I wrote a bit of flash fiction for my critique group. We had a few picture prompts of falling leaves, owls and witches and I came up with this short piece for Halloween. I hope you enjoy it.
“What are you doing?” I asked, glaring down at my boyfriend while he ripped open a large box with a familiar smile logo on the side.
“I bought you some Halloween decorations.” Brad looked up and grinned as though it should be obvious.
“What?” I dropped my bag. It landed with a heavy thud on the smooth floorboards.
“You know—pumpkin lights, webs, skeletons, the usual.” Brad delved deeper into the box, pulling out items covered in garish images of Jack-o’-lanterns, skulls, and bats.
I glowered at the offensive objects as they littered the floor of my once pristine hallway. “It’s only the first of October.”
“I know, but we have to be prepared if we’re going to host a party on October thirty-first.”
“What?” My mouth dropped open.
“Stop saying ‘what’ and get in the Halloween mood.” Brad stood and placed his hands on my waist. “Come on.” His fingers caressed my hips. “Don’t you just love the fall: the crisp leaves fluttering to the ground, cozy evenings snuggling on the couch?” He leaned in and kissed my forehead.
“I love those autumnal activities, but autumn and Halloween are two different things.” I wriggled out of his embrace. “What I don’t love are bratty kids knocking on my door demanding sweets because some American hyped up a what was originally a day to reflect upon loved ones who had passed on and call it a—” I raised my arms, bobbed my forefingers, and adopted my terrible American accent — “holiday.”
Brad frowned. “Remind me why I’m dating an uptight Brit who loves to cling to the past like a life preserver in a storm.” A smile spread across his face. “Wait, you’re a Halloween grinch, aren’t you?”
“I am not!” I sighed and marched into the kitchen. “I just don’t like people constantly knocking on my door when I would rather be left alone.” I paused before I picked up the kettle and turned on the tap. “Besides, The Grinch hated Christmas, not Halloween.”
I kept my eyes on the water as it flowed into the kettle. If there were a Halloween equivalent of The Grinch, I would win hands down. I hated having to smile and joke with the kids, pretending to like their costumes, then hand out sweets—only to have to leave the comfort of my overstuffed couch and do it all again five minutes later. I would rather close the curtains, shut off the lights, and snuggle into bed with a good book. Reading under the covers by torchlight, of course.
If I had known Brad was such a big fan, I would never have considered dating him. Okay, that was a little harsh, even for me.
Brad chuckled behind me. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”
I rolled my eyes, then turned and froze.
Brad leaned against the doorframe with his legs crossed at the ankles. He waved a shimmering cellophane bag in the air that contained what appeared to be black velvet and web-patterned filmy fabric. “I got you a costume.” He shook the bag before him.
“I am not wearing that… whatever it is!”
“It’s a witch’s costume. That way you’ll get away with being grumpy the entire evening while the rest of us enjoy ourselves.”
“What the hell makes you think you can even have a party in my house without asking me?”
Brad shrugged. “I knew you’d say no.”
“Of course I’d say no.” I dumped the kettle on its stand and flipped the switch with more force than necessary. “I don’t want strangers wandering around my house. Besides, I’d have to talk to them, and you know I hate that!”
“Come on, even introverts come out of their caves now and again.” He stepped forward, flipped the bag around, and pointed at the image of a woman on the back. “Look, it comes with purple-and-black striped panty hose.”
“Tights.”
“Whatever. You love purple.” He tossed the offending item onto the pine dining table and leaned in, placing his hands on the kitchen counter behind me. “Bedsides, I’ve already invited loads of people from the office.”
“Well, you can politely retract their invitations.”
His bottom lip jutted out, and he blinked his puppy dog eyes.
Damn him, he knows I can never resist those deep brown orbs. I leaned back from the waist in a feeble attempt to create some space between us. The kettle bubbled away on the countertop behind me.
“I’m going as Dumbledore.” He whispered in my ear. “If you dress up for me, I might let you play with my wand.”
“Well, I’m just not Dumbledore’s type.” I forced my arms between us and folded them across my chest.
“Why not?” He rolled his hips against me.
“You know Dumbledore’s gay—right?”
He jerked backwards. “What?”
Loved it