Page 9

Seven

“Look at it,” Araceli coos, pointing to the flashing marquee of the pop-up Halloween shop in front of us. I look begrudgingly. I can’t fucking believe she convinced me to come here and go out tonight. Alternating shades of vibrant red and burnt orange burn into my retinas as I stand staring, internally mulling over all the ways this night can, and likely will, go wrong. Anytime I’ve ignored my gut and gone along with one of Araceli’s ploys, it’s never ended well. So tonight, with me already on thin ice with my dad, not to mention lying to him, I told him I picked up an extra shift at the movie theater. I can only imagine what will happen if he finds out who I’m with and where I am. But if I’m being honest, a part of me—the part of me that has denied myself freedom my entire life—doesn’t care… at all.

I feel my fist tighten at my side, but with a gentle tug of my hand, Araceli weaves her fingers in mine as she leads the way through the remainder of the parking lot. With each step we take, I can feel a shift in Araceli. The usually defiant, grumpy rebel—somehow, in the blink of an eye—vanishes the very moment we step through the automated doors.

Two steps into the shop and my feet freeze on the spot, and my hand locks onto Araceli’s, causing her to stumble back .

“You can’t be serious?” She looks up at me with a raised brow before rolling her eyes. “Oh my fuck, seriously?” She giggles. “You’re afraid?”

“No.” I glare at her.

“You should feel comfortable in a place like this... it’s no different than The Last Stop, silly,” she says teasingly, dragging us down the first aisle by my hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say in defense. It’s true. I don’t. I have not the faintest clue what the hell The Last Stop is.

Araceli doesn’t elaborate more. She simply leaves it at that and leads the way through the grotesque displays. Some are scary, others gory, and all are definitely not my vibe, but I can’t help but notice how happy she is amongst the cheesy macabre displays. It’s like she’s home.

Now at the back of the store she lets go of my hand, spinning around to face me, a floor-to-ceiling wall of masks behind her.

“Well,” she motions, both hands to the masks as if I could possibly miss it, “don’t be shy, pick one.” The feistiness laced within her tone is a challenge, and so is the smirk on her face. She thinks I won’t pick one or go through with tonight. I don’t feel great about it, but we agreed tonight was a ‘fuck you’ to my dad. If celebrating a holiday that’s been ingrained in my head since birth is a sin, and stepping out of my comfort zone with my stepsister, who seems to find trouble wherever she goes, is my only way to do so, then so fucking be it.

I bite down on my lip, looking past her at the overwhelming display. “Calm down, church boy,” she hums her go-to jab. “No one is going to see us here.” She takes a step closer, my pulse ricocheting through my veins. “Well, no one except, you know.” She teasingly cranks her neck up, insinuating that the god I’ve been conditioned to believe in will see. I look up pathetically, but all I see is the ceiling.

Looking at me knowingly, Araceli steps forward, closing the space between us. It’s as though she can sense the angel that I’m forced to keep on my shoulder is pleading with the devil on the other to come out and play. She places her hands on the leather harness wrapped around my waist that traces and wraps around both of my thighs—that she somehow convinced me to wear—and pulls at it, tugging me closer to her. “Tonight, it’s just you and me. No one to stop us…” she pauses to point at the mask wall once more, “… no one to recognize us.” She lets go of me, stopping in front of a section of the overwhelming display.

“That’s the beauty of Halloween, you have one night to let down your guard and lose yourself in the fantasy of being something you’re too afraid to be all the other nights of the year.”

Fuck, she’s wearing me down.

“I’m not afraid,” I interrupt her speech, through a tight jaw.

“It’s ok if you are. That’s also part of the magic of Halloween.” Her voice trails off, waiting for me to complete her thought.

“Let me guess, Halloween is about facing your fears too?”

And here I was thinking it’s just about trick or treating in corny costumes.

“Exactly!” She claps. “Except you get to experience your greatest fears in a controlled setting. That way, you can not only conquer them, but find a way to actually enjoy them.”

Enjoy? One’s fears? Sounds like bullshit to me.

“Jesus Christ, Araceli,” I mumble, still processing everything she’s saying as I take my time looking at the mask wall.

She moves behind me and leans up on her tiptoes. She attempts to hover over me, but she can’t—she’s too short. It’s not like that stops or limits her from getting or doing what she wants. Not like I’d ever stop her.

“Uhhh, ah,” she clicks her tongue, reaching her hand around in front of me, picking up a mask that she drops in my hand. “No talk of God tonight. Just you, me, and whatever devil latches onto us.”

“Right,” I shoo her off, rejecting the mask she chose for me.

“Oh, all of a sudden a horror aficionado, huh? ”

We both stare at the green mask I rejected.

“It looks like Shrek.”

A disgusted scoff leaves her mouth as she leans over, pointing at the rubber green neck. “Shrek, Harlan? Really? What fucked up version of Shrek were you watching? Because the last time I checked, Shrek didn’t have gills like the Gill-man.”

My brow furrows.

“Jes—” she begins, immediately stopping to correct herself. “Nope. None of that,” she reminds herself. “Gill-man…” her eyes widen, waiting for me to pick up on her cue. “Fuck, Harlan, the Creature from the Black Lagoon,” she says like a question she’s waiting for me to answer.

“I don’t get it,” I shrug, moving to see what my other options are.

“Of course not, they must’ve forgotten that on Veggie Tales.”

A frustrated breath hitches in my throat. I’m so tired of this shit. Here I am once again, doing something she wants to do. Risking getting in trouble like I did months ago, all because of her and her rebellious, arrogant self. She can’t set that ego aside for one fucking second to not treat me like I’m a fucking altar boy.

Angrily, I snatch a hooded mask, it’s black mesh with just a small hole to breathe through and a long black hood. “How’s this?” I ask her.

She fakes a yawn, patting her hand to her mouth. “Boring.”

“What’s so boring about it? It’s the Grim Reaper.”

Her hand moves from her mouth, an amused glint shines bright in her dark eyes. “Well fuck me, I guess hope isn’t lost on you after all, brother. At least you know who the Grim Reaper is.”

“Of course I do. So, what’s wrong with choosing this one?”

She looks at me and then the mask in my hand. “I don’t know, it’s just a tad cliché.”

“I thought you said tonight was a night to face our fears?” I remind her.

“I did. Why? Are you afraid of death? ”

I put the mask back on the display hook, choosing not to answer her question. The truth is, death is my biggest fear, mostly because I can’t believe a word that comes out of my dad’s mouth, whether he’s preaching or not. If what he claims waits for us doesn’t exist, it means that my mom, as well as Araceli’s mom—and anyone for that matter who is no longer here—is in a construct. In a realm, or whatever, that we may never fully understand, and that terrifies me.

Deflecting her question further, I move past her, trying to scramble and find a mask so we can get off this topic and get on with the evening. Araceli is still going on about whatever when something on the far side of the mask wall grabs my attention. At first, I thought it was glass shattering, but this is duller, and the noise lingers longer than a shattering of glass would. Panic trickles in my veins, my first instinct is to look over my shoulder to see if anyone is spying on us, but that’s just my anxiety. An emotion I’ve been far too familiar with in my life, but it’s something my father insists is a side effect of my lack of true faith. I continue to look around, though nothing but shoppers, busy purchasing their last-minute finds, meets my eyes. Still, the noise persists, summoning me to continue walking to see where it came from. I go until I stop at the end of the display, cornered in by the walls merging. There’s nothing there. I’m losing it. About to turn around, I hear the noise again, sounding like it’s coming from right under me. I peer down, and again… nothing… is… there.

Fuck. This can’t be happening again. Please, not again.

I take a deep breath, closing my eyes. As I do, a mask catches my eye, summoning a surge of déjà vu too strong to ignore.

With eyes forced open, I look at the display in front of me. Two masks, stacked one on top of the other, stare back at me. The shelf pegs that stick out around it are all empty, only adding to the eeriness of the decaying skeleton mask hanging, just waiting for me to grab it.

It’s hideous and nothing I would ever think to pick up. Not that I would come here on my own to browse. Halloween has never been my thing. It’s never been allowed. Dad forbade it, saying it’s a cursed day for cursed souls, and because of that I’ve never given costumes or masks or anything of the sort much thought. Not until now that is. No thanks to Araceli, and now I feel drawn to —compelled even— to pick up the atrocious mask, not because I want to, because I have to.

An onslaught of thoughts roam through my subconscious, all pleading with me to ignore the pull I have to the mask in front of me. I ignore each one, lifting my hand towards it instead. Slowly, I creep my calloused palm forward, and the rush of familiarity increases the closer my hand gets to the mask, reaching a crescendo until my fingers brush against the rough plaster. The cement-like texture reminds me of what the tombstones that litter the graveyard between our house and the church feel like, rough and unwelcoming.

As I take it off the display peg, a molten, tangible heat spreads on my skin. It’s so hot that I shake my hand, wanting to toss the mask to the ground, but it becomes relentless in my grip, like it’s glued to my palm. No matter how much I try to get rid of it, it won’t budge. It’s like it doesn’t want to let go of me.

Lost in a forced trance, I continue to assess every detail of the grotesque mask in my possession, suddenly realizing why it looks so familiar. I’ve seen something like this. Just last night… in Araceli’s creepy notebook. An inferno lodges itself in my veins as I run my hand over its features. It has the most realistic painted lines reminiscent of decay, rot mars beneath the nose, and all around the exposed jagged, equally rotting teeth. The two eye holes are black, bottomless pits. It’s a damn near perfect replica of the mask worn by the Grim Reaper depicted in the illustration. The picture she said looked peaceful, but what’s staring back at me is anything but peaceful. It’s chaotic. Ominous. Sinful. I hate it and want it all at once.

I go to put it down, but my other hand somehow gets the grand idea to reach for the other mask that was behind it. This one is equally as grotesque as the first. Yet, an odd sense of relief fills me when I see that the second mask is identical to this one.

One for Araceli and me to wear together so we can match.

I lift the masks in my hand to show her. “What about these?”

“Ooh, let me see,” she beams, skipping over. “They’re awful,” she says in a monotone voice I’m not able to read, and an unexpected jolt of disappointment erupts within me. “They’re perfect!” she squeals. “I can’t believe I’ve never seen these here.” She moves closer, cupping her hand near her mouth, shielding it, as if she’s about to tell me a secret, “I love this place, but after a while, seeing the same masks and decor year after year gets old real quick. These are everything,” she boasts, still taking in the masks.

“Lucky us.” I shrug.

“I’d say so. I wonder what the name is.” She eagerly looks at me, urging me to check the tag.

“Ferryman?” I question.

“Hmm, I don’t recognize it.”

“Me either,” I shrug.

She takes both from my hand as she walks past the mask wall to a small end cap of wigs. Picking a split-dyed one, with one side matching her natural black hair and the other a brighter version of my blonde, she tries it on, looking at herself in the mirror.

“Look, hermano, it’s me and you. The saint,” she points to the blonde side, “and the sinner,” she points to the onyx side.

I don’t want to be the saint. I want to be the sinner. Your sinner.

Visions of Araceli grinding on my leg in the bathroom last night cause a rush of blood to jolt my cock to life. I clear my throat, trying to snap my body and mind out of this involuntary fantasy yet once again.

“Whatever,” I downplay the effect she has on me, opening my palm, “give it to me so I can pay.”

She takes the masks and holds them tight to her chest. “None of that chivalrous shit with me. It’s a fucking damned miracle I convinced you to come out with me tonight, this is on me. ”

“Araceli,” I urge her, trying to snatch the masks from her, but she only grips them tighter.

She steps towards me. “Harlan,” she teases, bobbing her head.

Conceding defeat, I drop my arm. “You’re not going to change your mind, are you?”

“Nope,” she says with a grin, walking off to the registers.

I illuminate the lock screen on my phone to check the time while I wait for her to pay. We only have three hours before Holy Harvest ends, so we have two hours at the haunt before we have to leave to make it home before Dad freaks out on both of us.

About to toss my phone back in my pocket, it vibrates twice. Two long distinct buzzes, but there’s no text. I swipe to my messages, and there’s nothing new. As I swipe out of the conversation log, three dots appear by Tori’s name.

Fuck.

Tori: How’s the harvest?

Me: Don’t know.

Tori: How come?

Panicked, I lie.

Me: Picked up an extra shift at work.

Expecting hesitant typing, I stare at the screen, but to my surprise, she buys it—surprisingly, just as Dad did.

Tori: That stinks, but it’s money. Same. I’m sad I’m missing the harvest but duty calls.

Me: Yep.

I close my phone just as I get a waft of Araceli’s perfume.

That fucking smell could bring me to my knees alone.

“All set?” I ask as Araceli returns.

She holds a short receipt in her hand. “It really is our lucky night.” She hands me my mask, ripping the tag off hers.

She walks past me, and I follow behind her to the parking lot as we head to my car.

“Why’s that?”

Stretching the mask over her face, she puts the wig on, it’s a mixture of colors draping over her shoulders.

I furrow my brow, waiting for her to continue.

“Apparently the masks we got weren’t updated in inventory and the girl didn’t feel like making up a price, so she just gave them to me. I only had to pay for the wig. That’s the cheapest I’ve ever gotten out of there.”

“She gave them to you for free?” I ask, pressing the unlock button on the key fob.

“Free.” She slips into the car, and I follow on the driver's side. “And she even gave us these.”

My stomach drops. Church boy, as she likes to call me, or not. I know drugs when I see them. It doesn’t matter if they are disguised as cutesy squares with pumpkins and snakes on them.

“You showed her your tits, didn’t you?” I ask because this wouldn’t be the first time she’s done it. She’s shown her tits for much less.

“Yep, except hers were better,” she winks.

I doubt it, I think to myself, looking at how Araceli’s tits practically spill out of her tight corset top .

“I’m not doing that. Knock yourself out.”

A playful scoff sounds from Araceli as she taps my leg. “Well, if you change your mind… I’ll give you the wittle baby pumpkins,” she mocks with a pout.

Her comment about the wig rings in my mind. “It’s me and you. The saint and the sinner.” It plays on repeat. Mocking me. Motivating me to stop playing the role I’ve been forced to play my entire life of the good pastor’s son. Well, good enough. Unlike my dad, the full commitment to holiness has always felt cumbersome, too cumbersome. I’m ready to sin with her, like she hoped I would when she was grinding her wet, bare pussy on my fucking leg last night. My heart races. Adrenaline and lust, a lethal combination, moving my arms for me like an out of body experience. I snatch the drugs from her, leaving the pumpkin ones for her and opting for the snakes.

She stares at me, unsure of what to say, but she doesn’t have to say that she’s impressed. It’s there in her dark eyes and it practically wisps around us in the air. I can feel it as my cock jolts and throbs from the rush that comes from her—the sinner’s—approval.

“Good boy,” she coos, playful and condescending, adding to the surge of warmth flooding my length. “But let’s wait until we get there to do those.” Araceli takes the sheet back.

“Whatever.” I shrug her off, disappointed.

Engine revved, I’m about to get into first gear to get out of here when she taps my leg again.

“Here.” She offers me an already lit joint, but all I can smell is cinnamon.

“No, I’m good.”

Her eyes roll. “You were just about to drop acid, now a little weed is too much for you? Will it help if I take the first hit?”

“Do what you want.”

“Fine, I’ll take the first hit.” She brings the burning paper to her lips and jealousy strikes me as her plump lips pucker around the edge as she inhales .

She takes another hit before passing it over to me. “Here,” her eyes bulge and I can tell she isn’t going to take no for an answer. “Have some. This is my special weed. I promise it’ll get you right where you need to be.”

“But—”

She clicks her tongue. “But nothing.” Taking the joint back to her lips she breathes in and holds the smoke in her mouth. She leans over to me, taking her hand to my chin and turning it towards her. Gently prying my mouth open, she exhales a stream of bitter, earthy smoke into my mouth. I leave my lips parted, taking in every last drop until the smoke clears.

“Good boy,” she claps, excited. “Now it’s your turn.”

Against my better judgment, I take it from her and suck in a hit. My lungs burn as I hold it, and unlike the steady line of smoke she poured into my mouth, mine is staggered as I cough it out.

“Good enough.” She takes it from me, taking one last hit before chucking it out the open window. “Mask,” she reminds me, tipping her head down to my mask that’s still in my hand.

“Right.” I finish switching gears. Draping the mask over the top of the steering wheel, I rip off the tag but notice a rough, muddy texture coating my hand.

Gross .

I open the window button with my elbow, shaking my hand and throwing the tag out. A wind gust fills the car, and Araceli’s wig almost falls off.

“Close the window!” she shouts, voice competing with the wind.

I press the button but as the window takes its sweet ass time lifting, I try to get more of the dirt off my hands, and out the window.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing there was just dirt on the tag. Must’ve been stuck in the back room or something.”

“Yeah maybe.” Her tone is off. She stares at the dirt on my hand, studying it before she plugs her phone into my car to connect the GPS to the speaker.

“What’s the name of the road?” I ask.

“Uh, hold on.” Araceli fumbles for the invite in her pocket. “Fuck, the GPS is just spinning.”

Of course.

“Well hurry up, I don’t know where I’m driving to.”

“No shit,” she bites at me, sounding as frustrated as I am.

Taking my eyes off the road, I reach over her for her phone. “Give it to me.”

She pulls it away from me. “Just keep driving.”

Shifting my gaze back to the road ahead, I offer her a glimpse of my periphery. “Where would you like me to drive if I have no idea wherever the fuck I’m—”

I slam on the breaks. The car skids to an abrupt stop, tossing both of us forward, and testing the restraints of our seatbelts.

A stunned silence creeps over us as we watch someone run at lightning speed across the road.

“Did you see that?” Araceli’s voice trembles.

My pulse thuds in my ears. “No shit.”

The road around us is so desolate it makes it impossible to determine what’s around us. “Should we go see if they are okay?” I ask Araceli, keeping my gaze on the driver’s side window, trying to see where they ran off to, but it’s so dark out, I can’t see a damn thing.

“Fuck no! What are you, nuts? That’s a fucking death wish if I’ve ever heard one. Just keep driving. This area isn’t safe.”

“Then why are we going?”

She’s too preoccupied with the GPS on her phone to answer me. “I got the address to load.” She shakes her illuminated screen at me, and sure enough, as she presses start, it connects to the speakers. “Also, to answer your question, the unsafe places are the most fun on Halloween. You know since it’s all about—”

“Facing your fears, I know,” I finish for her, unable to look away from her phone. There’s no service since we’re in the middle of nowhere. Let alone no Wi-Fi hook up in this beat up car I have, so getting the signal to work should be next to impossible. “Are you sure it’s working? There’s no service here.”

She shrugs. “Well, start driving and we can find out. I don’t want whatever that person was running from to get us.” She’s joking. Somewhat.

“This is fucked. We should…”

Unfastening her seatbelt she wastes no time contorting her body so her lips crash into mine for a kiss I have no time to react to. But fuck, if her lips don’t feel good on mine.

Like a jackass—and exactly how she intended—I’m completely distracted by her fucking lips. My tongue slips out of my mouth, ready to crash into hers, but right as I do, she pulls back. Her tongue clicks with a grin.

“Relaxed?” she whispers, softly humming against my mouth.

“Not really.” My thoughts spin again.

“Drive, Harlan,” she instructs, “and maybe if you’re a good boy I’ll let you kiss something else.”

The thought sends yet another rush to my cock, and like a jackass, I ease off the break and continue down the unpaved road.

“In a quarter of a mile, turn down 333 Summerland Drive.”

I follow the directions until my tires turn down the entrance.

“Hmmm,” Araceli hums.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she trails off, assessing the open lot as I park. “It’s just that this place looks familiar.”

I throw the car in park, and we exchange a look just as a chill runs down my spine.

“Yeah, I know. I was thinking the same thing.”