Andrea's Visitor

Andrea's Visitor

Halloween has always been a cause for superstition. On the night of October thirty-first, the monsters and ghosts that lurked in our closets years ago exist once more. Witches roam the streets, and the eyes of black cats gleam in the light of a thousand jack-o-lanterns. Everything we've scoffed at in the harsh light of day turns out to be realer than we could ever have imagined, and more substantial than we'd ever like. The dead are no longer silent, and sometimes, out of the corner of your eye, you can see things that should not be there.

This particular Halloween was shaping up to be a good one. The autumn air was crisp, but not freezing, and the cloudless sky promised a dark and scary night. All the drugstores had been mobbed at the last minute by families needing candy and lots of it, and the shelves that had contained various sugary snacks were now nearly empty.

As I filled a bowl with assorted candy, I remembered when I, too, had been ridiculously enthusiastic about trick-or-treating. I had been the sort of kid that started planning their Halloween costume in August. When I finished banging on the doors of strangers and demanding sugar, I had gorged myself on chocolate for the rest of the night until I could barely roll into bed. The next morning was always disappointing, knowing that you would have to wait 364 days until the next Halloween rolled around.

Now, the only joy that Halloween held was finishing up the candy that my trick-or-treaters didn't eat.

I hadn't bothered to dress up. Costumes were always uncomfortable, and my debut last year as the Grim Reaper ended when I tripped over my menacing and slightly-too-long robes. Trust me, there is nothing more embarassing than being laughed at by a crowd of five-year old ballerinas.

Funnily enough, I was feeling slightly creeped out when night rolled around. The slightest noises made me jump, and every time the doorbell rang I felt the urge to run away.

But as they say, the show must go on, and when the last trick or treater had scampered away, I was left with a feeling of satisfaction at a job well done. The best part was, I had some candy left over for myself.

I was sitting down to eat when the room suddenly grew deathly cold. I shrieked, and cursed my air-conditioning. I wasn't scared, at first. However, when a figure began to form in the middle of my living room, I gibbered wordlessly and dove under the table.

The figure was that of a woman. She was wearing a wedding dress, and her bloodstained fingers were clutching a human head. I assumed it was hers.

"Who are you?" I said from underneath the table. The eyes in the head swiveled to look at me.

"I have COME for you, Andrea Thompson! Now I will pay you back for the great wrong that has been done to me!"

"Wait," I said. "Did you say Andrea THOMPSON?"

The head glared at me. "Yes. ANYWAY, I have come to--"

"But I'm not Andrea Thompson," I interrupted again. "I'm Andrea JOHNSON. You've got the wrong girl."

"Impossible!" the head cried. The body flung up an arm in disbelief. "You fear me! You must be her!"

"Nope, sorry, wrong number."

To my surprise, the ghost pulled a paper out of its pocket. One of the arms lowered it to the head's eye level.

"Hmmm…Let's see…" The head surveyed the paper, then looked at me. "I do apologize," It said in a businesslike tone. "You understand…so many deaths to avenge, so little time…well, I'm off. Sorry for the inconvenience."

With that, the ghost vanished and the room was returned to normal. I cautiously crept out from under my table, and looked around.

No ghost.

Then, shrugging, I sat down and started eating a chocolate bar.