Halloween Short Story

Years ago, in my late twenties/early thirties, I went through a spoken word phase.  You know, those sad open mic poetry nerds.  That is not to say that some of the people that do this aren't highly talented.  Spoiler alert, I wasn't one of those artists.

I was brought to an open mic by a friend.  After witnessing the show, I wanted to challenge myself to get up in front of the crowd.  Over the next couple of days, I crafted what would be my introductory spoken word piece. 

That next week, I put my name on the list.  When my name was called, I went up and read my thing.  I didn't stutter too badly or fall of the stage, so it was a success.  Thus, starting my few year career in open mic poetry nights.

Towards the end of my poetry career, I ditched the experimental obscure poetry shit and started writing more biographical short stories to read.  The following short story is about an elementary school experience. 

Later this week I will be checking off one of my "bucket list" items by seeing the rock group Kiss live in concert on their "End of the Road" tour.  In honor of Halloween and Kiss, I present to you the following piece written in 2000.

DRACULA VS. GENE SIMMONS VS. MIDNIGHT COWBOY

During my formative years almost every night when I went to sleep around midnight when normal people were cozy in their beds and the house was dark and quiet, Dracula would creep into my room and try to suck my blood.  That caped jerk always thought he was sneaky, but I knew he was coming.  Before he could grab me, I would throw my covers over his head and run.

A chase would ensue.  He might have been an undead supernatural monster, but I was a hyperactive little kid, and I was quick.  Let me tell you.

That bloodsucker would chase me around my room, up the walls, across the ceiling, down the halls, through the house, and I guess eventually back into my room, because that is where I would awake every morning. 

Frantically, I would grab my neck and check for fang marks.  Luckily, I never had any.

Oddly enough during those years when Halloween came around, I would end up dressing as Dracula.  Partly because I liked the idea of being a vampire, but mostly because my cheapskate mom would never relent to spending any real money for an actual costume, not even one of those Stater Brothers' plastic masks with the stapled-on rubber band to hold it onto your head.

It's a wonder she even forked out the thirty-nine cents for the plastic fangs.  Everything else she did herself.  Anything black, a towel or an old sheet became my cape, and she put the finishing touches with her old makeup.

This year is going to be different though.  We just moved to a new city, so I'm at a new school with new friends.  I'm going to own this third-grade costume contest.  All my new friends and I love the rock group KISS.  We always buy and trade KISS cards.  Some of us have even heard their music.

I'm gonna be the demon of all demons, Gene Simmons.  Mom will go along with this idea, because it's homemade, and she'll get to do the makeup.  I'm gonna focus on making some cool dragon boots out of wood and paint them up with silver and glitter and stuff.

Mom gives me the "thumbs up."  Gene Simmons it is this year.  Unfortunately, she keeps stalling about getting supplies and actually making the costume.  Halloween is now tomorrow, and I have nothing for the costume except the old makeup in her bathroom.  She finally gets really pissed and blows up at me for nagging her.  "Everything we need for the costume is in the garage!" she screams.

She starts rummaging through various boxes of junk with all the confidence of a world-class Las Vegas magician, she pulls out an old worn pair of women's tan suede boots, some navy-blue tights, a big piece of plastic fake leather (calling it pleather would give it too much credit), and a medium lengthed dark brown grandma wig (I believe the wig was originally worn by my grandma.).

"You're joking, right?" I say to her.  She warns me to watch my tone, grabs the collected garbage and takes it inside of the house.  At this point, I realize that her penny-pinching cost-eliminating techniques have once again ruined a perfectly good idea, so I tell her to forget it.

After finishing a huge drag on probably her fiftieth cigarette of the day, I see the fire of that cigarette reflecting in her eyes or maybe it was actual fire in her eyes as she screams, "I'm not forgetting anything.  I've put a lot of God damned work into this costume, and you are going to wear it tomorrow.  No ifs, ands or buts about it!"

Realizing that there is no way out at this point in one last futile attempt to inject some sanity into this impending disaster, I describe the many flaws in her proposed costume.  I, unrealistically, hope these suggestions will penetrate her nicotine-soaked brain and have her at least initiate some alterations.

Gene Simmons has silver and gray menacing dragon boots, black tights, extra-long, wavy black hair, and a leather tank-top thing with chains on the chest.  "No problem." she says as she reaches for a can of silver spray paint.  Knowing how psychotic she gets with these types of projects from too many past experiences, I slip into a deep depression and just let her be.

The next morning she wakes me extra early to get me into costume on time.  I'm rushed through my cereal of fake store-brand Cheerios, so she can do my makeup.  Surprisingly, she does a really good job.  I actually get really excited about the contest again until I see the rest of the so-called costume.

The not completely silver spray-painted women's suede boots in no way resemble dragon boots.  The navy blue not black tights look ridiculous!  The brown not black wig isn't even longer than my blonde hair, so she had to pin it up.  And on top of all that, the supposed to be leather chest chain thing she rigged up looks like something that even the Village People wouldn't be caught dead in.

This is beyond my wildest nightmares.  It's taking all the power in my being to keep from crying which would definitely ruin my makeup.  The only bright spot in this fiasco is that the costume contest is during first recess.  We were told to bring clothes to change into afterwards, so I would only have to endure a couple of hours of emotional pain and ridicule.

Big shocker, I didn't win the costume contest.  Some kid dressed up as Luke Skywalker did.  I raced to the bathroom with my bag of clothes to get that crap off and change.  It took about ten minutes of scrubbing to get all of the makeup off with that almost useless pink powdered soap that the school provides.

Reaching into the bag for my shirt, I quickly shed that pseudo-gay bondage vest.  Then, I stripped off those tights and put on my jeans, but something wasn't right.  I hadn't grown since the last time that I wore these jeans, but they're really tight.  OH FUCK!  I had grabbed my brother's jeans by mistake.  He's three years younger and about six inches shorter than me, so you do the math.

I've just transformed from a color blind, brown grandma haired, gay bondage, wanna-be-demon Gene Simmons to a junior Jon Voight from Midnight Cowboy (minus the cowboy hat).  Extra fucking tight high watered jeans and for just the right additional touch, I had mismatched socks.  I looked like a little blonde homeless street hustler.

I uncomfortably suffered through the remaining hours of the school day and the never-ending barrage of ridicule.  By the time I made it home, I couldn't feel my feet.  My brother's super-tight hustler's jeans were so restricting that they cut off most of the circulation to my feet.  I ran as fast as my numb pins and needles feet would allow into my room, slammed the door, peeled off those jeans and cried myself to sleep.

Hours later after the sun went down, I arose from my bed, put on some pants that fit, donned an old black sheet, inserted some plastic fangs, squirted some old fake blood into the corners of my mouth, and grabbed a king-sized pillow case to accommodate the many pounds of candy that I would soon accumulate as once again Dracula was on the prowl this Halloween night.

Happy Halloween!