Page 21 of Ghosts, Ghouls, and Growls
Every storefront on Main Street has been transformed into a Halloween wonderland as if the entire town made a pact to out-spook each other in what amounts to the world’s most festive arms race. Giant inflatable spiders cling to the sides of buildings, their leg spans wide enough to make an arachnophobe move to another time zone. Scarecrows with pumpkin heads stand tall outside each storefront, their button eyes following you as you pass by.
Foam tombstones sprout from planters that usually house petunias, bearing punny epitaphs likeHere Lies Doug—He’s Dead NowandHere Lies Ed—His Expiration Date Expired. Orange and purple string lights drape across the street like glowing spiderwebs, swaying gently in the autumn breeze. The lampposts sport giant plastic bats with glowing red eyes that somehow manage to look both menacing and adorable, and every bit like evil Muppets who’ve been corrupted by the dark side.
And every shop window features at least one animatronic ghost that springs to life when someone walks by, issuing a cacophony ofBoos!that blends together into a sort of spooky symphony.
“I’m really getting into the Halloween spirit this year with my costume,” Georgie announces, adjusting her purple and orange kaftan as we make our way down the sidewalk like a small parade dedicated to the art of casual investigation. “I’m going as a naughty flapper witch—all fringe and attitude, and lots and lots of love potions. But I’m saving that for the big night. The next costume I wear to the festival is a surprise.”
“You’re always a naughty witch,” Mom retorts, pushing Ella’s stroller over a crack in the sidewalk with the precision of someone who has navigated many a baby buggies. “Last year you were a naughty nurse, the year before a naughty librarian. I’m detecting a naughty pattern.”
“That’s because naughty is my brand, Red,” Georgie says with a wink that suggests she’s built an entire personality around theconcept and has no intention of changing her marketing strategy. “Consistency is key in marketing.”
I laugh and adjust my windbreaker against a particularly determined gust that seems personally offended by my choice of outerwear. Fall isn’t just in the air—it’s in my hair, my nose, and probably setting up permanent residence in my sinuses. “Georgie does have a mischievous streak that knows no bounds or seasons. Remember when she convinced the entire town council that alien crop circles had appeared in Farmer Jenkins’ cornfield?”
“Those were perfectly executed geometric designs,” Georgie huffs with the indignation of an unappreciated artist. “It’s not my fault they couldn’t appreciate my artistic vision.”
“You were drunk on hard cider and driving a tractor in circles at two in the morning,” Mom reminds her.
“Like I said—artistic vision.”
We continue as our furry entourage trots alongside us. Fish occasionally pauses to cast a disdainful glance at a particularly gaudy fake black cat, Sherlock enthusiastically investigates every interesting smell, and Fudge bounces between the two of them like a lightning-infused pinball.
I still don’t understand why hoomans need an entire holiday dedicated to dressing up,Fish thinks, narrowly avoiding a puddle.You all look ridiculous enough in your regular clothes.
Halloween is the best!Sherlock counters, his tail wagging.We get extra treats just for keeping our costumes on. Easy money!
I loved my vampire costume!Fudge yips, doing a little spin in the middle of the sidewalk.Heath said I looked very fierce! I can’t wait to wear it again!
You’re in luck,Fish mewls.Knowing Bizzy, she’ll shove you in it before we head to the festival. Baby Ella isn’t immune to the costume chaos either. Bizzy has already bought ten costumes for her to wear this week alone.
It was more like thirty, I think to myself, but I’ll never tell. I’ll admit, I’ve developed a bit of a shopping habit now that I’ve got a baby girl. And I thought my shopping addiction was bad when Elliot was born. For some reason, I seem to buy twice the baby girl clothes than I do baby boy clothes, but I can’t help it. They’re all so darncute. If cuteness were currency, I’d be bankrupt by Christmas. And at the rate I’m going, I just might be.
As we round the corner, Sea Beans and Books comes into view, lit up like a beacon against the gloomy sky and looking like the kind of place where literary dreams come true and caffeine addiction finds its perfect home. The storefront glows with warm, golden light that spills onto the sidewalk, inviting weary souls to come in from the cold and probably leave with more books than they intended to buy.
The large front windows have been hand-painted with a parade of pumpkins and fall leaves, transformed into a seasonal mural that puts my artistic abilities to shame. A wooden sign swings gently above the door, that readsFeed Your Mind, Feed Your Soulin whimsical letters.
Stacks of books are visible through the windows, arranged in displays that would make any bibliophile weak at the knees. And the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the air, creating an invisible but irresistible trail leading directly to the entrance.
Georgie moans, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. “That smell is casting a spell on me.”
“Coffee always seems to cast a spell on me, too.” Mom nods in agreement with the understanding of a fellow caffeine devotee. “That may explain my addiction.”
“Me three,” I say, pushing the stroller toward the entrance. “Even if I am relegated to decaf these days, it doesn’t stop me from downing six cups before noon.”
That also might explain why my bladder is still working overtime despite the fact I no longer have a baby tap-dancing on it like it’s her personal stage.
Mom opens the door, and the scent hits us ten times stronger, like walking into a cloud of liquid happiness that’s been infused with the dreams of book lovers and the hopes of coffee addicts. The rich, nutty aroma of freshly ground beans mingles with the sweet scent of vanilla and cinnamon, creating a perfume that could probably be bottled and sold as Bookworm’s Delight. I’d buy an entire case and use it as my signature scent.
Lucky for us, there’s a sign out front that says all pets arewelcome as long as they’re leashed or held. Sherlock and Fudge are covered, and Georgie scoops up Fish for me, who looks about as thrilled as a cat being given a bath.
The indignity,Fish grumbles.I have four perfectly functional legs, and yet here I am, being carted around like luggage with whiskers.
The cutest luggage with whiskers.
We step inside, and sure enough, standing behind the counter is Buffy Butterwick herself, helping a customer with their book order and a latte.
The interior of Sea Beans and Books is even more magical than its exterior promised. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves line the walls, crammed with volumes of every size and color, creating a literary rainbow. The new releases gleam from a display near the front, while a smallTake One, Leave Onelending library shelf sits by the door, filled with well-loved paperbacks that have clearly been through many adventures and lived to tell the tale.
And a glass case near the counter showcases an array of treats that would make even the strictest dieter reconsider their commitment to caloric excellence and possibly their relationship with willpower. Cobweb cupcakes with delicate spun-sugar webs on top,poisonedapple muffins with shiny red candy glaze that looks disturbingly realistic, ghost-mallows floating in mugs of hot chocolate like tiny specters of marshmallow perfection, and thick slices of pumpkin patch cheesecake dotted with tiny marzipan pumpkins that are almost too cute to eat.
