Revenge of the Candy [FICTION]

Night after night after night, life remains uneventful. Then the one night of the year comes that breaks the humdrum of our lives. We deck out our houses with cobwebs and pumpkins and hide ourselves behind wigs, makeup, latex, and nightmares. Children and adults share in the awe and wonder that culminates in Halloween night. A night when parents get the chance to share the glorious night with younger versions of ourselves, our children. Sadly, their interest wanes as they outgrow their need for our protection from the terrifying.

With a few weeks left before Halloween, I greeted my son Cal at the door with pictures of the final candidates for our costumes. I had tried to catch him numerous times, but he was always rushing somewhere. This time, I timed it perfectly and met him at the door. We would have a few minutes before dinner. He glanced at my idea sheets as he dropped his bag at my feet before focusing on his scuffed sneakers.

“Sorry, mom. I promised the guys we’d go as the ninja turtles this year.”

I choked back my feelings and flashed him a smile. “Well, that sounds like fun.”

“And we wanted to go trick-or-treating by ourselves,” he mumbled as his eyes moved up to his hands.

“Oh.” I couldn’t find words, so I turned toward the kitchen. “I should finish dinner.”

Silence reigned between us through the intervening days. We broke it only for required greetings or polite requests. When Halloween finally arrived, my husband helped Cal into his costume and walked him to the door for a few final words of caution. I hid in the kitchen, pretending that the fun size candies needed more work than simply opening a bag and dumping it into my oversized cauldron. With no partner in costuming, I had pulled out an old witch costume from before my precious boy entered my life. The itchy wig and slightly tight black dress accentuated my misery.

I sighed as the door closed behind Leonardo with his blue mask and foam katana. I focused more intently on my mix of candy, stirring it aimlessly as I watched the colorful packages swirl.

My husband joined me in the kitchen. “That looks just right, honey.” He reached around me to grab a peanut butter cup from the top of the stash.

“Thank you.” I mumbled.

“Cheer up, babe. You still have me.” As he leaned down to kiss the top of my head, the doorbell rang. “And your annual visitors. Better treat them. We don’t need toilet paper.”

I thanked him with a peck on the cheek and headed to the door. Throughout the evening, he offered me his winning grin whenever I glanced his way. The doorbell rang and rang. I tossed out candy to ghosts and goblins, superheroes and villains, and creatures I wouldn’t even try to figure out. I even doled out some treats to a couple of teenagers who were wearing far too little clothing for the gusts of chill wind that swept down our street. Even the sweetest smiles and expressions of gratitude made no dent in the shadow on my mood.

Halfway through the evening, my son returned home. The banging of the back door sent me racing to intercept an interloper. By the time I stepped into the kitchen, Cal’s back was disappearing up the stairs, one katana hanging dejectedly from his back without its partner.

My husband followed close at my heels. We exchanged that silent look so familiar to parents. He waved his hand up the stairs. I nodded and followed my son. I stopped at his door, pausing to catch my breath and sort my thoughts.

“Mom?” His muffled voice called out to me.

“Yes.” I almost whispered back, afraid to presume too much.

“You can come in.” His voice echoed louder.

As I entered the room, he rolled over to face the wall. My motherly eyes detected redness around his eyes in those few seconds.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Some big kids stole my candy,” he mumbled.

Stunned, I just stared at the back of his head. My mind raced.

“Mom?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll fix it.” Preprogrammed maternal words fell from my lips before I could formulate a plan.

“Thank you.” He whispered as I slipped out of the room.

Without more thought, I stepped into my own room and glanced into my overstuffed box of costumes. On top was a candy cane outfit from a Christmas pageant. I pulled it out and quickly switched from cackling witch to sweet treat. A few sprays of glitter and some white face paint made me feel appropriately incognito. I stuffed a dark cloak in against my skin before I zipped up. I slipped out the back door as my husband opened the front door to greet and treat a new batch of children.

Realizing that I hadn’t asked enough questions, I began speed walking from one street to the next. My eyes roved from child to child, hoping I could pick out the one who looked evil enough to steal from my baby. Despite the chill in the air, sweat began to pour down my lower back. My legs grew weary. I turned toward home to confess my failings as a mother.

I stepped into the shadow of a large oak tree as I rounded a corner and almost tripped over my sparkly red shoes. Turning the same corner were two awkward boys toting multiple bags of candy.

One bag of the bags stood out and stopped my feet. My heart melted as I gazed at the old pillowcase with a crude outline of a bat embroidered on it. Cal couldn’t have completely rejected me if he chose that sad carrier for his treats. I stepped out of the shadows into the path of the hoodlum and his partner.

“What the **** are you?” His voice changed pitch twice during his question, settling on a puberty-driven squeak.

“Can’t you tell?” I leaned forward, spraying a gentle mist of peppermint oil as I focused my best mom gaze on the little thief.

“What the…?”

As his eyes watered from the overpowering aroma of the holidays, I grabbed the bat bag. He resisted, but the other bags weakened his grip.

“You better return the rest of those treats or you won’t be getting anything for Christmas.” I said as I pulled the bag free and stepped away.

“Hey…” Another spritz of peppermint turned his squeaky protest into an irritated cough.

Before he or his friend could recover, I disappeared into a neighboring yard and made a beeline for the next street. I pulled out my cloak and threw it over my shoulders. I could hear them calling back and forth to each other as they searched for me. I kept cutting through dark yards until I reached my own backyard and disappeared back into my house. My husband looked up from the couch as I closed the door and locked it.

I nodded and headed for the stairs. He stood up to follow, but the doorbell rang again, so he grabbed the candy cauldron. I climbed the stairs alone. I rapped on Cal’s door, entering before he could invite me. As the door opened, his eyes took in my attire questioningly but lit up as he saw the bag in my hand.

“Thank you.” He exclaimed, leaping from the bed to hug me.

“You’re welcome.” I replied as I enfolded him in my arms.

“You can come with us next year.” He whispered in my ear as his hands reached for the bag.

“Thank you.” I said, letting go of the bag and sitting back to watch my boy sort through his treats.

(I couldn’t resist mixing my holidays like the retail stores do. Hope you can forgive me.)