Page 47 of A Witch's Guide to Surviving Halloween
“Oh no, because Ellie told me you went to get some water and never came back, so Iwentto the store,” Stacy yells, pointing down the street toward Moonlit Pages with an accusatory finger. “Marilyn told me she hasn’t seen you all night. But since Oliver wasn’t at the movie either, I thought perhaps you were at the bakery.”
“Oh no,” Oliver breathes.
“And what I heard coming from that bakery, you’re lucky I didn’t break down that door! Screeching and whining and the most horrific singing I’d ever heard. I almost called the cops!”
I glance at Oliver, stammering through an explanation. “That was just . . . a Halloween tape, right?”
Oliver points at me, releasing a relieved breath. “Yes! Exactly. Just getting in the spirit of things.”
Don eyes Oliver, suspicion heavy in his eyes, but he stays quiet for now, taking everything in.
“And what’s this?!” Stacy throws a hand toward the ever-growing mountain of popcorn.
“Psh. That . . . wasn’t me.” I force a laugh through my teeth, hoping to sound amused by such an innocent prank, but instead, I sound guilty.
Stacy’s eyes narrow, not buying it for a second. “You’ve been causing trouble all week, butthisis too much. We’re supposed to have a whole other movie after this, and your little prank has taken over half the seats! Do you understand how much time and money go into these events?”
Tears line my eyes as I take her admonishments one at a time, unable to find the words to fight back. There’s nothing I can say that will change her mind. Nothing I can do to make this better. What’s worse is that itisall my fault; it was my grandmother who placed the curse. It’smyproximity to Oliver that’s causing all these problems. If I had kept my distance the moment I realized what was going on, none of this would be happening.
“Back off, okay?” Oliver bites back, shielding me from Stacy with a thick muscled arm. “Amelia’s been killing herself to host this damn thing, and you have no reason to think she caused any of this.”
“You’re right,” Don booms, crossing his arms over his chest. “Amelia has been a stand-up citizen of this community for many years. So let me ask you, where did you run off to during the movie, Oliver?”
Oliver’s mouth falls open, but before he can stumble through some excuse, another much smaller voice nearby catches my attention.
“Mommy, what monster is that?” Nearby, a child tugs on his mother’s arm, pointing to the movie screen that no one seems to be watching anymore.
I give the screen a cursory glance before turning back to the conversation at hand, and then I do a double-take.
Saw, the murderous little puppet on a tricycle, is peddling his way through the middle of the Halloween Town climax. Panic makes it impossible for me to tear my eyes from the screen as I frantically reach out, trying to get the coordinator’s attention.
“Stace,” I rasp.
“Don’t try to change the subject,” she seethes, ignoring my frenzied movements.
“Stacy,” I try again, just as the Saw puppet stops in the middle of the screen, his head turning back and forth, his mouth robotically moving up and down.
“Do you want to play a game?”
“Stacy!” I screech, taking her shoulder and spinning her to look at the screen.
Her eyes nearly pop out of her head as the puppet begins laughing maniacally. Around us, parents start shrieking, grabbing their children, and turning them away from the screen. Those who are old enough to understand what’s happening but have no innocent eyes to protect stare openly at the new ending that Ashwood Haven’s magic gives this childhood favorite. Before Saw can start explaining the rules of the game, Stacy has her radio out and is sprinting toward the movie projector.
“Turn it off! Turn it off!”
Blood splatters across a costume-clad extra in the movie mere seconds before the screen goes black, and Main Square goes unnervingly quiet.
A mountain of popcorn? Innocent fun. A prank that annoys no one except the event organizer? Whatever. But messing with a family-friendly movie to somehow insert a murderous, sadistic puppet to start violently killing off cutely dressed characters? There’s no coming back from that. Another few seconds, and the entire festival would have been ruined—and Ashwood Haven’s reputation stained forever.
No parent would ever bring their kids back to an event that traumatized them, and families are the main supporters of this event. It’s always been meant as good, clean fun with a few adult themes added in for good measure. Alcoholic drinks and R-rated films after the kid-friendly ones, but graphically torturing people in a family film is too far.
Don turns back to Oliver and I at an agonizingly slow pace, puffing out his chest as he does. When I look up at him, I expect to find his scathing gaze boring into me, but instead, he only has eyes for Oliver.
He thoughtfully runs his thumb and forefinger over his mustache before placing his hands on his hips. Indignation emanates from him in churning waves that make me want to shrink away. Don has always been a larger-than-life man, both in physical size and personality. With a booming voice and a commanding presence wherever he goes, it’s hard to see him as anything else. That said, I’ve always viewed him as a giant teddy bear—a fatherlike figure who cares for the entire town as if we’re all his children. And like any good father, it’s not the anger that’s scary . . . it’s the disappointment.
Right now, Don’s disappointment is a palpable thing in the air.
“Oliver, boy, I told you when you came to town that as long as you ran an honest business and stayed out of trouble, you’d be welcome here. You say you aren’t involved in all of this, but let’s be honest: Things aren’t looking very good.”
