Happy Halloween

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As promised here is the short story I wrote many years ago now for the writing contest on the writing site I belonged to at the time. It wasn't a blog site but a site to help writers become better at their craft. I hope you enjoy the story. TRICK OR TREAT Valerie Jean Routhieaux “Oh, why did you have to die on Halloween? Is this to mock me? You do know what everyone will say, don’t you? I will not allow you to haunt me until eternity and beyond. You know I don’t believe in that kind of stuff. Oh, why am I talking to a corpse anyway?” I sniffed, wiping at tears, and then my imagination took hold as I thought I saw his finger move, just slightly, but it moved. No, it must be my imagination. Who dies on Halloween? What I needed to do was to call an ambulance and have them cart the body away, and then I need to call the minister to conduct the funeral. “Do you realize how much I hate funerals? You couldn’t wait just one more day? It had to be tonight?” I know I must seem crazy talking to the corpse that used to be my husband. It’s a good thing our kids aren’t here they would lock me up for sure and think I went over the deep end. Is this really what happens when someone dies; we talk to them, still expecting a response? “I can’t have an ambulance show up in the middle of all those trick-or-treaters combing the streets looking for candy. It will cause unknown trauma in their little minds. Then again, the teenagers would think it was hilarious to see an ambulance come by and stop at our house. I know just what they would say too: ‘Serves ’em right for not believing in Halloween.’ Well, one thing’s for sure, I can’t just let you sit here. Besides, you’re starting to stink.” It’s not that I don’t believe in Halloween, the devil’s holiday, the day more pranks and mischief are done in the name of foolery than any other, and the night when more harm is done than any other. I do believe in it, that’s just the thing. I’ve just always chosen not to participate in all the foolery going on out there. I watched as a finger moved again, and my heart almost stopped. It wasn’t my imagination this time. It really did move. “Are you really dead? Or are you playing with me?” I put a finger to the pulse point on his neck. Nothing. I watched his chest. Nothing. He wasn’t breathing. So, what was up with that finger? Is there some easy explanation I don’t know about regarding the nervous system maybe, and what happens after death that could cause a finger to move? “If you stand up, I’ll run crazy from this house. You know I will, and then they’ll lock me up for sure. So, don’t you do anything crazy like that. I’m upset enough as it is. And to think that I would talk to you after you died, I must be borderline insane.” “Well, let’s get on with it and get you out of here.” I reached for the cellphone on the table and dialed 911. “I wish to report an emergency, sort of. My husband died tonight, just a few minutes ago. … Um, the address is 666 All Hallows Drive. … Um, you won’t sound the siren, will you? He is dead after all. … Okay, that will be fine, thank you.” I went back to him, sitting there in the chair watching television as if nothing serious had taken place just a short while ago. Then I realized his eyes were open. Do people die with their eyes open? I know I’ve seen it on television, but that’s make-believe, isn’t it? I was about to close his eyes when the doorbell rang. Who could that be? It was too early for the ambulance. Oh no, you don’t think it’s trick-or-treaters, do you? What should I do? I looked at the table next to the door. I took the packet of trick-or-treating pamphlets from church and went out and bought candy. My pastor said not to give those out without candy, so I thought I would participate for a change. The doorbell rang again. I looked from my dead husband to the door. There was nothing for it. I went to answer it, taking up a leaflet and candy bar, I opened the door. “Trick or Treat!” I stared at the Grim Reaper and almost laughed as I handed him his treat and was about to close the door when the ambulance arrived. Great, I had the Grim Reaper on my doorstep, the ambulance in my driveway and now everyone just stopped to watch the show. I looked to see a dozen kids in varying sizes and shapes in every kind of costume imaginable, their eyes directed right at me. I watched the paramedics get out of the truck as though this was an ordinary house call. Maybe it was for them, not for me. Going to the back of the truck they took a gurney out and a large orange box of some kind and headed up the walk. “You called in an emergency?” asked one of the paramedics. “Yes, come in, my husband died just a short while ago,” I said as they wheeled the gurney into the house before I closed the door. I watched the Grim Reaper back away in shock, stumbling over a low bush, and then turned to run to his other friends waiting on the street. I noticed him talking and gesturing, but nobody moved from their positions. I closed the door and showed the paramedics the way into the living room. “We were just watching television when it happened.” “What exactly happened?” asked the other paramedic. “We just finished supper and were getting ready for the onslaught of trick-or-treaters. I set up the candy bowl by the door and my husband sat in his favorite recliner and turned on the television. There’s a funny movie called High Spirits. We didn’t want to watch any of that gruesome stuff on Halloween, but this one looked like a good movie.” They looked at the television to see the movie playing and then turned to the corpse. “So, your husband died just as the movie was starting, or as soon as he turned on the television?” asked the first paramedic. “I’m not certain. I was in the kitchen getting us some popcorn to eat while we watched the movie. He was like that when I brought out the bowl and set it on the table between us, there,” I said pointing at the bowl of popcorn. “What made you think he was dead?” asked the other. “I was talking to him, and he didn’t answer me.” They removed him from the chair and laid him on the gurney. “He always answers you when you talk to him?” “Eventually, not right away, so I didn’t think anything of it, but I also noticed he didn’t move or anything, and then it started to reek in here, and thought something was wrong and realized he was dead. Excuse me. I need to call my pastor to let him know what happened.” I picked up the phone again while I watched them do what paramedics do when a body is dead. “Hello, Pastor, I’m calling to let you know my husband passed away tonight. … Yes, in the recliner. We were about to watch a movie. I had all the leaflets ready to hand out to the trick-or-treaters along with candy just like you said on Sunday. … The paramedics are here now. … I don’t know what they’re going to do.” I turned my attention to the paramedics as they put the sheet over my husband’s face. “Where are you taking him?” “To the Headless Horseman morgue ma’am, in Sleepy Hollow,” said the first paramedic as they got ready to leave the house. “They’re taking him to the morgue in Sleepy Hollow. … I had one come to the house just before they arrived, the Grim Reaper. … Yes, that’s why I called to make arrangements for the funeral. … Well, I guess I should have expected something strange in the neighborhood, living at 666 All Hallows Drive. What could be more fitting than that my husband should die on October thirty-first? … The paramedics are leaving. I should probably go with them. … Yes, I will be all right, though I think I’ll be known in the neighborhood from now on as the Bride of Frankenstein, or some such thing. … No doubt they’ll expect me to die next Halloween. … Yes, of course. I’ll see you tomorrow to make all the arrangements. … Goodbye.” ~ “Who was that dear?” asked the man’s wife. “The Bride of Frankenstein, letting us know he’s dead again.” “It’s the Night of the Living Dead.” “Yes, and the House on Haunted Hill at the end of All Hallows Drive has a lot of activity on this night every year.” “Who you gonna call?” “Nobody, it’s the Ghostbusters night off.” Image courtesy of Pixabay