We don’t answer the door on Halloween, much less any other day. When you live where we do, opening the door is inviting trouble. People get killed that way, lose their stuff. If you’re expecting somebody, they don’t ring or knock; they call.
My kids know this, but Halloween gets them hoping for something different. They want to give out candy like they’ve seen on TV. Some of their friends have been trick-or-treating. I wanted to give them at least that, so this Halloween, I took them over to a fancy gated community where I know it’s safe.
Over there, people answer their doors for anyone and hand out big candy bars. They compliment my daughter’s fairy costume and recognize which superhero my son is. Police patrol the streets, and I know they’re eyeing me and my kids, but they’re at least keeping us safe.
I make sure to get the kids home before dark, and after they check what they got, I get them to bed. Their smiles make me happy. A couple of beers afterwards also make things nice.
I settle in the basement where it’s easier to ignore any knocking at the door, and for those two beers, I relax a bit.
A few hours later, after a recent round of knocking, I hear my son call me from upstairs. “Dad, there’s somebody at the door.”
“Don’t answer it,” I groan as I get off the recliner.
He knows better, so I startle when I hear him remove the deadbolts and open the door.
He sounds like he’s crying. “But it’s Mom.”
Shit. She’s reason alone to never answer.
I race the rest of the way to the front door where I find it wide open and my boy frozen, tears running down his cheeks. He should’ve known better than to open the door. He knows better than to scream now.
The thing has latched its proboscis around his right arm, up to his elbow. Its lumpy, slimy body fills up the doorway, and two eyestalks watch both me and my son. I see what’s a mold of my late wife growing out of its mouth. I hear it hum almost like she used to.
I own an axe for these situations. I never wanted to use it, but I had to tonight.
My son’s now fainted as I fix the tourniquet on his bicep. My daughter’s awake, too, huddled beside me as we hide in her room. The thing’s gotten back to knocking, but it’s not getting through that reinforced bedroom door, as long as we all know better now. I’m watching the windows, too, just in case. I know we’re safe as long as I can get this bleeding stopped. Halloween’s probably ruined for a while though.
Not everyone gets to live in the safe parts of town. Judging by all those sticky hands pressing up against my daughter’s windows, I reckon not many people will live outside of the safe parts either after tonight.