He sets the candy bowl on top of the end table, watching as she claps her hands together excitedly and bounces. He fixes his glasses, sighs. "This is a joke right now."
Her face falls. Mitchell comes out of the bathroom, hair slicked back with hair wax, shaving cream on half his face. "George."
"No," he stammers. "I mean, this is literally a joke somewhere, right? A vampire, a werewolf, and a ghost spend Halloween together. It's like those damn vicar jokes." He picks up a peppermint patty from the bowl, shuffles over. "I didn't mean – I mean – here." He shoves it hastily in her hand.
"I can't eat this, George."
"Oh," he says. "Right."
She smiles. "Appreciate the thought, though."
He awkwardly snakes an arm around her shoulders, gives her a half-squeeze of apology as Mitchell emerges from the bathroom. "Well," Mitchell says, with a twirl. "What do you think?"
"You are kidding me."
Mitchell pops the collar, gives a half-hearted hiss. "I never drink," he intones, in an accent, "wine."
George turns to Annie, looks her over. "You look straight out of the Thriller video."
She bounces on the balls of her feet, grinning. "Thank you!" She smirks. "Did you listen to Michael Jackson, George?"
"I was, in fact, not a total loser, Annie, despite what you may think."
They sit and wait for trick-or-treaters that don't come. George flicks on the television. Casper. They all share a look, but Annie just laughs. "Oh, come on!" she calls when Mitchell shoots George a look. "What's the fun of being dead if you can't appreciate the irony?"
George arches a brow. "I don't think that technically counts as irony."
"I wish I had popcorn." Instead, she settles back against the sofa, next to George, a content smile on her face. She plops her head down on his shoulder and he smiles.
"This is nice, though, yeah?" George says.
She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, smiles. "Yeah."
The doorbell rings. She springs to her feet, bouncing on her toes. "It's trick-or-treaters!" she squeals. She runs to the door. A disinterested fourteen-year-old slouches on the stoop, paper bag in hand. She opens the door, "Uh, hello."
"Trick-or-treat!" he calls.
"What are you supposed to be?"
He pauses, clicks his tongue against his teeth. "Wha'?"
George pops around. "Aren't you a bit old to be trick-or-treating?"
"Oh, come on, George." Annie turns to the pale, disinterested teenager. "What's your costume?"
He purses his lips for a second, looks up. "I'm Russell Brand."
Annie forces a smile and drops a few candies into his bag. "Right."
She calls happy halloween out to him as he walks away, mumbling, "Wha'ever." She turns and claps her hands. "Well," she says. "That was exciting!"
Mitchell just coughs out a half-laugh and George sighs and throws himself on the couch. She comes and sits by him fifteen minutes later. "Eventful Halloween, wouldn't you say?"
He smiles. "Yeah, I loved the kid who dressed up as Russell Brand. National hero, he is."
She plops her head down on his shoulder, turns her body to throw her legs off the arm of the sofa. "I love Halloween."
He smiles, finds himself itching to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. "You would." They spend the rest of the night watching Doctor Who reruns and talking about their favorite Doctors. (George has been deathly afraid of the Daleks since he was eight – who knew?) Mitchell and George eat some of the candy and she makes them tea, and all in all, it feels like home.
