Out for the Evening

by Michael T. Schaper

Paul was looking forward to Halloween again. As far as he was concerned, it might well become his favourite time of the year. After all, it was pretty much the only time when he could be himself.

To feel, well, real. Get off the farm, see and experience things the same way as everyone else, without standing out as different. A rare opportunity to wander around amongst the other monsters. Last year, he’d managed to travel into town for the first time and had only just begun to understand what it was all about.

So here he was once more, strolling through the little rural village where all the workers on his farm lived. Coloured lights strung up across the streets, fake cobwebs in every window, children and adults out strolling around, trick or treating.

He ducked past a group of teenagers. They were as loud and boisterous as on the farm, pushing each other around and drinking slyly from a bottle. He thought about crossing over to the other side of the street to avoid any unpleasantness, but kept his course when they smiled at him.

“Great costume,” one shouted, thumbs up. “Awesome.”

So that’s what it’s like to experience social acceptance. Paul felt himself swelling up a bit with pride. Another human feeling that he’d never encountered before. If only they knew it wasn’t a costume.

Then a group of young children ran past, laughing and giggling. He watched them race up the path of a nearby house, ring the doorbell and squeal with pleasure at the sweets they were given by an old gentleman living within.

A few seconds later, they charged back past Paul. A harried mother rushed by, out of breath, trying to herd them.

He chanced a comment, one he’d heard the farmhands say every now and then. “Kids, eh?”

The woman stopped and smiled. “I know, but we love them, don’t we? They’re our life.” She dashed on in pursuit.

Well, your life, Paul thought to himself, not mine. I can only imagine where my offspring ended up.

Mustn’t focus on the negatives. After all, each of these little interchanges was helping him to understand their world a bit better.

And he was desperately trying to collect as many of these emotions as he could. There was so much more to experience, Paul realised, before he made his way back to the farm.

He wandered the streets a little farther, trying to work up his courage to talk to more people. The night was drawing on, and Halloween would come to an end soon. Time to act.

Eventually Paul picked another house, at random, and made his way up the footpath. It was darker than the others, more obscured, and no sign of any other trick or treaters nearby, so maybe it might be easier to talk to whoever was inside.

He rang the doorbell and waited nervously. How would this go, his first real face to face conversation?

Then he noticed the Jack-o-Lantern grinning in the front window. That tortured smile they all had, poor things. It made him think of all the family that he’d lost over the years. For a minute he thought of fleeing back away in horror at the mutilated vegetables but kept his nerve. He’d never learn to understand people in this town if he got cold feet now.

It took a long time for anyone to respond to the doorbell. Paul waited anxiously, determined not to give up. He picked at the greenery on his costume, wincing.

Then the door opened slightly. A man with no treats in hand, only a large kitchen knife. For some reason he looked slightly familiar.

They stared at each other awkwardly.

“Impressive outfit you’ve got on,” the stranger said eventually. “It looks almost real.”

“Uh,” coughed Paul, almost wilting with nerves, “thanks.”

“You here on your own? No kids?”

Paul gave him a cautious smile. Something wasn’t quite right here, but he didn’t know how to respond. Hopefully honesty was the best way to navigate awkward moments like this. “Nope. Just me.”

The man gave him a curious smile and opened the door. “Well, come on in. I’m Gavin, by the way.” He pointed down the hallway, to the kitchen. “Let me see what sort of trick or treat I can do for you.”

Something definitely was not good here, but Paul felt it might be rude to decline an invitation. He swallowed nervously and watched as one of his vine leaves curled up. They both stopped and watched as it fell to the floor.

Gavin stopped and looked at him. “That’s not a costume, is it?”

Paul gulped. “I don’t mean any trouble. I just wanted to see what it was like.”

“See what what was like?”

“You know, life off the farm.”

Gavin broke into a grin. “Of course. That’s where I know you from.”

“You do?”

“Sure do, boy. I been picking there for a long time. Longer than you been around. And I’ve heard the stories.”

Paul stayed quiet, unsure how to respond. “I just wanted to feel some of those feelings, these emotions that you all have. Was that wrong? Surely it’s okay for me to be off the farm?”

Gavin smiled at him, but it wasn’t friendly. “Hey, it’s Halloween. And you’re in luck. Your secret’s safe with me.” He picked up the knife again and cleaned it carefully. “Why don’t you stay for dinner? I’m just about to make myself some pumpkin soup.”

Frightened now, Paul tried to make a dash for the front door, and the promise of escape. But his host was too quick. The knife flashed in Gavin’s hands, and then the farm worker started cutting into him.

Paul finally had his last wish. Now he’d be able to feel some more of those emotions that humans always talked about: this time, pain and fear.