Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark

Why I'm Truly Afraid of This Halloween

Before that Halloween, I couldn't imagine my neighbor Ian Gibson being someone any neighbor would feel they couldn't turn their back on. He looked like a conventionally handsome man with no distinguishing features except maybe a slightly stronger chin than most. He worked at City Hospital as a nurse. He also did some volunteer work at the local domestic abuse shelter, though he didn't make a very big deal of it any time I asked him about it.

The man wasn't a plaster saint either or even a particularly self-righteous type. He was happy to tell edgy jokes at a parties when he was among exclusively good friends, guy got himself in trouble a couple times gambling, and I saw his car outside a strip club when I was driving by a couple times, and I know that means there were plenty of other times he was there I never found out about. But that's the worst I could say about the man, and none of it dropped him below average. Particularly for someone that as far as I knew was happy being a lifelong bachelor.

Then last Halloween rolled around.

My wife Tasha and I had set up our decorations with her usual vigor. It put it into sharper relief that his house, across the street and the nearest other one in our out-of-the-way suburb, was completely undecorated. Not that Tasha was a horror buff: It was more quaint autumnal decorations, the most horrifying of which was a scarecrow that would have been appropriate in an elementary school.

I knew the decorations wouldn't matter much on Halloween night itself. The closest house with a child was a block away, and at that point, they would go downtown to the grocery store for their Halloween party instead of walking the streets. So forget trick-or-treaters, there were often hours between passing cars in the evenings on that street. The most active it got was when I and Mr. Gibson took out our trash and recycling at the same time. We both gave each other nods in the dark blue evening light as we positioned our bins on the curb but otherwise we didn't even pause to exchange pleasantries.

I came back inside to see Tasha sneaking a piece of candy from the bowl which we left next to the door out of tradition.

"Busted," I chided.

"Someone should have some," she said. She was in her bath robe and her hair was in a towel. It's a time I've rerun in my head so often that I can even remember the heat from a fresh shower emanating from her.

"You know what that means, Sweetie," I said. After taking a few pieces for myself, I took a chair from the dining room and stood on it so that I could place the candy out of easy, snacking reach.

I know it sounds weird, but we both have a severe sweettooth. If we didn't make ourselves work for it, we'd probably tear through that bowl in a few days.

"I'm gonna watch some TV. You have anything in mind?" Tasha asked while getting a glass of water.

"Yeah, bed." I said carrying the chair back out to the dining room. "I don't know if it's just part of getting old, but I am crashing hard. Good night."

"I'll keep it down then. Night, Honey."

I didn't hear any sounds of a passing vehicle or anything as I drifted off. When I woke up it was about seven thirty. It was just late enough that the sunlight was bright and I know from weather reports it had been unseasonably warm all night. Tasha was still fast asleep, so I took a shower and popped some bacon in the microwave before I heard the garbage truck arrive outside. I decided to go retrieve the bins because if Tasha or I put it off on Tuesday that usually meant we didn't bring them in until at least Wednesday.

Opening the front door I was immediately hit with the smell of decaying meat. The front door of my home is positioned behind a wall, so I had to run out a few steps before I could see anything. I had time to imagine that maybe some animal had come from the nearby woods, knocked over our garbage bin, and spread trash all over the yard.