I hate candy. I hate dressing up. I hate little kids. And I hate Halloween. So naturally, it would make sense for me to not get a costume or go out and celebrate this stupid holiday at all. But the weekend before Halloween night, I find myself being dragged out into the darkness on a spontaneous trip to the mall to hunt down a costume for a stupid party. My best friend Abby sits in the driver's seat, pressing her foot down as hard as she can, and we speed down the dark road, seeing almost nothing besides the yellow lines barely illuminated by the headlights. Remy sits in the back seat, leaning far enough forward to stick his head through the gap between where we sit.

“What are we gonna be?” I groan and lean my head against the window and the bumps on the road make me dizzy. “And aren’t costumes parties so overrated anyway?”

“Hell no, everyone who’s anyone is gonna be there.” She knew I was reluctant to come, yet she wasn’t even attempting to be convincing. I’m almost positive that I’ll have no fun at a party where I’m alone or third wheeling, like I do every time we do anything together.

“I really don’t feel like third wheeling you guys,” I whine.

Remy groans, “Do you need to complain about everything? Stop being such a-” He’s cut off by Abby screaming at another driver and laying on the horn. I laugh but I simultaneously realize I could die at any given moment, considering Abby’s lack of driving skills.

We enter the store to see scrambling shoppers struggling to pull together a good last minute costume. Abby and Remy are whispering to each other and laughing about costumes, and again I remembered why I hate Halloween.

~~~~~~~~~

The doorbell constantly chimes with grimey kids greedily begging for candy. I refuse to get out of bed to answer anyone. Although it’s a Saturday night, the last thing I feel like doing is stopping my binge marathon to attend a Halloween party. I hear the creak of the back door signaling Abby and Remy entering my house.

“Luna!” Abby and Remy howl my name in unison. I roll over, groan, and shove my head under my pillow. The two charge up the stairs and they enter my room giggling and out of breath. Abby’s face is covered in lines and fake blood, and she has a pair of cheaply made antlers shoved messily into her hair. Remy is draped in camouflage and holding a plastic rifle in his hand. Suddenly, I have yet another reason to despise this forsaken holiday. Gross couples costumes like these make me cringe. “Here,” Abby drops a catwoman costume on my bed. I didn’t even put it on yet but I can feel the elastic clinging steadily to my skin, and I’m just itching it pull it off.

I get ready as slowly as I can to stall time. Abby coats my face in thick makeup and I hardly recognize myself. She leaves my room and I pull the latex suit on over my head. I feel claustrophobic as it encloses me. But when I walk out into the hallway and see the two of them anxiously waiting for me at the bottom of the stairs, I have an instant rush of excitement. They both whoop, and for a second I don’t feel as uncomfortable as I normally do. I quickly turn and flip my hair playfully. Maybe this night won’t be terrible. Maybe I don’t really have to hate Halloween.

~~~~~~~~~

I hop out of Abby’s ruby red Fiat and slam the car door. She’s parked around the far side of the the cul-de-sac at the end of a long line of cars. The three of us follow a crowd of screaming girls, who have had way too much to drink, dressed as provocatively as possible. The house vibrates as music with heavy bass spills out into the streets through open doors and windows. Empty solo cups and crushed beer cans dot the dried out front lawn. It’s as if it’s a scene from a typical high school movie. Just a few people really fit together correctly, like a jagged jigsaw puzzle. But when there's alcohol, the jagged edges are sawed down and everyone belongs.

A steady crowd of drunken teenagers flowing both in and out clogs the doorway. Remy yells over the music to let us through, “Excuse me, I need to get in. I’m freezing my balls off!” To my surprise, everyone stumbles out of the way to let us pass by. Abby and Remy are immediately in place with the masses. When they walk away, I don’t follow. I don’t need them, I think to myself, confidently.

The room is dimly lit but bright enough for me to see everyone’s masked or painted faces clearly.  There are so many cliche costumes, cats, clowns, aliens, angels, devils, zombies. I feel constricted as if someone is forcing me to conform to social norms.  

I look around the room at the countless number of delinquents drunkenly dancing to Mo Bamba. “FUCK, SHIT, BITCH!” Everyone screams and the bass pounds even louder with the beat drop. Next thing I know, a cup filled with a raunchy liquid flies by me and lands on the floor nearby, and it soaks my elastic costume. My agitation skyrockets as I realize I now have to change. A boy immediately rushes over to me in a frenzy. His mask is propped up on the top of his head, but I can see the red and white pinwheels on each cheek. He’s the jigsaw killer.  

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” he panics as he stares at the stain on my chest. “I had my cup up in the air and my friend knocked me over and I threw it.” He jumps in again, “But it was an accident, I’m really sorry.” I feel my heart beat faster in my chest as I realize he’s good looking, in a dark way, with black hair and brown eyes that looked inky in the dim light.

“It’s fine, I don’t really wanna be here anyway.” I look down at the front of my costume.

“My name is Elijah, and you’re Luna right?”  I nod my head, taken aback that he knows me, when I have no idea who he is. “Do you wanna get out of here? We can go get food or something,” he asks nervously, and I can tell that he feels terrible. For lack of a better option, I decide to leave with the strange boy I just met. I don’t let Abby or Remy know where I’m going, partially because I’m bitter, and partially because I don’t know either.

He guides me through the room and I can feel everyone’s sweating bodies pushing against mine. I cringe as the smell of sweat reaches my nose. I feel Elijah put his hand on my shoulder as we walk out the door and even though I’m sweating I get a cold chill down my spine. He clicks the button on his car keys and the lights on a shiny white jeep burn directly into my eyes. I hop into the passenger seat and he opens the driver’s side door for himself.

“Do you mind if we stopped at my house first?” I ask as casually as I can.

“Yeah, sure whatever,” he lightheartedly responds, “just let me know how to get there.” He slides the key into the ignition and rap pours out of the speakers. We drive wordlessly down the road, and every now and then I slip in “right” or “left at this next road.”

He pulls into my driveway and simply looks at me.  I hesitate to invite him in, but I do it anyway, “You can come in, if you want.” He turns off the ignition and the whir of the engine stops. We both push open our doors and walk up the back walkway to the side of my house. I let myself in with the key from under the flowerpot.

Elijah and I enter the pitch black and I pierce it with the the bright dining room light. “I’ll wait here, don’t rush.” Elijah calmly sits down at the table and looks at me. He smiles sneakily and for a second I feel my heart race. Not like when you get butterflies; more like the foreboding premonition something bad is about to happen, yet you don’t know what.

I turn away and slowly walk up the stairs, attempting to listen for sounds from the kitchen. I don’t close the door behind me, but I calmly slip out of the elastic supersuit and into a pair of jeans and a plain black shirt. I walk to the bathroom and wash my hands. I leave on the light and the water, I do that sometimes.

I hear him stand from the table and my heart begins to pick up speed. He walks across the kitchen and I can hear the sound of the knife being pulled from the wooden block where it sits. The shuffling of his feet slowly and cautiously sliding across the living room and to the bottom of the stairs. I can feel him coming closer to my room, and with every step closer, I hold my breath a second longer from behind my half closed door, hoping the feeling of the metal in my hand calms me down.

He treks right past my room, into the bathroom. I creep out of the room to the top of the stairs, directly in front of the door. He stands eagerly waiting to see me. And when he doesn’t, he can feel the barrel of my gun against the back of his head. I pull the trigger and watch him fall to his knees.

~~~~~~~~~

My mom walks in the house with the baby carrier in hand and an armload full of bags. “Luna? Would you get the door? Or the baby?” she sighs as she drops what she's carrying onto the kitchen table. “And where’s that smell coming from?”

“The dog peed on the bathroom floor, so I cleaned it for you,” I smile, “I just know you’ve been so busy with everything lately.”

My mom sits down at the table. “I am so grateful that you’re my daughter. The baby has such a wonderful big sister to look up to.” She remembers quickly what day of the year it is, “How was your night, did you have fun at the party?”

I beam as I tell her, “I had a great time, I can’t wait for next Halloween.”