SHIVER: 13 Sexy Tales of Humor and Horror (57 page)

With my steamy pizza box and paper sack from the bodega, I make my way a few more blocks to my building.  A police car slows to a stop near a gang of teenagers in dark hoodies.  They do look a little squirrely, but this is just one of those nights when everything seems odd.  I wave at the cops and the teenagers run off.

Arriving at my building, my doorman, Declan, opens the lobby door. “Evening, Mr. Brooks.”

“Nice tie,” I say.

He holds up the pumpkin tie and shrugs. “Eh, just having some fun.”

A few boys I recognize from my building congregate in the lobby, shouting and making a scene.  They seem to be teasing a kid on crutches dressed as Obi Wan Kenobi.  I approach them calmly and ask, “What’s the deal?”

The one dressed as a skeleton turns to face me, his canvas bag of candy swinging into my leg.  “Gimpy is slowing us down.  We can’t take the elevator to every single floor.”

I turn to the kid on crutches and ask, “What happened to your leg?”

“Oh, football,” he says quietly.

His friends run to the stairs, turning once to give us the middle finger and laugh.

“Little jerks,” I yell after them.  “What’s your name, kid?” I ask the one on crutches.

“I’m Trent. Halloween is like my favorite holiday, after Christmas.”

“I hear ya, Trent. And dude, your friends seem like turds.”

Trent laughs as he shifts his weight on his crutches.  “Yeah, but they’ll have three times as much candy as me.  I can’t hobble and hold my bag at the same time.”

“I can’t let that happen.” Facing the front desk, I shout, “Declan, keep an eye on Trent until I get back.”

Declan nods apathetically and waves me off.

“Trent, give me an hour.  And your candy bag.”

He reluctantly passes me his bag and then plops down on one of the sofas.  “Whatever, man.”

I hurry to my apartment, remove my suit jacket and tie, throw my pizza and brown paper bag on the kitchen island, remove the bag of shitty Lifesavers, and then begin my quest to collect more candy than those dipshit kids.

In the hall, I pass by my neighbors, the Hansons.  Luckily, they placed a basket filled with Twizzlers and full-size Hershey bars outside their door.  I survey the hallway - no one.  Without hesitating, I pour the contents of the entire basket in Trent’s bag.  I then refill the bowl with my bag of peppermint Lifesavers.

First mission:  Accomplished.

I take out my phone and the business card from Lena. Continuing down the hall, I text her.

ME: What’s your address?

Her reply is instant.

LENA: 5611 Lexington

I place the phone back in my pocket and then knock on the next door. A nice-looking woman I recognize from the mail center opens the door with a smile, but then her face changes.

“Trick o’ treat,” I say charmingly.  She looks behind my shoulder and then at my bag.  “I’m not sure we’ve met, I’m Chris Brooks and I live a few doors down.”

Puzzled, she says, “Okay.”

“I know this looks really weird, but I’m actually helping out a boy in our building.  He’s on crutches and his friends ditched him.”

She narrows her eyes and asks, “Do you want candy?”

Why would she assume anything else?

“Yes, please.”

I watch as she takes a wicker basket from a small table near the door.  She faces me, still thoroughly confused.  I open my bag and smile - hopefully that will give her a clue.  She drops in two snack-sized Twix.  This is going to be tough.

“Poor little guy - Halloween’s his favorite holiday.”  She smiles awkwardly, and then places another small Twix inside the bag.  “He’s all dressed up in a Star Wars costume and sitting in the lobby. Twix candy bars are his favorite.” Not sure how to perceive me, and probably a little frightened, the woman places two handfuls of Twix in my bag.  Holding a now empty basket, she closes the door.

The adjacent apartment door is decorated with cobwebs and dozens of plastic spiders.  As I knock on the door, a loud scream wails through a small speaker at the top of the doorframe.  The door creaks open, revealing a witch drinking from a goblet.  In character, she cackles, “What do you want?”

Playing along, I answer, “Trick o’ treat.”

“Where’s your costume?” she asks, moving her fingers in front of my chest like she’s clawing for air.

I smirk and lean against the doorframe.  “Give me candy, you wench.”

She laughs as she tosses packages of M&M’s in my bag.  At least a dozen make their way in before she turns to open another candy bag.  Her voice returns to what I assume is her normal tone as she teases, “Good one, Chris.  It’s me, Libby Sanders-Dunlap!”

Ah, Libby.  She recently got divorced.  Need I say more?

“I didn’t know we lived on the same floor,” I lie.  “I also didn’t know you were into the black magic.”

Her painted green hand grazes my arm as she giggles.  “Do you want to come in?”

I shake my head and lift my bag.  “I can’t tonight.  I’m on a candy mission.”

Libby appears insulted.  “Oh, you’re serious?”

“I am.  But hey, let’s get a beer sometime,” I casually add.

She nods sadly and then closes the door. To be honest, Libby’s not my type.  When I moved here eight months ago, she brought me a “welcome” basket of wine and cheese.  I want a girl who welcomes me with beer and porn.

The last door on my floor is opened slightly and reeks of burnt popcorn.  I knock once before a man in his late fifties swings it open.  “Yeah?” he grunts.

“Uh, never mind.”

Climbing the stairs, I look at my watch and hurry my pace.  I have enough time to attack one more floor before I need to leave to meet Lena.  The apartment door closest to the stairs has a doorbell the size of golf ball.  I press the large buzzer and inadvertently summon church bells of Gothic proportions.

“Coming,” a shaky voice beckons from behind the door.  “Almost there,” she crackles.  The door opens and the cutest little old lady extends her arms.  “Scotty! Give Me Maw a hug.”

Not sure what to do, I lean forward and accept her embrace.  “Trick o’ treat,” I say into her poof of silver hair.

Pinching my waist, she rattles, “You’re as thin as a rail, Scotty! Come in, we’ll have some crab dip and watch Jeopardy.”

“Uh, okay,” I agree.  She scoots through the entryway wearing leopard-print slippers and Christmas socks.  I should turn around and leave, but the apartment is exactly like my
real
Me Maw’s house in Nacogdoches! Picture frames everywhere, and little bowls of those nasty orange peanuts stashed on every table.  There’s even an identical lamp to my Me Maw’s antique from New Orleans - the one with a carriage as the base and red fringe hanging from the shade.  This is trippy.

Unaware of her mental state, I quietly say, “Me Maw, I can only stay for a few minutes.”

She sits on a velvet love seat and passes me a tray of crackers.  “Crab dip is your favorite, Scotty!”

I place my bag of candy on the floor and sit in a floral chair adorned with a lace doily.  Taking a small bite of the crab dip, I decide to play along. After all, Halloween is the one night when role-playing is perfectly acceptable.  Besides, I have a few minutes to kill, and she seems like a nice granny that just wants some company.  “Delicious dip as always, Me Maw,” I compliment with a smile.

“Scotty, how’s Boy Scouts?  Did you get all your patches?” she asks.

Not only does she think I’m her grandson, but apparently, ten-years old.  “Oh, I need a few more.”  I take another cracker with dip and watch the television.

“What is pumpernickel?” she shouts at the screen.

And she’s right.

It’s none of my business, but I feel inclined to make sure she’s okay living alone.  “Me Maw, how are you feeling?”

She slaps her knee and laughs.  “My damn cataracts are acting up, but other than that, I’m as fit as a fiddle, sweetie.”

I take a moment to look around her apartment.  It’s neat and tidy and there aren’t any signs that she’s been forced to save her pension and eat cat food. Her clothes are clean and everything smells
okay.
Dozens of family photos line the walls - she’s loved by her family.  “Me Maw, when was I here last?”

“Who is Clark Gable?  Last week, Scotty.  Your mother came with you - that little bitch,” she mumbles under her breath.

Noted.

“Me Maw, I really have to leave soon.  Do you need anything?”

Saddened, she looks at me and pouts. “But you just got here!”

“I know, but it’s Halloween.”

She smiles and nods her head in understanding.  “Well, where’s your costume?  Do you need me to help you put something together?”  She stands from the sofa with wobbly legs and pats my head.  “Come with me, you can borrow one of Poppy’s old zoot suits.”

Not wanting to alarm her, I follow behind and keep up the charade.  “No need, I have a costume,” I say.

“Oh Scotty, you can’t be Spiderman every year - try something new.”

The loud doorbell chimes.
Ding, dong, ding, dong.

“I’ll get it - probably kids trick-or-treating,” I offer.  “Do you have any candy to hand out?”

“Nonsense! I put the roll of quarters by the door.  Kids love to have their own money.” She smiles as she threads her arm through mine.

Passing by the floral chair, I bend to pick up my bag of candy.  I can secretly give the kids candy when she’s not looking and then get the hell out of here.  We open the door together and … fuck!

Standing in the doorway is a man and woman - and a boy dressed as Spiderman.  They stare at me blankly, but as the seconds pass, their expressions change to fear.

“Scotty!” Me Maw shouts, extending her arms to the Spiderman.

“Trick or treat, Me Maw,” Scotty replies quietly.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asks.  He moves in front of Me Maw and narrows his eyes.

Stepping out into the hall, I reply, “She invited me in.  I’m sorry, but she thought I was Scotty.”  Saying it out loud only confirms my poor judgment.

“Ma, who is this guy?” he asks.

“I - I’m not sure. I was confused.”  She rubs her temples and shakes her head.  “Come on, Scotty! I made crab dip to eat while we watch Double Jeopardy!”  The real Scotty and the “bitch” follow Me Maw into her apartment.

I’m left standing, silently defending myself to a man with a senile mother.  Taking a step closer toward me, he pokes my chest. “If you come near her again, I will personally hunt you down and destroy you.”

I puff my chest - I don’t deserve to be threatened.  “It won’t happen again,” I say, slamming my shoulder against his as I walk away.

When I reach the end of the hall, I glance back at the apartment and exhale in relief.  I’m brought back to reality when several kids in costumes race out of the elevator and run past me - shit, I still need to get candy for Trent.

The apartment door on my right is decorated with cutesy, child-crafted ghosts and pumpkins.  I knock quietly.  A moment later, a little girl dressed in a princess costume answers the door.  Before I can scold her for opening the door to a stranger, a boy around Trent’s age joins her.

He’s not wearing a costume and his face is smug.  The boy snickers and asks, “Where are your kids?”

“I don’t have any,” I answer.

“Are you a fucking pervert?” he insults, stepping in front of his sister.

“What? No!” I answer defensively.  Although, if I’m really honest with myself, this whole idea to help Trent get candy is kinda strange, maybe even something a pervert would do. However, this has become a personal quest - not a favor to some kid, but a mission to win.  My competitive nature will always be a part of who I am, even if I don’t really know what it is I’m exactly winning.

“Listen, punk,” I spit out between clenched teeth.  “I’m with the bureau of the New York City safety initiative.  There are reports that you are providing tampered candy to unassuming little kids.  I’m required to confiscate all your goods or be forced to take you to the precinct for questioning.”

Full of fear, the boy replies, “Okay, Mister.”  He shoves bags and bags of candy at my waist as the little girl runs into the apartment yelling for her mom.

“And the bags over there as well,” I demand, pointing to extra bags on a table.

He hurries to retrieve them from the nearby table.  Freaked, he shouts, “This is all we got - don’t tell my mom.”  He shuts the door in my face.

Mission Two:  Accomplished.

That was easy.  Holding four giant-sized bags of Willy Wonka candy - Nerds, Runts, Gobstoppers, Laffy Taffy and those shitty Bottle Caps - I contemplate my next move.  I should be getting ready for my date with Lena, but instead, I’m roaming around my apartment building like a middle school Halloween vigilante.  At this rate, I’ll make the ten o’clock news as the Upper East Side Halloween Pervert.

Deciding I look like a chump carrying so much candy in dress slacks and a scruffy beard, I head back to my apartment.  Once inside, I stash a bag of Willy Wonka in my kitchen cabinet (finder’s fee) and grab a beer from the refrigerator.  I can take a quick shower and still be at Lena’s apartment on time.