1HELENA
Given that we’d reached mid-October—and, more importantly, Halloween season—I shouldn’t have been surprised to find a man dressed up as the Grim Reaper on the balcony of Anatole Manor. Still, the historic Gothic home turned event venue made him look so perfectlypicturesque, I couldn’t resist investigating.
I rapped a knuckle against the sliding glass door, but the impossibly tall, hooded man didn’t look up. Instead, he stood in profile at the banister of the stone balcony, lonesome and cutting an ominous image, the handle of his huge scythe propped against his shoulder. Its curved blade gleamed as silver as the slivered moon that floated high above.
Opening the door with my free hand, my other cradling a plastic wine cup, still half full of cheap Chardonnay, I stepped into the night.
I closed the door behind me, muffling the thumping techno remix of “Monster Mash.” The music bled from the crowded ballroom that I’d given the slip—right along with my otherwise-occupied date, who hadn’t noticed my exit anyway.
As the sound subdued to a fainter heartbeat rhythm, I breathed a sigh of relief.
Was that why Tall, Dark, and Gruesome was out here? Maybe his ears—and nerves—needed a break from the ultra-kitschy spooky-themed tunes, too.
“Wow,” I said, turning to my fellow party absconder. “That costume is a ten out of ten on the epic scale.”
The figure didn’t move. And though he remained still enough to be one of those overpriced-lawn-ornament-type deals, the dramatic brooding act wasn’t fooling me. This guy had clearly spent weeks planning this. And no one poured that much time into a costume unless they were dying to show it off.
Not only that, but the man had implemented the special effect of gray fog tendrils curling off the tatty hems of his robes. I wasn’t sure how he’d accomplished that, but my educated guess was that he’d sewn dry ice packs into the fabric.
A glowing hourglass hung from his belt, multicolored orbs floating within—another off-the-scale special effect.
“Truly,” I said as I approached, the floor-length skirts of my sparkly lemon-yellow taffeta ball gown rustling with my movements, “that look is movie-level authentic. Did you rent those robes? Or maybe you made them. Either way,pleasetell me you’re entering the costume contest. I think there’s a cash prize. Runner-up gets a spa gift card. I guess you don’t have flesh, but you could still get your phalanges done.” I wiggled my rainbow-painted nails at him. “You’d certainly get my vote.”
He didn’t answer. I didn’t care.
He didn’t own the balcony, and I needed to get away, too.
As the quiet wore on, a pleasantly chilly breeze stirred my wheat-blond hair, which I wore long under my crown. My dress didn’t have sleeves, but it had been warm in the manor, and thanks to the wine, I probably had a good ten minutes before I started to shiver.
“Nice and quiet out here,” I observed. “Are you waiting for someone?”
Could be he was loitering (sulking?) outdoors because his datehad left him alone as well. Mine, an actuary I’d been chatting up on a dating app for weeks, had bailed on me the moment he’d caught the attention of a brunette dressed as a sexy librarian—a costume I wasn’t sure if I should be offended by since I actually happened tobea librarian.
I stopped next to the enormous looming, dooming Reaper Man, and straightening my spiky crown—spray-painted with love and dunked in gold glitter—I grinned up at him. “It’s obvious who you are. But can you guess whatIam?”
He didn’t say anything. He still refused to move, too. But he wasn’t running away from me, so why not continue the one-sided conversation? So far, this interaction was still going better than any of my exchanges with Dale, who had already blocked me on the dating app.
I knew because, while I’d been sitting alone at our table, I’d had plenty of time to check my phone.
Maybe I shouldn’t have quotedHamletwhen he said he didn’t believe in ghosts.
Or maybe I should have worn something saucier.
“I’m sunshine!” I spread my arms. Then I snapped my multicolored spandex belt with my free hand. “Andrainbows.”
Next, I lifted the hem of my dress, accented with cotton to simulate clouds, and flashed the rainbow, rhinestone-covered pumps that were officially killing me. “I made and repurposed everything myself. Thanks to my job, I’m pretty crafty. Not to mention thrifty. It was Abigail, one of my regular patrons—I’m a children’s librarian—who suggested this concept. She’s five.” I raised a finger. “And a half. Except, everyone keeps asking me if I’m Belle fromBeauty and the Beast.” I shrugged. “But that’s cool, too, so… I just say yes.”
I took a big swig of the wine, which, to be fair, I’d already had enough of.
When I went back in, I’d call an Uber and scarf down some cheese puffs and bruschetta to counteract the effects of the adult grape juice.Then I’d go home and do my usual bedtime routine of washing my face, brushing my teeth, and reading about other people falling in love until I fell asleep.
“What doyoudo?” I asked him, but he kept the stoic shtick going.
Either he was annoyed, or he just wanted to stay in character. Possibly both were true.
But I could play along. I literally had a master’s in make-believe.
“Dead-silent type, huh?” I asked him with a wink as I gazed out over the grounds, which we hovered two stories above. On either side of the balcony, a set of curving stone steps swept down to meet with a dormant garden, the roses pruned back to near nubs. Quilts of leaves blanketed the rest of the barren beds and the cobblestone walkway, too. “Lonely lonesome loner. I get that.”
