Candy Apple

Annie had always hated jack-o’-lanterns. She saw them as mocking caricatures of human faces, and her imagination twisted their comradely grins into looming leers.

She despised everything about Halloween, right down to the stale jellybeans her mom had bestowed last year upon unsuspecting trick-or-treaters. (Stephanie Blakintine had christened them Colon Cannonballs and exchanged hers for Annie’s Butterfinger while her sidekick Christie Phelps mimed vomiting hers into a rose bush.)

On the evening of her twelfth Halloween Annie slumped in front of an old episode of Bewitched, listlessly hitching her red hood as it slipped persistently over her eyes. She rolled her sleeve and gazed at an ugly bite just above her elbow. Earlier that day in the cafeteria Henry Connorson had snuck up nonchalantly behind her, then he’d pulled off his rubber wolf mask to reveal a malicious snarl as he sprang forward and chomped.

The familiar chime of organ chords resonated through the cozy bungalow as the first trick-or-treaters clustered on the doorstep. On the television, Samantha began twitching her nose to cast yet another spell upon her hapless husband. Comfy, Annie sank deeper into her bean bag chair, clutching her Cabbage Patch doll to her chest and entertaining a fantasy of just staying put for the evening.

But soon the enticement of treats became overpowering and she fastened her cape with a ribbon around her neck, touched up the rosy blotches on her cheeks and picked up her basket. She stepped out into the unseasonably warm night, unwittingly portraying a perfect mixture of her character’s naivety and innocence.

There was no breeze but the bushes and shrubs that lined the sidewalk seemed to rustle ominously. As she made her way up the block Annie was vaguely aware that she looked too young to be trick-or-treating by herself, though really she was one of the oldest. She recognized Stephanie and Christie, both dressed as peacocks, leaning against a lampost and laughing like hyenas as Henry punctured the bottom of a young firefighter’s bag with a switchblade.

As Annie hurried past them Henry saw her and smacked his lips. She inconspicuously disappeared into a gang of younger children, shuddering to see the district’s familiar inhabitants transformed into indistinguishable freaks and deformed monstrosities.

Oak crescent was a ritzy neighbourhood that boasted lavish decorations. Imitation crows perched on the shoulders of a dismal scarecrow that stood in the middle of a well manicured lawn, straw leaking through two gaping holes that were all that remained of his eyes. A shrunken head with a golden tooth dangled from the awning of a front patio. Ghastly jack-o’-lanterns bobbed everywhere, crudely carved and spinxlike, all sneering at her as though they were the ones in possession of the knife.

She came to a Victorian style house whose walls were adorned with the silhouettes of dancing skeletons and witches hunched over cauldrons. A crowd began to form on the doorstep and a young girl with butterfly wings impatiently jabbed the antique brass coloured doorbell.

The door was opened almost immediately by a woman of indeterminable age dressed in bright colours. She wore a fringed shawl and large hoop earrings and a mismatched assortment of bracelets and necklaces.

“Who would like to come in and bob for apples?” Her voice was lyrical and hypnotic, and Annie wondered if it was real or staged.

“Annie does!” She heard Stephanie’s giggle as she was pushed violently from behind. She almost stumbled into the gypsy who reached out and passed her hand briefly over Annie’s face. Then she grabbed her forearm and pulled her into the house.

They entered a dark hallway. Annie tried to pull away but the woman’s grip was indisputably powerful. Suddenly it seemed as though the front door was very far away, and she felt disoriented, as if she could no longer tell if it was behind her or ahead or even above or below. She felt like a trampolinist who had lost her bearings in the middle of some complicated flip. A musty, skunk like odor filled the air and her skin prickled.

They entered a dimly lit room. Several large candy coated apples bobbed alluringly in a child’s wading pool and the oldest man she’d ever seen sat smoking a pipe in a rocking chair tucked away in the corner. He nodded to Annie and flashed her a jack-o’-lantern grin.

Annie stepped forward carefully, as if she was on a tightrope and one misstep would send her clattering to the floor. She bobbed for the nearest apple, feeling like an aesthetic roasted pig as she clasped it between her teeth and pulled it from the water.

The gypsy smiled and applauded.

“I think I’ll have one too!” A small candy apple appeared in her hand out of nowhere, like a card or coin materializing at a magician’s request. The woman opened her mouth wide but just before her glossy teeth bit into the sugary coating she hesitated. “Better make sure it’s safe!” She placed the apple on a card table and cut it open with a paring knife. Annie held her breath and sure enough, a rusty razor blade encrusted with a red stain protruded grotesquely from the core.

The gypsy dramatically clasped her hand to her heart. “Oh dear, that must have been my husband’s! He has sensitive skin.” Annie turned to the old man, who smiled apologetically and shrugged his droopy shoulders as he gently touched a scab on his chin. She recoiled a step, as if she’d been physically punched in the stomach. Her basket slipped from her fingers, showering the floor with Tootsie Rolls and Skittles and assorted pieces of gum. Then she felt a stinging cramp and bolted for the front door.

The hallway was a labyrinth of twisting corridors and dead ends. She ran to a small bathroom and switched on the light, then made her way to the sink. The whole room began to whirl like an erratic merry-go-round. She washed the red blotches from her cheeks and watched as the face paint swirled down the drain like blood.

There was a quick knock on the door and the gypsy came in, concern showing plainly on her heavily powdered face.

“It’s okay honey! I didn’t mean to frighten you! That wasn’t a real razor - it was just a rubber one from a joke shop stained with fake vampire blood! And that was just my grandfather. He was only having a little fun. He’d love to be out trick-or-treating himself, you know.”

Annie unglued herself from the wall. She realized she’d been holding her breath and let it back in, huge gulps that abated her dizziness and brought oxygen back into her blood. It was not so much the woman’s words that were comforting her but the reassuring familiarity of the hygiene products that crammed the shelves. She recognized the same brand name of cuticle oil that her mom used, Blistex lip balm, Garnier moisturizing shampoo and even a packet of Calgon bath fizzies.

The gypsy reached for a bottle of powder and mineral based foundation. She looked much younger than she had at the front door, Annie thought. She probably went to the high school a few blocks away.

“Have you ever worn makeup? My name’s Kezia, by the way.”

“No.” She’d never had any interest in makeup before, busying herself with dolls and old Disney movies while her classmates plastered themselves with eyeshadow and lip gloss.

Kezia picked up a soft brush and motioned for Annie to join her by the mirror.

“Close your eyes.”

With a delicate touch she applied the foundation to Annie’s jawline and then blended it in a circular motion to the rest of her face. Then she selected a dark contour shade and brushed it under her cheekbones and across her forehead in sharp, defined dashes. Next came a glistening highlighter to her brow bone, smile lines, and the creases of her eyes. She finished with a heavy black liner across Annie’s bottom lash line.

Annie opened her eyes and gasped. Her reflection was not only unrecognizable but no longer mimicked her movements. She stared in awe at an assured, worldly-wise, composed woman who bore no resemblance to the titular character of the classic Grimm tale.

The apparition gave a sly smile and winked, as if she were harboring a secret and keeping it just out of reach. Annie wanted to wink back but was afraid her counterpart would disappear if she did. Suddenly she realized she was gazing at her future self, at the sophisticated and fearless adult she would soon become. She raised her hand in greeting and her reflection echoed the movement, only hers was a gesture of farewell.

Annie was herself once again, but didn’t feel quite the same. She had somehow passed into womanhood, and knew that her trick-or-treating days were over.

They walked back to the room with the wading pool. Annie retrieved a Butterfinger from the floor and said good night to the old man. Then Kezia accompanied her to the front door and bade her farewell.

Stephanie and Christie were nowhere to be seen. The street was almost empty and people were beginning to shut their doors. She walked home and nearly tripped over a jack-o’-lantern on her doorstep. It grinned at her mischievously. Annie inhaled the last of the harvest and then extinguished the flame, triumphant as it disappeared into a wispy spiral of smoke.