WELCOME, GHOULS

1969

by

Cindy Rosmus

          “You’re goin’ out?” Mary’s Pop said. “At night?”

          “Trick-or-treating,” Mary said. “With Greta and Noreen.”

          In the doorway, Pop shuffled his feet, itching to get to Lenny’s.

          Figures, Mary thought. Just for spite, her Mom had told Pop before he started drinking.

          “You ain’t goin’!” he said. “Stay here, Baby, where it’s safe.” Mary’s mom smirked.

Mary fought back tears. Sometimes she hated her folks. They were as weird, and old as the building they lived in. Out of all the kids in St. Peter’s eighth grade, only Mary lived in a crummy apartment.

“All you need is more candy,” her Mom said, once Pop left.

Mary’s school uniform did feel tight. The mean kids always laughed at her. “Don’t cry,” Noreen had said, kindly. Their classmates hated her, too.

This year, Mary hadn’t even planned a costume. Maybe drape a sheet over her “Lard Ass,” and be a ghost. She couldn’t be Cleopatra, since she wasn’t allowed to wear eye makeup. Now she wouldn’t be anything.

“That’s OK,” Greta said, when Mary called. “I figured they’d say no.”

Mary was all cried-out, by now. “Me, too.”

“We’ll share our candy with you,” Greta added.

In a bowl by the door were fun-sized Milky Way bars. In case trick-or-treaters showed up.

Fat chance, Mary thought. Nobody trick-or-treated in apartment houses.

‘Cept for her. Years back, their building was the only place her folks would let her trick or treat. . . .

“Awwww . . .” Drunk Mrs. Luddy in 1C had said. “What’re you supposed to be, sweetie?”

In a huge pink dress, Mary wished she were dead.

“A fairy princess!” Mary’s mom had said, for her. She jammed a plastic wand in Mary’s hand, forced her to wave it.

Mrs. Luddy laughed hoarsely. “Ooooh, maybe I’ll win on the horses!”

          It was still early. Maybe trick-or-treaters would show up. Mary pulled a kitchen chair near the bowl of candy and eyed it, hungrily.

          Hours, she sat there. Around her, it got dark, so the shabby apartment looked like a haunted house.

“Get outta that yard!” her mom screamed out the window. “You kids don’t live there!” Mary groaned.

Her mom loved screaming at kids, period. One peek at the three tall ghouls told Mary they were unrecognizable. How would her mom know where they lived?

Most kids would scream “Fuck you!” back at her. These kids were silent. Mary got a bad feeling. She wished Pop were home.

A hideous face appeared in the window. They both shrieked.

This was no mask. The way the face churned, and sneered, made Mary think of demons. “The Devil’s Holiday,” Sister Stephen always called Halloween. Now Mary knew it was true.

Clawlike hands scratched at the window. At the same time, someone rattled the doorknob. Mary’s mom started crying.

“Where are you going?” she said, as Mary ran to the door.

“Mary!” Pop’s voice said. “Let me in!”

Mary’s hand froze on the knob. Pop never called her “Mary.” He’d called her “Baby” all her life.

“Let your father in!” her mom screamed.

And never came home this early.  Mary watched the doorknob jiggle as the scratching on the window got wilder.

“Mary!” Pop’s voice said. “It’s time to go trick-or-treating.”

He snickered.

THE END