Trick or Treat

Tootsie rolls, I told her. Dum Dums. And if you must hand out chocolate, at least get the ones I hate, like Almond Joy or Mounds. But no, what does my mother do? She buys Kit Kats and Reese’s, and now I want to eat the whole bowl of Halloween candy. I can’t stop thinking about it.

My diet is so over.

“You guys want a Skinny Cow?” If I can just distract myself with a diet ice cream sandwich until the candy’s all gone, then I won’t have to think about it anymore. Hannah is sitting on my bed, gnawing on her thumbnail and texting some junior in her chemistry class. Becks sits beside her, watching television and hugging a pillow to her chest. Neither one of them looks up.

“Fine. A Skinny Cow would be wasted on your skinny asses anyway.” I pretend-flounce downstairs to the kitchen.

My mother looks up from loading the dishwasher. “Sydney, how’s Rebecca doing?”

I shrug and open the freezer door. I’m still mad about the chocolate — she knows I eat when I’m stressed. “Okay, I guess. She’s watching TV now.”

“Has she said anything?”

There’s a sharp twinge in my chest.

“Umm…no.” I rummage through the boxes of frozen peas and lima beans, looking for the ice cream sandwiches.

“Not even about Sarah? I just thought — ”

Sarah. My stomach ices over. Suddenly, I don’t want a Skinny Cow anymore. I shut the freezer door. “No.”

I feel my mother’s eyes on me as I walk back to the stairs empty-handed, and I realize, not for the first time, that there’s nothing I can shove into my mouth that will make me forget that name.

Upstairs, I find Becks standing at the window, watching the street, and playing with something in her hand. She’s so different now. She’s still gorgeous, with her shiny black hair and delicately curved collarbones that I’d die for, but the light went out of her hazel eyes last year. She’s quiet and follows Hannah and I around like a shadow.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Huh?” Becks blinks, startled.

“In your hand.”

Becks quickly shoves her hand into the pocket of her jeans. “Nothing. Just something I found.”

I stand beside her at the window, our shoulders touching. The October sun sinks fast, sending its last golden rays into the sky. A group of trick-or-treaters race each other to ring the doorbell of a nearby house, orange jack-o-lantern buckets flying out from their elbows. Behind them are two little girls dressed like Elsa and Anna, from the movie, Frozen. A man, probably their father, trails behind wearing a pair of overalls and a straw hat.

We don’t go trick-or-treating anymore — not after last year, when Beck’s older sister Sarah disappeared while waiting for us at Honeycutt Park. One moment she was waiting by the oak tree, and then five minutes later no one could find her. Mom says we’re too old for trick-or-treating anyway, since we’re in high school.

I touch Becks’ elbow. Her skin feels cold. “Come on, Becks. Let’s watch a movie. You can pick.”

She continues to stare out the window. I look over at Hannah. She frowns, her phone forgotten.

“Let me do your nails, Becks,” Hannah says brightly. “I brought all the stuff for it.”

I can tell Hannah’s worried. So am I. This was a bad idea. Becks’ parents had asked my mother if she could spend Halloween watching movies with us. They thought she’d be less depressed around friends.

“Becks?” I give her elbow a tug. The sun disappears, leaving behind a watery pink twilight.

“Look,” Becks says.

Hannah puts an arm around Beck’s shoulders. The nails of her left hand are bitten to the quick and bleeding in spots, and it occurs to me that she’s as nervous as I am. “What are we looking at?”

“Alice in Wonderland.”

At the end of the street, a girl walks all alone. She’s wearing a blue dress with a white apron. As she comes closer, I see that she’s tall. A long blond wig covers her hair.

Hannah shoots me a warning glance. “Honey, that’s not her. Come away from the window.”

“But it looks like her,” Becks persists.

“It’s just somebody wearing a costume. Mary was going to dress up as Alice this year,” I lie.

“It’s totally Mary,” Hannah chimes in. “I saw her all dressed up on Snapchat.”

“Oh.” Becks sounds disappointed. She follows us back to the bed. I put pillows behind her back and cover her cold arms with my blanket.

“What should we watch?” I ask in a cheerful voice I hope doesn’t sound too fake.

“I don’t care. You pick.” Becks’ voice is empty. She leans her head back against my poster of Nick Jonas and shuts her eyelids.

I can’t stand to see her like this. Tears spring to the corners of my eyes, but I blink them back. I have to be strong. For Becks.

Wordlessly, Hannah and I flip through the Halloween movies on Netflix, looking for something happy. We finally find one about a runaway pumpkin that looks like it was made for kindergarteners, but at least it won’t bring back any bad memories. Downstairs the doorbell rings. I hear my mother open the door, followed by shouts of “Trick-or-treat!”

Becks eventually opens her eyes and even laughs at the movie a couple of times. I start to feel better about the evening — maybe it wasn’t a mistake after all.

I wonder if there’s any chocolate left. Just one couldn’t hurt. The doorbell rings again and I hear my mother open the door. I realize I should probably go downstairs and get us each a piece of chocolate before it’s all gone.

“I’ll be right back,” I say. Becks and Hannah nod, not taking their eyes off the television screen. Becks has something in her hand again — a small purple object about the size of a stone that she’s rolling between her thumb and forefinger.

“What — ” I start, and then remember the chocolate. I’ll ask Becks about it when I get back. “Never mind.”

Downstairs, the living room is empty. A single lamp burns on the side table beside the couch, casting shadows on the walls.

“Mom?” I say. There’s no answer. “Mom? Where are you?”

The candy bowl sits on the floor. I reach down and grab a handful of the gold foil-wrapped chocolates when I notice that the white wooden front door is moving gently back and forth. My stomach drops and I hold my breath.

A soft breeze pushes it open with a slow creeeeak. I stare out at the black gap of night. She probably went outside to talk to a neighbor, I tell myself.

I walk over to the door and slowly pull it open. The porch and the sidewalk under the streetlamp are deserted: the trick-or-treaters have all gone home. As I begin to push the door shut, something moves near the streetlamp, just beyond the pool of light. There, a lone figure in a dress stands at the edge of the darkness. As my eyes adjust, a faint outline of a white apron begins to take shape.

Sarah.

I shiver at the thought. It can’t be her. Even if she did come back, she would’ve gone to her parents’ house. Or the police would have found her.

But then if it’s not her, it’s someone else waiting on the dark street, watching the house.

I slam the door shut and quickly turn the lock.

“Mom?” I call softly. Still no answer. Maybe she went to grandma’s house and forgot to tell us? I check the kitchen and the garage, but don’t find her.

I tiptoe to the window and look out through a crack in the blinds. My mother’s car is in the driveway. My stomach feels sick. Under the streetlight, I can barely see the figure. I’m not even sure if it’s still there. Whatever it was, it watched my house. Maybe even watched my bedroom. I back away from the window, almost tripping over the coffee table.

It’s just somebody playing a cruel joke, I tell myself. Somebody who hates Becks. But nobody hates Becks. She’s nice to everyone and she hardly even speaks. Even the school bitches feel sorry for her.

I run back upstairs and find Hannah sitting on the floor, painting her toenails.

“We need to call the cops,” I say. Hannah looks up at me and frowns. Becks doesn’t seem to hear me — she’s lying on the bed, turning that purple thing over and over again in her hand. “Where’s my phone? I left it on the dresser.”

“I don’t know,” Hannah says, her eyes wide. “What’s going on?”

I shake the blankets and check under the bed for my phone, a lump welling up in my throat. “My mom’s disappeared and there’s someone outside. We need to call the police. Oh, forget it! We’ll call from yours.”

“Who’s outside?” Becks asks, her eyes round. “Did you see someone?”

Ignoring her, Hannah reaches around to her back pocket, then furrows her brow. “Mine’s not here either. That’s impossible — I always keep it in my back pocket.”

“Give me your phone,” I tell Becks, outstretching my hand.

She shrinks back and holds her hand to her mouth. “I don’t have it. I forgot it at home.”

I stare at her. Her eyes are glassy and tinged with red, and she’s still clutching that little purple bag. “I saw you with it when you came in.”

Becks blinks and shrinks back further, as if trying to put as much distance between us as possible.

“Did you take our phones?” Hannah asks, her voice shrill.

Becks shakes her head violently.

“This is serious,” I shout. “My mother’s missing and there’s somebody outside.” I snatch the small purple thing out of her hand. It’s a small drawstring pouch, and it feels warm and squishy between my fingers. Faint odors of iron and herbs emanate from it. “What the hell is this?”

“Don’t open it!” Becks shouts, leaping towards me with remarkable speed.

I shove her backwards onto the bed. “Give us our phones back and then you can have it back. I know you took them.”

Becks shakes her head again, and this time she won’t meet my eye.

“Open it,” Hannah orders. She stands beside me, her nail polish forgotten.

I pull apart the knot with my fingers, then reach inside. My fingertips touch something bristly. I pull it out and hold the contents in the palm of my hand. It’s a wad of blonde hair covered in a sticky red substance, dirt, a yellowed mottled tooth, a coin, and dried leaves. I fling it away and wrinkle my nose in disgust. “What the hell is this?”

Tears well in Becks’ eyes and start to trickle down her cheeks. “I don’t want to tell you. To be honest, I didn’t even think it would work.” She drops to her hands and knees, picking the contents of the little pouch up off the carpet.

“Why? What is it?” I ask, my insides fluttering. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Becks wipes her tears on the backs of her hands. “Somebody else made it: a lady, a friend of my grandma’s neighbor. I just brought her whatever she told me to — graveyard dirt, hair from Sarah’s brush, and other stuff.”

Hannah and I stare at each other warily. Then a shiver runs down my spine. “This doesn’t bring the dead back to life, does it?”

“I don’t think so,” Becks says, sniffing. “It’s just supposed to bring back things that are lost. We can’t leave — I’ve got to see my sister again.” A small cry escapes from her lips, her pale face full of misery. “I’m so sorry.”

A sudden fear grips my chest. “Where is my mother?”

“I’m sorry,” Becks sobs, hiding her face in her hands.

Downstairs, the door knob turns and clicks. The hinges groan softly as the door swings open.