Page 22 of Beneath the Dirt

“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.

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