AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I should speak. I should find the brainpower to tell him not to be sorry. I should invite him to join us. The word, “Welcome,” should escape my mouth. Instead, I look at him, dumbfounded, as I take his inventory.
Why aren’t males who look as good as him required to walk shirtless on mild autumn nights like this? I mean, really, shouldn’t all women be treated to whatever is hiding under his t-shirt? It’s a good thing it’s tight and hugs his wide shoulders and bulging biceps. It’s almost as good as if it revealed the contours of his manly purple chest.
With a symmetrical face like that, he could be a top-tier star on Earth vids.
“Welcome,” I force myself to say, even though it came out as a squeak. “Are you here for the Halloween planning committee?”
I can’t hide the doubt in my question. Certainly he’s not here for that. Guys who look like him have better things to do on a Friday night.
“Am I too late?” he asks, his brow furrowing like he’ll be heartbroken if I ask him to leave.
“Perfect timing! Have a seat.”
I explain my vision for the haunted house I want to organize, but I can tell by the expression on all three faces that I’m losing them.
“Excuse me?” the green female says, her arm raised. “My husband wasn’t thrilled about me attending this empty penis meeting. I told him it must have been a typographical error. But the more you talk, I’m wondering if perhaps he was correct. In which case, I want no part of this.” She grabs her voluminous purse and rises.
“Empty penis?” I tilt my head, baffled while my brain finally translates and retranslates until her question makes sense. The translators must have gotten weenie, or penis, from ween, which made the word into hollow weenie or—empty penis.
“These subdural translators are amazing, aren’t they? But this was definitely a mistake. Halloween doesn’t translate into much, but it definitely doesn’t mean empty… um.” I try to explain while I feel my face flushing in embarrassment.
My gaze flicks to handsome purple guy, then back to the concerned matron.
I start at the beginning, giving short shrift to the origins of the holiday, and focusing on how much fun the haunted house will be. I’m still receiving blank looks, and the woman is still standing, getting ready to make her escape when I finally recover.
“So it really doesn’t matter about the holiday’s pagan origins. Let’s call it the Spooky Fun Holiday, shall we? There’s an amusement park in nearby Brexton Woods. Remember how fun it is to feel scared out of your mind on the Durragan ride?”
Ah, that seems to smooth things over. Now that we’re all on the same page, I describe creepy looking people jumping out from dark places and making you scream, all the while you rest secure in the knowledge you’re perfectly safe. I hadn’t realized how hard it would be to describe my favorite holiday in a way that sounded fun.
“It’s fun when ugly, scary people come to hurt you?” antennae-guy asks, full of skepticism.
I circle back one more time, referencing adrenaline and relief. When that doesn’t do it, I focus on caramel apples, decorated cupcakes, and how many credits I thought our project could raise for the Children’s Hospital. Finally, they’re all on board.
Now that I’ve got their buy-in, it only takes a few minutes to explain my vision, pass around a sign-up sheet, and beg them to get their friends and family to volunteer.
I make a mental note to pull whatever word the Internet used for Halloween and change it to Spooky Fun Holiday. When the mayor approved this, why didn’t he give me a heads up that it translated to porn?
When the sign-up sheet circles back to me and the three of them are filing out the door, I see only two names on it.
“Um, excuse me?” Please don’t let it be the handsome purple guy who’s going to bail on the committee. “Who forgot to sign the sheet?”
He’s already in the doorway. By the way his shoulders hunch, it’s a dead giveaway he’s the culprit.
“You don’t want to help plan the Spooky Fun Haunted House?”
When he turns to speak to me, I realize I’ve stepped so close I’m invading his space. Every cell of my body lights up like a circuit board on overload. Is it his male gorgeousness? His physical perfection? Some quirk of alien hormones? I’m conducting a stern internal debate to prevent myself from jumping him.
“I’m not sure I can be of much help. I thought perhaps it would be better if someone else would take my spot,” he says.
“Look around. Do you see other people vying for your spot?”
He looks like a trapped prey animal.
“I assumed you have dozens of people you’ve already onboarded.”
I almost laugh out loud at that. He thinks I have dozens of people waiting in the wings to step up for Spooky Fun Holiday help? “Will you help, uh… what’s your name?”
“Brekk.”
