I didn’t mean for it to happen.
I swear.
Tim and I were arguing and I was in a bad mood.
He came in and he slipped.
Goddamnit, he shouldn’t have been running in the house.
Tim? NO. Not Tim. The kid. FOCUS.
The trick-or-treaters, you know…they come earlier each year.
It was barely 5pm.
Tim left work early for the weekend, he got home, we argued, and I started cleaning.
I was mopping the floor.
It was still wet when he rang the doorbell.
It happened so fast.
God it was a blur.
I’d had two…wait, no…three glasses of wine by that point. Three…okay, yeah? But they were small glasses. Three glasses, it wasn’t out of the norm, goddamnit. FOCUS.
He ran in, and..and it happened so fast.
He slipped. Plastic sword flying out from his arms.
The mask twisted… crooked on his face.
He twitched.
I screamed, or at least I thought I screamed, I can’t be sure now…
I swung the front door open wide.
Silence.
He was alone, I guess.
I poked him with the mop. He was heavy. He didn’t stir.
FUCK. “TIM! TIM!” No response. Typical.
Nothing to see here.
The wind made the door creak and I realized…suddenly…horrifically, that it was still wide open.
I slammed it shut.
Looked around, took another swig of the dark amber wine…
I stood up straight. Using the mop as a podium I cleared my throat and said “It’s time to go!”. Silence. “It’s time to GO!” and this time I jabbed at him with the wet end. The squish met the cheap fabric of the costume and a large wet spot formed.
No, no, no, no, nooo, no, nooo
This wasn’t reality. This didn’t happen to me. This wasn’t…it just wasn’t…goddamnit it wasn’t MY problem.
I screamed. Not out of horror, but out of pure frustration.
Tim didn’t come down, in fact…I think I heard him turn the TV up louder.
I reached down and pulled up the mask.
Blood. Pouring out of the mouth.
More wine. I needed a bit more, just a tad and I could deal with this.
I slammed the refrigerator door and peaked my head around the corner. There he was.
Dead. Silent.
“This is IT, you’re final WARNING” I said.
The authority in my voice made me laugh. He didn’t stir.
Now, I didn’t feel like I was up to the task of digging a grave tonight. I was worn out. Tim hadn’t helped me at all. It was just SOOO in character for him to zone out when shit went wrong.
But what can you do?
There’s a body. It’s your home; your sanctuary.
And you know what…the shitty see-through black mesh costume he was wearing made me feel less bad about the whole thing.
You should have dressed better, kid.
I traded mop for shovel.
Lack of rain. Dust, dirt. An unforgiving soil.
This is your grave.
Is it a trick? Or is it the ultimate treat?