Building 11 “The Costume”

It rained tonight, and I suppose that should have indicated to me that something was wrong, that I needed to stay home. I knew that my costume when wet would be heavy and the ink would run onto me. Had I been really thinking clearly, I would have called the night a wash, stayed inside, and perhaps saved the costume for next year.

But I didn't listen to the signs that something was wrong.

I wanted to walk in the rain.

They had been calling for storms all day, claiming that it would be a lower turnout for trick or treating than the circumstances alone would create. People would stay home, some would use umbrellas while some would use cars to take their kids from place to place. I expected to see a line of cars running from one end of the street to the other, but that night there were few.

I suppose that worked in my favor.

My dad had to help me put on the costume. He tried to keep me from going out, but I insisted and in the end he relented. It was the first time I had properly put it on, the smell of ink and grease paint overwhelming my sense even after I applied Vaseline under my nose and put on my mask. I took the shawl and wrapped it around my mouth, my face rendered black with the grease paint.

The stringy hair was like another world, and as I peaked out from between the stands of hair I could find myself sinking into the role.

At last my dad opened the door, and I stepped out into the night, the rain thumping pleasantly upon the makeshift hump, the shawl getting damp quickly. As I got to the bottom of the steps, I saw a family coming by. I stooped down, shuffling about in a practiced motion I had seen so many times in my nightmares.

At first, they did not see me, the cold rain distracting them. One of the children was wearing a skeleton mask, the other dressed up as a princess. Their mother held their umbrella, and the kids clutched to her.

I crept up on them, the one in the skull mask turning to look at me as he noticed my movement.

Even in the dark, the light from my porch lit up those eyes which widened in terror as I closed in. He screamed with a shrillness that surprised even me, the woman caught off guard as she first looked at the child, and then looked at me.

The boy hid behind the woman, the young girl staring up at me with revulsion as the smell reached her.

I cackled, then whispered softly, “Sweet little child...don't be scared.”

That caused the girl to gasp, as I crouched low, extending my hand to her. Her mother quickly intervened, grabbing the now crying children's hands and quickly leading them away, offering up words of comfort, all the while staring back at me with hate in her eyes.

I didn't think I would enjoy it so much, and it was only the start of the night.

I wrapped my fingers around the handle to the gate, and headed out. As I walked, I made sure to shuffle about, cackling whenever I would get close to a group. Some thought that the getup was awesome, while others would take one look at me and headed quickly across the road. A few were indifferent, but those tended to be teenagers, though some of them still took a few minutes to talk to me.

I reached one of the crosswalks and quickly made my way across. As I looked about to get my bearings, I could see that the number of people had gone down significantly. I found myself alone on the street, and decided to head back home, the night wearing on and the cold creeping into my hands and shoulders, causing me to shiver.

I went to turn around, but I stopped in place as a heavy, wheezing sound reached my ears, the pungent smell of the ink growing by volumes. I turned my head slightly, and out of the periphery of my vision, I could see that tall, crouching thing coming from behind me, their shoulders rising and falling in faltering ways, their cackling more a cough than a laugh.

As they walked, their shawl shifted about in the cold wind, blackened gums outlining yellowed teeth.

I started crying, a deep, heavy cry without sound as I became deeply aware that they were now mere steps away from me, the sound of gasping and wheezing growing stronger along with the odor.

I quickly began to move away, my mind pushing away my panic as I focused solely upon the ground, making my way towards one of the local dives.

That's when I saw the other one coming up the street.

Its stringy hair tussled about in the wind and the rain, the rain clinging to the clothes that covered its blacked, spindly limbs...

I fell asleep in the costume, the cold wetness warming some as I have sat here, wrapped up in the comforter on my bed. I considered taking a shower, wishing to wash off the makeup and escape the smell of the ink and the grease paint, but I found myself unable to move.

I feel like I did when I was little.

The weight of the costume feels like a sleeping bag, and by the time I worked up the nerve to do anything about it I was already warm and the weight had shifted. I don't/didn't care that I was hurting and that my body ached and shuddered. There were things I could do to make it better, but I had no interest in doing any one of them.

Instead of the better one, I took the easy route.

And when I slept, I could feel the void around me, the dark corners of my room hiding things. But within the costume I felt safe, the hair blurring my vision.

Like a mask.