...
2018 - October 22
It was finally starting to get cooler outside. That was something Tate hated about California: It was midway through October and it was still warm enough that living people had to wear shorts. Some people loved it. He just saw it as an absence of seasons. Fall didn't really exist in Los Angeles. All week it would be bright and sunny and overnight the weather would shift to winter. But not the pretty winter like up north. L.A.'s winters were gray, chilly and largely without precipitation. They were just dull and gray.
Tate stood in the shade of the gazebo, leaning on the rail. He'd hoped by showing up there that he'd get Hayden to come out. He wanted to talk to her about what she was doing messing around with Ben again. But he'd been there for nearly twenty minutes and she hadn't shown up. He suspected she was avoiding him.
Then he felt a female presence moving his way. But it wasn't Hayden.
"Tate," Violet said.
If he'd had a heart it surely would have stopped. When she said his name it was so beautiful it almost hurt. That was how he knew for certain she had said it. His imagination was never as potent as that single word from her. He'd waited so very long. So long, in fact, that he'd given up hoping she'd ever see him again.
And now she was.
"Violet?"
That was all he could get out before he choked on his own tears. There was so much he wanted to say but his insides were knotting up so tight he wanted to double over. Why did it hurt so much? She came over to him. He wanted to reach for her but he was afraid to. If he did she might vanish and he would die all over again.
"Tate," she said again and, for him, it was like a mini orgasm where the hurting just was. "You can't go to Westfield."
He blinked a few times because his eyes were so wet he could hardly see her. "W-what?" It registered slowly, what she said. How did she know?
"You can't go to Westfield," she repeated.
She touched him then. She put both her hands on his arm and it was just like sinking under the surface of the best bubble bath ever. He shut his eyes and laughed a little because he could still feel hot tears leaking out under his lashes. She was saying more words but it was hard to focus on them. He reached for her and hugged her and buried his face in her shoulder - in that sweet, soft curve between her ear and her collarbone.
She said his name again and he hugged her tighter. He wanted to kiss her. He went to act on that impulse and found her hand placed squarely over his mouth. He blinked at her in confusion over that hand.
"Tate," she said clearly. Her eyes met his and hers were as serious as he'd ever seen them. "Listen to me. "
He didn't want to talk about Westfield. He didn't really want to talk at all. Kissing was much nicer. He tried to say something to that effect but she wasn't done putting her hand over his mouth.
"You're planning to go to Westfield on Halloween?" she said. "Are you fucking serious?"
She moved her hand then and seemed to expect an answer. This was not the sort of reunion he'd fantasized about. He frowned a little.
"I've got to," he said.
"Why?"
"Because!" he flared. His eyes were leaking again but he ignored it. "You said! You said you couldn't forgive me so I'm making it all right!"
"How's that making it right?" she asked. "What are you going to do when you get there?"
He hadn't really thought that far. So he decided on the spot. "Apologize."
"Apologize?" she echoed. "You're going to go to WHS on Halloween night and apologize to people who've been waiting years to get at you. That's your plan."
Tate was hurt. Up till that very moment he had liked his plan, quite a bit. "Your dad likes it," he defended.
"My dad can be a real idiot sometimes," she dismissed dryly. "You and he are both the stupidest smart people I've ever met."
"You... waited all these years to talk to me... to tell me I'm stupid?" he said carefully. A teary smile followed. He found it kind of funny though he didn't know why.
She sighed and she acted like she was going to touch his arm again but she stopped herself. "No. I just... I think going to Westfield is a really, really bad idea. Weird things have been happening. Weirder than other Halloweens."
He shrugged and picked at the cuticle of his thumb self-consciously. "I have to go. I have to try and make it right."
She sighed. "My dad said he was going with you," she said.
"Yeah."
Ben had told her Tate's plan. That's how she knew. It amazed him that she still cared enough about him to break her silent treatment in order to try and talk him out of going. But he knew if he didn't follow through she'd just vanish again. And he couldn't bear that.
"Is anybody else?"
He shrugged. "I haven't told anybody else."
"Not even Chad or Patrick?" she asked, surprised.
He looked at her funny. "Why would I?"
"Uh," she said. It occurred to her that he hadn't told her about his situation with the gay men and now she wasn't sure if she was supposed to know. Too late. "Well. Because... You. You're their friend, aren't you?"
He peered at her then showed his dimples in the closest thing to a smile he'd offered. "Did your dad tell you about our arrangement?"
She could feel the guilt on her face. "Yeah."
He shrugged again, still smiling. "I don't care. They've been good for me, I think."
"Do they know you're going to Westfield on Halloween?"
"Well," he hedged. "No. Not yet. But I'm going to tell them."
"Tate," she said, real frustration beginning to edge in.
"Violet," he cut off whatever she was going to say. He took one of her hands then and gently squeezed it between both of his. "This is something I have to do. I can't move on until I do."
"Move on?" she repeated. "What do you mean, move on?"
He smiled and let her go, even though her hand felt like happiness. "Move on to the next thing I have to do."
"Which is?"
He looked at her woefully. He didn't want to tell her the next thing specifically. So he said instead, "There are other people I have to apologize to."
It wasn't hard to figure out what he was implying and Violet was grateful he hadn't said it directly. The situation between him and her mother wasn't an issue she was ready to tackle with him.
"If you really are going to go to Westfield on Halloween," she said after a moment. "You're going to need more backup than just my dad."
"Maybe," he admitted. "But there aren't a lot of people I can ask."
She curled her fingers up into the loose bell-shaped sleeves of her dark gray overcoat. "I'll go."
That stunned him. "You- you will?"
Violet nodded. "I don't know what help I'll be but... I'll be there."
He hugged her again and held her for a long time. Then: "Can I kiss you?"
She almost said yes because she really wanted to kiss him too but she hesitated. "Not yet."
He let her go then, reluctantly, and looked at her sadly. "I miss you so much, Violet." And he was crying again.
This time tears lit her eyes as well. "I miss you too."
"Then why did you stay away so long?" he asked plaintively. "Are you going to make me go away again now?"
Her heart fractured in a new place. "No," she said. "But I am going to go to my room now and I don't want you to follow me. Not... not right now. Okay?"
Tate found her attitude strange but it was worth overlooking because he would see her again. "Okay." She started to go in the house then and he said quickly: "I love you."
She paused briefly and glanced back at him. "I love you, Tate."
Then she disappeared in the house. He sat down where he was, hard enough to hurt. Then he laughed and cried and grabbed his hair, suddenly unsure if the whole conversation even took place. He didn't dare go ask. He didn't even want to go inside yet. Not till he was sure he wouldn't be mistaken for following.
...
2018 - October 29
Gladys stood at the edge of the hole in the backyard. She, like so many other of the house's weaker spirits, had finally succumbed to the pull of it. Almost everyone she saw regularly in the house was gone now. Maria, the twins, Phil the exterminator... The only friends she saw anymore were Travis and Beth and they were so wrapped up in each other Gladys always felt awkward when she was with them.
It wasn't suicide, she told herself. She was already dead. And now she could hear Maria's voice whispering from the hole, calling for Gladys to join her. Where ever she was, Maria didn't sound unhappy. It couldn't be any worse than being stuck in a depressing house alone for all eternity.
The chubby girl squared her shoulders and took a breath.
"Gladys," the hole whispered in Maria's voice. "Come with me, Gladys."
"I am," said the nursing student. Then she took a step forward and then jumped feet-first into the hole.
That same afternoon a work crew showed up and filled the hole in.
...
2018 - October 30
Ben and Chad were in the dining room where Chad had newspaper spread out over one half of the mahogany claw-foot table. There was a giant pumpkin centered on it and several smaller gourds in a pile off to the side. The shorter man finished rolling his sleeves up to the elbows and picked up a large butcher knife.
"So... What exactly is he planning to do there?" Chad asked with a small frown. He slid the knife into the top of the pumpkin with the precision of a surgeon, cutting in at an angle.
"I think he wants to try to settle things with the, uh," Ben waved a hand. "The people he killed. They haunt the outside of the house every Halloween."
"I know," said Chad. He carefully carved around the stem, leaving a good deal of room between it and the knife for the perfect lid. "They're as bad as pigeons."
Ben didn't like the comparison but he also didn't want to get into an argument of semantics with Chad at the moment. "I'm going with him," he said, watching as Chad lifted the newly-cut lid off the pumpkin. "For support and... Just to be sure things don't get too... Crazy."
Chad laughed. "You think you're going to be able to stop that?" He smirked and sliced the clinging seeds from the underside of the lid. "Have you always been this egotistical or is it something you developed when you hit puberty?"
"It's not ego," he said, earning a snort from Chad. "I'm just confident he and I can handle-"
"You have no idea what you're walking into," said Chad with amused incredulity. "How can you be sure of anything?"
"I didn't say I was sure," said Ben.
"Oh, don't mince words," said Chad, waving the butcher knife at him. "You believe your bullshit more than anyone else here does." He set the knife down, shoved a hand into the pumpkin and pulled out a fistful of sloppy seeds. "Have either of you told Patrick?"
"Not yet."
Chad's brows went up. "You don't expect me to do it."
"No," said Ben. He noticed some orange plastic pumpkin tools and picked up one that had a row of pointy spikes. He poked the tip of his finger with it absently. "Actually, I was hoping you could get him to meet me somewhere."
Chad's brows went even higher. He slung more pumpkin innards down on the paper. "You really do believe in miracles."
Ben smiled. "Not exactly. What I meant is... If you could maybe get him to run an errand for you tomorrow morning? Then I could arrange to 'accidentally' be there at the same time."
"I suppose..." Chad drawled, thinking even as he answered. "I could have him go get another one of these," he said, patting the pumpkin with his clean hand. "We could use one for the table as well as the porch. And maybe a third one. I could make a punch bowl. These ones the grocer delivered just aren't punch-worthy."
"Why isn't Tate helping you?" asked Ben, at the risk of getting off-topic. Pumpkin carving seemed a like a thing Tate would love to help with.
Chad huffed a short laugh. "I don't keep big knives and Tate in the same room."
Now it was Ben's turn to raise his brows. "Is he really that bad? I thought-"
Chad shook his head and glopped more seeds onto the newspaper. "It's not him. It's the house."
Ben looked puzzled. "What do you mean?"
Chad he sighed dramatically and wiped pumpkin innards off his arm and onto the apron he had tied around his waist. "He can't fight the impulses it sends him. So I try to keep him away from anything that might send the wrong signals."
Ben stared at Chad. "Really?"
Chad's eyes widened. "Yeah," he said as if it was the simplest thing in the world to comprehend. "What's so hard to understand?"
Ben cleared his expression and shook his head. "I just... Find it a little surprising, is all."
"What, that I want to keep our resident psycho unarmed?"
"No," said Ben. "I just didn't realize you thought the house had that much control over him."
"Of course it does," said Chad. He sounded and looked like he thought Ben was being a complete moron. "You can't tell me you don't feel it when it makes you do things."
It took Ben a moment to respond. Of course he knew what Chad was saying was true. He just hadn't consciously thought about it before. "I suppose I have," he said carefully.
"You are so fucking arrogant," Chad marveled. He shoved the pumpkin toward Ben. "Roll up your sleeves and finish getting the slimy shit out of this thing. I need to start scraping the outer layers or it's not going to get done tonight."
Ben looked at the pumpkin then pushed the sleeves of his navy turtleneck up past his elbows. He reached in and grabbed a grip of slimy-cool strands. It was very satisfying to dig his fingers in and rake the muck out. He smiled.
...
(Author's Note: You must listen to That Old Black Magic by Frank Sinatra while you read this part. Queue it up on YouTube. Then read on.)
1974
It was Ben's first Halloween at Waverly's Foster Home for Wayward Boys. There wasn't a lot about the place to get excited over but all of the other places he'd lived didn't do anything at all for Halloween. One orphanage hung up a paper skeleton but that was the extent of their festivities. Most years, Halloween was just another day for Ben, even though he liked the holiday.
He was 13 this year - lucky number 13 - and everything was different. The boys were getting to carve pumpkins that afternoon following lunch. It put all of the boys in a cooperative mood; everyone cleared his place at the table and helped clean the kitchen without the house mothers having to nag. They were helpful in getting things set up afterward. In short order everything was ready.
The kitchen table held four large pumpkins on a layer of newspapers. There weren't enough for everyone to have one; they had to share - two boys to a pumpkin. They had all sat through a half hour long session on knife safety. They learned how to pass and receive a blade before they were partnered up with their gourd, two large spoons and two sharp knives. Ben was paired with Paul, the tallest, skinniest boy in the house. When he first arrived the other boys all called him Long Tall Paul. The kid answered to it so eventually they got in the habit of calling him LT for short and he answered to that as well. He wasn't very bright.
Ben picked up a knife and gave the pumpkin a critical look. He was just starting to visualize what sort of face the shape of the thing lent itself best to when LT plunged his blade into the side. Just stuck it right in without rhyme or reason.
"Hey!" snapped Ben. "Don't you think you should've asked before you went and did that?"
LT looked at him in dull surprise. "Huh?"
"It's my pumpkin too!"
Mrs. Lacey looked over from where she was wrapping apples in caramel. "Ben. Keep it down."
Ben glared at LT. "Just cut the lid off, stupid," he said much quieter. "We have to gut it before we can give it a face."
LT shrugged and pulled his knife out of the side of the pumpkin and shoved it into the top crudely. He hacked away till he could pull it free. A stringy rope of seeds came with it. LT dropped the top on the newspaper and thrust his hand into the pumpkin to scoop out the innards. That's when Ben shoved his knife into the side of the pumpkin, just like LT had.
The sharp blade penetrated the other boy's arm, piercing flesh and muscle deeply. He screamed and tried to pull his hand out but Ben left the knife in the pumpkin - just like LT had. The knife kept the kid's arm pinned inside the pumpkin. Mrs. Lacey dropped her apple and hurried over. Ben put his scared face on.
"It was an accident, Mrs. Lacey!" he said all aghast. "I was cutting and he just stuck his arm in!"
LT was too busy screaming to hear what Ben was saying. Mrs. Lacey rushed him to the hospital while Mrs. Peterson tried to restore order in the house. Another house mother was called in to help out and the boys were all sent to bed early. After that Ben wasn't allowed to use sharp knives at the boarding house. And he definitely wasn't allowed to carve pumpkins.
...
2018 - October 30, evening
"Well, now, that's interesting," said Father Jeremiah as he looked out the front window.
Constance was on the sofa doing some needlepoint while Michael was setting up a board game for all them to play. The blonde woman glanced over but didn't stop what she was doing. "What could possibly be interestin' out there at this time of day?"
It was late afternoon; most folks would be commuting home so there wasn't a great chance of excitement on their sleepy block. But what Jeremiah saw was most unusual, to him.
"There's a moving van out in front of Chad and Patrick's place," he observed. "Are they moving out?"
He glanced back but Constance wasn't on the couch any longer; she was right beside him. She crowded him away from the window and peeked out the curtains to see for herself.
"I seriously doubt they're goin' anywhere," she muttered. Then she looked up at him, brows high. "Maybe they're movin' somethin' - or somebody - in with them."
Jeremiah nodded but he still wore that puzzled look. He hadn't moved much in his lifetime - coming to live with Constance was the only experience he had with the task. He pushed the curtains back further so he could see the box truck again. Two of the moving company's men emerged from the back carrying a large tarp-covered piece of furniture with them. It reminded Jeremiah of a coffin due to its size but it was probably a coffee table or hall bench.
"Well, when the movin' van leaves I'll pop by," said Constance. "And see what's what."
...
Abernathy Ambrose was in the house when the moving van arrived. He gave the men their instructions and then carried some of his personal things - things he didn't want strangers handling - up to the attic personally. He paused on entering to take quick stock of the cluttered, dusty things already there. He set the small stack of boxes down near the doorway and wandered further in. He noticed a silvery glint from the far corner.
Curious, he threaded his way between the boxes and various items left behind by previous owners. When he made it to the far corner he let his eyes slowly travel up the form suspended from the wall.
"It's been here for years," Moira said behind him in a sultry tone. "It's yours now."
"Is it?" Ambrose said mildly. "I wonder."
He reached out and brushed his fingertips over one of the black rubber gloves. It was cold to the touch, smooth. The chains that rigged it up off the floor jingled faintly when he gave the suit a tug. It was securely fastened to the wall and ceiling in a fashion that he could tell was intended to restrain a living being. He wondered if the previous owners had kept each other locked to the wall in such a fashion of if the device had an even more sinister purpose.
"We shall see," he said, more to himself than the maid who was standing so close behind him. He gave it another gentle tug then let go. The black rubber suit shuddered and swayed a little, looking for a moment like it was alive. "But I suspect... It already belongs to someone."
xxx
Author's Note:
T'was the night before Halloween...
I probably should have broken this into two parts but I couldn't resist posting Halloween stuff tonight.
So Violet's finally let Tate in. It's definitely not the Romeo and Juliet moment he's dreamt of so often but something's better than nothing. I was hoping she'd kiss him but I guess those nightmares her dad planted really did a number on her. Or else she's just leery of going too fast. I'm interested to know what you guys think. Why's she holding back?
Next chapter is the 2nd part of this one and centers around Westfield (past and present) and Halloween.