we had this discussion,” Faciane said.
“What discussion?” Steven asked.
“Thank you,” Faciane said.
“No thank you,” Steven said.
